(Chapter 27. CGH, beach house, safe house. March 29, 2033.)
Ron had just finished a long, hot shower. He'd kept the water pounding on his sore, aching body until it went cold on him, and then he'd stepped out and toweled off. Now, he was just preparing to lie down for some real sleep before his relief arrived. Stepping from the shower to the bedroom wrapped in nothing but a towel, he headed for his overnight bag to find a pair of shorts to sleep in when Al Cioffi came bursting in, crossed the room in two angry strides, and smashed him in the jaw with a thundering right.
"You son of a bitch! You knew, didn't you?"
Ron staggered against the wall from the force of Cioffi's blow. A moment later, he stood up, shook his head to clear it, and headed for the bed to open his overnight bag again. "Jeeze, Al, at least let a guy get his shorts on before you pick a fight, would you?"
"Dammit, answer me.
Did you know he was my father?"
"Yes."
"I want to be removed from the guard detail."
Ron grew thoughtful. Then, finding his boxers, he pulled them on, took out a t-shirt, and slipped into it. Finally, he turned to Al and said, "We can do that, but first I want you to take some time and think about this. He wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."
"He wouldn't be here if it weren't for immunity," Al countered.
"No," Ron corrected him. "When he found out who you were, he came to me. We had nothing on him. He was completely in the clear. He is here because of you. Chew on that for a while, then if you still want off the detail, tell him why before you come to me. If you can look him in the eye and explain your reasons for leaving, I will have you removed from the assignment."
"I don't think he's really catatonic," Maribeth explained as she led Liv and Keith through the beach house to the kitchen at just past nine. "I think he's just afraid he'll completely lose his grip if he lets go even a little."
"I'm not surprised," Liv said, her voice harsh with anger. "I read the article on the way over here, and it's absolute trash. It's nothing but birdcage liner, and I'm not sure it's even good enough for that. Can't you get rid of some of those reporters?"
"Not without shooting them, no," Maribeth said dryly, "and I know what you mean about the paper, Liv, but Steve, being Steve, just let every word of it cut into him. I have never seen him hurt like this before, and, well, I know a lot is still up in the air, how the public will respond, how the department will react, but I was thinking, if you could just tell him the truth about Emily, I think that would help a lot. Amanda tells me he first suspected he was her father about a month ago."
"A month ago? Why the hell didn't anyone tell me?" Liv demanded and Maribeth knew she was furious. "I would have told him earlier if someone would have just said something."
"Well, only Amanda and Jesse knew, and Steve made them promise to keep it to themselves," Mark said as Liv entered the kitchen. He knew what they were talking about. There could only be one possible topic at this moment.
"I see, and now you all want me to set the record straight, so whatever the truth may be, he doesn't have to worry about finding out anymore."
"Yes," Steven said, "and so I don't have to worry either."
"Ok. Olivia and I talked about this on the way here," Keith said. "Mark and Steven, if we could just go downstairs, I will tell you all about the circumstances surrounding Emily's birth. O is going to stay up here and talk to Maribeth and Steve. We just figured Steve would need, and well, he deserves to get a more detailed version, and, because she is his wife, Maribeth should hear the whole story, too."
"All right," Steven agreed. "I'll make a pot of coffee and we can talk, but please, is she my sister?"
"I'll answer all your questions downstairs, Steven. Let's go, son."
As the men headed down to the lower apartment, Liv turned to Maribeth and said, "What do you think would be easier? Should we go see him together, you first, me first, or do you want to try to get him to come out here?"
After a moment's thought, Maribeth decided, "Right now, I don't think he could take us both at once. He seems to feel everything that has gone wrong over the past few weeks is his fault. Do you blame him for what has happened, Liv?"
"No, not at all."
Maribeth smiled, she was very heartened by the fact that the answer came with no hesitation whatsoever. "Then I think you should go in there and tell him that. Talk to him about Emily and reassure him. I think he will feel better once he knows that you don't intend to lay any of this at his door. Then I will come in, and you can tell us both whatever it is you have to tell us."
"Give me, say . . . ten minutes?"
"Ok, that will be fine, but Liv?"
"Yes?"
"Is she . . . that is, is he her . . . " Maribeth so dreaded the answer, for so many reasons, that she was unable to ask the question.
"Maribeth, do you really think I would keep a secret like that, from him, for thirty years?"
"I don't think so, Liv, but I don't know you well enough to be sure."
"Well, I'm sorry," Liv said, sounding genuinely apologetic, "but after all that has happened, I think Steve deserves to be the first to know."
Biting her lip and wringing her hands, Maribeth nodded her agreement. "I . . . I'll fix some coffee. Tea for you?"
"Yes, please, and thank you, Maribeth."
"Are you sure Agent Wagner won't mind us coming up early?" Tim Brown asked as Cheryl walked out to the police parking lot with him.
"Positive. In fact, I think he'll thank us," she replied.
"Ok, I guess so. You know him better than I do. Do you wanna drive or shall I?"
"You can," she said with a grin. "The FBI will take all the glory, might as well let them cover the gas bill, too."
"Ouch, that hurt," Tim replied, laughing back at her as they climbed in the car.
"Just be sure you aren't followed," Cheryl said as he started the engine, "And keep checking. It's a long way to Barstow, and if they just know the town, they could pick us up anywhere along the route."
Liv went quietly down the hall to the master bedroom and knocked lightly. When she got no answer, she opened the door a crack and called in, "Steve? It's Liv. If you're not decent, cover yourself. I'm coming in."
After a moment, she pushed the door open and entered. The whole room seemed gray and sad and had an air of mourning. I shouldn't be surprised, that article crucified him. He has lost a lot in the past twenty-four hours. Steve lay on the bed facing the wall, curled up almost in the fetal position, wrapped around a pillow, clutching it to his chest. He was perfectly still, and even when Liv came and sat beside him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder, he did not move. He didn't even look at her.
"You've been under a lot of pressure lately," Liv said, cursing herself for stating the obvious, but not knowing where else to begin. "Maribeth, your dad, and Steven thought I might be able to lighten the load by talking to you about Emily."
Liv was greeted with absolute silence. For a while, she waited, but soon, she knew she needed to say more.
"It's not your fault, Steve. Leigh Ann pulled the trigger. Steve, I don't blame you, neither does Keith, nor Em."
Finally, there was a hint of recognition. Liv waited patiently, and eventually, Steve uncurled his long, lean frame, stretched, sat up, and after several more moments of staring silently, he asked, very softly, "Is she ok?"
"As ok as can be expected, I guess," Liv was deliberately vague. She wanted to draw Steve out more.
It took a few seconds, but finally, he asked, "What does that mean?"
"Well, her condition's still critical," Liv explained, "but she is stable now, and she has woken up. She recognized Keith and me, and she was able to communicate a little with hand signals. She was lucid before Alex sedated her again."
"Why'd he sedate her?"
"She's in a lot of pain, Steve. So much that she can't rest, and she really needs to rest now, if she is to recover. He's sitting with her until Keith and I get back to the hospital."
They sat in silence for several minutes, then finally, Liv said simply, "She's not your daughter, Steve. Keith is her daddy."
Immediately, two big tears formed in Steve's eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He tried several deep breaths to calm himself, but just found himself sniffling, gasping, and fighting for air. Liv drew him into a gentle hug and rubbed slow circles on his back.
"Are you happy about that, or sad?" she asked.
