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The line goes dead, and I lock eyes with Simon. “We’re going to Post Oak. Keep him alive until we get there.”
Simon’s lips turn down at the corners. “It’s not up to me anymore. It’s up to him and God Almighty.”
I grin at him. “Well, then, I guess he’s going to be fine.”
My dad is the strongest man I know, and there’s no way God will let him into his kingdom, so in my mind, he’s going to pull through.
Twisted logic?
Sure is, but when you’re desperate, you cling to any hope you have, even irrational ones.
There’s no sound in the car. Occasionally, Simon moves, but my dad is silent. From my seat in the front of the car, I strain to hear him breathe, praying he still is, but I’m too scared to ask Simon if he’s alive. My need for him to live feels like an overpowering force. I’ve never been the religious type, but I’m making deals in my head with the top man.
Let him live, and I’ll do better.
Let him live, and I’ll help other people.
Let him live, and I’ll never hurt another person for the rest of my life.
We pull into the parking lot of the church. A light goes on outside, and a man walks out. He’s dressed in a black suit and a white shirt. His hair is long in the back and sits just below his ears. It’s night, but his eyes from this distance appear black. A shiver runs up my spine. The gun I have strapped to my leg suddenly seems like a good idea. Climbing out of the car, I unholster it and let it dangle at my side. Simon gets out next, and the man eyes him. Not liking his expression, I put myself between Simon and him. The man raises his eyebrows and smacks his lips together.
“You got someone for me to work on?”
I nod and walk backward. He might be in my dad’s contacts, but I don’t know him, therefore, I don’t trust him. Pointing at the back of the car, he walks forward and peers in.
A long whistle escapes him as he climbs in. “Well, I’ll be damned, Jamison Felder.” He looks back at me. “Go get the stretcher inside the church and hurry now, girl.”
“Simon, do as he says.”
The man grins and chuckles. “I like you.”
Raising the gun, I point it at his head. “He dies, you die.”
Simon jogs toward the church and comes back a few minutes later with an older woman. They remind me of the painting,American Gothic. She’s in a shapeless black dress and is wearing boots. The woman gives me a wide berth. The two of them, with Simon’s help, get my dad onto the stretcher. Without saying a word, we all go inside.
My gun weighs heavily in my hand, but I’m not putting it away. The church pews have all been moved out of the way, and in the center of the room are large overhead lights and medical equipment.
The man works swiftly to open dad’s shirt. I’ve never seen him look so helpless. As if he can sense my emotions, Simon puts an arm around me. Looking up at his face, I see worry etched into his features.
Simon kisses my forehead, then looks back at my dad. Moving out of his embrace, I sit on one of the empty pews and again begin my bargaining with God or the universe or whoever will help me. Simon sits next to me, his arm going across my shoulders.
He wasn’t supposed to even come with me. None of this was supposed to happen.
Did Special Agent Flint Armstrong betray him?He doesn’t seem the type. I know Dad trusted him. So, maybe it wasn’t him. That only leaves Stonewall.
“Your dad has a lot of enemies,” states Simon.
“What?”
“You muttered Stonewall. It might have been him, but it’s not like your dad is a Boy Scout.”
Scowling at Simon, I shuffle a little away from him. “Don’t. Okay?”
“Come on, Ann, you know what kind of man he is.”
Turning to him, I hiss, “Yes, he’s myfather.”
Simon nods, then puts his hands on his lap. Feeling guilty, I put one of my hands in his and look at the two people working on my dad. Both have put on blue scrubs. The man has blood splatter on his, and from this distance, it looks dark, almost black. He seems to be the one working on Dad while she appears to be the nurse, handing him instruments and wiping his brow from time to time. His face is a permanent scowl of concentration. He pays no attention to Simon and me. The woman will occasionally look over at me, and her eyes always rest on the gun in my hands.
