A Friend in Need III: Crash and Burn

By Somogyi

Chapter 18

Isabella had been sitting in darkness for what felt like hours. She was sure it could not have been more than thirty minutes or so-though who knew how long she had been unconscious. Her head did not hurt too badly. That was something, anyway. Hopefully by now Jean had managed to get far, far away. God, what a fool she had been to follow Gauche, to do his bidding without question. Somehow she had managed to become an accomplice in kidnapping. When did her life start spiraling out of control? And what would happen next? If what Jean said was true-and she had no reason to doubt her-then Gauche-no, Sinister, Jean said his name was Sinister, she quickly corrected herself-was going to be beyond pissed. He was going to be seeing red. He was going to have to redirect his anger somewhere. Which meant she might as well be wearing a giant bull's eye on her forehead.

Hearing noise in the room for the first time since she revived, Isabella froze, holding her breath. Someone was there. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Time to continue with her act. You can do this, she told herself. You have to do this-for Jean. For her baby. You have to buy them as much time as possible.

She rolled onto her side to rest her weight on her hip and used her feet to bang on the door, trying to shout as much as she was able to with her mouth taped. She bent her knees and kicked the door a second time. A third.

Suddenly, the door was pulled back, and light from the room rushed into the closet, blinding her. Isabella blinked, trying to make out the figure silhouetted before her.

"What happened?" a voice growled. His voice.

Isabella tried to suppress a shudder. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders, dragged her out of the closet, hoisted her roughly to her feet. He took an end of the tape and pulled it off of her mouth in one sweep, causing her to cry out in shock and pain.

"Where-is-she!" he grated out.

"I . . . I . . . I d-d-don't know," Isabella stuttered, her voice little more than a whisper. "I c-came in to ch-check on h-her. . . . All I s-saw was a quick m-m-movement. . . . I w-woke up in the closet. . . . with a h-headache."

"I thought she was drugged. How the hell did she get the better of you?"

"I t-told you, Dr. Gauche. . . . she s-sur-surpised me. I d-didn't see it c-c-coming."

"You incompetent ignoramus! I ask you to babysit one woman, and you can't even do that right!" He glowered at her.

"I-I'm sorry, Dr. Gauche. I'm sorry." Bowing her head, she could not fight the tears-mostly of fright-from falling.

He stopped shaking in fury, and grabbed a scalpel blade to undo her bindings. "Are you hurt, my dear?" he asked, his voice suddenly soft, almost kind.

"Just my head," she murmured.

"Let me see," he said, walking behind her to examine the crown of her skull. She winced as his fingers gently probed the small lump below her hair. "Just a bump. I doubt you even have a concussion." His hand slid down her head, past her neck, coming to rest on her shoulder. He gripped her there, his hand like a cold metal vise.

Isabella's mouth trembled as she fought to maintain even breathing.

"There's one thing I don't understand, my dear."

"Wh-what's that. . . ?"

"Jean Summers is a resourceful enough woman to manage to cold clock you, bind you, and make her escape. But how on earth could she determine how to leave the building? All the main exits are guarded. How could she get out of here, without inside help?"

"I- I don't know," Isabella whispered. "Maybe she's still in the hospital somewhere?"

He laughed then. A cold, baleful sound, that made her blood run suddenly cold.

She felt his hand release her shoulder-a moment before he walked in front of her and grabbed her by the throat.

Isabella gasped, even as hot tears ran down her face. "Please. . . ."

"Why did you help her?" he demanded, his voice even but cold.

"I didn't-"

"Don't lie to me!" he snarled, fingers squeezing her larynx.

Isabella cried out, even as she cowered before him.

"Did I not take you in, offer you work, a purpose? And all I asked in return was that you do as told. And how do you repay my kindness? By betraying me."

"N-no. . . ."

"I said don't lie to me!" he growled, anger making his eyes look blood-red. "Your meddling may have cost me the prize that I have been searching for for years."

"You mean . . . Jean's baby? You want . . . to steal . . . her baby."

He grit his teeth, giving the appearance of a mouthful of daggers. "Has she been filling your head with lies?" he demanded, even as he raised her off the ground, above his head.

Isabella grabbed at his hand, her efforts useless, as she struggled to draw breath.

"You had better pray that we are able to locate her, and bring her back. In any case, you will be punished for your deceit. It's simply a matter of how. Now, I have had quite enough of you. Out of my sight!"