After a minute, Steve said, "I don't know." For a little while, he clung to Liv and said, "I . . . I guess I am more relieved than anything. I'm happy for Steven, I think he loves her."
Liv sat back from the hug, but she didn't let go completely because she had a feeling Steve needed her to maintain the contact. "I think he does, too."
The two of them were quiet again, and then Liv asked, "Why didn't you just ask me? It would have been a reasonable question under the circumstances."
"So much was happening all the time, Liv. Everyone was so worried. It just seemed like a real bad time to bring up one more problem."
"But, Steve, it would have been one less worry for you."
"I suppose," Steve agreed, "but if I was right, then I would have had to explain it to Maribeth, you would have to explain it to Keith, and we would both have to explain to Steven why he had to stop seeing the woman he loved. I couldn't face all of that on top of everything else that was going on."
"So, you kept it to yourself and worried about it all alone, huh?"
Steve nodded.
"Idiot."
Steve smiled slightly. The insult didn't sting because it was said with so much affection. "It's easy to say that now," Steve said, "but not knowing made it so hard to talk about."
"I imagine it would. So, do you want to know about the day she was born and all the trouble we had after that?" Liv's voice was sad, and for some reason, Steve desperately wanted to cheer her.
"Wow, she started early, didn't she?"
"Started early?"
Steve gave a weak lopsided grin, "Causing trouble."
It was a poor joke, but she appreciated the effort, and so, responded in kind. "Oh, yeah, she sure did, but I wouldn't trade a minute of it."
Steve swallowed hard. After weeks of wondering and worrying about what would happen when he finally asked, now that he knew he wasn't Emily's father, he found it hard to explain some of the coincidences that had initially made him think she was his child.
"She's so tall, Liv, and you're . . . well, you're not, and she's left handed, and the wedding was in February, but she was born in September. Are you sure she's Keith's?"
"Yes, Steve, I'm certain. There was talk, and for a while, we wondered, but I know she's his."
Liv and Steve remained quiet for several more minutes, until someone knocked at the door.
"Steve? Liv? Can I come in?"
"Sure, Mar," Steve called out as Liv moved off the bed to sit in a chair nearby. As his wife brought in a tray of coffee, tea, and cakes, he said without preamble, "She's not my daughter, Mar. She's not mine."
Maribeth quickly put the tray down, and then, bringing her hands up to her mouth muttered, "Thank God, oh, thank God." She started to cry with relief, and the sat in the space Liv had just vacated and hugged her husband tight. She sat back, but continued to hold his hands as, for several moments, she struggled for control, then, unable to squelch a delighted smile she looked at Olivia and, blushing with shame at her behavior, said, "I'm sure she's a lovely girl, Liv, and my son and husband both think the world of her. It's just that, well, if she were Steve's daughter, she would . . . that is . . ."
"It would upset the applecart?"
"Well, yeah, exactly."
Again, there was an awkward silence, then Steve, remembering something Liv had mentioned a moment ago, asked, "Liv, what happened when she was born? You said there was talk. Did people think she was mine?"
"Steve!" Maribeth was shocked. "Liv, I'm sorry, he's just been under so much pressure . . . "
"It's ok," Olivia reassured them both. "Steve, it's a long story, and I will tell you all of it, but first, let me answer your concerns about her height and her being left handed, ok?"
Steve and Maribeth nodded, and she began. "One summer, when I was maybe nine years old, Keith's daddy had an accident while making hay . . . "
Maribeth looked at her husband, and they both smiled. Olivia loved to tell stories. Why use one word when fifteen would do?
Moretti occupied himself quietly in the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast dishes and planning lunch. There were three nice looking chicken breasts in the fridge and some corn-on-the-cob. Add some green beans and a salad, and he could do something nice with that.
After Al had charged out of the kitchen in search of Agent Wagner, Moretti had heard raised voices, and he was certain he had heard the sound of someone getting hit, and he knew there was no point in going after his son. He would just have to wait for Al to come to him. And if he never does?
Moretti sighed deeply and started drawing the water to wash the dishes. Then you've only lost something that was never really yours anyway.
"Well, according to Amanda," Mark said, "besides her temper and her stubbornness, he thought she was unusually tall and strong, and he noticed she was left handed. Then, of course, there's her birth date."
Keith nodded and knew he could easily explain those traits without getting too deep into personal matters he didn't really want to discuss. After assuring them that there was no way Steve could be Emily's father, he had asked Mark and Steven to tell him why Steve had thought otherwise, and he was pleased that all of Steve's concerns were really quite superficial.
"Well, first of all, O's dad was called Big John Regis for a reason" Keith told them. "The man was six feet four inches tall, and built like a brick outhouse. He was purely massive, and it was all muscle. I remember one time we were baling hay. I was about twelve years old, and the front wheels of the tractor broke through the roof of a groundhog's tunnel. The tractor tipped, and Dad was pinned underneath."
"That kind of accident can cause a serious injury," Mark said.
"Don't I know it," Keith replied. "I just started to scream, certain my dad was going to be crushed to death before my eyes. The men on the other tractor and wagon had gone back to the barn with their load, so it was just Mr. Regis and Dad and me. Well, Big John looked at me and just shouted, 'Stop it, Keith.' He had a really deep voice, even when he whispered, it carried like thunder from the mountains, and when he yelled at me, you better believe I did what he said. He had me cut the engine on the tractor, but the wagon tongue and hitch had twisted when the tractor tipped and we couldn't unhitch the wagon. So, Big John took hold of one of the big rear tires of the tractor, and pushed. He set it and the wagon upright with one shove and I was able to help my dad out from under."
"Sounds like a very strong man," Steven commented.
"He was. And a big man, in every sense of the word." Keith wasn't surprised by the curious looks he got, but he just smiled and continued his story, knowing that it would all be clear in time.
"Well, it was supposed to rain that afternoon," Liv explained to Maribeth and Steve, having no idea her husband was telling the same story downstairs. It just so perfectly typified her father's behavior and attitude, and so beautifully explained Emily's heritage from the Regis family, that it had seemed the natural choice for explaining the young woman's personality and appearance. "And when the tractor tipped, the axle bent, so even if they got a new wagon, with nothing to haul it, they wouldn't be able to finish getting the hay in. Jud was worried, and insisted he should stay to help, but Daddy sent him and May and the boys off to the hospital, and it was a good thing, too. Jud had a punctured lung and would have killed himself if he had tried to finish the job."
"Farmers are stubborn, sometimes foolish people, aren't they?" Maribeth commented. She was still seated on the bed next to Steve, a hand resting on his knee in an unconsciously possessive, affectionate gesture. "I grew up in Kansas and knew a lot of them."
"They can be," Liv agreed, "but they're usually pretty desperate, too. Their survival depends as much on the whims of the weather as on their own sweat and hard labor. Daddy and Jud were close friends, and Daddy knew Jud had had a hard time the year before. If he lost his hay crop, he'd have to sell some of his stock to buy hay for the rest. That would cut his milk production, and he might have trouble making his bank notes. Then, there would be the added cost of the medical bills, and fixing the wagon and tractor. Daddy knew losing the hay crop would be a disaster for Jud."
"He really was at fate's mercy, wasn't he?" Steve asked. "It amazes me that small farmers can make a living."
