(Chapter 21. Malibu beach house, Roger Gorini's warehouse. March 25-27.)
Steve felt like a kid on the first day of school as he entered the warehouses of the Buona Fortuna Import-Export Company. One of Joey Russo's tips had led the task force here, and as he'd ridden to the docks with Keith, Steve had Ron bring him up to speed over the secure cell phone. The body they'd found at the scene was that of his dad's news broadcaster friend Roger (a.k.a. Rogelio) Gorini, who, according to Joey, was also the nephew of one Vincent Gaudino. Also, according to Joey, Roger had been ordered to eliminate Moretti and Emily at his phony safe house just a week ago, and the failure of Joey and his colleagues was probably the main cause of Gorini's death even though the official report would list it as a thirty- eight caliber bullet. Ron had told him about the extensive collection of tapes, most of them audio, but some also video, that were found in Gorini's secret apartment at the warehouse as well, and Steve couldn't wait to find out what was on them.
As he stepped into the office, Ron welcomed him with a grin and an extended hand, which Steve gladly shook.
"It's good to have you back," the FBI agent said.
"It's good to *be* back," Steve said with pleasure, "even if it's only for half days." Sniffing, he made a face and said, "Even that smell couldn't keep me away."
Ron laughed and said, "You might have felt differently a couple of hours ago. Since then, we've photographed everything, dusted for prints, had the body removed, and aired the place out."
Casting a glance back at the mess on the floor just outside the office door, Steve said, "Looks like you didn't do it quickly enough."
Ron grinned and said, "That's 'Fredo Cioffi's breakfast. I think it was his first dead body."
Steve cast an appreciative glance the length of the floor and said, "He made it that far? I am impressed."
"Aughhh!" Emily groaned as she straightened up from removing her cross- trainers.
"Whassamatter?" Moretti asked, concerned. Emmy had been moaning and groaning a lot lately.
"My back's been killing me ever since Giani slammed me into the bookshelves at the second safe house. It just keeps getting worse and worse."
"Want me to take a look at it?"
"What, you a doctor now?" she said sarcastically.
"No, but in my line of work, you learn a little about takin' care of aches and pains. Sometimes doctors ask too damn many questions."
"Thanks anyway, Moretti, but . . . AHHHH!" She suddenly yelped in pain as she tried to remove her jacket and froze in position.
"Ok, kid, that's it. I give one hell of a massage, and you need one." As he gently helped her off with the jacket and guided her to her bedroom, he continued. "You've probably done some muscle damage. You can leave your shirt on, if you want, but you ain't sayin' no."
Emmy just moaned, "Ohhhh. Owwww," as he helped her lie down.
"Peeeeeter!" Maribeth called sweetly down the hall, catching her colleague just as he was about to slip out the door.
Peter Green was not fooled. The woman wanted something, and the cajoling tone she was using was only her first tactic. She'd been his mentor when he was just starting out, and he could never show her enough appreciation for all the help she'd given him, but he'd only been on-call for one day, and it had turned into an eighteen-hour shift already. He'd never go back on his word, but he couldn't believe he had agreed to a month of this, even if her husband had cleared him of a murder charge during his internship.
"What do you want Maribeth?"
Maribeth pretended to pout. "What makes you think I want anything?"
He just continued to stare at her expectantly.
"Damn! How come I can never pull off the puppy-dog look?"
Peter finally laughed. "I told you before. You're too businesslike and efficient. When you try to be pitiful, it's obviously forced. Steven and Jesse get away with it because, well, sometimes they really are pitiful."
"And CJ."
"You said it yourself, once, 'He's just so darned cute.' Now, what do you want?"
"Yeah, yeah, ok, whatever." Just that fast, she was her usual self. "Listen, Steve is going back to half days starting today. He's working eight to noon. I know I just asked you to go on call for me, but now I'm hoping we could switch shifts. If I work eleven to seven, I can catch him before he goes off in the mornings, sleep until time to start dinner, and have some private time with him in the evenings before he goes off to bed and I come into work."
A slow, very sleepy grin spread across Peter's face. "Ok, if . . . "
"If?"
"If you get someone to take the eight-to-four shift and go on-call Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until noon."
Maribeth gave it some thought.
"Steve will be working or sleeping anyway," Peter encouraged, "I can work three to eleven and still catch some sleep three days a week."
"Ok," she nodded, extending a hand. "It's a deal." As she walked away, Peter heard her muttering to herself, "Johnson likes working days. He'll go for it."
Charles Donovan and 'Fredo Cioffi had been listening to audio recordings for about four hours when they realized that their ears were starting to ache from the headphones. That's when they decided to switch to videos for a while. Neither of them figured it would matter much which they dealt with first, so long as everything was eventually catalogued.
It just so happened they were wrong. The first video they put in the machine was important. 'Fredo had noticed it was out of sequence and had speculated that perhaps Gorini had been planning to use it against someone soon. Now, though, had anyone asked him, he would have suggested it was simply Gorini's favorite movie.
For the past ten minutes, he and Donovan had been sitting on the edge of the bed, watching open-mouthed and dumbfounded, as Leigh Ann Bergman did things to Roger Gorini that neither of the naïve young cops would ever have enough experience to imagine.
The rookies were still lost in their bizarre little world when Steve, Ron, and Keith walked into the apartment to check on their progress. They took one look at the thunderstruck young men, and then shared a knowing glance with one another. Having over a hundred years of law enforcement experience among them, the three veteran cops had probably seen it all, but they were not yet so jaded that they had forgotten what it was like to see some things for the first time.
With a wink, Keith jerked his head in the direction of the fresh-faced kids and indicated to Steve that he should remain quiet for now.
"Hoooo-weeee," Keith gasped softly as he and his companions came to stand near the boys. "I wouldn't have guessed she was that. . . creative."
"No, sirrrr. And flexible, too," Donovan slurred, completely absorbed.
The three older men worked hard to stifle laughter.
"Do you think I could get a copy to show my wife?" Ron asked, grinning openly as the two innocents still had their eyes glued to the television. "Sometimes we get a little tired of the same old same old."
"Yesssss, sirrrr," Cioffi said, Donovan nodding vacantly beside him.
"You can take care of that *after* you have catalogued everything and filed your reports, officers!" Steve barked, stepping between them and the TV.
At the sight and sound of the Chief, Donovan jumped about three feet in the air and Cioffi fell off the edge of the bed to the floor. As they both scrambled for the remote to shut the VCR down, Donovan kicked it under the bed, and because he was already on the floor, Cioffi began to crawl after it, but Keith called, "Ten Hut!" and Donovan yanked Cioffi back out from under the bed by the legs. Both of them came to immediate attention before the Chief and stood there, blushing crimson and trying not to shake as they awaited the well-deserved dressing-down they knew was coming.
The two officers were still so green and fresh from the academy that all the proper protocols coursed through their veins like blood, which was a good thing in Steve's opinion, because rookies lacked the experience to know when it was worth the risk to violate procedure. Unfortunately, now they were left with no way to turn the TV off unless they walked away from the Chief, and that was something procedure and protocol would never let them do until they were dismissed.
As he assessed the situation, Steve noted that Donovan had a bit more self- control than his friend. He stood ramrod-straight, staring directly ahead while Cioffi's eyes kept wandering to the TV and then snapping back. Knowing he would never get their attention with it on, struggling to keep a straight face while Ron and Keith stood behind the two young men grinning like idiots, and finding himself distracted by the very vocal stars of the home made porn flick playing behind him, he commanded, "Officer Cioffi, turn that damned thing off!"
Cioffi jumped slightly. "Yessir!" Then he scurried past Steve and soon the room was silent.
Steve could tell the moment Cioffi turned around, because Ron and Keith went suddenly stone-faced. Cioffi fell in beside his friend again, Steve told them, "At ease," and they both relaxed somewhat.
"Donovan, report," Steve said.
Donovan began by telling him how many tapes they had found, how they were organized, and how he and Cioffi had divided them up. Then he listed the various cases that could be closed with the information on the tapes, the others that would have to be opened, and in some instances, the specific evidence presented. At Steve's request, Cioffi gave a similar rundown of what he had done and found, and ended with, " . . . and the headphones were hurting our ears, so we decided to watch the videos for a while. This one was out of sequence, so I imagine he was either planning to use it soon or he just enjoyed watching it."
Ron suddenly had a violent coughing fit that nicely covered the laughter he could not prevent, and as Keith turned to slap his back, Steve could see his shoulders shaking with the effort of silencing his own amusement. Knowing he could not hold out much longer, Steve said, "Very good, gentlemen. Take an hour for lunch, then get back to work. Dismissed."
He waited until they were at the door to the apartment before calling, "Oh, and officers. . . " The two young men turned to look at him. "If either of you find this sort of thing is more to your liking, I would be happy to arrange a transfer to vice."
Cioffi's eyes grew round, and Donovan blushed to the roots of his hair. "N- no, no thank you, sir," they answered almost in unison.
"Ok. Let me know if you change your minds. Dismissed."
The two young men scrambled away, and no one heard 'Fredo ask Charles, "What did you do with that tape of the Chief talking to Dr. Travis and Dr. Bentley-Wagner?"
"Shut up, 'Fredo," was all Donovan would say.
As soon as he was sure the green young officers were out of earshot, Steve sat on the edge of bed laughing so hard he could barely breathe. The diodes on the glove were all shining bright green.
". . . and then I offered to transfer them to vice," Steve said.
Olivia gasped, "Steve!" but she was in the minority. Keith was grinning wildly; Mark, and Steven, who had finished early at the hospital, were laughing and breathless.
"Come on, O, don't be such a prude. If you had seen them, you would have teased them, too."
She gave it some thought, and reluctantly nodded her agreement.
The five of them had just finished a late lunch, and as they cleared the table, they discussed plans for the afternoon. Steve and Steven were going to shoot some baskets, and Mark was planning to enjoy the afternoon sun while he read some more in his latest book. Keith was going back to Brentwood to help with more security measures for the trial. They were developing alternate scenarios for moving Emily and Moretti from the courthouse, and they had only two more days of planning before they actually practiced the various assault and defense plans at the courthouse.
"Well," Liv said, "I guess I'll join you out on the deck, then, Mark. I'm in the middle of a long letter home, and I'd like to finish it so I can send it off in the morning mail."
"Ok, sweetie," Mark said amiably, "I'd enjoy the company."
Steven turned in shock. "You still send letters in the mail?"
Liv smiled indulgently. "Yes."
"Why?" The young man couldn't recall the last time he had received a letter or greeting in the U.S. mail. "E-mail is quicker, more reliable, and it's free."
"I know," Liv agreed, "and it has all the permanence of a sneeze." She shook her head and made a face. Then she got a wistful look. "A real letter is a memento. It can be kept and treasured and handed down and held, perfumed and sealed with a kiss and stained with tears. It is real and tangible, not just a bunch of ones and zeroes in binary code slinging about in the ether."
"It's clutter," the young man said.
Mark sighed and said sadly, "Kids these days, they don't understand."
Smiling affectionately at his dad, the packrat, Steve asked in disbelief, "Liv, what have you found worth writing home about?"
"Well, the search for Em, obviously." She used a voice that said, 'Duh!'
"I know that," Steve replied, mimicking her tone, "but what else?"
"Oh, lots of things. How good it has been to see you all again, despite the circumstances, how kind everyone has been, Maribeth especially, for letting us stay here."
Steve raised an eyebrow at that. For a while, his wife had been anything but kind to Olivia, but, Liv being Liv, she had overlooked the slights and jibes and hurtful comments as easily as she was now ignoring Steve's dubious expression.
"I've told them all how balmy the weather here seems compared to Pennsylvania," she continued blithely, "and what fine men CJ and Dion have become, and how much Steven looks like you. I told them to tell Davis about the glove and how effective it's been in monitoring your stress levels, just everything that's been happening, I guess."
"Everything?" Steve asked, suddenly worried.
"Yes, why?" Then, almost as if she had read his mind, she said, "Yes, I told them about your attempt to move out. No, I didn't mention the exploding duffel bag or its contents, I just didn't know quite what to say about that." Then she started to giggle.
Keith and Mark laughed and Steven just looked confused. Steve breathed a big sigh of relief and said, "Thank you, Liv."
Looking at his dad, Steven said, "You tried to move out? When? And what does she mean, 'the exploding duffel bag'? What was in it?"
"Never mind," Steve and Liv said in unison, but while her voice was full of good humor, Steve had practically growled the words. He noticed the diodes on the glove had gone to amber, and took a couple deep breaths to calm himself.
Olivia laughed then. "You know, I even wrote them about dinner last night. It's been years since I've sat down with such a large group just to have dinner, and it was wonderful."
Steve smiled at her, then, and the diodes went to green. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Olivia smiled softly back. "I try to enjoy something every day I am alive," she said. "With Emily's situation always there, it's been harder than usual lately, but I have found that if you look for good things in life, they are always there."
"Always?" Steven asked incredulously.
"Always." Liv said with conviction. "It's what keeps me sane."
Emily rinsed her mouth at the bathroom sink after she finished throwing up. The beef and veggie kebobs Moretti had made on the hibachi had been wonderful, but they'd only stayed down about half an hour. She was glad he was working out in the garage. She wouldn't have wanted to hurt his feelings. Whatever she had, it was wiping her out. She felt so damned weak she just wanted to crawl into bed until the trial. After taking a couple of Advil for her backache, she went shakily to her bedroom and put her running shoes on again. She wanted to keep up appearances for Moretti's sake. He needed to know she was still able to look out for him.
She could almost remember her mother's illness from many years ago, and for some reason she thought it had started with a severe backache and nausea, but she had just had her physical for the LAPD six weeks ago, and she couldn't believe Steven would have missed a cancerous tumor. She was shaky, sweaty, and running a fever, too, and she didn't recall her mother exhibiting any of those symptoms until she started chemo. She took a deep breath and straightened slowly, wincing as her back protested. Sixty-eight hours, she thought. If she could make it another sixty-eight hours, everything would be ok.
As he stepped out of the beach house, finally ready to head off again, Keith heard the distinctive thwap-thwap of a basketball hitting the pavement followed by a groan and some laughter. Steve and his son were shooting hoops. Keith gravitated toward the sound, and suddenly found himself missing his daughter terribly.
