Chapter 45
“YOU’RE A MESS,” Matt said, surprising me by standing at the end of the Jet Blue tunnel as I stepped foot into the terminal at JFK.
“What are you doing up here, beyond the security checkpoints?”
“I flashed the badge,” Matt said. “I didn’t want to risk missing you in the crowd.”
Walter had managed to get me to Pittsburgh in time to catch the Jet Blue flight to New York City. In the ten minutes I had between buying the ticket and boarding the airbus, I’d called Matt to tell him when I’d be home. He’d asked what flight I was taking, but I hadn’t expected him to meet me. I didn’t even want to see him until after I’d had a bath, shampooed my hair, brushed my teeth, and put on clean clothes. Glancing at myself in the plane’s bathroom mirror before landing, I realized I looked even worse than the time I’d fallen into Lake Victoria, and Ian had had to pull me out before the crocodiles got to me. Of course, then I didn’t have the dark circles under my eyes from having gone almost forty-eight hours without sleep.
Matt stared over my head at the other deplaning passengers. “Where’s Maysfield?”
“He’s staying in Ohio for a few days.”
“Doing what?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “And before I share it with you, I want to clean up. Tell me about Jay Garwood. What’s his condition?”
“Still critical. He’s in a coma.”
As we made our way toward the street exit through the swarm of travelers arriving and departing, I asked, “Do the doctors say what Jay’s chances of recovery are?”
“About fifty-fifty. The odds would be a lot worse if he wasn’t in such good physical shape. His wife told Artie that Garwood went running at five o’clock every morning, no matter what the weather was like.”
That was an interesting bit of information. It started me thinking. “If Loretta Garwood knew his schedule, I wonder who else did,” I said.
“We’re investigating that. ‘We’ means official law enforcement, so don’t try to help. Did you check your bag?”
“No bag.” Patting a pocket of the camouflage print jacket I’d purchased that morning—in the first place in Belle Valley I’d found open, an Army-Navy surplus store—I added, “All I have with me is my wallet.” The wallet with my own identification in it. I’d gotten rid of the Charlotte Brown driver’s license, along with my disguise, the pliers, duct tape, flashlight, and lock pick.
Out on the sidewalk, I saw Matt’s NYPD Crown Victoria parked in the passenger loading zone, with an OFFICIAL BUSINESS sign clipped to the sun visor. He opened the passenger door for me and I got in. Sinking back against the seat, I realized that not only was I exhausted, but just about every part of my body ached. Before we were out of JFK and onto the highway, I was sound asleep.
Matt woke me when he slowed to a stop in front of the Dakota. I opened my eyes to see Jim, the new daytime security man, start toward the car. Matt waved him away, and Jim retreated into his kiosk.
“Wash off the dust of Ohio and take a nap. How would you feel about my coming over for dinner? I’ll bring it.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “Chinese?”
“You got it. Seven o’clock?”
“Perfect.”
Matt leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, then reached past me to open the car door. Just as I was starting to climb out, he touched my hand. With a smile, he asked, “Are you sure Maysfield will be in Ohio? We’ll be alone?”
I knew what he was really asking. “We’ll be as alone as we were in Boston,” I said.
The thought of being in Matt’s arms tonight made my pulse tingle with anticipation.
AS SOON AS I opened the door to my apartment, Magic bounded down the hall to greet me. He leapt into my arms, rubbed the top of his head under my chin, and then climbed up onto my shoulder, where he draped himself around my neck like a scarf and started to purr.
“Morgan?” Nancy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a paper towel.
“I’m so glad to be home,” I said.
She stopped abruptly and stared at me. “Where was that spa—in a coal mine?”
I managed a weak laugh. “You don’t know how close you are.”
A few minutes later, Nancy and I were sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of Oreo cookies between us. Over steaming mugs of coffee, and with Magic curled up in my lap, I told Nancy the truth about my childhood, about Ray Wilson, and all that I had done—and learned—in the Ohio coal cellar.
As she listened, tears rolled down Nancy’s cheeks. She reached across the table and gripped my hand in silent, loving support.
And for the first time since Ian died almost six years ago, I cried, too.