"Some of them don't," Liv said, "but Jud was lucky. He had friends like my dad." She smiled and continued her story. "When the second wagon came back out, they loaded Jud on it, and everyone rode back to the house. Then Daddy called home, and had my three oldest brothers, Benny, John-John, and Pauly, go over to Jud's place and help with the hay making. They lost a lot of time waiting for the second tractor and wagon, but they kept working with just the one until it came. When the boys got there, Daddy worked them hard."
Alex sat sprawled in the chair next to Emily's bed, talking to her in a low voice. Every rational part of his brain told him she couldn't hear him, but every rational part of his brain had also told him she should have been dead by now, too, so he ignored rational thoughts and kept talking.
"You keep surprising us, Emily, and you're making me look like a fool, but keep it up."
He leaned forward and squeezed her hand gently.
"Your folks love you so much, Em. I never knew Olivia when she was with Steve, but I have gotten to know her a little in the past couple of months just by working with Steve now and then on trying to get you back. She still needs you. There are things she needs to say to you, and I imagine, things you want to say to her, so embarrass me all you want, just get well."
"Everyone who was there swears the Regis boys brought in two loads of hay for every one the other crew managed," Keith continued for Mark and Steven. "I suppose they were just so used to working together that everything ran like clockwork for them, but even so, it was an amazing feat. They just got the last wagonload in before the storm started. By the time Mom, Kenney, and I got home that night, Mrs. Regis had come over with Andy, Liv, and Beth, and she had fed all the men and had dinner waiting for us, ham, string beans, and potatoes with cherry pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert. It's odd I remember that, but I think it was the best ham dinner I've ever had, probably because it was such a kindness.
"They kept dad in the hospital for a while because he had a punctured lung, but every day, one or more of the Regis boys would come over and help with the chores. Kenney and I never could have managed it ourselves, and there was no way Dad could have paid a hand to help. Big John Regis and his kids saved our farm for us that summer."
Keith's tone became very grave as he continued. "What nobody knew at the time was that Benny, John-John, and Pauly had been bringing in the hay at their own place when Big John called them. When the rain started, it didn't let up. It rained some every day for the next eighteen days. Even if the hay hadn't rotted in the field, the ground was too wet to get the tractor out. They lost almost the whole crop and were facing the same disaster they had saved us from."
"Well," Liv said, "word got out about what had happened, but to save my dad's pride, no one said anything about it to him. They were all farmers, or depended on the farmers for business, and so they knew he was worried to death about what would happen come winter. Then one Saturday morning when the back roads had finally dried enough for travel, Daddy came out of the milk house to see a line of tractors hauling wagons loaded with hay up to the barn. There were dozens of them." Liv's voice filled with astonishment even now.
She smiled, remembering the kindness of her friends and neighbors. "Some of the farmers had been traveling since dawn and had come from as far as sixty miles away. There were people there whom we had only ever seen twice a year, at the County Fair in October and the State Farm Show in Harrisburg in January. Jud and the other men at the Grange had started calling around and visiting people, telling them what Daddy had sacrificed to help Jud out of his jam, and before they knew it, they had organized this neighborly . . . pilgrimage, I guess you could call it."
Liv was beginning to choke with emotion, but she managed to continue her tale. "I remember coming out of the house, and running barefoot across the cold, wet grass to stand beside my dad as the tractors rolled on up our driveway. My daddy was always a big softie, but this kindness, it was just too much for him. Great big tears rolled down his face. It was such a relief. Jud was at the head of the line. He still looked a little peaked, but he was feeling a lot better. He stopped at the milk house, and over the noise of his tractor, told my dad, 'One good turn deserves another, John.'"
Teary eyed herself now, Liv finished the story. "I'm sure Daddy would have said more if he hadn't been so moved. As it was, he just said, 'Much obliged, Jud.' Then he turned to me and said, 'Livvie, tell your mama she's gonna have a lot of hungry men to feed and she better start lunch now if she plans to have it ready by noon.' They had the barn filled by sundown and had to put the last two loads up in the wagon shed. Then we had a good old fashioned barn dance."
She sighed happily, enjoying the pleasant memories. "Later, when he came into my room to say good night, Daddy told me, 'Let today be a lesson to you, Livvie. Always do the right thing, and when you need it, it will come back to you'."
Grinning now with the happy memory, Liv finally caught up with her runaway recollections and said, "I sort of got lost in my story, didn't I? I was trying to explain all those little things about Emmy that made you think she was yours."
"You see," Keith finished his roundabout explanation, "all of Big John's people were just about larger than life, and Olivia is the only one of his kids who took after her mother's side. All of her brothers were lefties, and the baby, Beth, was five feet eight inches tall by the time she was ten years old. O is tiny, like her mother's folks. She tells me she was the only baby her mother ever had that weighed less than ten pounds. If she hadn't favored her daddy so much in looks, people might have started talking." There was an awkward silence as Keith realized how close what he had said came to the present situation. Finally, he finished lamely, "Anyway, that's where Emmy gets it from."
Leigh Ann sat cross-legged on the cot in her cell pouting. That idiot husband of hers was going to get her a lawyer whether she wanted one or not. She'd much rather go to jail than go home to the Pillsbury Doughboy.
The guard walked by her cell, slowly, and gave her a good once-over as he did. Leigh Ann smiled. Now he looks like the kind of man who knows how to take charge of a situation. She still had the tray that held her breakfast, now a sticky and congealed mass of syrupy pancakes and greasy sausages. With an evil glint in her eye, she balanced it on one hand and waited for the guard to pass again.
"That really does explain a lot," Steve said quietly, "but how can you be sure she's not mine?"
"I just knew," Liv said, "but Keith wasn't so sure." Liv turned to Maribeth and said hopefully, "You might not want to hear all of this."
Maribeth smiled back. "I think what you mean is you might not want me to hear all of this," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed, sipping coffee and munching a cookie, as relaxed as if she were in the living room having a gab session with Amanda and Katie Lynne. Suddenly, she realized she hadn't seen her husband's friend and his best friend's wife on a social visit in quite some time, and decided that once they managed to get rid of the reporters, she would have to call them and invite them over. Then she thought maybe she would wait until Emily was out of the woods so that Liv could join them. "You've started telling the story, Liv. It might be easier to finish it now than to wait."
"Mar," Steve warned. He was still deeply troubled by what was happening himself, but he knew Liv had to be very worried about her daughter and didn't want Maribeth pushing her too hard.
Shifting uncomfortably, knowing she had been caught fudging the truth, Liv said, "Can you blame me?"
"Look, Olivia," Maribeth said kindly, "I know you and my husband were lovers. I also know that you are just friends now, and that he is as in love with me as you are with your husband. I just want to get this all out in the open so we can move on. I know we've had our ups and downs in the time you have been here, but I really hope when things are settled, that we can be friends, and I would hope you would be willing to confide in me, as a friend."
Liv recognized the olive branch for what it was, and nodded in agreement. "Ok, I'll tell you all about it, and then maybe we can leave the past in the past, at least until the reporters start asking questions again."
Rolling her eyes, Maribeth said, "When did they ever stop?"
Liv made a quiet sound of agreement, and then, taking a deep breath, began her final explanation. At first, she spoke very quietly and nervously, not sure Maribeth was as ready for the truth as she claimed to be.
"I was on the pill the whole time we were together, Steve. I didn't approve of premarital sex then, and I still don't, but . . . but . . . "
Liv snuck a look at Maribeth, and the woman seemed unfazed. Searching for and failing to find a good way to frame her thoughts, she finally just said what was in her heart, and the words tumbled out of her.