Emmy had been a daddy's girl since the day she was born. Even as an infant, she had never cried in Keith's arms, and as she got older, he would take her out to shoot hoops and discuss important things. When she couldn't get a date to the eighth grade dance 'because she was a geek', they had talked about what boys her age liked, and they had decided together that if she had to pretend to be dumb to get a boy to like her, then he probably wasn't worth the effort. They had also agreed that maybe she needed to be a better listener if she wanted more friends.
Sometimes, their conversations were far from the typical father-daughter discussions. When Em was in her early teens, he had to explain to her while playing HORSE what could happen if she didn't stop hacking into government computer systems. Years later, during a very physical game of one-on-one, he'd had to convince her that it wasn't her fault the U.S. government had used her research to produce weapons of mass destruction which it sold to allies who used them to commit genocide. Under the hoop, he had tried to convince her to be more patient and understanding with O, and from the free-throw line, he had told her how proud he was that she had decided to become a cop.
The easy give and take as they played a game of half-court one-on-one or HORSE had always left Keith feeling closer to his daughter, more in touch with her. It was something they could fully share. He didn't have to be a genius to read her strategy, and with the improvements Olivia had made on his prosthetics over the years, he was physically able to keep up with her. Even now, the thwap-thwap of a bouncing basketball could instantly take him back to a time when life with Emily had been innocent, when she had been naïve about her unique gifts and how people would try to use her, and all her mischief had been just for fun.
Checking his watch, Keith decided he had just enough time to shoot a few baskets before he needed to be back in Brentwood. Maybe it would put him in a better frame of mind before he went back to work with the taskforce and help him channel his worry over 'what if's' in to positive action instead of paralyzing fear. He grimaced at that thought, knowing well how, with his high-tech prosthetic legs, for him, extreme fear, (and anger, stress, grief, and illness) could, quite literally, become paralyzing.
As he came around the end of the hedge, he saw Steve was in a hopeless position. His son was a good six inches taller and had a wingspan like a pterodactyl. Steve was trapped in a corner of the court and there was no way for him to move or shoot without fouling Steven or losing possession of the ball.
"Beach bum," Keith called, "Over here," and he held his hands up, ready for the ball.
First Steve glared at the epithet Keith used against him years ago, but then he grinned, faked right, and passed the ball to Keith on his left. Steven was so caught off guard by the sudden two-on-one, all he could manage to do was turn around and watch in confusion as Keith took the ball right up the center and made a lay up for two.
"No fair!" Steven complained as he got the rebound and took it out from under the basket.
"Kid," Keith told him, "you're less than half my age, your dad's even older than I am. . . "
"Oh, thanks," Steve muttered as Keith continued talking.
". . . from what I hear, he's been shot more often than his own police weapon, and I have no legs. What are you whining about?"
Steve moved in on the other side of his son to help Keith guard him.
Steven just laughed. What Keith had said was true, and he couldn't deny a word of it. "You still have the advantage of me, though, and you know it."
"Well, then, son, you'll just have to play a little harder," Steve teased, "or don't you think you're up to a challenge from a couple of old men?"
"Speak for yourself," Keith told him.
"You really want me to play a little harder dad?"
"Yeah. Come on, boy, show us what you got."
"Ok, you asked for it."
Steve and Keith had been guarding him closely, and Steven thought, age having decreased their agility, being too close to him could be almost as bad as being too far away. He dribbled the ball lazily toward the basket for a few moments, deciding how to turn the situation to his advantage, then turned to his left toward his dad fast. Just as he anticipated, Keith followed him around, and now both of them were in front of him. Before Keith could stop his sideways motion, Steven spun back around to the right and went straight for the basket.
As Steven went jogging easily down the court, his dad took off after him. Unfortunately, Keith hadn't quite got where he was going yet, and as he ran after his son, Steve tripped over his teammate's foot and both men fell. Oblivious to the minor collision behind him, Steven just continued to the basket. He had never mastered the knack of the three-pointer, but he could dunk, and by the time he made the shot and recovered his own rebound, his father and Keith were tangled in a heap on the ground.
"Guys?" He cringed at what he saw. Both of the older men were clearly in pain and embarrassed. "Gee, I'm sorry. What happened?"
"He was in my way," Steve grumbled.
"He ran me down," Keith growled.
Steven laughed as he helped them up, satisfied now that the worst injury had been to their pride.
"It's your ball," Steven said, as he bounced it between them and backed off. "Try to stay out of each other's way this time."
He laughed again, knowing he would not be repeating what they said to him after that.
"Ok," Steve said, pointing to the map. "We'll have units stationed here, here, and here. Keith, you and I will be in the chopper, and Ron will be in the security office watching on the closed circuit TV. Then, when the motorcade gets to the first checkpoint and splits up, Cheryl and Al will head out with Emily and Moretti in separate cars."
Mark and Ron had called in a few favors and arranged a planned visit from a mid-level Chinese government functionary from their Foreign Trade Ministry so that Steve could dispatch Leigh Ann to take care of the necessary security arrangements. Now, the task force had had the whole morning to finalize their plans before the practice runs tomorrow. Only Steve, Mark, Ron, and the Minister of Trade himself knew the visit would be cancelled soon after Moretti was safely in hiding.
"I still wish I could ride along with her," Keith said.
"I know, pal, but we both know why that won't work."
Keith just nodded.
Steve had discussed the possibility of Keith participating in his daughter's escort with Keith privately the previous night, and Keith had explained how his computerized prosthetics could become a liability if there were any problems.
"Now, we will have medical personnel and an ambulance standing by at the courthouse, just in case," Steve continued, looking at the four paramedics Jesse had recommended for the detail, and added, "the chopper will also be fully equipped, right?"
"Yes, sir," answered one of the men who would be riding along with him and Keith.
"Ok, then," Steve said, looking at his watch and seeing to his dismay that it was just past noon, "I have to be going now." He turned to Cheryl and Ron and said, "I leave things in your capable hands. We meet tomorrow at eight at the Federal Building on Spring Street."
"Ok," Cheryl said. "We've had a busy morning, and we're in the home stretch, now. Lets break for lunch. We'll all meet back here at one."
Keith sighed as he left the table, Mark was a great cook, and his grilled steaks, baked potatoes and coleslaw had fortified Keith to go back to the taskforce for the afternoon. Ron was right in what he said yesterday, it *was* good to have Steve Sloan back in charge. Ron and Cheryl had shared command well while Steve was off, but a couple of times, through miscommunication, they had issued conflicting orders, and since it was a universal truth that local cops were wary of Feds, more often than not, the men had bristled slightly at Ron's instructions. With Steve back, even on half days, Ron and Cheryl were no longer commanding, but advising, and ultimately, all the orders for the LAPD officers came from their Chief.
Steve's authoritative presence had eased a lot of hidden tension on the taskforce, and things were already proceeding more smoothly, but what comforted Keith most was the fact that Steve, of all the cops working to get Emmy and Moretti back safely, seemed to have a vested interest in the operation. For some inexplicable reason, Steve apparently believed he had a personal stake in Emmy's welfare, and while his former relationship to Olivia might explain some of it, Keith thought Steve's concern went deeper. He knew Steve hadn't had the time to get to know his daughter well before she went underground, but he couldn't shake the impression that he genuinely cared for her.
Keith gave his wife a peck on the cheek and then got out of the way so she and Mark could begin clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. By now, Steven and Steve were out shooting hoops just as they had done yesterday, and Maribeth was still asleep. Keith felt like a stranger, a visitor to their lives, as he prepared to head off yet again. The task force was still cataloging the evidence gathered from Gorini's warehouse, and he had been asked to help find the whereabouts of various people who had been caught on tape so that the FBI and the LAPD could monitor their movements the day of the trial and make sure they were staying well clear of Emmy and Moretti. Since anybody on those tapes was a potential blackmail victim, it was conceivable that any one of them could be coerced into attempting a hit, and Steve had decided it would be best to know where they were the day of the trial. So, as everyone else at the beach house was settling in for a lazy afternoon, he was off to work another four to six hours.
Keith didn't begrudge the others their leisure. At his age, Mark deserved all the down time he could stand, and Keith knew O couldn't handle the stress of working with the task force any more. He knew she'd been sleeping poorly, her worries and fears keeping her up nights, and he was grateful that her friends could help take her mind off things. Steve's health was still more fragile than the older man would like to admit, and so Keith didn't mind his taking the afternoons off, and he knew both Maribeth and Steven would be going in to work later when he had the time to take it easy. Still, to be the only one heading off to the daily grind while the others got some much deserved R & R left him feeling a bit put out. The one thing that eased his displeasure was the knowledge that he was doing something to help his daughter.
As he stopped in the guestroom to brush his teeth before leaving, Keith could hear Maribeth snoring through the wall and had to wonder again, how Steve had managed to sleep through the racket for thirty years. He was glad for Steve that his wife and son had been able to change their schedules to spend more time with him. Steven was now working a split shift, four hours in the morning while his dad was at work and four hours in the evening before his mom headed off for the eleven-to-seven shift. It was a tough day, but the young Dr. Sloan could handle it, and it allowed him time with his mother and father together and with each of them separately. Maribeth would be up in time to help with dinner and then spend time with her husband before she headed off to work. Added to their schedules, his own comings and goings made for a complicated household, but at least so far, everyone had managed to get together at least once a day.
Keith left the beach house intent on getting back to the taskforce, but the thwap-thwap of the basketball distracted him as it had the other day. Remembering how much better he'd felt after their little game of two on one the previous day, he headed toward the garage, intending to shoot just a couple of baskets with Steve and Steven before he left. He stopped as he approached the bushes, though, when he heard the younger Sloan say, "Your ball, Dad." Then, "What's the deal with you and Keith and Liv?"
Keith froze, wondering himself how Steve would answer that question.
"What do you mean, son?"
'Good stall,' thought Keith. 'Buy some thinking time.'
"Well," Steven said, "there are some rumors at the hospital that you and she had an affair and almost got married. I've also heard mention that she saved your life, and well, Uncle Jesse told me you saved hers, too. I was wondering, which of the stories are true?"
For a long time, all Keith heard was the lazy thwap-thwap of the basketball. Finally, Steve answered.
"All of them, probably, and then some."
Keith was surprised, wondering just what the rumors were and how much more Steve and Olivia had shared if they were all true. There was a long silence again, broken only by the sound of Steve bouncing the basketball.
"Dad?" Steven finally prompted.
Keith heard a huge sigh. "Well, for one thing, it wasn't an affair." Steve said, "She was. . . my soul mate, at least for a while. We were practically living together for two months."
Keith had once suggested he and O move in together, but she would have none of it. She told him it was a sin. In fact, the first time they made love, right after they were engaged, she'd run from him crying, saying she had disgraced herself, and that they should have waited. Suddenly the sensations from his left foot went numb. He shifted his weight and shook it and soon the feeling returned.
"When I wasn't staying at her place, she was sleeping in the guest room here."
"Why didn't she just stay with you in the apartment?" Steven asked.
Keith was annoyed to hear Steve chuckle and say, "She couldn't bring herself to do that. Not as long as we weren't married."
"Huh? You mean you practically lived together, you spent the night at her place, and you didn't do anything?"
Keith was shocked by Steven's question, though he had to admit, Emily would have no compunction about asking the same thing. He couldn't imagine how awkward Steve felt, but he continued to listen, curious about that time in his wife's life that another man had shared with her.
"Oh, uh, we did. . . things," Steve stammered, "just, um, not under your granddad's roof."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh," Steven said knowingly.
"Now, don't get that idea," Steve snapped. "At the time, we thought we would be together forever."
Keith was no fool. He knew Steve and Olivia had made love, but it angered him to hear Steve talking about it in the driveway under the basketball hoop. It should be a private thing. Even after thirty years, a gentleman should never kiss and tell. O had never given any details, but she did tell Keith it happened a number of times and Steve had always been good to her. His foot went numb again, and this time, shaking it didn't bring back the feeling.
"So, what happened, Dad?"
The basketball started bouncing again. Finally, Steve continued.
"Son, there's a lot of history here you know nothing about. I. . . I'm willing to tell you, but you have to understand, it all happened before I met your mom, ok?"
"Ok, Dad, I can go with that."
Keith listened, his mood growing darker all the while, as Steve told his son about Olivia's past, and he was shocked to hear the things his wife had shared with this Hollywood cop that she had never once mentioned to him. He'd never known her granddad had beaten her. He'd noticed the scars on her back and her belly, but when he asked, she'd just shrugged and told him they were the result of a childhood accident.
Though Keith knew about the fire that killed her family, O had never spoken to him about the day she'd come upon her home in ashes, the body bags lined up beside the moving truck, one of them waiting for her. He couldn't imagine the guilt she felt that they were only there because her family was waiting for her to come home from camp before they moved to the house old man Bradley had left them. And he simply couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she had actually tried to crawl into the empty body bag.
And he couldn't believe she'd never told him. Now both his legs ached.
As Steve went on to tell his son about the first time Ted attacked, Keith was horrified to learn that his former best friend had tried to rape Olivia. For months after the terrible day when he'd been crippled, he'd been so wrapped up in pain and self-pity over the loss of his legs and his career that he hadn't given a thought to anything else except the shame that a tiny slip of a woman had been the one to save him. Even at the trial, he'd merely made his appearance, testified, and left. He'd never cared to hear O's story.
Still, he was furious that she had never told him. The pins and needles started, working their way up from his feet to his knees.
"Wow, she had a rough life, didn't she?"
"Yeah, son, and I don't think it ever got much easier."
Keith's heart sank, and his legs continued to sting. Her life had been with him for the last thirty years, and there had been lots of hard times, but he always thought there had been plenty of good times, too. He knew O had agreed to let Steve read her letters, letters that Keith had never been invited to see, even when she'd written them about him. Now, he wondered just what was in those letters that led Steve to believe her life over the past thirty years had been one of enduring hardship. 'If she was so miserable,' he thought in a fury, 'why didn't she just say so. There are thousands of divorce attorneys in the world.'
Then Steve went on to talk about what Olivia had done for him when he was shot.
"She did save my life, son," Steve said, "It would have killed me to have to leave the force then. I'm only walking now because of her. She was there when I needed her, and she was able to do what needed to be done. At the time, she was probably the only surgeon in the country with the skills and knowledge to save my legs."