He merely pushed, and Isabella flew across the room, her body slamming hard into the far wall. She heard a sharp crack even as her mind was diffused with pain. By the time she slumped to the ground, her world had gone mercifully dark.

Feeling the truck come to a stop, Jean held her breath and listened. A moment later, the engine was shut off, and she felt movement as the driver disembarked, slamming the door behind him. She forced herself to remain still, counting off the seconds until a full two minutes had passed. When she heard no further noise, she finally allowed herself to move. Pushing back the tarp, she poked her head out into the cool night air. Glancing around, she saw that she was in the parking lot of a diner. There were plenty of other cars around, obviously dozens of people inside the restaurant. That was good. Safety in numbers.

Sliding out from beneath the tarp, she carefully climbed out of the back of the pick-up truck, thankful that no one else was in the parking lot. Thus far, her luck had been holding. When she had emerged through a manhole from the sewers below Gauche's clinic, it had been maybe a half-mile hike to the nearest gas station. She had hidden behind surrounding trees, biding her time until she was able to pilfer a trench coat from the backseat of a car while the owner visited the Kwik-E Mart. It was not much longer when the pick-up truck had arrived, and the driver visited the restroom, giving her the opportunity to climb into the back. Now, what she estimated to be about an hour or so later, she was in an even more public place, with the prospect of food before her.

Cinching the belt of the trench coat, Jean opened the front door of the diner and stepped inside, accompanied by the tinkling of a bell. She was immediately assailed by the scent of strong coffee and grease. It made her mouth water and her stomach growl. She was just thankful it didn't lurch, considering that up until a few days ago, she had been plagued with morning sickness.

"How many?" a waitress asked, approaching her.

"Just me," Jean replied.

The server glanced around. "We're kinda full. Counter okay?"

"That's fine."

The woman led Jean to the counter, plopping a worn menu in front of an empty stool. "Someone'll be over shortly to take your order."

"Thanks." Jean hoisted herself onto the cracked vinyl cushion. Closing her eyes, she concentrated, trying to reach out with her mind. Still nothing. It was like staring into a black void. She had hoped that once she had gotten far enough away from the clinic her powers would return, but still she did not feel even a twinge of awareness. She sighed in frustration. She hated being headblind.

Jean reached into the coat pocket, where she had since placed the money Isabella had given her. Thirty-four dollars. She should save some of it, to get her to the nearest bus or train station. She considered phoning home, of calling the cavalry to come get her. But she quickly thought better of it. She wouldn't put it past Sinister to have surrounding phones taped, or at the very least the lines monitored.

To her left, a middle-aged man in a suit was attempting to use his cell-phone. She watched surreptitiously as he tried several numbers, all to no avail.

"No signal?" she ventured, striking up a conversation.

"Not in the parking lot, not in here," he man replied, fussing with the antenna. "Hell, not in my car a few minutes before I got here. And it's not like it's overcast. Local tower must be down or something. Good thing my company still issues phone cards," he muttered, getting to his feet and heading for the payphone.

So much for asking to borrow someone's cell, Jean silently mused. Could Sinister be jamming cellular signals as well? She was probably being overly paranoid, but at this point in time, she did not want to chance trying a land line or a cellular. No, better to try to find some sort of public transportation, and to contact Scott when she was closer to home.

Her stomach rumbled again, reminding her of more pressing needs. Don't worry, baby, dinner's coming, she thought, glancing down at her middle. Picking up the menu, she began to peruse its contents.

It was not long before an older waitress with whitish-blue hair approached from the other side of the counter. She placed a glass of ice water in front of Jean. "What can I getcha, hon?" she asked, pulling a receipt pad out from the front pocket of her apron and a pen from behind her ear.

"I'd like a cheeseburger deluxe, please. Medium-well."

"Anything to drink?"

"What type of hot tea do you have? Anything without caffeine?"

"Sorry, no-all we've got is Lipton. None of the herbal stuff. You want some decaff coffee?"

Jean shook her head. "No. I'll have a glass of milk instead."

Arching an eyebrow, the woman continued to scribble on her pad. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it, thanks."

"I'll be right back with your drink," the waitress said, taking the menu.

Pushing her hair back off of her face, Jean rested her elbows on the counter with a sigh.

"Here you go, hon," the waitress said, placing a tall glass of milk in front of her.

"Thank you," Jean replied, picking up the glass and taking several long gulps. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat.