"The way you treated me from the moment I woke up in your bed the day after we met. I didn't even know your name, I could barely remember my own, and I held a gun to your head, threatened your life, and the next thing I know, you're bringing me breakfast in bed, and you were so sweet and sexy, and . . . "
Liv looked at Maribeth again. She had expected the other woman to be upset, hurt, maybe even furious, and she was completely unprepared for the bemused, quizzical expression she saw instead. Maribeth was looking back and forth from Steve to Liv, smiling slightly, and suddenly, Liv was intensely embarrassed. Maribeth was actually curious about her relationship with Steve. Blushing furiously, she rushed on ahead. Steve knew the details, she could get them from him!
"Anyway, I knew I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation for long, and I saw no sense bringing a child into the world unless I knew I would have a husband to help me raise it. At that time, though you assured me you would be there despite the terrible things in my past, you didn't know enough about me for me to be able to trust that promise. So, I did the responsible thing and went on the pill less than a week after we met. By the time we got together in December, I knew they had taken effect."
"You told me that the first time we made love, Liv. Remember, I panicked because I . . . " Steve glanced at his wife, and he too blushed to realize she was listening with avid interest. "I had . . . forgotten . . . something," he finished lamely. "So, if you were on the pill, Liv, why did Keith doubt that Emily was his child?" Steve felt much more comfortable talking about Liv and Keith than he did talking about Liv and himself.
"Well, that takes a little more explaining, can you be patient?"
As long as Liv was willing to tell the story and save him the painful task of explaining intimate details that were all the more embarrassing because they were memories half a lifetime old, he would be pleased to let her do so. Feeling very much like a coward for letting Liv bear the burden of reliving all their personal, private details for Maribeth's benefit, he nodded and let her continue.
As the guard walked past her, Leigh Ann hurled her tray at him. Pancakes and sausages rained down on him. Cursing and shouting, he advanced toward the bars, and pulling out his nightstick, he rattled it across her cage. His anger excited her, and she stood in her cell, just beyond his reach, feet spread wide, hands on her hips, taunting him.
"Come one, big boy, get in here and show me what that stick of yours is really good for!"
"Officer Braden," a voice snapped from the end of the corridor, and the big man froze. "Go get yourself cleaned up."
As Braden trundled off, Leigh Ann dropped onto her cot and moaned in despair. "Noooo. He's a nobody. He's just following orders, like everybody else."
"I had a remarkably easy pregnancy," Liv began. "No morning sickness, no swollen ankles, nothing. In fact, I didn't know I was even pregnant until the end of April. I was just wondering why I was suddenly developing a spare tire."
"Didn't you notice you'd missed your cycle?" Maribeth asked.
Liv shook her head. "No, I never really tracked it, and I was always so small, that sometimes I could go 2 or 3 months at a time without one, and not think twice about it, even on the pill."
"Is that possible?" Steve asked, realizing that if the answer was no, he had to be Emily's father, no matter what Liv 'knew'.
"Oh, yeah," Maribeth answered. "You have to have a certain percentage of body fat to even have a cycle. If she was always as thin as she is now, it was hit and miss at best." Maribeth couldn't hide the jealousy when she talked about Liv's slim figure. She could spend hours a day in the gym and never be so lean.
Liv blushed slightly, both at Maribeth's candor and her jealous tone, and continued. "Anyway, except for the slowly inflating basketball that appeared to be hiding under my shirt and the frequent desperate sprints to the bathroom, no one would guess that I was pregnant."
There was no missing the disgusted look that crossed Maribeth's face. With both Steven and the little girl they had lost, she had been miserably sick seemingly since the moment of conception. Once, in her second trimester with Steven, she had ended up a patient in her own hospital suffering dehydration from her frequent bouts of nausea. Probably because of her exhaustion and illness, she had often been overly emotional, completely disinterested in any kind of romance, let alone sex, and had on one occasion when Steve had tried a romantic overture, shoved him off the bed, shouting, "Leave me alone! I do not feel sexy, I feel like a whale!"
Steve had lain, uncomplaining, on the floor for a few minutes, reluctant to show his face until he had worked out an apology, in the hopes of avoiding banishment to the spare bedroom, but the exertion had exhausted Maribeth so that, by the time he was ready to deliver his placating words, she had fallen asleep, stretched diagonally across the bed, taking up most of his side as well as her own. Risking a kiss goodnight, he had been socked in the eye when she lashed out blindly in her sleep. Knowing no apology could appease her now, because it would require waking her, he had taken his pillow and trundled silently off to sleep, alone.
The next morning, when Maribeth had inquired about the cause of his shiner, she had at first refused to believe it was her handiwork. Once Steve had managed to convince her that she had indeed punched him in the eye after pushing him out of bed, she had become so remorseful that it had taken him a good hour to get her to stop crying long enough to tell him why she was so upset. Even then, all she could manage was, "I'm as big as a house, and cranky all the time, and you're still interested. I love you!" The swelling in Steve's eye went down by the end of the next day, but the bruising lasted over a week.
Noting Maribeth's dour look but choosing not to comment, Liv just went on with her story.
"We were a little surprised when the baby started moving near the end of June."
Liv heard Maribeth's surprised gasp, and saw her start counting on her fingers immediately. She knew she was counting the months.
"But Liv," she whispered, "that's only four months."
"Closer to four and a half," Liv said.
"So? What? What's that mean?" Steve knew the information was momentous, but he had no idea why.
"Because the baby usually doesn't quicken until the fifth or sixth month."
Steve grew pensive, then said, "So, she was moving too early for her to be Keith's, but you say you're sure she is. How?"
Liv never answered his question. She just continued her story. "My OB, Calum MacGregor was a young Scotsman, a visiting specialist at our hospital. He was a big, burly fellow, but very gentle and kind, and I remember at my next appointment when we told him she was moving, he laughed and said, 'Aye. It doesn't surprise me. Your littlun is gonna be a bigun.'"
"Liv, please," Steve pleaded, "how do you know?"
She looked at him kindly and said, "Steve, let me tell you the story my way. It's important, I promise."
All it took was those two little words, I promise, and Steve acquiesced.
"Since Calum wasn't at all concerned that the baby was moving early, Keith and I never gave it a second thought, or at least I never did. I didn't know Keith was asking questions."
"So he thought Emily could be Steve's, baby didn't he?"
"Yes, he did, Maribeth," Liv said candidly, "He spoke to Calum, without my knowing. He asked about the due date and the size of the baby. I found out about it when I had my five-month checkup. Keith had to work that day, and at the end of the visit, Calum gave me an image from the ultrasound and said, 'Tell that hoosbund of yours that his wee lass is dooin' just fine, and he needn't be callin' me with questions every week. She is a tad bit big for her age, but that's a good sign she's healthy. When he gets worried, he kin look at that picture and know all is right with the world.'"
"So the doctor didn't know about you and Keith and Steve?" Maribeth asked.
"No, no he didn't," Liv said. "He hadn't even moved to the area until after we got back from our honeymoon. Right away, I knew what was on Keith's mind, and I went straight to the sheriff's office and confronted him about it. It was a stupid thing to do because we never settled anything. He took me into one of the interrogation rooms and started questioning me, trying to pinpoint the date of Emily's conception, and all of a sudden, I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a period. I knew there hadn't been one in February, and I attributed that to the stress of the situation with Ted and then to getting pregnant. There hadn't been one in January, but that had been an incredibly stressful time for me, too."