Keith felt his chest tighten as he suddenly, for the very first time, realized that O had done for Steve Sloan what she hadn't been able to do for him. Before he could decide how he felt about that, Steve had moved on in his story, and whatever the emotion was that had been bubbling to the surface, it just settled in beside his growing rage. The pins and needles had turned to a fiery pain.
Father and son both had a good laugh as Steve told how Olivia had given him a lesson in self-defense, and then, to Keith's great embarrassment and growing temper, Steve haltingly told his son about his first time with O. He didn't give many details, but even the most unimaginative person could fill in the blanks.
". . . and when I finally let her see. . . all of my scars, son, well, she touched them all. Kissed them, actually, and told me why I shouldn't be ashamed."
Keith was mortified to hear Steve discuss such intimate matters with his son, but his embarrassment never extended to the fact that he was eavesdropping on an intensely private discussion. If he could see the father and son, he would have realized that their close bond allowed for this sort of conversation without any sense of shame. Unfortunately, as he was lurking behind the bushes, all he could do was listen to the lurid details, filtered through his suddenly foul mood, and imagine the old man, bragging like a satyr, as he preened before an awestruck protégé.
"I still remember what she told me," Steve said. "That night she said, 'Nothing is ugly when seen through the eyes of love.' I didn't believe her. . . until she actually held me close to her. I'd been so sure she'd turn away."
"She really loved you, didn't she, dad?"
Keith could hear the gloating smile when Steve said, "Yeah, son, she did, and I loved her, too."
Keith couldn't help but remember that O had run away from him after she'd hacked off his legs, and yet she'd held Steve close. True, he had canceled their engagement, but she'd stayed away from him for twelve years before she came home with the beach bum she had made love to, the one whose scars she had touched. Never once had she told him the loss of his legs didn't matter, in fact, she had spent their entire marriage trying to make his prosthetics more realistic, once even going so far as to suggest that they try to use genetically engineered tissues to regenerate flesh and blood limbs for him. Now he was learning that the first time she was with Sloan she had assured him that his flaws didn't bother her. Keith had a sudden, fierce pain in both legs that left him gasping quietly for air, and then nothing. It felt as if he were once again wearing the old fiberglass models he had started with over forty years ago.
Keith wanted desperately to leave, but with his legs gone dead, he was rooted to the spot. The only way he could move now would be to call for help, and he couldn't do that. So, he was forced to listen, as Steve recounted for his son all the wonders he and O had shared.
"If it hadn't been for that, I never would have had the courage to ask your mother out. I'd have been too self-conscious, and I would have drawn into myself and hidden for the rest of my life, I think."
O had only known Steve a few months, and yet when he was feeling unsure of himself, she had built him up. She had known Keith since childhood, and yet, when he was utterly shattered, his life in ruins, she had run away. A new pain started now, this time in his chest, but he ignored it. He clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, and would have gone after Sloan had he not been stuck to the spot by his malfunctioning legs.
Steve told how Ted had broken out of prison again and gone after him and Olivia. He gave a brief account of how, despite a concussion and a sliced open palm, he had managed to finally stop Ted and save Olivia. He even played up the tragedy of it all for his son by telling him how valiantly O had fought back and confessing his horror when he realized he had shot her, too. The man was so sickeningly, modestly proud of himself Keith thought he was going to puke.
"Wow. After all that, why didn't you marry her, Dad?" Steven asked.
'Why indeed?' Keith wondered.
There was another long pause, before Steve finally said, "That's kind of complicated."
'Do tell,' Keith thought bitterly.
"Please tell me, Dad."
"Well, I started having doubts when I watched Liv and Keith consoling Ted as he died. They both told him they forgave him, and they meant it, son." Steve paused for thought. "To this day, I don't know how they did it, but they really, truly forgave that. . . that sick son of a bitch. . . for what he did. That's when I knew Keith was a better man than I am."
Now Keith knew what shame really was. He felt horrified by himself, by his thoughts.
"Dad. . . "
"No, son," Steve interrupted as his son sought to reassure him. "At the time your granddad tried to convince me that I was good enough for Liv, and he did for a while, but now I know better, and it doesn't bother me so much. I know I'm not the scum of the earth, but Keith, he really has a good, forgiving heart, and Liv is sweet and pure."
"And is that why you didn't marry her?"
"Well, no, not really. Like I said, your granddad managed to convince me for a while that I was as good a man as Keith, but the night of the rehearsal dinner, Keith made a very touching toast to Liv and me, and when it was over, he slipped out. Olivia followed him, and I followed her."
Keith remembered that evening. He and Olivia had sat out in the cold discussing what might have been. They hadn't known until the next day that Steve had been there.
"I overheard them talking," Steve said, "I probably shouldn't have been eavesdropping. . . "
Keith felt another flash of deep shame.
". . . but now I'm glad I did. I learned that until six weeks before our wedding, she'd have left me for him. All he would have had to do was ask."
"Wait, Dad, your wedding?"
Keith heard Steve laugh. "Yes, son, our wedding. I didn't exactly leave her at the altar, but when the minister said, 'let him speak now, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace,' I said, 'Wait'."
"No way," Steven gasped.
"Oh, yes. I took Liv and Keith outside, and I gave her a choice. She chose him."
Keith felt the pain in his chest fade, and a deep pleasant warmth flushed through him, right down to his toes. She *had* chosen him, hadn't she? And didn't that matter more than anything? Quietly, he turned around and headed for the car. All that mattered was that O had chosen him. Everything else was incidental. It didn't matter what Steve and his son discussed. Olivia was his wife, and had been for thirty years, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, all of which they had shared in abundance.
"I can't believe that, Dad," Steven said.
"Neither could I. . . " Steve admitted.
Suddenly, his legs screaming with pain, Keith was enraged again, at himself for his stupidity and for listening to the private conversation and at the beach bum for his false modesty and very real arrogance and smugness. A tiny, rational part of his brain kept him moving, limping to his car so he could drive off to Brentwood before he beat the hell out of the Deputy Chief of Police.
Unfortunately, he never heard Steve say, ". . . but I think it was the best decision she could have ever made. They've had some difficult times, but he was there for her. Even with her daughter missing, she is happier with him now than she ever was with me, happier than she ever could have been."
"And you have Mom," Steven added.
"Yes, I have your mother, and you, and I have never missed Olivia since. I'm glad to see her again, son, but I don't need her like I did then. You and your mom filled up all the empty spaces inside me a long, long time ago."
"Hey, kid, we goin' runnin' tonight?"
Emily looked at her dinner apathetically. "Don't think so, Moretti."
"Why not?"
"Because I feel like something someone has just scraped off the bottom of his shoe," she said miserably, "and I'm really not up for it."
"Oh, ok. Then I'll go on my own."
"No!" she snapped, "It's not safe for you on your own."
His face fell. "I just need to get some exercise," he said. "I'm sick of being cooped up like this."
Em smiled weakly. Since he'd made it to the top of the hill, Moretti had been looking forward to their morning and evening runs. She was amazed at the change that had taken place in him, and was loath to disappoint him now. He was just getting into this new healthy lifestyle, and he needed all the support he could get.
"Tell you what," she said, hoping to placate him, "we will walk to the top of the hill and back, then I am going to go to bed."
Finally, Moretti noticed she was ill. "You sure, Em? You don't look so good."
"I'll be fine." She waved him off as he started fussing over her. "I just have a case of the creeping ick."
"Feverish and nauseous?" Moretti asked.
She nodded.
"Achy?"
"Yeah."
"That's the crawling crud," he corrected her.
"Thank you Dr. Moretti," she teased. "Get my shoes for me, will ya?"
'Thirty-six hours to go,' she told herself, looking at the kitchen clock. 'Lord, give me strength.'
"Tell me again," Keith demanded.
It was ten o'clock, and he was still haranguing the taskforce. He'd only taken one break that afternoon, and he hadn't once let up with his pissy mood and attitude. Once he'd finished locating the people on the tapes, he'd insisted they review all the plans for transporting Emily and Moretti again. Everyone had been humoring him, because though he'd been pleasant and cheerful before lunch, they figured he was finally feeling the pressure of knowing how close they were to the trial. Cioffi and Donovan, who thought they were the only ones who knew about his prosthetic legs, had noticed he was limping more than usual, too.
"Look, Keith," Ron said, "we're all tired, and this will all make a lot more sense when we do our practice runs tomorrow. I suggest we just go home now and sleep on it."
The others nodded in agreement and started to get up from the table.
"Listen, dammit," Keith snapped, and they all sighed and sat down. "My kid, my only kid, has been calling the shots since she disappeared with this mafia thug. Why? Because you people don't know which of your own can be trusted and which are waiting to blow her away. Three of you," he looked accusingly at Charles Donovan and Alfredo Cioffi who cowered under his glare, "including Steve Sloan, have been close enough to speak to her personally, and haven't been able to offer her any help. In the past week alone, she has handed you five dirty cops, six low level mobsters, including Joey Russo, who happened to be a goldmine, and a spy in Chief Sloan's private office."
All were relieved that Leigh Ann had left, for there was no telling what this worried, angry father might say in his present mood.
"Look, Keith," Cheryl tried to calm him.
"Oh, shut up!"
She did. Maybe he just needed to be heard.
"She did all this by knowingly and willingly walking into two ambushes for you people. At the second one, she even left the bad guys tied up in a bow for you with a note telling you what to hold them on so they didn't disappear before you incompetents could find some reason charge them."
"We do realize that, Keith," Al Cioffi said, "and I will be recommending her for commendation when this is all over."
"Stick your commendation where the sun don't shine, Al. I really don't give a damn about a medal, and if we don't get this just right, the only place she'll be wearing that scrap of ribbon Sloan pins on her dress uniform will be to her own funeral. I am worried about my daughter's life."
"We know that, sir, we are too, that's why we need to be fresh for the practice runs tomorrow. . . "
Keith didn't have to blast Charles Donovan to shut him up. A withering glare and the young man's argument ground to a halt.
"You people," he glared at everyone in turn, "don't know your asses from a hole in the ground, and, God Almighty, I don't know why, but my Emmy is trusting the lot of you to watch her back, so, we are going to stay here and go over these plans until I am convinced you can do just that."
This time, Ron stood up as he spoke, and the rest followed his lead. "Well, we're just gonna have to convince you in the morning, Keith, because I am officially calling it a day." Keith started to speak again, but Ron silenced him by simply saying, "Now," and turning his back.
As the meeting broke up, Keith sat there fuming because his legs had failed him, and he was unable to stand up and storm off in a red-hot rage.
"It's about damned time you got rid of her," Keith grumbled as Leigh Ann left the security office to run the errands Steve had manufactured for her. "We need to be practicing the real plans, not the crap we devised for her benefit."
Steve simply raised an eyebrow at the worried man. The trial was just twenty-four hours away, now, and he could forgive Keith his foul temper. As usually happened in similar situations, after a tearful, joyous reunion with Emily, he would probably approach Steve apologetically and thank him for getting her back safely.
When confirmation came that Leigh Ann had indeed left the courthouse, Steve gave the order to put the first of their plans in action. With two trusted officers from Cheryl's division playing the parts of Emily and Moretti, they watched the operation on the closed circuit televisions in the security office, and he and Keith each made copious notes about gaps in coverage and slow transitions from one protected area to another. They ran the primary escape route from the courthouse to the attached parking deck five times before both men were satisfied that it was flawless. Then they did the same with each of their alternative plans.
They broke for lunch at noon, and Steve reluctantly left Cheryl in charge of running the transfer plans from the parking garage to the police station and from the police station to the various safe houses they had gone to great lengths to make absolutely safe this time.
"It's not that I don't trust you," he told her, dragging his feet on the way to his car. After two consecutive days of coming home with Keith on time and with no argument, Maribeth had trusted him to drive himself to and from work. The independence had gone a long way toward improving Steve's mood.
"Yeah, Steve, I know that," she told him sincerely. "You just can't stand being out of the action. So, go home, have lunch, relax, work on your free throws." She winked and said, "I've been talking to Steven. Take it easy for the next few weeks and get back to one hundred percent. Then come back to work and you can be a slave driver again."
Steve laughed and Cheryl grinned as he settled behind the wheel. He had always been a demanding man to work with, but he had always been fair and understanding, too.
"You are missed, my friend," Cheryl assured him, "We won't forget you."
"Em? How ya feelin'?" Moretti asked as he entered the bedroom with a bowl of steaming chicken soup.
"Lower than worm droppings," she said, eyes still closed. "What time is it?"
"Noon. Ya slept through breakfast and gave me hell when I woke ya for our run, so I figured ya needed your rest."
Her eyes flew open, and she sat half way up before she collapsed back to the bed grimacing in pain. Gasping, she asked, "You didn't go out alone, did you?"
"Hell, no, Em," Moretti assured her. "You've sacrificed too much to keep me alive, kid. I'm not gonna do something stupid like that at this point in the game. I brought ya some lunch."
"What is it?"
"Chicken soup. Good for what ails ya."
She made a face and turned to the wall.
Moretti was concerned. Em's color was off, and she had been sleeping off and on for the past twenty hours. At least twice now, he had heard her puking in the bathroom, too, but what really worried him was the pain in her back. It could be totally unrelated, or it could be part of something worse than anything he was competent to handle. He just didn't have the experience to know. In his business, he'd been required to deal with broken noses, busted knuckles, beatings, and gunshot wounds from time to time, but now he was out of his depth.
"Em?"
"Wha'?"
"I think you need to see a doctor."
"Nah, it's just a virus. I'll see my mama tomorrow. She'll take care of me."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Would you draw me a good hot bath? I think it might make me feel better."
"Ok."
He left the lunch tray by her bed hoping she would eat some, and then went off to draw her bath.
Steve had settled comfortably in bed to read more of Liv's letters by nine that night. Maribeth had left for work early as she had a patient who had taken a turn for the worse, and Keith was still at the courthouse making final preparations for tomorrow. Steve had to admit, the guy was one hell of a cop, even after twenty years of retirement. It was a damned shame his injuries had kept him behind a desk for most of his career, and every time Steve noticed him limping, he felt the sad irony that the man's wife had given him the one thing she had not been able to give her own husband--full mobility.
