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“Yes, sir,” Liz said, and left the ballroom almost bouncing with every step and thinkingSo this what it feels like to be productive.
She grabbed a salad and a sandwich from one of the cafés on-site and carried them up to the penthouse to eat. The quiet engulfed her as she stepped off the elevator. The realization that she was lunching in the penthouse while other workers went to break rooms was not lost on her. But her truth was her truth, and she wasn’t going to apologize for it.
In the middle of her meal, she thought of seeing Michael later and wondered what she could take him as a gift, then discarded the thought. This visit was for forgiveness…not the time to come bearing gifts.
As soon as she finished, she changed from flats into sneakers and went back to the conference center, then down the hall to Gerald’s office. They spent the afternoon going through a binder he’d made for her containing rules and contact numbers.
As soon as her workday ended, she hurried upstairs to change her clothes and sent her dad a text telling him where she was going, then called downstairs to valet parking. By the time she reached the valet stand, her car was waiting.
She got to Hotel Devon, called the penthouse to let them know she’d arrived, and they sent the elevator down to get her. But the moment she stepped into the car, her emotions got the better of her. She had tears in her eyes when she exited the car.
Della, the Devons’ maid, was waiting for her in the grand foyer and welcomed Liz with a smile. “Good evening, Miss Caldwell. May I take your coat?”
“Good evening, Della. Yes, thank you,” Liz said, and unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and slipped out of her coat.
“Mr. Michael is looking forward to your visit. He’s in his suite. You know the way,” Della said, and hung the coat and scarf in the guest coat closet as Liz moved toward the hallway to her left.
Michael’s suite was the first one on the right. She knocked lightly. Heard him call out “Come in,” and then opened the door and went in.
Michael was in pajamas and lying down, but he was pale, and the neck brace he was wearing was scary.
“Oh, Michael. You poor darling,” Liz said and hurried to his side, then knelt on the floor beside him. “I want to hug you, but I’m afraid to touch.”
Michael managed a weak grin and then made a joke. “I look better than I feel.”
“Oh lord,” Liz said and clutched his hand. “Tell me how this happened.”
And so Michael told it from beginning to end, all the way to his dad coming to his rescue and the hours in the ER before he got to come home.
“Was the man who hit you injured, too?” she asked.
“No. He was braced for impact. I never saw him coming and caught the brunt of it, I guess. Anyway, the car is totaled, but I’m still in one piece. And you’re here, which means everything to me,” he said.
“This has been a horrible eye-opener for me. The mere thought of losing you for good hit home. I have been an utter ass. I am so sorry. I love you. I don’t want us to be mad like this ever again.”
“Deal,” Michael said. “Now tell me, how did your first day at work go? I’ve met Gerald Devlin. He seems nice enough. Do you like working for him?”
That opened a floodgate of information and excitement from Liz he did not expect. He listened to her and then finally lost track of what she was saying and just listened to the excitement in her voice, and watched the way the right corner of her mouth turned the tiniest bit up when she rolled her eyes, and fell the rest of the way in love.
***
The next morning, just after six
Four black SUVs rolled up on a weathered, ramshackle house just off of a county road, ten miles east of Jubilee. There was a red Dodge 4x4 truck sitting in the yard, a rusting tub full of auto parts beneath a tree that had long since shed its leaves, and a meager stack of firewood near the front porch. Wisps of smoke drifted upward from a leaning chimney.
As the vehicles pulled to a stop, a murder of crows took off from the fence beside the house, and a scrawny redbone hound crawled out from beneath the porch and set to baying.
Federal agents spilled out of the cars and headed to the house with their weapons drawn, swarming the porch in such quantity it sent the hound back under.
One agent began pounding on the door, yelling, “Federal agents. Federal agents. We have a search warrant! Open the door! Open the door!”
All of a sudden the door swung inward. A skinny blond wrapped in an old blue chenille bathrobe and with her hair still in tangles was standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and shaking.
The agents pushed their way inside and slapped some papers into her hand. “We have a search warrant for this house and an arrest warrant for Dewey Zane. Is he here?”
A door opened in the hallway. A skinny, fortysomething man emerged bare-chested, wearing saggy sweatpants and a pair of dirty white socks.
“I’m Dewey Zane. What the hell’s goin’ on here?” he shouted.