"What?" Her statement surprised Steve. "Liv as I remember it, we spent a lot of time together in the weeks before you took me back east. I thought we had a good time."
"Oh, Steve, we did," she reassured him, "but when I was alone, when you weren't around to comfort me, I kept wondering what I would do if you decided I had too much baggage and changed your mind about marrying me. I-I guess, in a way, that is exactly what you did, but until the wedding, I couldn't imagine what I would do without you."
"Liv, I'm sorry," Steve said. "I never knew."
"That's ok, I didn't want you to. So that took me back to December and the first time we made love. I thought I had had a cycle then, but I couldn't remember if it was before or after that night."
"So, you did think that she might be mine, didn't you?" Steve asked softly.
"No, I didn't. I wasn't in denial, though I can understand if you don't believe me. I just knew she was my husband's child. There was no doubt in my mind. I could feel it, like my own heartbeat, and I knew she was Keith's."
"But Keith didn't share your certainty, did he?" Maribeth asked.
"No, he didn't," Liv said regretfully, "but I couldn't blame him for that. The timing was awfully suspicious." She started to tear up as she continued to talk. "It didn't hurt that he thought she was Steve's baby, that was only natural. She wasn't inside him, he couldn't know like I did. What hurt was when I found out that he thought I knew I was pregnant with Steve's baby when I married him."
"Lieutenant Emily Stephens' parents have apparently left her alone at the hospital under the care of Dr. Alex Martin, an old friend of Deputy Chief Sloan. Keith and Olivia Stephens were seen entering the Sloan family's Malibu beach house around nine o'clock this morning," the reporter droned on, "and they have been there ever since. There is still no word on the whereabouts of either Deputy Chief Sloan or Mr. Giancarlo Moretti, the man Sloan and Lieutenant Stephens allegedly conspired to kidnap."
Moretti sighed and cursed the reporter, but didn't turn the radio off. He was in the kitchen, making a marinade for the chicken he was going to cook on the hibachi for lunch. The radio was on, and every twenty minutes, the news came on. Emily and Deputy Chief Sloan were still the top story.
Moretti had added the little Japanese-style indoor grill to his grocery list as a joke, never expecting Al to actually purchase one, but now that he had it, he planned to make good use of it. As he added some red pepper flakes to his marinade, Moretti became aware that he was not alone in the room any more. He turned his head slightly, and caught a glimpse of his son out of the corner of his eye.
He wanted desperately to talk with Al, but he knew his son would not be impressed with a desperate old mobster, so he continued making his marinade and asked, "Ya need somethin'?"
Al was quiet for a long while, and Moretti was afraid he would just walk away, but then he heard a chair being pulled out from under the kitchen table, and with a sigh, Al sat down and said, "I need to know about you and my mother."
"I eventually went to my mom with my concerns," Keith said. "She is . . . well, was, she died about a year ago . . . great about giving good advice. I trusted her with all my problems, until I married Olivia, and even then, if the problem I was having was with O, I talked to Mom."
"Let me guess," Mark said grinning, "she told you to talk to Liv."
"Yes, sir, how did you know?"
"I would have done the same."
Keith smiled. "I'm not surprised. I suppose you also would have told me that, even if Emily turned out to be Steve's baby, I had to love her as my own, because there was absolutely no way Olivia would have married me knowing the child's father was another man who was also eager to marry her."
"And I would have told you that if Steve happened to be Emily's biological father, they had a right to know each other."
"I am sure you would have," Keith said, smiling, "because that's exactly what Mom said, too."
"So, you and Liv just made up and that was it?" Steven was incredulous.
"Oh, son, I wish it had been that easy."
"September sixteenth was a crummy weather day," Liv began, speaking of the day Emily was born. "It started out cold, windy, and rainy, and it was supposed to get colder after lunch. We were expected to get snow, sleet, or freezing rain by mid afternoon."
Liv made a face as if recalling unpleasant memories, and said, "I suppose, when I woke up feeling ill, I should have realized something was up. I wasn't really sick, just tired and achy, and a little nauseous, and since Keith was just heading back to work after a bout with the flu, I thought it was about to be my turn. I would drink lots of fluids and take something for the fever I was bound to get and I would be fine. I was worried about Keith driving in the slop that we were supposed to get that afternoon, but I was mostly just grateful that he was going into town so I could e-mail him a grocery list at work, and I wouldn't have go shopping myself."
"That's not what happened, though, is it?" Steve asked.
Liv shook her head, "Not a chance. Sometimes, I wonder why there has to be so much drama in my life. Something potentially disastrous seems to happen every decade."
She gave a slightly bitter smile and continued, "Anyway, after Keith went off to work, I laid back down for a while. It turned out to be a long while, and when I finally woke up around two thirty in the afternoon, the sky was the color of wet slate and sleet was rattling against the windows.
"I once read somewhere that there is a slight spike in the number of births during storms. Some people think it's the drop in barometric pressure. I remember thinking that when the first contraction knocked me to my knees before I was halfway to the bathroom. I knew better than to stand up and walk to the phone, so I crawled. I wanted to cry when I finally got there and there was no dial tone. The phone lines had iced up and snapped."
"What did you do?" Maribeth asked. She remembered what a comfort Steve was from the moment she went into labor. He had been at her side the entire time, and when she thought she had nothing left to give, he cheered her on until their son came into the world. As a doctor, she had an intellectual understanding of what went on during labor and delivery, but when the pains started, she was still scared, and she couldn't imagine having to go through the whole ordeal on her own, during a storm, having no contact with the rest of the world.
"I crawled back across the room to my jacket to retrieve my cell phone," Liv said, "but when my belly eclipsed my feet, I had quit traveling alone. I was just too afraid I might have a flat or something and be stranded. So, I hadn't needed it in a long while, and it wasn't charged."
"Oh, God, Liv," Maribeth gasped in horror as Steve listened intently to her story.
Grinning wryly, Liv replied, "That's what I said, and a few other things, too. Eventually, I made it down the stairs and out to the jeep. I don't know why I didn't just go down the road to the Yarborough's house and ask someone there to drive me to the hospital. I guess I panicked. I knew it was too soon, and my baby needed to be born in the hospital. Then another contraction hit, and I was down in a ravine."
"She never said anything," Al told Moretti, "but I think she always loved you."
"Yeah?"
"There were a couple of guys who wanted to marry her, didn't mind that she had a kid, but she turned them down. I never understood why. All I can figure is that she was still carrying a torch for you."
"How do you feel about that?"
"I don't know yet," Al said, and he got up from the table and walked out of the room.
"Emily was born in the jeep," Keith said, "in a ravine along the road between our house and Punx'y. She was seventeen and a half inches long and weighed just under four and a half pounds. On the small side, yes, but definitely very healthy for a baby that was thirteen weeks early."
"Wow," Mark said, impressed, "she was a big baby for being so young."
Keith nodded, and said, "Like I told you, she gets it from Big John. The only real indication that she was premature was that her lungs were slightly underdeveloped. She would have been fine if she had been born in a hospital."
"So, Liv delivered her on her own, out in the middle of nowhere?" Steven asked, incredulous.
"Uh-huh," Keith said. "I asked her why she didn't go to the neighbors, and to this day, she swears she just panicked, but I still think she didn't want to impose. She's always had a very hard time asking for help. Whatever the reason, though, it almost killed Emily and Olivia."