He was almost through the second volume of letters and had just read a joyous account of Emily's final return home and her making peace with her mother, when suddenly, he reached for the other volume and turned back to the letter she had written when Keith had retired. Much of the language was the same. She was 'delighted' and 'overjoyed' to have them close to her again. She was confident that they would 'have a lot of good times in the future' and she was thrilled that they would 'finally have the chance simply to enjoy one another's company again.' Both letters said, 'It's so nice to just *be* together for a change, without the world intruding.'
He closed the first volume, and turned to the next letter in the second book. Emily had entered the police academy, and Liv had started to worry again. Steve felt inexplicably sad for her. Nothing was ever easy in her life.
There was a soft knock at the door, and he closed the book and called, "Come in."
The door opened, and Liv stood there, in a yellow flannel nightgown and robe. Her red hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and he face was shining as if it were freshly scrubbed. She had floppy pink elephant slippers on her feet.
"Hey," he said softly, "how are you doing?"
She put a trembling hand to her forehead, and in a voice choked with tears, said, "I'm just so tired. Mark's already off to bed, Steven was called back into the hospital, Maribeth is at work, and Keith hasn't come home yet."
She sniffed and pressed her knuckles to her mouth for a moment to stifle the threatening sobs, then, as tears spilled over, she folded her arms and continued talking, her gaze focused on the floor.
"I was hoping you wouldn't mind some company. I tried to make an early night of it, but I'm just so scared about tomorrow. Keith's been too busy to talk the past couple of days, and he's been just a mean bastard when we have spoken, so I don't even know what's going on. Oh, God," she gasped. "What if something goes wrong?"
"Olivia," Steve said firmly but gently, "come here."
She stood in the doorway for a moment, struggling to control her emotions, but when she looked up to see her old friend sitting on the edge of his bed with open arms offering to comfort her with a hug, she let it all out and ran to him sobbing. She threw herself against him with such force it knocked him over into the bed. The position was awkward, and his aging back soon began to ache, so he maneuvered her onto the mattress, pulled her slippers off and dropped them to the floor, and drew his legs up to lie comfortably beside her on top of the covers.
"Shh, it's all right sweetheart," Steve soothed. "Nothing will go wrong. They are running scenarios until they can execute them flawlessly. It's all gonna go like clockwork tomorrow. You'll see."
"Really?" she sniffed.
"Really."
"Promise?"
How could he not? "I promise."
She gave him a weak smile and sat up beside him on the bed.
"Can I just sit here a while?"
"Sure." Steve sat up, too.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them leaning against the headboard, before Steve said, "You never told me Emily was arrested during Kenny and Sue's wedding."
Liv shrugged. "It didn't seem relevant."
"It wasn't," Steve told her, "but it's still quite a big deal to leave out."
"I suppose. I was just so furious when it happened. Ken and Sue had been dating fifteen years before they finally got married."
"That long?"
"Yes. They'd hit one pitfall after another, and finally, on the big day, the Feds bust into the church, hold us all at gunpoint." Even now, fifteen years later, Liv was seething mad. "When Jud, Keith, and Kenney tried to resist, they slammed them to the floor so hard it knocked one of Keith's prosthetics off and they busted one of Jud's ribs. One of them stepped on the train of Sue's dress and left a muddy footprint. Emmy was frisked in the aisle, and they hauled her out in cuffs. Of course, Keith and I had to leave the wedding to see about a lawyer and bail and whatnot. I could have strangled Emily. She never made things easy on us."
Steve chuckled. "I bet you wouldn't have her any other way, would you?"
Liv sighed, "No, I wouldn't."
Then she started to hiccup, trying hard to fight off the tears that again threatened to overwhelm. As Steve slipped one arm around her and pulled her close, she lost the battle, and leaned against him sobbing again. He kissed her hair and rocked her gently and kept promising her it would be all right.
"Hey, Moretti," Emily said, as he flipped channels mindlessly. The bath had made her feel better, and now she was up watching TV with him. They should probably get some sleep, but they were both too wired to rest,
"Wha?"
"You're Catholic, right?"
"Yeah, how'd ya know?"
"Italian. . . Mob. . . It wasn't a stretch," she said with a weak laugh in her voice.
Moretti chuckled with her. "No, I s'pose not. Why you askin'?"
"When's the last time you went to confession?"
Now he laughed bitterly.
"Been over forty years, kid. Before I killed my first man. After that, there didn't seem much point to it."
"Oh, I see. Once there was no going back, that 'Go, and sin no more,' part became a sort of sticking point, didn't it?"
Moretti cast her an angry glance, but when he saw no mischief in her eyes, he realized that he had heard no sarcasm in her voice. She wasn't teasing, just discussing the facts of his wasted life.
His face rumpled into a frown. When had he started to think of his life as wasted? Thinking back, he realized it started the day this amazing kid, with a loving family, friends, and a good job had decided to put her ass on the line for him. She was making a huge sacrifice for him. It was the first time a 'good' person had ever given a damn about him.
"You're a good kid, Em. Your parents must be proud."
Emmy smiled, "I hope so. Now, answer me. Why did you quit going to confession?"
"Like you said, I guess. When you repent, you're supposed to try to stop what you were doin' wrong. After I killed that first guy, I knew I wasn't even gonna try to stop. After that, confession was kinda like lyin' to God."
There was a long pause before Em asked, "So, when the trial is over, and after the LAPD has had their crack at you, do you plan on making a fresh start?"
"Kid, by then I plan on bein' dead."
"No ducking the question, Moretti. I want an answer."
Moretti thought for a long, long time. He'd gotten used to having these kinds of discussions with Emmy, but she always managed to stump him with the simplest questions. Finally, he had an answer.
"If I survive, yeah, I wanna start over. I wanna be someone my kid won't be ashamed of, even if he never meets me. . . even if he never wants to talk to me. I wanna become someone that he won't hate."
Emmy let his words settle for a bit, then she asked, "Tomorrow could get pretty hairy. You wanna go to confession tonight?"
Moretti thought about it, and said, "Yeah, I think so."
Emily just nodded and got up carefully from her chair and headed to the bathroom for some more Advil.
It was eleven thirty when Keith limped back the hall to the guestroom at the beach house. His legs ached as never before, and he knew it was due to stress. He hadn't been this worried since Emily had contracted the BioGen virus. As one of his old friends after another had succumbed, his little girl had held on, and when others reached a plateau in their recovery, she had continued to fight. It had taken her over a year, but she had made it back to work. The only lingering problem she had was an intolerance for cold. He was sad that she could never safely come home for another Christmas, but his baby was still alive, and that was enough for him.
As he walked past the master bedroom, Keith noticed the door was half open and the light was on, but when he looked in, he saw Steve stretched out asleep on the bed.
'Must have dozed off sooner than he expected,' Keith thought. 'Probably isn't as fully recovered as he thinks he is yet.'
Keith had almost forgiven Steve the cutting comments he had made the other day on the basketball court, and so, he moved into the room to turn the lights off before he pulled the door shut. Then he spotted the pink elephant slippers and the shock of red hair, and for a moment, the world started to spin.
So, that was why O couldn't bear to go back to the house in Brentwood. That was why Steve needed her TLC when Maribeth was at work. Keith felt like such an ass.
He took a step toward the bed, intent on having it out here and now, and gasped in pain as his legs reacted to the emotional overload. Then he shook his head to clear his thoughts.
'One crisis at a time,' he told himself. 'Get Em back first, then deal with this. . . betrayal.'
He crept painfully out of the room and headed off to bed.
At quarter to twelve, Olivia awoke feeling at ease for the first time since Steve had called her about Emily that early morning, ages ago, it seemed. She was still very tired, but he had promised her it would be ok, and she had always taken him at his word. Now she could go to bed and rest.
She looked at the face of the man sleeping soundly beside her. He still looked so young in his sleep. She kissed the tip of her index finger and pressed it lightly to his cheek, then she whispered a thank you, slipped on her elephant slippers, cut the light, and scurried off to bed, pulling the door shut behind her.
When she got into the guestroom, Keith was already making ready for bed.
"Did you get all the security plans worked out?" Liv asked.
"Yeah," Keith muttered, pulling off his shirt.
"And you're satisfied with what they're doing," she said, as she turned down the covers.
"I suppose."
"Good. If their plans meet with your approval I know they have to be ready for anything."
Keith just grunted, and Olivia figured he was preoccupied with tomorrow.
"So," she continued chatting, as she kicked off her slippers and settled on Keith's side of the bed. Now that she was feeling better, she knew he probably needed to talk out some of his tension, "tomorrow Moretti testifies, we get Emmy back, and it's over, right?"
"Something like that," he said distractedly as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his prosthetics.
"I can't wait to see her again. I've been so worried."
"I know."
She reached for his prosthetics, intending to go wipe them down for him.
"Leave it!" He snapped. "It's late. I'll do it in the morning."
"Ok." They sat in silence until Olivia broke it. "Keith?"
"What?" he snapped.
"You seem worried. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. I'm fine," Keith said gruffly, "just tired. Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."
"Ok."
As Olivia walked round to her side of the bed, Keith maneuvered himself under the covers on his side.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," Liv said leaning toward him as she puckered up for her goodnight kiss. To her surprise, Keith turned away, switched out the light, and settled into bed as if he hadn't even noticed.
"Sleep well, darling," she said softly, and he murmured something incoherent back at her. *Poor guy,* she thought, *he must be tired if he can nod off that quickly.*
Liv settled down for the night, curling up close to her husband, feeling safe and warm, and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep herself.
Moretti sat in the confessional and waited for the priest. He was surprised at what a comfortable fit it was. 'They must be building them bigger,' he thought. Then he grinned as he realized he was smaller. He'd lost over thirty pounds and nearly six inches from his waist since Emmy had put him on the diet and exercise routine.
The screen slid aside, and his smile fell away.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he began. "It has been forty years since my last confession."
He started with the little stuff, lying, cursing, stealing, masturbating, fornicating, and worked his way up through pimping, gambling, and dealing drugs, all of which were deeds he had facilitated or performed. He went on to tell of information he had suppressed or released knowing his action would lead to men's deaths. So far, the priest had taken things quite well.
"And Father, I have personally killed seventeen men."
He paused a beat, expecting the priest to speak. The he remembered the words. He couldn't believe he had forgotten the words! "I am sorry for these and all of my sins," he hastened to add.
There was a long silence. Moretti began to fear that he had drawn a priest who would refuse to grant absolution, but he knew that was ridiculous. They were required to absolve anyone who confessed.
Finally, the priest spoke.
"You seem to have led quite the busy life."
"Yes, Father," Moretti was grateful that the priest had taken a nonjudgmental tone.
"Why wait so long to confess, my son?"
"Because it wouldn't have done any good if I didn't stop."
"And now you plan to stop?"
Moretti took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
"I plan to die tomorrow, Father. I'm gonna to give state's evidence against a former. . . colleague. If they don't kill me to shut me up, they'll kill me to get even."
"I see." The priest was silent a long time again, then, "And you're hoping this last minute confession will get you into Heaven."
It was Moretti's turn to be silent and think. When he spoke again, he was surprised by what he heard.
"No, Father," he choked on his words, unfamiliar emotion rising up within him. After a shaky breath, he continued. "I'm hopin' it will get me a new start. I don't wanna go into the courthouse as a criminal lookin' to save his sorry hide. I just wanna be a man, like any other, lookin' to do the right thing."
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Moretti found himself crying. He continued, tears welling in his eyes and streaming down his face all the while.
"I have a kid, Father, and he's a good man. He don't know he's mine, but he knows who I am, and if he has any sense at all, he hates me for what I done. Before I die, I'd like to be someone he wouldn't hate, and I can only do that if I start fresh. Once in my life, I'd like to be. . . " He searched for a word, and found only one that was adequate, ". . . good."
"What happens if you survive tomorrow, my son?"
"I talk to more cops, testify in more trials, and then I get a new name and a new place to live, if I live that long." Moretti heard no trace of bitterness in his own voice, just sadness for all that he had lost. It surprised him, when he realized he did not feel the loss of money and fine restaurants and power, he was grieving the loss of a wife and a home and a family. Things he'd never known, and never known he'd missed until now.
"So, you're giving up everything to testify against this colleague of yours. Why?"
"At first, it was 'cause he threatened my kid, even though he didn't know it was my kid at the time." He forced the words past tears that would not stop.
"And now," the priest prompted gently.
"Now, well. . . " Moretti was gasping for breath through sobs he had been holding back for forty years or more. "Now, wrong is wrong, and bad is bad, and I'm not makin' any excuses, Father, but he's hurt a lot more people than I have, and I'm sorry, and he's not, and I am the only one who can do anything about it. Please, Father, what's my penance?"
Again, the priest was silent for a long time. How does one set a penance for a man who already punishes himself? He listened to the man's sobs, and thought.
"Father? Please?"
"Your penance, my son. . . " The priest paused again, what should he say? "Your penance is to testify at the trial of your colleague, help the police in anyway you can. . . " Should he add more to it? Nodding to himself, he decided, yes. ". . . and ask your son to forgive you."
It would be hard, Moretti knew, but he was relieved.
"Yes, Father," he smiled through his tears.
The priest heard the man smile and asked, "Do you remember the prayer of contrition?"
"I think so. Will you help me if I forget?"
"Of course, my son."
Despite his continuing weeping, Moretti only stumbled once. "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee. I detest all of my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God. . . "
The priest prompted him, ". . . who are all good. . . "
". . . who are all good and deserving of all of my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen."
Finally, the priest granted him absolution. "God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."
The formula was a balm to Moretti's shredded spirit. He felt. . . alive again, hopeful for the first time in ages. There was no more cause for bitterness or sorrow. His life was a blank page again, like it had been when he was a child, and he was free to paint upon it any picture he wanted.
The priest then dismissed him, saying, "Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good."
Moretti responded, "His mercy endures forever."
Moretti knew he should leave the booth, but something was holding him there.
"It does, doesn't it, Father?" It was not a question born of confusion, but of awe and wonder.
"My son?"
"Endure forever."
"Indeed it does, my son, indeed it does."
Keith did not sleep well. Once Liv's breathing evened out and he was sure she was sleeping, he opened his eyes and studied her face. She looked innocent and untroubled. All that night, Keith watched his wife sleep like an angel and wondered. After so many sleepless nights, with the trial looming in the morning and the danger that surrounded their daughter because of it, how could she possibly, tonight of all nights, find the peace of mind to have a sound and restful sleep?