She glanced first to her right, where a truck-driver looking type was shoveling in bacon, eggs, and homefries, all smothered in ketchup. She then looked to her left, where the man in the suit was back, now reading the paper as he sipped his cup of coffee. Jean nonchalantly tried to eye the name of newspaper in hopes of learning her location.

Her luck apparently continued to hold out, for at that moment, the man rose to his feet, tossing some bills onto the counter beside his plate, and headed for the door, leaving his newspaper behind. As soon as he was gone, Jean snatched up the paper, turning back to the front page. The Daily Herald, Omaha's Hometown Newspaper. So she was in Nebraska. Over 1000 miles from home. Jesus, she'd be lucky if the money got her to Kansas, let alone all the way to New York. Well, her best bet would still be to get as far away from here as possible before trying to contact home. God, if only her powers were working-she could contact Scott telepathically and telekinetically begin the journey home.

"One cheeseburger deluxe, medium-well," the waitress announced, placing the plate full of burger, fries, onion rings, pickle, and cole slaw in front of Jean. "Enjoy, hon."

"Thanks." Spreading her napkin on her lap, Jean placed the cole slaw aside before adding ketchup to the burger and fries. Picking up the burger with both hands, she took a big bite. Closing her eyes in satisfaction, she savored the flavor as she chewed. God, it felt like forever since she had had a proper meal. Not since she and Bobby had gone out for lunch after their shopping trip.

Blinking, she tried to push thoughts of Bobby aside. There would be more than enough time to deal with her grief once she was back home, safe and sound. Popping a fry into her mouth, she instead forced herself to make plans for the next step in her journey. Perhaps she could ask the waitress where she might find the nearest train station. Surely there had to be one in downtown Omaha.

"How is everything?" the waitress asked, walking back over.

"Great," Jean managed to say with a mouthful of burger.

"You want a refill?" the woman asked, indicating the nearly-empty glass of milk.

Jean nodded as she lifted the napkin to wipe her mouth. "Thank you." She continued to devour her meal, washing it down with the second glass of milk the waitress brought her. Within ten minutes, she was polishing off the last of the fries.

"All done?" the waitress asked.

Jean nodded. "That really hit the spot."

"You don't want the slaw?"

Jean shook her head and she finished the last bit of milk.

"Care for some dessert, hon?"

"I don't think I can. I'm stuffed," Jean said, placing her hand on her full stomach.

"You sure? We've got some peach cobbler that's sure to satisfy the sweet craving you're gonna get now that you've had your fill of salt."

Jean regarded the older woman questioningly.

"Me, I developed the biggest sweet tooth when I was carrying my eldest, Michael Junior. It was just as bad with Beth and Joanne," she added with a wink.

For a moment, Jean just stared at the waitress in disbelief. Was it simply a matter of longtime maternal perception, or could this woman be a spy for Sinister? God, Jean, you're just being paranoid, she told herself.

Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. "Well, I think I'll have to pass. If I eat any more, I think I'll pop. Just the check, please."

"Sure thing, hon." Totaling up the bill, the waitress ripped off the top sheet of her pad and held it out. As Jean took it, there was no mistaking the way the other woman's eyes widened, even as she did not release her hold.

Jean followed the waitress's gaze, saw it was focused on the hospital band around her wrist that was peeking out from the sleeve of her coat. The woman then looked at Jean's face and torso more carefully. Swallowing, Jean quickly folded up her coat collar, trying to cover the bit of hospital gown that she was sure must have been exposed.

"Where's the bathroom?" Jean asked, counting out bills to pay for her dinner.

"Back of the diner, all the way on the right."

"Thanks," Jean replied, avoiding the woman's eyes, as she tucked enough money under her plate to cover the bill and a generous tip. Reaching beside the plate, she surreptitiously grabbed a utensil, which she pocketed along with the remainder of her cash before she quickly got up and headed for the restroom.

As soon as she was out of sight, she silently cursed herself. Damn damn damn! God only knows what's going through her head now. How could you be so careless! Walking to the sink, she turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face. As she ripped off a piece of paper towel to dry off, she glanced into the mirror. Something caught her eye behind her, over her shoulder.

Turning around, Jean saw a bank of lockers. Hanging on the outside of one was someone's spare uniform-a pink short-sleeve, short-skirted waitress' outfit, complete with matching red apron. It looked to be about her size. Well, it beats the hell out of this hospital gown, she told herself.