"You had a CB in the jeep, Liv," Steve remembered. "Why didn't you use that?"
"It had blown a fuse weeks before, and, just like with the cell phone, since I had quit traveling by myself, I just didn't bother to replace it."
"Sounds like events were conspiring against you," Maribeth said.
Liv nodded, "I guess that is one way to look at it. I always just thought it was carelessness. Between the telephone, the cell phone, and the CB, I never should have been cut off from the world like that."
Knowing Liv's propensity to feel guilty over things that were really nobody's fault, Steve interrupted her train of thought before she could go too far with it. "But it did happen, Liv, and you survived it. So did Emily."
Liv smiled softly, and said, "Just barely."
After his confrontation with Al Cioffi, Ron had found he could not sleep, so he was laying on the bed in the back room of the safe house watching the news on a little thirteen-inch TV, trying to force his body, if not his mind, to get some rest.
"Dan," Jonas said excitedly from his place in front of Valley Bureau Headquarters, "hold on a minute. I see Captain Malcolm Paige from the Internal Affairs Division is leaving the building." Turning his magnificent Roman profile to the camera, the handsome young man called out, his voice cutting across the other reporters, "Captain Paige! Are you on your way to arrest Deputy Chief Sloan in connection to the Moretti kidnapping or the Stephens shooting or some other charge connected with the evidence seized at the apartment of the late Roger Gorini?"
Paige turned to the camera, and for just a moment, he looked like a deer caught in the headlights, then his eyes hardened and his expression darkened. "Right now, I am just on my way to question him, Mr. Monroe. So far, the only thing he appears to be guilty of is a lapse in judgment in hiring Leigh Ann Bergman."
"But Captain," Jonas shouted his question to be heard above the rabble, "have you heard the tape?"
"Yes, I have," Paige replied, "and that is not a criminal matter. That is an issue to be resolved between the two families. Now, if the lot of you don't clear the way, I will have you all charged with blocking access to a public building."
As he watched the news in horror, Ron put his head in his hands and muttered, "Paige, that was a stupid thing to say."
"There you have it, Dan," Jonas said, smiling smugly at the camera. "The LAPD is trying to prevent coverage of this story by threatening the press with prosecution." Turning his profile to the camera, Jonas shouted to the policeman again, "What are you hiding, Captain Paige?"
"I hadn't even realize I passed them on the way home," Keith said. "There are a few bad spots along that winding old road, places where you can run off the road and over the bank into the woods, and never be spotted until someone goes looking for you, and it was just one of those place where O and Emily wound up."
"How long were they there?" Steven asked.
"About four and a half hours," Keith said. "Olivia figures she left for the hospital around two forty-five, and the way the roads were, it had probably taken her half an hour to get as far as she did. It was quarter past six when I got home and realized she had left, and going on eight when we found them. They were both hypothermic. Olivia had been bleeding slowly for a while and she was deathly pale. Emily . . . " Keith voice caught in his throat, "They said Emily was blue and having trouble breathing. I don't know because I hadn't seen her yet, just the car, and Liv when the paramedics brought her up."
"Her lungs weren't yet fully developed," Mark said, "and if it was cold, the air temperature was probably an additional stress."
"That's what the doctor told me." Keith fell silent for a long time. When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft and reverent. "They were both deeply comatose for three days. The doctors had begun asking me about organ donation, but I kept putting them off. I stayed with Olivia the whole time, never went to see the baby."
He looked up to see both Mark and Steven silently judging him. He didn't blame them. He'd done a horrible thing, and he knew it. The best he could hope for was to make them understand why he'd behaved as he had.
"I was expecting to lose my wife," he explained, "and as far as I knew, she had been carrying another man's child the day we were married. I didn't hate the baby. I just didn't feel anything toward her . . . no sense of responsibility . . . and certainly no love . . . " Keith had begun to choke up again, and, ashamed of himself, he finally fell silent.
"I was alone when I finally woke up," Liv said. "I found out later a nurse had come in to give me a bed-bath and she had sent Keith out of the room. He'd wandered off to the maternity ward, and eventually ended up outside the NICU."
"…where one of the nurses recognized me and the next thing I knew, I was inside, wearing scrubs and one of those shower-cap looking things to cover my hair. She asked if I wanted to hold . . . my daughter . . . I didn't say she wasn't mine, and I didn't say no, but I didn't say yes, either."
Keith blinked his eyes rapidly against the sting of tears. He hadn't intended to tell Steven and Mark quite so much of the truth, but now that he'd started the story, he couldn't bear to leave any of it out.
"The nurse left me alone after a little while, and I just stood there, feeling useless, and wishing I was with my wife. Then, almost against my will and definitely against my better judgment, I looked down at that tiny little creature in the incubator."
His breathing grew rapid and his words became stilted as he struggled to talk past the emotions that could still overwhelm him after all these years. He looked up, and saw Mark and Steven listening sympathetically. Heartened that they had not judged him too harshly, he made the effort to continue.
"There was an IV in her scalp, a feeding tube up her nose, and a respirator tube down her throat, and she was red and wrinkled and just looked so . . . so pitiful, so miserable, and I knew if we lost Liv, she would have no one to love her."
Keith's tears began to flow freely as he remembered the moment he first met his daughter.
"That's when I knew, whether she was my blood or not, she was my daughter because God had entrusted her to me and my wife. It didn't matter whose DNA she carried, she was mine, and it was my job to love her and teach her and give her everything she needed to have a happy, healthy life.
"All of a sudden, I just had to touch her. The nurse had made me scrub before I went into the NICU, so I just reached into the incubator and ran a finger along a blue vein I saw twitching in her scalp. Then I stroked her cheek, and she turned toward me."
Steven smiled. "Rooting reflex. All babies do it. She was looking for a meal."
Keith nodded. "So I've been told," he said. "Then, she opened her eyes and looked at me. Here eyes weren't the color they are now. They were just blue. The nurse brought me a chair so I could sit beside her. I stayed there a long time, hours, I suppose, and we just looked into one another's eyes and got to know each other. I touched her little arms and her legs and her feet, and when I put my finger in her palm, her tiny little fingers squeezed it. Eventually, she fell asleep again, and then I talked to the nurse about putting a proper name on the chart at the end of her incubator. Then I went back to my wife."
Ron took out his secure cell phone and placed a call. "Cheryl, it's Ron. Have you been watching the news?"
"Yeah, I have, listening to it, actually, on the radio. How are you and Al holding up?"
"We're doing ok," he replied, "but they're assassinating Steve. Do you think you and Tim could step on it? I need to get back to LA."
"I thought you might. We left early. We're halfway there now."
Ron grinned into the phone, "Cheryl, I think I love you."
"Ok. Just don't tell your wife."
After closing her phone, Cheryl looked across the car to Tim Brown. "I told you he'd be glad we left early. He says he thinks he loves me for it."
"Well, I guess we did the right thing, then," Tim said, smiling. Cheryl never noticed that he seemed a bit too pleased with the news.
"The next time I woke up, Keith was there, telling me Emily was doing better. I was sort of confused, and I just asked, 'Who?' and he laughed and told me I sounded like an owl. Then he said, 'Our daughter, Olivia. We did agree to call her Emily, right?' I knew then that everything would be ok. I hadn't realized until I found out he thought she was yours that he had always called her 'the baby' or 'it'. To hear him finally say, 'our daughter', well, to this day, I don't know what happened, but when he came back from visiting Emily for the first time, there was a look of peace and contentment and pride about him. I still see it, every time he looks at Em or talks to her or about her. I can even tell when he is just thinking of her."