Steve felt like a kid on the first day of school as he entered the warehouses of the Buona Fortuna Import-Export Company. One of Joey Russo's tips had led the task force here, and as he'd ridden to the docks with Keith, Steve had Ron bring him up to speed over the secure cell phone. The body they'd found at the scene was that of his dad's news broadcaster friend Roger (a.k.a. Rogelio) Gorini, who, according to Joey, was also the nephew of one Vincent Gaudino. Also, according to Joey, Roger had been ordered to eliminate Moretti and Emily at his phony safe house just a week ago, and the failure of Joey and his colleagues was probably the main cause of Gorini's death even though the official report would list it as a thirty- eight caliber bullet. Ron had told him about the extensive collection of tapes, most of them audio, but some also video, that were found in Gorini's secret apartment at the warehouse as well, and Steve couldn't wait to find out what was on them.
As he stepped into the office, Ron welcomed him with a grin and an extended hand, which Steve gladly shook.
"It's good to have you back," the FBI agent said.
"It's good to *be* back," Steve said with pleasure, "even if it's only for half days." Sniffing, he made a face and said, "Even that smell couldn't keep me away."
Ron laughed and said, "You might have felt differently a couple of hours ago. Since then, we've photographed everything, dusted for prints, had the body removed, and aired the place out."
Casting a glance back at the mess on the floor just outside the office door, Steve said, "Looks like you didn't do it quickly enough."
Ron grinned and said, "That's 'Fredo Cioffi's breakfast. I think it was his first dead body."
Steve cast an appreciative glance the length of the floor and said, "He made it that far? I am impressed."
"Aughhh!" Emily groaned as she straightened up from removing her cross- trainers.
"Whassamatter?" Moretti asked, concerned. Emmy had been moaning and groaning a lot lately.
"My back's been killing me ever since Giani slammed me into the bookshelves at the second safe house. It just keeps getting worse and worse."
"Want me to take a look at it?"
"What, you a doctor now?" she said sarcastically.
"No, but in my line of work, you learn a little about takin' care of aches and pains. Sometimes doctors ask too damn many questions."
"Thanks anyway, Moretti, but . . . AHHHH!" She suddenly yelped in pain as she tried to remove her jacket and froze in position.
"Ok, kid, that's it. I give one hell of a massage, and you need one." As he gently helped her off with the jacket and guided her to her bedroom, he continued. "You've probably done some muscle damage. You can leave your shirt on, if you want, but you ain't sayin' no."
Emmy just moaned, "Ohhhh. Owwww," as he helped her lie down.
"Peeeeeter!" Maribeth called sweetly down the hall, catching her colleague just as he was about to slip out the door.
Peter Green was not fooled. The woman wanted something, and the cajoling tone she was using was only her first tactic. She'd been his mentor when he was just starting out, and he could never show her enough appreciation for all the help she'd given him, but he'd only been on-call for one day, and it had turned into an eighteen-hour shift already. He'd never go back on his word, but he couldn't believe he had agreed to a month of this, even if her husband had cleared him of a murder charge during his internship.
"What do you want Maribeth?"
Maribeth pretended to pout. "What makes you think I want anything?"
He just continued to stare at her expectantly.
"Damn! How come I can never pull off the puppy-dog look?"
Peter finally laughed. "I told you before. You're too businesslike and efficient. When you try to be pitiful, it's obviously forced. Steven and Jesse get away with it because, well, sometimes they really are pitiful."
"And CJ."
"You said it yourself, once, 'He's just so darned cute.' Now, what do you want?"
"Yeah, yeah, ok, whatever." Just that fast, she was her usual self. "Listen, Steve is going back to half days starting today. He's working eight to noon. I know I just asked you to go on call for me, but now I'm hoping we could switch shifts. If I work eleven to seven, I can catch him before he goes off in the mornings, sleep until time to start dinner, and have some private time with him in the evenings before he goes off to bed and I come into work."
A slow, very sleepy grin spread across Peter's face. "Ok, if . . . "
"If?"
"If you get someone to take the eight-to-four shift and go on-call Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until noon."
Maribeth gave it some thought.
"Steve will be working or sleeping anyway," Peter encouraged, "I can work three to eleven and still catch some sleep three days a week."
"Ok," she nodded, extending a hand. "It's a deal." As she walked away, Peter heard her muttering to herself, "Johnson likes working days. He'll go for it."
Charles Donovan and 'Fredo Cioffi had been listening to audio recordings for about four hours when they realized that their ears were starting to ache from the headphones. That's when they decided to switch to videos for a while. Neither of them figured it would matter much which they dealt with first, so long as everything was eventually catalogued.
It just so happened they were wrong. The first video they put in the machine was important. 'Fredo had noticed it was out of sequence and had speculated that perhaps Gorini had been planning to use it against someone soon. Now, though, had anyone asked him, he would have suggested it was simply Gorini's favorite movie.
For the past ten minutes, he and Donovan had been sitting on the edge of the bed, watching open-mouthed and dumbfounded, as Leigh Ann Bergman did things to Roger Gorini that neither of the naïve young cops would ever have enough experience to imagine.
The rookies were still lost in their bizarre little world when Steve, Ron, and Keith walked into the apartment to check on their progress. They took one look at the thunderstruck young men, and then shared a knowing glance with one another. Having over a hundred years of law enforcement experience among them, the three veteran cops had probably seen it all, but they were not yet so jaded that they had forgotten what it was like to see some things for the first time.
With a wink, Keith jerked his head in the direction of the fresh-faced kids and indicated to Steve that he should remain quiet for now.
"Hoooo-weeee," Keith gasped softly as he and his companions came to stand near the boys. "I wouldn't have guessed she was that. . . creative."
"No, sirrrr. And flexible, too," Donovan slurred, completely absorbed.
The three older men worked hard to stifle laughter.
"Do you think I could get a copy to show my wife?" Ron asked, grinning openly as the two innocents still had their eyes glued to the television. "Sometimes we get a little tired of the same old same old."
"Yesssss, sirrrr," Cioffi said, Donovan nodding vacantly beside him.
"You can take care of that *after* you have catalogued everything and filed your reports, officers!" Steve barked, stepping between them and the TV.
At the sight and sound of the Chief, Donovan jumped about three feet in the air and Cioffi fell off the edge of the bed to the floor. As they both scrambled for the remote to shut the VCR down, Donovan kicked it under the bed, and because he was already on the floor, Cioffi began to crawl after it, but Keith called, "Ten Hut!" and Donovan yanked Cioffi back out from under the bed by the legs. Both of them came to immediate attention before the Chief and stood there, blushing crimson and trying not to shake as they awaited the well-deserved dressing-down they knew was coming.
The two officers were still so green and fresh from the academy that all the proper protocols coursed through their veins like blood, which was a good thing in Steve's opinion, because rookies lacked the experience to know when it was worth the risk to violate procedure. Unfortunately, now they were left with no way to turn the TV off unless they walked away from the Chief, and that was something procedure and protocol would never let them do until they were dismissed.
As he assessed the situation, Steve noted that Donovan had a bit more self- control than his friend. He stood ramrod-straight, staring directly ahead while Cioffi's eyes kept wandering to the TV and then snapping back. Knowing he would never get their attention with it on, struggling to keep a straight face while Ron and Keith stood behind the two young men grinning like idiots, and finding himself distracted by the very vocal stars of the home made porn flick playing behind him, he commanded, "Officer Cioffi, turn that damned thing off!"
Cioffi jumped slightly. "Yessir!" Then he scurried past Steve and soon the room was silent.
Steve could tell the moment Cioffi turned around, because Ron and Keith went suddenly stone-faced. Cioffi fell in beside his friend again, Steve told them, "At ease," and they both relaxed somewhat.
"Donovan, report," Steve said.
Donovan began by telling him how many tapes they had found, how they were organized, and how he and Cioffi had divided them up. Then he listed the various cases that could be closed with the information on the tapes, the others that would have to be opened, and in some instances, the specific evidence presented. At Steve's request, Cioffi gave a similar rundown of what he had done and found, and ended with, " . . . and the headphones were hurting our ears, so we decided to watch the videos for a while. This one was out of sequence, so I imagine he was either planning to use it soon or he just enjoyed watching it."
Ron suddenly had a violent coughing fit that nicely covered the laughter he could not prevent, and as Keith turned to slap his back, Steve could see his shoulders shaking with the effort of silencing his own amusement. Knowing he could not hold out much longer, Steve said, "Very good, gentlemen. Take an hour for lunch, then get back to work. Dismissed."
He waited until they were at the door to the apartment before calling, "Oh, and officers. . . " The two young men turned to look at him. "If either of you find this sort of thing is more to your liking, I would be happy to arrange a transfer to vice."
Cioffi's eyes grew round, and Donovan blushed to the roots of his hair. "N- no, no thank you, sir," they answered almost in unison.
"Ok. Let me know if you change your minds. Dismissed."
The two young men scrambled away, and no one heard 'Fredo ask Charles, "What did you do with that tape of the Chief talking to Dr. Travis and Dr. Bentley-Wagner?"
"Shut up, 'Fredo," was all Donovan would say.
As soon as he was sure the green young officers were out of earshot, Steve sat on the edge of bed laughing so hard he could barely breathe. The diodes on the glove were all shining bright green.
". . . and then I offered to transfer them to vice," Steve said.
Olivia gasped, "Steve!" but she was in the minority. Keith was grinning wildly; Mark, and Steven, who had finished early at the hospital, were laughing and breathless.
"Come on, O, don't be such a prude. If you had seen them, you would have teased them, too."
She gave it some thought, and reluctantly nodded her agreement.
The five of them had just finished a late lunch, and as they cleared the table, they discussed plans for the afternoon. Steve and Steven were going to shoot some baskets, and Mark was planning to enjoy the afternoon sun while he read some more in his latest book. Keith was going back to Brentwood to help with more security measures for the trial. They were developing alternate scenarios for moving Emily and Moretti from the courthouse, and they had only two more days of planning before they actually practiced the various assault and defense plans at the courthouse.
"Well," Liv said, "I guess I'll join you out on the deck, then, Mark. I'm in the middle of a long letter home, and I'd like to finish it so I can send it off in the morning mail."
"Ok, sweetie," Mark said amiably, "I'd enjoy the company."
Steven turned in shock. "You still send letters in the mail?"
Liv smiled indulgently. "Yes."
"Why?" The young man couldn't recall the last time he had received a letter or greeting in the U.S. mail. "E-mail is quicker, more reliable, and it's free."
"I know," Liv agreed, "and it has all the permanence of a sneeze." She shook her head and made a face. Then she got a wistful look. "A real letter is a memento. It can be kept and treasured and handed down and held, perfumed and sealed with a kiss and stained with tears. It is real and tangible, not just a bunch of ones and zeroes in binary code slinging about in the ether."
"It's clutter," the young man said.
Mark sighed and said sadly, "Kids these days, they don't understand."
Smiling affectionately at his dad, the packrat, Steve asked in disbelief, "Liv, what have you found worth writing home about?"
"Well, the search for Em, obviously." She used a voice that said, 'Duh!'
"I know that," Steve replied, mimicking her tone, "but what else?"
"Oh, lots of things. How good it has been to see you all again, despite the circumstances, how kind everyone has been, Maribeth especially, for letting us stay here."
Steve raised an eyebrow at that. For a while, his wife had been anything but kind to Olivia, but, Liv being Liv, she had overlooked the slights and jibes and hurtful comments as easily as she was now ignoring Steve's dubious expression.
"I've told them all how balmy the weather here seems compared to Pennsylvania," she continued blithely, "and what fine men CJ and Dion have become, and how much Steven looks like you. I told them to tell Davis about the glove and how effective it's been in monitoring your stress levels, just everything that's been happening, I guess."
"Everything?" Steve asked, suddenly worried.
"Yes, why?" Then, almost as if she had read his mind, she said, "Yes, I told them about your attempt to move out. No, I didn't mention the exploding duffel bag or its contents, I just didn't know quite what to say about that." Then she started to giggle.
Keith and Mark laughed and Steven just looked confused. Steve breathed a big sigh of relief and said, "Thank you, Liv."
Looking at his dad, Steven said, "You tried to move out? When? And what does she mean, 'the exploding duffel bag'? What was in it?"
"Never mind," Steve and Liv said in unison, but while her voice was full of good humor, Steve had practically growled the words. He noticed the diodes on the glove had gone to amber, and took a couple deep breaths to calm himself.
Olivia laughed then. "You know, I even wrote them about dinner last night. It's been years since I've sat down with such a large group just to have dinner, and it was wonderful."
Steve smiled at her, then, and the diodes went to green. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Olivia smiled softly back. "I try to enjoy something every day I am alive," she said. "With Emily's situation always there, it's been harder than usual lately, but I have found that if you look for good things in life, they are always there."
"Always?" Steven asked incredulously.
"Always." Liv said with conviction. "It's what keeps me sane."
Emily rinsed her mouth at the bathroom sink after she finished throwing up. The beef and veggie kebobs Moretti had made on the hibachi had been wonderful, but they'd only stayed down about half an hour. She was glad he was working out in the garage. She wouldn't have wanted to hurt his feelings. Whatever she had, it was wiping her out. She felt so damned weak she just wanted to crawl into bed until the trial. After taking a couple of Advil for her backache, she went shakily to her bedroom and put her running shoes on again. She wanted to keep up appearances for Moretti's sake. He needed to know she was still able to look out for him.
She could almost remember her mother's illness from many years ago, and for some reason she thought it had started with a severe backache and nausea, but she had just had her physical for the LAPD six weeks ago, and she couldn't believe Steven would have missed a cancerous tumor. She was shaky, sweaty, and running a fever, too, and she didn't recall her mother exhibiting any of those symptoms until she started chemo. She took a deep breath and straightened slowly, wincing as her back protested. Sixty-eight hours, she thought. If she could make it another sixty-eight hours, everything would be ok.
As he stepped out of the beach house, finally ready to head off again, Keith heard the distinctive thwap-thwap of a basketball hitting the pavement followed by a groan and some laughter. Steve and his son were shooting hoops. Keith gravitated toward the sound, and suddenly found himself missing his daughter terribly.