Before she lost her nerve, Jean snatched the dress and disappeared into a stall. She quickly stripped off her coat, sweater, and gown, donning the uniform. It was slightly snug around the middle, and she had to leave the two uppermost buttons of the bodice open. Looking down, she silently regarded her chest, and the noticeable effects of the first few months of her pregnancy. I think I'm going to have to expand my wardrobe when I get home, she realized. She quickly replaced the cardigan, and then her coat. Emerging from the stall, she quickly stuffed the hospital gown into the trash, burying it beneath a layer of crumpled-up paper towels.

Only one thing left." Reaching into her coat pocket, she produced the knife she had pilfered from the counter. Slipping the cool metal against her wrist, she placed the serrated edge against the back of the plastic band and began to saw. It was slow going, but she was making gradual progress.

There was sudden noise by the doorway. Jean managed to slip into a stall just as the door opened. Peeking through the gap between the door and the stall wall, Jean watched as a young blonde waitress checked her hair in the mirror, and then disappeared into the other stall.

Holding her breath, Jean turned around and continued to work at the bracelet.

A minute later, there was a flush, and the waitress walked over to the sink to wash her hands. As she was drying her hands, Jean peaked out to see a second brunette waitress entering the rest room.

"Hey Darlene," said the first woman.

"Hi Betty," replied the second waitress.

"You starting your shift?"

"Yeah. Did you see those weirdoes who just came in?" Darlene asked.

"No, must've just missed 'em. There another Harley convention?"

"Not quite. It's a guy and a gal. The woman looks like a body-builder-must be nearly six feet, butch as hell. The guy's shorter, with a long ponytail and a scraggly mustache. Moves awfully stiff-worse'n a cowboy with jock itch."

They giggled.

"Both're wearing long dark coats, almost like they're coverin' up whatever they're wearing. Or what they're packin'. Gave off a weird vibe, is all. 'Specially since they weren't interested in eating."

"What the hell they doing in a diner, then?" Betty wondered.

"Asking a lot of questions. They claim to be security, from that private hospital, over on Forrest Street. Said they're looking for-get this-an escaped mental patient."

"No shit?"

"Had a picture with 'em. Pretty red-headed lady. Warned that she was delusional, would probably claim she had been kidnapped."

"Redhead, you say? Ruth was serving a redhead at the counter."

"Was she now?" Darlene asked as she shoved her coat into her locker and grabbed her apron. "Maybe we should go make sure they speak to her."

"That, or just leave well enough alone," Betty suggested. "If this couple is as weird as you say, maybe we should just keep our noses out of it."

"Well, let's go talk to Ruth first. Let her. . . ." Their voices faded away as they exited the bathroom.

As soon as they were gone, Jean breathed a sigh of relief. It can't be them. It can't. They're supposed to be dead. She suppressed a nervous laugh. Just liked I died. And Sinister, more than once. So why should I be surprised if two of his Marauders are still around. I've got to get out of here-now. She worked at the bracelet vigorously, and with a snap, it finally broke open.

Oh, thank God. She started to exit the stall when a sudden wave of vertigo washed over her. With a gasp, she grabbed onto the wall for support. She closed her eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. She realized suddenly that her mind was filled with a newfound sense of awareness. Carefully, she reached out with her mind, focusing the gentle probe inward.

She smiled broadly, able to sense the life growing within her. Oh baby, you're okay, she thought, bringing a hand to her belly. Something caught her eye then: there was a tiny flash from the inside of the bracelet. Lifting it closer, Jean scrutinized the lining of the band. Beneath the clear plastic, she saw what appeared to be a miniscule microchip. What the hell? Jean levitated it into the air, and the chip began to blink, flashing a bright yellow light.

I'll be damned. This bracelet must have been serving as some sort of power inhibitor. And now it's somehow registering the use of my telepathy or telekinesis. What a sneaky bastard.

Snatching the bracelet out of the air, Jean dropped it into the bowl and pressed the metal lever, watching it get sucked down the toilet with a satisfied grin. Track that, Sinister. Better wear your waders, though.

Replacing the knife in her coat pocket in case she needed it later, Jean quietly opened the stall door and walked back into the bathroom. She slowly opened the main door and stepped into the vestibule, listening carefully. Peering around the wall into the diner proper, she glanced toward the counter. And tried not to gasp as she caught sight of the familiar faces.