"I know what you mean, Liv," Maribeth said. "Steve is the same way."
"I am?"
"You are!" Maribeth laughed and said, "You are absolutely in love with your child."
"Well, he's a good kid," Steve said defensively, a bit annoyed at being laughed at. "I'm proud of him."
"I know," Maribeth agreed, "and so does anyone else who has ever heard you talk about him or seen you with him."
When Steve continued to look disgruntled, Maribeth said, "Oh, don't pout. If it's any consolation, your dad does the very same thing where you're concerned. He just lights up when you come into the room."
Surprised, Steve couldn't stop himself from asking, "Really?"
"Yes, really. He's very proud of you, and loves you more than anything."
Steve smiled, genuinely happy for the first time in days at the thought that even after all these years he was still his father's pride and joy. Then the smile faded. "I wonder if he'll still feel that way when the press is through with all of us."
"Steve, stop it," Maribeth said. "You know he will, and you know you haven't done anything wrong."
"I suppose," Steve said noncommittally.
"Don't suppose! You know it's true," Liv added.
Steve didn't reply, and for a while, the three friends sat in silence. Finally, Steve waded out of the mire of black thoughts that had begun sucking him down again and said, "Liv? Would you finish your story please? What happened next?"
"Keith waited a couple of days until I was stronger, then he took his mother's advice and had a talk with me about Emily."
Ron peeked into the kitchen, hating to interrupt, but needing to talk to Al and Moretti.
"Guys?" he said softly, and when they both turned to see him, he could tell the conversation had been going. He wasn't sure it had been going well, but at least they had been talking.
"The press coverage is getting really bad," he said, "and Malcolm Paige just said some really stupid things. I need to get back to LA and do some damage control. Cheryl and Tim figured that would happen, so they started out early. They'll be here in about an hour. I just wanted you to know."
"What did Paige say?" Al asked, already dreading the answer.
"Not much, he just questioned Steve's judgment and threatened to arrest some reporters."
Al rubbed his temples and looked up at Ron, amazed at his colleague's idiocy. "You know, most of the cops I know would hate Malcolm Paige even if he weren't IAD, he's that damned dumb."
"We decided that once Emily was stronger, we would have a paternity test," Keith said. "At first, Olivia still insisted that she knew Em was my child, and that should be enough, but eventually, I got her to accept that I needed more than just a mother's instinct. I loved Emily, and in my heart, it didn't matter who her dad was, but for medical reasons, and in fairness to Emmy and Steve, I felt we had to run the test. Finally, O agreed.
"If Steve was Emily's father, we would contact him, if not, he didn't need to know about our problems," Keith became pensive a moment before explaining their reasoning. "Olivia thought if we told him about the problems we'd been having, he might feel responsible. At the time, I thought that was ridiculous, but after seeing him these past few weeks . . . he has a tendency to take the weight of the world on his shoulders, doesn't he?"
Mark chuckled slightly, and said, "That he does. We've been trying for years, but we just can't get him to break that habit."
"Well," Keith took up the story again, "I promised O that, if Steve were Emily's biological father, I would never try to prevent them from seeing and getting to know each other. But by then, in my heart I was Emily's daddy, and I made O promise she would make sure Steve understood that before he ever came to visit."
"We did the paternity test about a month later," Liv said. "It was the last test they did before they sent Emmy home. I'd done a little research on the Internet and found a lab in Missouri that guaranteed the accuracy of their results up to 99.99%. Keith was on pins and needles for the next two weeks. He felt like Emmy's dad by then, and he desperately wanted it to be biological fact."
Steve smiled. "I imagine so. Becoming a dad was the best thing that ever happened to me."
Maribeth looked at him, mock surprise on her face, "I thought I was the best thing that ever happened to you."
He smiled and kissed her on the nose. "You were until Steven came along," he said, "now, you are a very close second."
She pretended to think it over for a bit, then nodded, and said, "I can live with that, as long as you understand that I feel the same way about you."
"I never doubted it."
"When the letter finally came, I couldn't open it," Keith was finishing up his story, and was surprised to find he had been talking for over an hour. "I know Olivia saw it on the table with the other mail, but she left it alone for two days. Finally, she came to me one night before bed. I was sitting in front of the fireplace in our bedroom, holding Emily and soaking up the warmth. She took Emily from me and put her in the cradle on the bear rug, then she came and sat on my lap.
"She turned to me, kissed me, ran her fingers through my hair, then she took the letter out of the pocket of her robe, and my heart sank. She didn't let that last for long, though. 'It doesn't matter what this says,' she told me. 'We are a family, you, Emmy, and I, because we are bound by love. Blood doesn't matter.'"
Keith took a deep breath and smiled, "I knew she was right, but I really wanted that letter to say Emily was biologically mine. Olivia tore open the envelope, read the results, and well, we cried together."
Mark gasped. Steven said, "Oh, dear God, no."
Keith said, "Huh? What? No! No, guys, we cried with relief. I am Emmy's dad. The test was conclusive to 99.99% certainty. She is not Steve's daughter."
"We cried together when we read the results," Liv said.
"Liv?" Steve questioned, confused.
"I thought you said she wasn't his," Maribeth snapped.
Blithely oblivious to their concern, Olivia continued, "We knew nothing would ever come between us, and I knew Steve wouldn't have caused problems if she were his, but it was such a relief to have the proof that Keith was her father in every sense of the word."
Liv looked up to see Steve and Maribeth holding hands, looking bewildered and relieved all at once, and she thought back over what she had said. "Oh, goodness. I'm so sorry, guys. I guess I put that rather badly, didn't I."
"Damned right, you did," Maribeth told her, but when Liv lowered her head contritely, she added, "It's ok, though. It was just a bit of a worry at first, because you'd already said Steve wasn't her father. Why didn't you just tell us you had a paternity test?"
Olivia answered Maribeth's question, but she spoke to Steve. "Twice at the hospital, Steve, you gave me the chance to tell you this, but I was so worried about Emily, I couldn't. I needed you to understand what Keith and I went through, what kinds of emotions surrounded the issue. I needed you to know that I wasn't just being cruel by refusing to tell you."
She began to get teary again, and her voice choked up as she finished her speech. "I couldn't talk about it yesterday because with Emily in such bad shape, I couldn't afford to fall apart. If she had died while I was curled up in a ball somewhere feeling sorry for myself . . . "
Liv couldn't complete the thought, and Maribeth didn't let her. "She didn't Liv, and she won't."
"But Maribeth . . . "
"No, no buts. Just believe, that's all you can do."
Olivia nodded resolutely. "Ok." Taking a deep, calming breath, she said, "Now, has anyone in this house had breakfast?" Looking down at her watch, she said, "Or would you rather I started lunch?"
"So, Steven," Keith said, "you and Emmy are safe to do as you wish, though I should warn you that her mother will probably have some words for both of you about cohabitation as soon as Emily is strong enough to argue with her."
Keith couldn't resist a grin as he saw the horrified blush stain Steven's cheeks while Mark laughed at him.
"Now, why don't you two freshen up, get showered, whatever, while I go upstairs and start something for lunch?"