Emmy had been a daddy's girl since the day she was born. Even as an infant, she had never cried in Keith's arms, and as she got older, he would take her out to shoot hoops and discuss important things. When she couldn't get a date to the eighth grade dance 'because she was a geek', they had talked about what boys her age liked, and they had decided together that if she had to pretend to be dumb to get a boy to like her, then he probably wasn't worth the effort. They had also agreed that maybe she needed to be a better listener if she wanted more friends.
Sometimes, their conversations were far from the typical father-daughter discussions. When Em was in her early teens, he had to explain to her while playing HORSE what could happen if she didn't stop hacking into government computer systems. Years later, during a very physical game of one-on-one, he'd had to convince her that it wasn't her fault the U.S. government had used her research to produce weapons of mass destruction which it sold to allies who used them to commit genocide. Under the hoop, he had tried to convince her to be more patient and understanding with O, and from the free-throw line, he had told her how proud he was that she had decided to become a cop.
The easy give and take as they played a game of half-court one-on-one or HORSE had always left Keith feeling closer to his daughter, more in touch with her. It was something they could fully share. He didn't have to be a genius to read her strategy, and with the improvements Olivia had made on his prosthetics over the years, he was physically able to keep up with her. Even now, the thwap-thwap of a bouncing basketball could instantly take him back to a time when life with Emily had been innocent, when she had been naïve about her unique gifts and how people would try to use her, and all her mischief had been just for fun.
Checking his watch, Keith decided he had just enough time to shoot a few baskets before he needed to be back in Brentwood. Maybe it would put him in a better frame of mind before he went back to work with the taskforce and help him channel his worry over 'what if's' in to positive action instead of paralyzing fear. He grimaced at that thought, knowing well how, with his high-tech prosthetic legs, for him, extreme fear, (and anger, stress, grief, and illness) could, quite literally, become paralyzing.
As he came around the end of the hedge, he saw Steve was in a hopeless position. His son was a good six inches taller and had a wingspan like a pterodactyl. Steve was trapped in a corner of the court and there was no way for him to move or shoot without fouling Steven or losing possession of the ball.
"Beach bum," Keith called, "Over here," and he held his hands up, ready for the ball.
First Steve glared at the epithet Keith used against him years ago, but then he grinned, faked right, and passed the ball to Keith on his left. Steven was so caught off guard by the sudden two-on-one, all he could manage to do was turn around and watch in confusion as Keith took the ball right up the center and made a lay up for two.
"No fair!" Steven complained as he got the rebound and took it out from under the basket.
"Kid," Keith told him, "you're less than half my age, your dad's even older than I am. . . "
"Oh, thanks," Steve muttered as Keith continued talking.
". . . from what I hear, he's been shot more often than his own police weapon, and I have no legs. What are you whining about?"
Steve moved in on the other side of his son to help Keith guard him.
Steven just laughed. What Keith had said was true, and he couldn't deny a word of it. "You still have the advantage of me, though, and you know it."
"Well, then, son, you'll just have to play a little harder," Steve teased, "or don't you think you're up to a challenge from a couple of old men?"
"Speak for yourself," Keith told him.
"You really want me to play a little harder dad?"
"Yeah. Come on, boy, show us what you got."
"Ok, you asked for it."
Steve and Keith had been guarding him closely, and Steven thought, age having decreased their agility, being too close to him could be almost as bad as being too far away. He dribbled the ball lazily toward the basket for a few moments, deciding how to turn the situation to his advantage, then turned to his left toward his dad fast. Just as he anticipated, Keith followed him around, and now both of them were in front of him. Before Keith could stop his sideways motion, Steven spun back around to the right and went straight for the basket.
As Steven went jogging easily down the court, his dad took off after him. Unfortunately, Keith hadn't quite got where he was going yet, and as he ran after his son, Steve tripped over his teammate's foot and both men fell. Oblivious to the minor collision behind him, Steven just continued to the basket. He had never mastered the knack of the three-pointer, but he could dunk, and by the time he made the shot and recovered his own rebound, his father and Keith were tangled in a heap on the ground.
"Guys?" He cringed at what he saw. Both of the older men were clearly in pain and embarrassed. "Gee, I'm sorry. What happened?"
"He was in my way," Steve grumbled.
"He ran me down," Keith growled.
Steven laughed as he helped them up, satisfied now that the worst injury had been to their pride.
"It's your ball," Steven said, as he bounced it between them and backed off. "Try to stay out of each other's way this time."
He laughed again, knowing he would not be repeating what they said to him after that.
"Ok," Steve said, pointing to the map. "We'll have units stationed here, here, and here. Keith, you and I will be in the chopper, and Ron will be in the security office watching on the closed circuit TV. Then, when the motorcade gets to the first checkpoint and splits up, Cheryl and Al will head out with Emily and Moretti in separate cars."
Mark and Ron had called in a few favors and arranged a planned visit from a mid-level Chinese government functionary from their Foreign Trade Ministry so that Steve could dispatch Leigh Ann to take care of the necessary security arrangements. Now, the task force had had the whole morning to finalize their plans before the practice runs tomorrow. Only Steve, Mark, Ron, and the Minister of Trade himself knew the visit would be cancelled soon after Moretti was safely in hiding.
"I still wish I could ride along with her," Keith said.
"I know, pal, but we both know why that won't work."
Keith just nodded.
Steve had discussed the possibility of Keith participating in his daughter's escort with Keith privately the previous night, and Keith had explained how his computerized prosthetics could become a liability if there were any problems.
"Now, we will have medical personnel and an ambulance standing by at the courthouse, just in case," Steve continued, looking at the four paramedics Jesse had recommended for the detail, and added, "the chopper will also be fully equipped, right?"
"Yes, sir," answered one of the men who would be riding along with him and Keith.
"Ok, then," Steve said, looking at his watch and seeing to his dismay that it was just past noon, "I have to be going now." He turned to Cheryl and Ron and said, "I leave things in your capable hands. We meet tomorrow at eight at the Federal Building on Spring Street."
"Ok," Cheryl said. "We've had a busy morning, and we're in the home stretch, now. Lets break for lunch. We'll all meet back here at one."
Keith sighed as he left the table, Mark was a great cook, and his grilled steaks, baked potatoes and coleslaw had fortified Keith to go back to the taskforce for the afternoon. Ron was right in what he said yesterday, it *was* good to have Steve Sloan back in charge. Ron and Cheryl had shared command well while Steve was off, but a couple of times, through miscommunication, they had issued conflicting orders, and since it was a universal truth that local cops were wary of Feds, more often than not, the men had bristled slightly at Ron's instructions. With Steve back, even on half days, Ron and Cheryl were no longer commanding, but advising, and ultimately, all the orders for the LAPD officers came from their Chief.
Steve's authoritative presence had eased a lot of hidden tension on the taskforce, and things were already proceeding more smoothly, but what comforted Keith most was the fact that Steve, of all the cops working to get Emmy and Moretti back safely, seemed to have a vested interest in the operation. For some inexplicable reason, Steve apparently believed he had a personal stake in Emmy's welfare, and while his former relationship to Olivia might explain some of it, Keith thought Steve's concern went deeper. He knew Steve hadn't had the time to get to know his daughter well before she went underground, but he couldn't shake the impression that he genuinely cared for her.
Keith gave his wife a peck on the cheek and then got out of the way so she and Mark could begin clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. By now, Steven and Steve were out shooting hoops just as they had done yesterday, and Maribeth was still asleep. Keith felt like a stranger, a visitor to their lives, as he prepared to head off yet again. The task force was still cataloging the evidence gathered from Gorini's warehouse, and he had been asked to help find the whereabouts of various people who had been caught on tape so that the FBI and the LAPD could monitor their movements the day of the trial and make sure they were staying well clear of Emmy and Moretti. Since anybody on those tapes was a potential blackmail victim, it was conceivable that any one of them could be coerced into attempting a hit, and Steve had decided it would be best to know where they were the day of the trial. So, as everyone else at the beach house was settling in for a lazy afternoon, he was off to work another four to six hours.
Keith didn't begrudge the others their leisure. At his age, Mark deserved all the down time he could stand, and Keith knew O couldn't handle the stress of working with the task force any more. He knew she'd been sleeping poorly, her worries and fears keeping her up nights, and he was grateful that her friends could help take her mind off things. Steve's health was still more fragile than the older man would like to admit, and so Keith didn't mind his taking the afternoons off, and he knew both Maribeth and Steven would be going in to work later when he had the time to take it easy. Still, to be the only one heading off to the daily grind while the others got some much deserved R & R left him feeling a bit put out. The one thing that eased his displeasure was the knowledge that he was doing something to help his daughter.
As he stopped in the guestroom to brush his teeth before leaving, Keith could hear Maribeth snoring through the wall and had to wonder again, how Steve had managed to sleep through the racket for thirty years. He was glad for Steve that his wife and son had been able to change their schedules to spend more time with him. Steven was now working a split shift, four hours in the morning while his dad was at work and four hours in the evening before his mom headed off for the eleven-to-seven shift. It was a tough day, but the young Dr. Sloan could handle it, and it allowed him time with his mother and father together and with each of them separately. Maribeth would be up in time to help with dinner and then spend time with her husband before she headed off to work. Added to their schedules, his own comings and goings made for a complicated household, but at least so far, everyone had managed to get together at least once a day.
Keith left the beach house intent on getting back to the taskforce, but the thwap-thwap of the basketball distracted him as it had the other day. Remembering how much better he'd felt after their little game of two on one the previous day, he headed toward the garage, intending to shoot just a couple of baskets with Steve and Steven before he left. He stopped as he approached the bushes, though, when he heard the younger Sloan say, "Your ball, Dad." Then, "What's the deal with you and Keith and Liv?"
Keith froze, wondering himself how Steve would answer that question.
"What do you mean, son?"
'Good stall,' thought Keith. 'Buy some thinking time.'
"Well," Steven said, "there are some rumors at the hospital that you and she had an affair and almost got married. I've also heard mention that she saved your life, and well, Uncle Jesse told me you saved hers, too. I was wondering, which of the stories are true?"
For a long time, all Keith heard was the lazy thwap-thwap of the basketball. Finally, Steve answered.
"All of them, probably, and then some."
Keith was surprised, wondering just what the rumors were and how much more Steve and Olivia had shared if they were all true. There was a long silence again, broken only by the sound of Steve bouncing the basketball.
"Dad?" Steven finally prompted.
Keith heard a huge sigh. "Well, for one thing, it wasn't an affair." Steve said, "She was. . . my soul mate, at least for a while. We were practically living together for two months."
Keith had once suggested he and O move in together, but she would have none of it. She told him it was a sin. In fact, the first time they made love, right after they were engaged, she'd run from him crying, saying she had disgraced herself, and that they should have waited. Suddenly the sensations from his left foot went numb. He shifted his weight and shook it and soon the feeling returned.
"When I wasn't staying at her place, she was sleeping in the guest room here."
"Why didn't she just stay with you in the apartment?" Steven asked.
Keith was annoyed to hear Steve chuckle and say, "She couldn't bring herself to do that. Not as long as we weren't married."
"Huh? You mean you practically lived together, you spent the night at her place, and you didn't do anything?"
Keith was shocked by Steven's question, though he had to admit, Emily would have no compunction about asking the same thing. He couldn't imagine how awkward Steve felt, but he continued to listen, curious about that time in his wife's life that another man had shared with her.
"Oh, uh, we did. . . things," Steve stammered, "just, um, not under your granddad's roof."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh," Steven said knowingly.
"Now, don't get that idea," Steve snapped. "At the time, we thought we would be together forever."
Keith was no fool. He knew Steve and Olivia had made love, but it angered him to hear Steve talking about it in the driveway under the basketball hoop. It should be a private thing. Even after thirty years, a gentleman should never kiss and tell. O had never given any details, but she did tell Keith it happened a number of times and Steve had always been good to her. His foot went numb again, and this time, shaking it didn't bring back the feeling.
"So, what happened, Dad?"
The basketball started bouncing again. Finally, Steve continued.
"Son, there's a lot of history here you know nothing about. I. . . I'm willing to tell you, but you have to understand, it all happened before I met your mom, ok?"
"Ok, Dad, I can go with that."
Keith listened, his mood growing darker all the while, as Steve told his son about Olivia's past, and he was shocked to hear the things his wife had shared with this Hollywood cop that she had never once mentioned to him. He'd never known her granddad had beaten her. He'd noticed the scars on her back and her belly, but when he asked, she'd just shrugged and told him they were the result of a childhood accident.
Though Keith knew about the fire that killed her family, O had never spoken to him about the day she'd come upon her home in ashes, the body bags lined up beside the moving truck, one of them waiting for her. He couldn't imagine the guilt she felt that they were only there because her family was waiting for her to come home from camp before they moved to the house old man Bradley had left them. And he simply couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that she had actually tried to crawl into the empty body bag.
And he couldn't believe she'd never told him. Now both his legs ached.
As Steve went on to tell his son about the first time Ted attacked, Keith was horrified to learn that his former best friend had tried to rape Olivia. For months after the terrible day when he'd been crippled, he'd been so wrapped up in pain and self-pity over the loss of his legs and his career that he hadn't given a thought to anything else except the shame that a tiny slip of a woman had been the one to save him. Even at the trial, he'd merely made his appearance, testified, and left. He'd never cared to hear O's story.
Still, he was furious that she had never told him. The pins and needles started, working their way up from his feet to his knees.
"Wow, she had a rough life, didn't she?"
"Yeah, son, and I don't think it ever got much easier."
Keith's heart sank, and his legs continued to sting. Her life had been with him for the last thirty years, and there had been lots of hard times, but he always thought there had been plenty of good times, too. He knew O had agreed to let Steve read her letters, letters that Keith had never been invited to see, even when she'd written them about him. Now, he wondered just what was in those letters that led Steve to believe her life over the past thirty years had been one of enduring hardship. 'If she was so miserable,' he thought in a fury, 'why didn't she just say so. There are thousands of divorce attorneys in the world.'
Then Steve went on to talk about what Olivia had done for him when he was shot.
"She did save my life, son," Steve said, "It would have killed me to have to leave the force then. I'm only walking now because of her. She was there when I needed her, and she was able to do what needed to be done. At the time, she was probably the only surgeon in the country with the skills and knowledge to save my legs."