The older waitress she now knew was named Ruth was standing behind the counter, talking with the man and woman Jean knew as Scalphunter and Arclight. Mutant Marauders. Killers. Sinister's cronies. Scalphunter was holding up a photo toward Ruth. The waitress shook her head adamantly, which only seemed to enrage Arclight. Just then, the waitress who had seated Jean approached, and pointed toward the back of the diner. Arclight inclined her head toward the restrooms, and Scalphunter pulled out some sort of handheld metal device, directing it to the area of the restrooms. He smiled smugly, and a moment later, they were on the move.

Oh shit, Jean thought, slipping back behind the wall. They must have some sort of tracker-probably picks up on my mutant signature. She hurried back into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She looked around, desperately searching for some sort of hiding place. To the right of the lockers, near the ceiling, she spied a pair of dirty curtains. Reaching up, she tugged at them, saw that they were covering a small window.

Seeing a chair in the opposite corner, Jean quickly dragged it over to beneath the window. She climbed onto it, and reached for the windowsill. It was going to be a bit of a stretch.

Just then, she heard someone try to open the door. They would be inside in a matter of seconds.

Here goes nothing, she thought, hauling herself up onto the sill. There was a flimsy screen, which she started to lift, and then tossed outside as it came free. Grunting, she pulled herself up, resting her stomach on the sill as she looked outside. It looked to be about an eight foot drop.

You can do this, she told herself. She threw a leg over the sill, straddling it for a moment. How much easier it would be to telekinetically lower herself to the ground. But that would also make it that much simpler for the Marauders to locate her. At least this way she could slip away with a head start.

With a final glance at the ground, Jean pulled her other leg over the sill and gripped it tightly with both hands as she lowered herself down the wall, scraping her bare legs on the peeling paint. With a deep breath, she used her feet to push off and let go of the sill, falling the last yard or so. She landed on her feet, and managed to keep her balance.

Got to remember not to rib on Scott for those no-power Danger Room sessions. Thoughts of her husband made her consider contacting him telepathically. But what if they detect me? she wondered. But if you don't make contact, he's never going to be able to find you. She spared a glance back at the window she just exited through, hedging. What's it gonna be, Jean? Will you risk it? You've got to decide-quickly.

Taking a deep breath, Jean closed her eyes in concentration and reached out with her mind.

Scott! Scott, can you hear me?

She felt the familiar presence of Scott in her head-one that she had been missing for too long. She could sense his initial confusion, which quickly changed to a mixture of relief and worry. Abruptly, she felt a third presence through their mindlink-also familiar to her. Nathan.

Jean, is that you?

Yes, she told Scott.

Oh, thank God. Are you okay? What about the baby? Where are you? What's hap-

Just then, she heard a crash coming from inside the diner bathroom. Scalphunter and Arclight would be after her momentarily, just as soon as their little device picked up readings on the use of her powers. She had to end the telepathic exchange-now.

We're fine, Scott. I can't maintain the link, or they'll trace it and pinpoint my location. Love you. With a final mental projection, she quickly terminated the contact and shut down the link.

Dammit! I need to get out of here. Glancing around, she headed back for the parking lot, ideas of telekinetically hot-wiring a car filling her head.

As she rounded the side of the diner, she walked right into someone, her body colliding with his with an audible thud. Jean jumped back with a gasp, bracing herself on the balls of her feet, prepared to fight or flee.

"Pardon me, ma'am," the man replied, tipping the brim of his baseball cap. "It's so dark, I didn't see you there."

Jean looked up at the familiar bearded face. It was the man who had been sitting to the right of her at the counter. She held her breath, wondering if he would recognize her.

"You just get off work?" he asked.

"Huh?" Jean looked at him questioningly for a moment before she realized that her coat was open, and the waitress uniform she wore in plain view. "Oh, yeah. Just ended my shift. Busy night."

"You having car trouble or something?"

Jean regarded him silently, and without the aid of her telepathy decided that he was a trustworthy-enough fellow. "As a matter of fact," she began, pulling her coat closed and giving a little shiver against the cool night wind, "it seems my ride never showed. I'm stranded."

"Can I give you a lift somewhere?" he offered. "My rig and I are headed east on the interstate."

Jean smiled sweetly. "That would be wonderful, so long as it's not any trouble."

"No trouble at all, ma'am. I'm happy to oblige. I'm Jimmy, by the way. Jimmy Hart." He held out his hand.

"Jean," she replied, shaking it. "You ready to head out now, Jimmy?"

"Sure thing. My rig's right over there," he said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder.