It was getting close to lunch time, and though Moretti's I just can't call him my dad grilled chicken smelled wonderful Al knew he needed to get home to his wife and have a serious talk with his son about following procedures. So, when Commander Banks called on the secure cell phone to say they were ten minutes out of Barstow, he stepped into the bedroom to wake Agent Wagner and pack the few things he had brought with him. When he was sure Wagner was fully awake, he took his overnight bag out into the living room and sat it by the door and then went into the kitchen to say goodbye to Moretti.
"So, I guess this is it, huh?" Moretti said. "You're goin' back to LA and leavin' me here with strangers."
"Twenty four hours ago, you only knew me by name."
"Yeah, but you're my . . . "
"Don't call me that. Not yet," Al interrupted. "I still don't know what I am to you."
After a silent moment, Moretti nodded. "Ok, but can ya tell me one thing?"
"I'll try."
"Tell me ya don't hate me."
"Mr. Moretti," Al felt bad to see the old man flinch at the formal address, "I don't know you well enough to hate you."
"I'll load the car," Al heard Agent Wagner call from the other room. "You secure the house."
Grateful for the chance to escape, Al called, "I'm on it," and he left to go take care of his responsibilities.
"Hey, babe," Liv said upon meeting her husband in the kitchen after telling Steve and Maribeth all about her pregnancy and Emily's birth. "Are youuuu ok?" she yawned, suddenly feeling the fatigue that had been building for hours now.
Keith nodded, "Fine, I guess. You?"
"Aiii ok," Liv managed around an enormous yawn.
Keith was concerned that his wife looked so terribly tired, and he couldn't believe it had been just over twenty-four hours ago that he had tossed her now very rumpled navy blue suit in her lap and told her to 'can the histrionics'. Feeling deeply ashamed, he said, "Why don't you go catch forty winks while I make everybody some lunch? Then you can freshen up and we can get back to the hospital to see Em."
Liv gave his offer some thought. She knew if she didn't rest soon, she would collapse, and then she would be no good to anybody, but she couldn't bear the thought of her baby being all alone and hurting in the hospital. Alex is a nice enough guy, but he's a stranger to her. Finally, she shook her head, and stumbled sideways into the refrigerator as she lost her balance, saying, "Nah, I think we ooood yust trowwww . . . " she yawned again, " . . . together a quick lunch and go back to the hospital straight awayyyy."
Steadying her and smiling indulgently, Keith said, "Sweetheart, if you don't lie down soon, you're going to fall down. Tell you what, we'll fix lunch together, and, since I slept some in Em's room last night, I will take a sandwich with me and go back to the hospital. You get some sleep and then ride in with Maribeth or Steven or whoever is coming in, and spell me. We'll take it in turns like that until we know she's out of the woods, ok?"
Liv nodded slightly, and stumbled forward, into her husband's arms. Her voice was muffled against his chest when she spoke. "S'long 's you don't 'spect me to use a knife whaahhhl weeee fix lunch, that should worrrrr . . . "
She was asleep standing up, safe in her husband's arms, before she could finish speaking. With a small chuckle, Keith lifted her up, and grateful for the high-tech prosthetics that afforded him the balance he needed to carry his wife in his arms, he took her back to the spare room the Maribeth had made comfortable for them and tucked her into the bed.
Keith was very proud of his wife. She had been so strong, for so long No thanks to you and she had earned her rest. Now that the worst of their crisis seemed to be over, he knew she would sleep soundly for a few hours, and then wake up, demanding a ride to the hospital where she would again be his strength and Emily's.
Keith quickly slapped together some sandwiches and put out a bowl of fruit for lunch, then he dashed off a note asking them to wake Olivia and give her a ride to the hospital whenever one of them was ready to come in. Then he slipped out the front door without even saying goodbye and gradually nudged the car through the swelling crowd of reporters. He was so anxious to get back to the hospital that he ran a red light at the end of the block and was certain the police car he saw drawing up to the intersection would pull him over, but when the black and white turned toward the beach house, he breathed a sigh of relief and hoped the officer had been sent to make the press disburse.
The chicken was just about done when Agent Brown and Commander Banks drove up to the safe house. Moretti spotted them through the sheer curtains over the kitchen sink as he was wrapping foil over the plates he had prepared for Agent Wagner and his son. Call him Al, he doesn't want to be your son yet.
There'd been a thermos in the cupboard when they arrived, and he turned to fill it with hot, black coffee when he heard a thump, a grunt, and a thud. He moved back to the window to peer out from behind the curtains, and saw Agent Brown dragging Commander Banks out of sight behind the car. Before he could call out a warning, Agent Wagner appeared in the driveway to greet his colleague, who turned on him with a weapon. Moretti heard a soft pop, and Wagner went down.
The gun Wagner had given him was on the table in the living room. Moretti broke into a cold sweat when he realized there was no way he could get to it before Brown entered the house. Taking a large cast iron skillet from a hook on the wall, he hid behind the kitchen door and peeked through the crack on the hinged side, watching and waiting.
Moretti's heart wedged in his throat as Brown came into the living room and looked in his direction, but it settled right back down when the young man turned the other direction and headed for the bedroom. He knew Al was in the bathroom, checking the lock on the window, securing the place according to FBI standard operating procedure upon entering or leaving a safe house, and he knew, with Brown coming up behind him, he wouldn't have a chance.
Carrying the skillet with him, Moretti slipped out to the living room. Silently, he put the pan down on the couch and, carefully, he picked up Agent Wagner's gun. Not making a sound, he crept through the house, stalking Brown.
"We thought you might be the last leak," Moretti heard Al say, and knew it was a lie. "Moretti isn't here. He's somewhere safe that you can't find him."
"I don't believe that," Brown said, "you don't have enough people left to trust to hide him somewhere else."
"Suit yourself," Al said, as he eyed the gun that was trained on him, weighing his chances of getting to it before he was killed.
"That's it?" Brown said, disbelieving. "No argument, no fight, no story about why he couldn't possibly be here?"
"Nope," Al grinned, "no point."
"What? Why?"
Al's grin widened and he said, "Because he's right behind you."
"Oh, now that is about the lamest . . . " Brown trailed off as he felt the cold steel muzzle of a gun pressed to the base of his skull.
"He knocked out Banks and shot Wagner," Moretti said as Al cuffed Brown to the drainpipe under the sink.
"Stay inside and pack your stuff. I'm gonna check on them and call 911, and then we're outta here."
"Where are we gonna go?"
"I dunno yet," Al said, "but in three minutes, we're gone."
As Steve emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in his warm terrycloth robe, silver hair still dripping from the shower, Maribeth walked toward him. When they were close enough to touch, he looked her in the eye, and smiled almost shyly. She smiled back, and said, "I love you, Steve Sloan."
He pulled her close, in a gentle, loving hug, and said, "I know you do, Mar. I've never doubted it. It's what has given me the strength all these years to do what I do. I'll never be able to thank you enough."
She snuggled closer, rested her head against his shoulder, inhaled his clean, masculine scent, and sighed. It felt so good to be wrapped in his embrace. No matter what chaos swirled around them, in the circle of his arms, she was safe. "You don't need to thank me, sweetheart, I couldn't stop myself if I wanted to, and I don't, not ever."
The cloud of dread surrounding the Sloan household began to lift then, but it did not drift away yet. Everyone inside the beach house knew there would be dark and difficult days ahead, but with the security born of finally knowing the truth, they were ready to face whatever else the world threw at them.