Keith felt his chest tighten as he suddenly, for the very first time, realized that O had done for Steve Sloan what she hadn't been able to do for him. Before he could decide how he felt about that, Steve had moved on in his story, and whatever the emotion was that had been bubbling to the surface, it just settled in beside his growing rage. The pins and needles had turned to a fiery pain.
Father and son both had a good laugh as Steve told how Olivia had given him a lesson in self-defense, and then, to Keith's great embarrassment and growing temper, Steve haltingly told his son about his first time with O. He didn't give many details, but even the most unimaginative person could fill in the blanks.
". . . and when I finally let her see. . . all of my scars, son, well, she touched them all. Kissed them, actually, and told me why I shouldn't be ashamed."
Keith was mortified to hear Steve discuss such intimate matters with his son, but his embarrassment never extended to the fact that he was eavesdropping on an intensely private discussion. If he could see the father and son, he would have realized that their close bond allowed for this sort of conversation without any sense of shame. Unfortunately, as he was lurking behind the bushes, all he could do was listen to the lurid details, filtered through his suddenly foul mood, and imagine the old man, bragging like a satyr, as he preened before an awestruck protégé.
"I still remember what she told me," Steve said. "That night she said, 'Nothing is ugly when seen through the eyes of love.' I didn't believe her. . . until she actually held me close to her. I'd been so sure she'd turn away."
"She really loved you, didn't she, dad?"
Keith could hear the gloating smile when Steve said, "Yeah, son, she did, and I loved her, too."
Keith couldn't help but remember that O had run away from him after she'd hacked off his legs, and yet she'd held Steve close. True, he had canceled their engagement, but she'd stayed away from him for twelve years before she came home with the beach bum she had made love to, the one whose scars she had touched. Never once had she told him the loss of his legs didn't matter, in fact, she had spent their entire marriage trying to make his prosthetics more realistic, once even going so far as to suggest that they try to use genetically engineered tissues to regenerate flesh and blood limbs for him. Now he was learning that the first time she was with Sloan she had assured him that his flaws didn't bother her. Keith had a sudden, fierce pain in both legs that left him gasping quietly for air, and then nothing. It felt as if he were once again wearing the old fiberglass models he had started with over forty years ago.
Keith wanted desperately to leave, but with his legs gone dead, he was rooted to the spot. The only way he could move now would be to call for help, and he couldn't do that. So, he was forced to listen, as Steve recounted for his son all the wonders he and O had shared.
"If it hadn't been for that, I never would have had the courage to ask your mother out. I'd have been too self-conscious, and I would have drawn into myself and hidden for the rest of my life, I think."
O had only known Steve a few months, and yet when he was feeling unsure of himself, she had built him up. She had known Keith since childhood, and yet, when he was utterly shattered, his life in ruins, she had run away. A new pain started now, this time in his chest, but he ignored it. He clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, and would have gone after Sloan had he not been stuck to the spot by his malfunctioning legs.
Steve told how Ted had broken out of prison again and gone after him and Olivia. He gave a brief account of how, despite a concussion and a sliced open palm, he had managed to finally stop Ted and save Olivia. He even played up the tragedy of it all for his son by telling him how valiantly O had fought back and confessing his horror when he realized he had shot her, too. The man was so sickeningly, modestly proud of himself Keith thought he was going to puke.
"Wow. After all that, why didn't you marry her, Dad?" Steven asked.
'Why indeed?' Keith wondered.
There was another long pause, before Steve finally said, "That's kind of complicated."
'Do tell,' Keith thought bitterly.
"Please tell me, Dad."
"Well, I started having doubts when I watched Liv and Keith consoling Ted as he died. They both told him they forgave him, and they meant it, son." Steve paused for thought. "To this day, I don't know how they did it, but they really, truly forgave that. . . that sick son of a bitch. . . for what he did. That's when I knew Keith was a better man than I am."
Now Keith knew what shame really was. He felt horrified by himself, by his thoughts.
"Dad. . . "
"No, son," Steve interrupted as his son sought to reassure him. "At the time your granddad tried to convince me that I was good enough for Liv, and he did for a while, but now I know better, and it doesn't bother me so much. I know I'm not the scum of the earth, but Keith, he really has a good, forgiving heart, and Liv is sweet and pure."
"And is that why you didn't marry her?"
"Well, no, not really. Like I said, your granddad managed to convince me for a while that I was as good a man as Keith, but the night of the rehearsal dinner, Keith made a very touching toast to Liv and me, and when it was over, he slipped out. Olivia followed him, and I followed her."
Keith remembered that evening. He and Olivia had sat out in the cold discussing what might have been. They hadn't known until the next day that Steve had been there.
"I overheard them talking," Steve said, "I probably shouldn't have been eavesdropping. . . "
Keith felt another flash of deep shame.
". . . but now I'm glad I did. I learned that until six weeks before our wedding, she'd have left me for him. All he would have had to do was ask."
"Wait, Dad, your wedding?"
Keith heard Steve laugh. "Yes, son, our wedding. I didn't exactly leave her at the altar, but when the minister said, 'let him speak now, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace,' I said, 'Wait'."
"No way," Steven gasped.
"Oh, yes. I took Liv and Keith outside, and I gave her a choice. She chose him."
Keith felt the pain in his chest fade, and a deep pleasant warmth flushed through him, right down to his toes. She *had* chosen him, hadn't she? And didn't that matter more than anything? Quietly, he turned around and headed for the car. All that mattered was that O had chosen him. Everything else was incidental. It didn't matter what Steve and his son discussed. Olivia was his wife, and had been for thirty years, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, all of which they had shared in abundance.
"I can't believe that, Dad," Steven said.
"Neither could I. . . " Steve admitted.
Suddenly, his legs screaming with pain, Keith was enraged again, at himself for his stupidity and for listening to the private conversation and at the beach bum for his false modesty and very real arrogance and smugness. A tiny, rational part of his brain kept him moving, limping to his car so he could drive off to Brentwood before he beat the hell out of the Deputy Chief of Police.
Unfortunately, he never heard Steve say, ". . . but I think it was the best decision she could have ever made. They've had some difficult times, but he was there for her. Even with her daughter missing, she is happier with him now than she ever was with me, happier than she ever could have been."
"And you have Mom," Steven added.
"Yes, I have your mother, and you, and I have never missed Olivia since. I'm glad to see her again, son, but I don't need her like I did then. You and your mom filled up all the empty spaces inside me a long, long time ago."
"Hey, kid, we goin' runnin' tonight?"
Emily looked at her dinner apathetically. "Don't think so, Moretti."
"Why not?"
"Because I feel like something someone has just scraped off the bottom of his shoe," she said miserably, "and I'm really not up for it."
"Oh, ok. Then I'll go on my own."
"No!" she snapped, "It's not safe for you on your own."
His face fell. "I just need to get some exercise," he said. "I'm sick of being cooped up like this."
Em smiled weakly. Since he'd made it to the top of the hill, Moretti had been looking forward to their morning and evening runs. She was amazed at the change that had taken place in him, and was loath to disappoint him now. He was just getting into this new healthy lifestyle, and he needed all the support he could get.
"Tell you what," she said, hoping to placate him, "we will walk to the top of the hill and back, then I am going to go to bed."
Finally, Moretti noticed she was ill. "You sure, Em? You don't look so good."
"I'll be fine." She waved him off as he started fussing over her. "I just have a case of the creeping ick."
"Feverish and nauseous?" Moretti asked.
She nodded.
"Achy?"
"Yeah."
"That's the crawling crud," he corrected her.
"Thank you Dr. Moretti," she teased. "Get my shoes for me, will ya?"
'Thirty-six hours to go,' she told herself, looking at the kitchen clock. 'Lord, give me strength.'
"Tell me again," Keith demanded.
It was ten o'clock, and he was still haranguing the taskforce. He'd only taken one break that afternoon, and he hadn't once let up with his pissy mood and attitude. Once he'd finished locating the people on the tapes, he'd insisted they review all the plans for transporting Emily and Moretti again. Everyone had been humoring him, because though he'd been pleasant and cheerful before lunch, they figured he was finally feeling the pressure of knowing how close they were to the trial. Cioffi and Donovan, who thought they were the only ones who knew about his prosthetic legs, had noticed he was limping more than usual, too.
"Look, Keith," Ron said, "we're all tired, and this will all make a lot more sense when we do our practice runs tomorrow. I suggest we just go home now and sleep on it."
The others nodded in agreement and started to get up from the table.
"Listen, dammit," Keith snapped, and they all sighed and sat down. "My kid, my only kid, has been calling the shots since she disappeared with this mafia thug. Why? Because you people don't know which of your own can be trusted and which are waiting to blow her away. Three of you," he looked accusingly at Charles Donovan and Alfredo Cioffi who cowered under his glare, "including Steve Sloan, have been close enough to speak to her personally, and haven't been able to offer her any help. In the past week alone, she has handed you five dirty cops, six low level mobsters, including Joey Russo, who happened to be a goldmine, and a spy in Chief Sloan's private office."
All were relieved that Leigh Ann had left, for there was no telling what this worried, angry father might say in his present mood.
"Look, Keith," Cheryl tried to calm him.
"Oh, shut up!"
She did. Maybe he just needed to be heard.
"She did all this by knowingly and willingly walking into two ambushes for you people. At the second one, she even left the bad guys tied up in a bow for you with a note telling you what to hold them on so they didn't disappear before you incompetents could find some reason charge them."
"We do realize that, Keith," Al Cioffi said, "and I will be recommending her for commendation when this is all over."
"Stick your commendation where the sun don't shine, Al. I really don't give a damn about a medal, and if we don't get this just right, the only place she'll be wearing that scrap of ribbon Sloan pins on her dress uniform will be to her own funeral. I am worried about my daughter's life."
"We know that, sir, we are too, that's why we need to be fresh for the practice runs tomorrow. . . "
Keith didn't have to blast Charles Donovan to shut him up. A withering glare and the young man's argument ground to a halt.
"You people," he glared at everyone in turn, "don't know your asses from a hole in the ground, and, God Almighty, I don't know why, but my Emmy is trusting the lot of you to watch her back, so, we are going to stay here and go over these plans until I am convinced you can do just that."
This time, Ron stood up as he spoke, and the rest followed his lead. "Well, we're just gonna have to convince you in the morning, Keith, because I am officially calling it a day." Keith started to speak again, but Ron silenced him by simply saying, "Now," and turning his back.
As the meeting broke up, Keith sat there fuming because his legs had failed him, and he was unable to stand up and storm off in a red-hot rage.
"It's about damned time you got rid of her," Keith grumbled as Leigh Ann left the security office to run the errands Steve had manufactured for her. "We need to be practicing the real plans, not the crap we devised for her benefit."
Steve simply raised an eyebrow at the worried man. The trial was just twenty-four hours away, now, and he could forgive Keith his foul temper. As usually happened in similar situations, after a tearful, joyous reunion with Emily, he would probably approach Steve apologetically and thank him for getting her back safely.
When confirmation came that Leigh Ann had indeed left the courthouse, Steve gave the order to put the first of their plans in action. With two trusted officers from Cheryl's division playing the parts of Emily and Moretti, they watched the operation on the closed circuit televisions in the security office, and he and Keith each made copious notes about gaps in coverage and slow transitions from one protected area to another. They ran the primary escape route from the courthouse to the attached parking deck five times before both men were satisfied that it was flawless. Then they did the same with each of their alternative plans.
They broke for lunch at noon, and Steve reluctantly left Cheryl in charge of running the transfer plans from the parking garage to the police station and from the police station to the various safe houses they had gone to great lengths to make absolutely safe this time.
"It's not that I don't trust you," he told her, dragging his feet on the way to his car. After two consecutive days of coming home with Keith on time and with no argument, Maribeth had trusted him to drive himself to and from work. The independence had gone a long way toward improving Steve's mood.
"Yeah, Steve, I know that," she told him sincerely. "You just can't stand being out of the action. So, go home, have lunch, relax, work on your free throws." She winked and said, "I've been talking to Steven. Take it easy for the next few weeks and get back to one hundred percent. Then come back to work and you can be a slave driver again."
Steve laughed and Cheryl grinned as he settled behind the wheel. He had always been a demanding man to work with, but he had always been fair and understanding, too.
"You are missed, my friend," Cheryl assured him, "We won't forget you."
"Em? How ya feelin'?" Moretti asked as he entered the bedroom with a bowl of steaming chicken soup.
"Lower than worm droppings," she said, eyes still closed. "What time is it?"
"Noon. Ya slept through breakfast and gave me hell when I woke ya for our run, so I figured ya needed your rest."
Her eyes flew open, and she sat half way up before she collapsed back to the bed grimacing in pain. Gasping, she asked, "You didn't go out alone, did you?"
"Hell, no, Em," Moretti assured her. "You've sacrificed too much to keep me alive, kid. I'm not gonna do something stupid like that at this point in the game. I brought ya some lunch."
"What is it?"
"Chicken soup. Good for what ails ya."
She made a face and turned to the wall.
Moretti was concerned. Em's color was off, and she had been sleeping off and on for the past twenty hours. At least twice now, he had heard her puking in the bathroom, too, but what really worried him was the pain in her back. It could be totally unrelated, or it could be part of something worse than anything he was competent to handle. He just didn't have the experience to know. In his business, he'd been required to deal with broken noses, busted knuckles, beatings, and gunshot wounds from time to time, but now he was out of his depth.
"Em?"
"Wha'?"
"I think you need to see a doctor."
"Nah, it's just a virus. I'll see my mama tomorrow. She'll take care of me."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Would you draw me a good hot bath? I think it might make me feel better."
"Ok."
He left the lunch tray by her bed hoping she would eat some, and then went off to draw her bath.
Steve had settled comfortably in bed to read more of Liv's letters by nine that night. Maribeth had left for work early as she had a patient who had taken a turn for the worse, and Keith was still at the courthouse making final preparations for tomorrow. Steve had to admit, the guy was one hell of a cop, even after twenty years of retirement. It was a damned shame his injuries had kept him behind a desk for most of his career, and every time Steve noticed him limping, he felt the sad irony that the man's wife had given him the one thing she had not been able to give her own husband--full mobility.