Nodding, Jean spared a quick glance over her shoulder before following Jimmy to his truck. No sign of Scalphunter or Arclight-yet. Jimmy opened the passenger-side door and held out a hand. Smiling, Jean held his hand for support as she stepped up into the cab. Shutting the door, Jimmy jogged back over to the driver's side and got inside.

"What are you hauling?" Jean asked as she fastened her seatbelt.

"Nuts."

"Excuse me?"

"All sorts of nuts. Peanuts, mostly. But some cashews, almonds, macadamias. All sorts of mixed nuts."

Jean smiled. "So where's your top hat, cane, and spats?"

"Uh uh," Jimmy replied as he set the truck in reverse, which caused a loud beeping to be issued in warning. "That's the competition."

"Oh. My bad."

"That's okay, it's an honest mistake. So, where can I drop you?"

Jean glanced out the side-view mirror as they made their way toward the highway. She thought she saw movement back behind the diner.

"You won't happen to pass a train station, will you?"

Jimmy's brow furrowed. "The Greyhound Station's along my route, if I remember correctly. Why, you going somewhere?"

Jean could now make out the silhouette of two people coming up beside the diner, looking around the parking lot as though in search of someone. "As a matter of fact, I was heading out of town for the weekend. Visiting my sister."

"Without any luggage?" Jimmy asked, waiting for cars to pass before making a right onto the interstate.

"Oh, I visit Sara regularly, have a bunch of stuff there." She watched as Scalphunter made a circuit with his tracking device. As he pointed it in their direction, he stopped, staring down at it before shouting to Arclight.

"Where's she live?"

C'mon, c'mon, make the turn, Jean thought nervously. At any moment, the Marauders were going to rush the truck. She was going to have enough trouble fighting for her freedom then without worrying about protecting an innocent civilian. "Sara's in Kansas City," Jean replied, amazed that she was able to keep her voice calm.

"Kansas City? That's got to be, what, at least an eight-hour trip. You're first heading there now?" Jimmy started to make the wide turn onto the highway.

"I prefer to travel overnight," Jean explained, her eyes fixed in the side-view mirror, as she watched the two mutants sprinting toward the truck. "I sleep on the bus."

"I can never sleep on a bus," Jimmy remarked conversationally as he started to pick up speed. "Besides, I'm a night owl anyway."

Gripping the seat tightly, Jean watched as Scalphunter ran into the middle of the highway. He would surely have been run over by a passing SUV if Arclight had not suddenly grabbed him by the back of the coat and yanked. That was the last thing she saw before the truck sped down a hill, masking them from sight. Jean let out an audible sigh of relief.

"You okay?" Jimmy asked.

"Hmm?" Jean turned to look at him. "Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just a little beat, is all."

"I'll bet, with the kind of business that diner drums up. Best greasy spoon in town."

"Mmm." With her belly full and the adrenaline rush of the chase fading, Jean suddenly felt exhausted. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open.

Jimmy smiled. "You do sound beat. Why don't you get some shut-eye, and I'll wake you when we get to the bus station."

As much as Jean wished she could give in to her exhaustion, and though she wished she could trust this man, she could not permit herself to let her guard down so completely.

I have to stay awake, she told herself. Glancing across the dashboard, she watched the nodding of a bobble-headed Dalmatian, but quickly realized that the mesmerizing movements were going to have the opposite effect she desired. Looking directly below the doll, she caught sight of a photo. The subjects were a young, pretty blonde and a grinning, dimpled girl.

"That your family?" Jean asked, pointing to the photograph.

An enormous smile of pride split Jimmy's face. "Yeah, that's my wife, Kimmie, and our little girl, Angela. Our little Angel, we like to call her."

Jean smiled. "She's adorable. How old is she?"

"Three next month." Jimmy spared a glance in her direction. "You married?"

"Yeah."

"Kids?"

Jean hesitated. "My husband, Scott, has a son from a previous marriage. And we have a foster daughter."

"Good for you."

Jean glanced down at her lap. Though it seemed to be innocent enough conversation, she preferred to move topic from such personal inquiries. "So Angela's almost three, huh? That's still a pretty magical age."

Jimmy chuckled. "Yeah, so long as you make it past the terrible twos. I remember this time when Angie got her hands on one of Kimmie's lipsticks. . . ."

Jean sat back and smiled, immersed in Jimmy's tales of his toddler's misadventures.

End Chapter 18