He was almost through the second volume of letters and had just read a joyous account of Emily's final return home and her making peace with her mother, when suddenly, he reached for the other volume and turned back to the letter she had written when Keith had retired. Much of the language was the same. She was 'delighted' and 'overjoyed' to have them close to her again. She was confident that they would 'have a lot of good times in the future' and she was thrilled that they would 'finally have the chance simply to enjoy one another's company again.' Both letters said, 'It's so nice to just *be* together for a change, without the world intruding.'
He closed the first volume, and turned to the next letter in the second book. Emily had entered the police academy, and Liv had started to worry again. Steve felt inexplicably sad for her. Nothing was ever easy in her life.
There was a soft knock at the door, and he closed the book and called, "Come in."
The door opened, and Liv stood there, in a yellow flannel nightgown and robe. Her red hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and he face was shining as if it were freshly scrubbed. She had floppy pink elephant slippers on her feet.
"Hey," he said softly, "how are you doing?"
She put a trembling hand to her forehead, and in a voice choked with tears, said, "I'm just so tired. Mark's already off to bed, Steven was called back into the hospital, Maribeth is at work, and Keith hasn't come home yet."
She sniffed and pressed her knuckles to her mouth for a moment to stifle the threatening sobs, then, as tears spilled over, she folded her arms and continued talking, her gaze focused on the floor.
"I was hoping you wouldn't mind some company. I tried to make an early night of it, but I'm just so scared about tomorrow. Keith's been too busy to talk the past couple of days, and he's been just a mean bastard when we have spoken, so I don't even know what's going on. Oh, God," she gasped. "What if something goes wrong?"
"Olivia," Steve said firmly but gently, "come here."
She stood in the doorway for a moment, struggling to control her emotions, but when she looked up to see her old friend sitting on the edge of his bed with open arms offering to comfort her with a hug, she let it all out and ran to him sobbing. She threw herself against him with such force it knocked him over into the bed. The position was awkward, and his aging back soon began to ache, so he maneuvered her onto the mattress, pulled her slippers off and dropped them to the floor, and drew his legs up to lie comfortably beside her on top of the covers.
"Shh, it's all right sweetheart," Steve soothed. "Nothing will go wrong. They are running scenarios until they can execute them flawlessly. It's all gonna go like clockwork tomorrow. You'll see."
"Really?" she sniffed.
"Really."
"Promise?"
How could he not? "I promise."
She gave him a weak smile and sat up beside him on the bed.
"Can I just sit here a while?"
"Sure." Steve sat up, too.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them leaning against the headboard, before Steve said, "You never told me Emily was arrested during Kenny and Sue's wedding."
Liv shrugged. "It didn't seem relevant."
"It wasn't," Steve told her, "but it's still quite a big deal to leave out."
"I suppose. I was just so furious when it happened. Ken and Sue had been dating fifteen years before they finally got married."
"That long?"
"Yes. They'd hit one pitfall after another, and finally, on the big day, the Feds bust into the church, hold us all at gunpoint." Even now, fifteen years later, Liv was seething mad. "When Jud, Keith, and Kenney tried to resist, they slammed them to the floor so hard it knocked one of Keith's prosthetics off and they busted one of Jud's ribs. One of them stepped on the train of Sue's dress and left a muddy footprint. Emmy was frisked in the aisle, and they hauled her out in cuffs. Of course, Keith and I had to leave the wedding to see about a lawyer and bail and whatnot. I could have strangled Emily. She never made things easy on us."
Steve chuckled. "I bet you wouldn't have her any other way, would you?"
Liv sighed, "No, I wouldn't."
Then she started to hiccup, trying hard to fight off the tears that again threatened to overwhelm. As Steve slipped one arm around her and pulled her close, she lost the battle, and leaned against him sobbing again. He kissed her hair and rocked her gently and kept promising her it would be all right.
"Hey, Moretti," Emily said, as he flipped channels mindlessly. The bath had made her feel better, and now she was up watching TV with him. They should probably get some sleep, but they were both too wired to rest,
"Wha?"
"You're Catholic, right?"
"Yeah, how'd ya know?"
"Italian. . . Mob. . . It wasn't a stretch," she said with a weak laugh in her voice.
Moretti chuckled with her. "No, I s'pose not. Why you askin'?"
"When's the last time you went to confession?"
Now he laughed bitterly.
"Been over forty years, kid. Before I killed my first man. After that, there didn't seem much point to it."
"Oh, I see. Once there was no going back, that 'Go, and sin no more,' part became a sort of sticking point, didn't it?"
Moretti cast her an angry glance, but when he saw no mischief in her eyes, he realized that he had heard no sarcasm in her voice. She wasn't teasing, just discussing the facts of his wasted life.
His face rumpled into a frown. When had he started to think of his life as wasted? Thinking back, he realized it started the day this amazing kid, with a loving family, friends, and a good job had decided to put her ass on the line for him. She was making a huge sacrifice for him. It was the first time a 'good' person had ever given a damn about him.
"You're a good kid, Em. Your parents must be proud."
Emmy smiled, "I hope so. Now, answer me. Why did you quit going to confession?"
"Like you said, I guess. When you repent, you're supposed to try to stop what you were doin' wrong. After I killed that first guy, I knew I wasn't even gonna try to stop. After that, confession was kinda like lyin' to God."
There was a long pause before Em asked, "So, when the trial is over, and after the LAPD has had their crack at you, do you plan on making a fresh start?"
"Kid, by then I plan on bein' dead."
"No ducking the question, Moretti. I want an answer."
Moretti thought for a long, long time. He'd gotten used to having these kinds of discussions with Emmy, but she always managed to stump him with the simplest questions. Finally, he had an answer.
"If I survive, yeah, I wanna start over. I wanna be someone my kid won't be ashamed of, even if he never meets me. . . even if he never wants to talk to me. I wanna become someone that he won't hate."
Emmy let his words settle for a bit, then she asked, "Tomorrow could get pretty hairy. You wanna go to confession tonight?"
Moretti thought about it, and said, "Yeah, I think so."
Emily just nodded and got up carefully from her chair and headed to the bathroom for some more Advil.
It was eleven thirty when Keith limped back the hall to the guestroom at the beach house. His legs ached as never before, and he knew it was due to stress. He hadn't been this worried since Emily had contracted the BioGen virus. As one of his old friends after another had succumbed, his little girl had held on, and when others reached a plateau in their recovery, she had continued to fight. It had taken her over a year, but she had made it back to work. The only lingering problem she had was an intolerance for cold. He was sad that she could never safely come home for another Christmas, but his baby was still alive, and that was enough for him.
As he walked past the master bedroom, Keith noticed the door was half open and the light was on, but when he looked in, he saw Steve stretched out asleep on the bed.
'Must have dozed off sooner than he expected,' Keith thought. 'Probably isn't as fully recovered as he thinks he is yet.'
Keith had almost forgiven Steve the cutting comments he had made the other day on the basketball court, and so, he moved into the room to turn the lights off before he pulled the door shut. Then he spotted the pink elephant slippers and the shock of red hair, and for a moment, the world started to spin.
So, that was why O couldn't bear to go back to the house in Brentwood. That was why Steve needed her TLC when Maribeth was at work. Keith felt like such an ass.
He took a step toward the bed, intent on having it out here and now, and gasped in pain as his legs reacted to the emotional overload. Then he shook his head to clear his thoughts.
'One crisis at a time,' he told himself. 'Get Em back first, then deal with this. . . betrayal.'
He crept painfully out of the room and headed off to bed.
At quarter to twelve, Olivia awoke feeling at ease for the first time since Steve had called her about Emily that early morning, ages ago, it seemed. She was still very tired, but he had promised her it would be ok, and she had always taken him at his word. Now she could go to bed and rest.
She looked at the face of the man sleeping soundly beside her. He still looked so young in his sleep. She kissed the tip of her index finger and pressed it lightly to his cheek, then she whispered a thank you, slipped on her elephant slippers, cut the light, and scurried off to bed, pulling the door shut behind her.
When she got into the guestroom, Keith was already making ready for bed.
"Did you get all the security plans worked out?" Liv asked.
"Yeah," Keith muttered, pulling off his shirt.
"And you're satisfied with what they're doing," she said, as she turned down the covers.
"I suppose."
"Good. If their plans meet with your approval I know they have to be ready for anything."
Keith just grunted, and Olivia figured he was preoccupied with tomorrow.
"So," she continued chatting, as she kicked off her slippers and settled on Keith's side of the bed. Now that she was feeling better, she knew he probably needed to talk out some of his tension, "tomorrow Moretti testifies, we get Emmy back, and it's over, right?"
"Something like that," he said distractedly as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his prosthetics.
"I can't wait to see her again. I've been so worried."
"I know."
She reached for his prosthetics, intending to go wipe them down for him.
"Leave it!" He snapped. "It's late. I'll do it in the morning."
"Ok." They sat in silence until Olivia broke it. "Keith?"
"What?" he snapped.
"You seem worried. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. I'm fine," Keith said gruffly, "just tired. Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day."
"Ok."
As Olivia walked round to her side of the bed, Keith maneuvered himself under the covers on his side.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," Liv said leaning toward him as she puckered up for her goodnight kiss. To her surprise, Keith turned away, switched out the light, and settled into bed as if he hadn't even noticed.
"Sleep well, darling," she said softly, and he murmured something incoherent back at her. *Poor guy,* she thought, *he must be tired if he can nod off that quickly.*
Liv settled down for the night, curling up close to her husband, feeling safe and warm, and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep herself.
Moretti sat in the confessional and waited for the priest. He was surprised at what a comfortable fit it was. 'They must be building them bigger,' he thought. Then he grinned as he realized he was smaller. He'd lost over thirty pounds and nearly six inches from his waist since Emmy had put him on the diet and exercise routine.
The screen slid aside, and his smile fell away.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he began. "It has been forty years since my last confession."
He started with the little stuff, lying, cursing, stealing, masturbating, fornicating, and worked his way up through pimping, gambling, and dealing drugs, all of which were deeds he had facilitated or performed. He went on to tell of information he had suppressed or released knowing his action would lead to men's deaths. So far, the priest had taken things quite well.
"And Father, I have personally killed seventeen men."
He paused a beat, expecting the priest to speak. The he remembered the words. He couldn't believe he had forgotten the words! "I am sorry for these and all of my sins," he hastened to add.
There was a long silence. Moretti began to fear that he had drawn a priest who would refuse to grant absolution, but he knew that was ridiculous. They were required to absolve anyone who confessed.
Finally, the priest spoke.
"You seem to have led quite the busy life."
"Yes, Father," Moretti was grateful that the priest had taken a nonjudgmental tone.
"Why wait so long to confess, my son?"
"Because it wouldn't have done any good if I didn't stop."
"And now you plan to stop?"
Moretti took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
"I plan to die tomorrow, Father. I'm gonna to give state's evidence against a former. . . colleague. If they don't kill me to shut me up, they'll kill me to get even."
"I see." The priest was silent a long time again, then, "And you're hoping this last minute confession will get you into Heaven."
It was Moretti's turn to be silent and think. When he spoke again, he was surprised by what he heard.
"No, Father," he choked on his words, unfamiliar emotion rising up within him. After a shaky breath, he continued. "I'm hopin' it will get me a new start. I don't wanna go into the courthouse as a criminal lookin' to save his sorry hide. I just wanna be a man, like any other, lookin' to do the right thing."
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Moretti found himself crying. He continued, tears welling in his eyes and streaming down his face all the while.
"I have a kid, Father, and he's a good man. He don't know he's mine, but he knows who I am, and if he has any sense at all, he hates me for what I done. Before I die, I'd like to be someone he wouldn't hate, and I can only do that if I start fresh. Once in my life, I'd like to be. . . " He searched for a word, and found only one that was adequate, ". . . good."
"What happens if you survive tomorrow, my son?"
"I talk to more cops, testify in more trials, and then I get a new name and a new place to live, if I live that long." Moretti heard no trace of bitterness in his own voice, just sadness for all that he had lost. It surprised him, when he realized he did not feel the loss of money and fine restaurants and power, he was grieving the loss of a wife and a home and a family. Things he'd never known, and never known he'd missed until now.
"So, you're giving up everything to testify against this colleague of yours. Why?"
"At first, it was 'cause he threatened my kid, even though he didn't know it was my kid at the time." He forced the words past tears that would not stop.
"And now," the priest prompted gently.
"Now, well. . . " Moretti was gasping for breath through sobs he had been holding back for forty years or more. "Now, wrong is wrong, and bad is bad, and I'm not makin' any excuses, Father, but he's hurt a lot more people than I have, and I'm sorry, and he's not, and I am the only one who can do anything about it. Please, Father, what's my penance?"
Again, the priest was silent for a long time. How does one set a penance for a man who already punishes himself? He listened to the man's sobs, and thought.
"Father? Please?"
"Your penance, my son. . . " The priest paused again, what should he say? "Your penance is to testify at the trial of your colleague, help the police in anyway you can. . . " Should he add more to it? Nodding to himself, he decided, yes. ". . . and ask your son to forgive you."
It would be hard, Moretti knew, but he was relieved.
"Yes, Father," he smiled through his tears.
The priest heard the man smile and asked, "Do you remember the prayer of contrition?"
"I think so. Will you help me if I forget?"
"Of course, my son."
Despite his continuing weeping, Moretti only stumbled once. "Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee. I detest all of my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God. . . "
The priest prompted him, ". . . who are all good. . . "
". . . who are all good and deserving of all of my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin. Amen."
Finally, the priest granted him absolution. "God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."
The formula was a balm to Moretti's shredded spirit. He felt. . . alive again, hopeful for the first time in ages. There was no more cause for bitterness or sorrow. His life was a blank page again, like it had been when he was a child, and he was free to paint upon it any picture he wanted.
The priest then dismissed him, saying, "Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good."
Moretti responded, "His mercy endures forever."
Moretti knew he should leave the booth, but something was holding him there.
"It does, doesn't it, Father?" It was not a question born of confusion, but of awe and wonder.
"My son?"
"Endure forever."
"Indeed it does, my son, indeed it does."
Keith did not sleep well. Once Liv's breathing evened out and he was sure she was sleeping, he opened his eyes and studied her face. She looked innocent and untroubled. All that night, Keith watched his wife sleep like an angel and wondered. After so many sleepless nights, with the trial looming in the morning and the danger that surrounded their daughter because of it, how could she possibly, tonight of all nights, find the peace of mind to have a sound and restful sleep?
