Chapter 23
The following evening Mitch and I were married. I still had my doubts as to whether it was the right thing to do. But the revelation I had been given the night before was still clear in my mind. Sam was right, the cab driver was right; I was tired of running from commitment, sick of living from day to day in loneliness and fear. And the look of complete happiness that crossed Mitch’s face when I finally agreed was more than worth any problems that might arise later. I hadn’t seen that look on a man for over a century, and it felt good.
“Are you sure?” He had gripped my face in his hands and searched my eyes.
“Yes, Mitch,” I said, growing more confident in my decision. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my long life.”
“Good. We’ll do it soon, okay?”
“What’s the hurry?”
He laughed and leaned over to kiss me. “I’m afraid you’ll change your mind.”
“But don’t these things take time?”
“Yeah, but you forget I’m a cop. And although I’ve been out of action for a while, I still know a few people who owe me big favors; they can hurry it along. And we can get our blood tests tomorrow.”
“But I can’t take a blood test, Mitch. Have you forgotten?”
“Oh.” He had looked disappointed, then shrugged it off. “We’ll figure out a way. I assume your passport is up-to-date.”
I nodded and he smiled. “Well, then you get some sleep and I’ll start making calls right away.”
True to his word, by the time I awoke all the arrangements had been made. Sam had been enlisted to produce a valid blood test for me; his only stipulation was that he be invited to the ceremony. Mitch had even managed to produce a wedding gown of sorts, apparently with the collusion of Betsy McCain, another self-invited guest. Before I hardly knew what had happened, I was standing nervously in an anteroom at the courthouse, waiting for the arrival of the judge, wondering, as the small bridal party assembled, why the hell I had ever agreed to this situation.
Mitch reached over, took my hand, and smiled. “You know, when Betsy brought that dress this afternoon, I had my doubts. But it looks great on you.”
I looked down at what little there was of my bridal gown. It was white satin sheath covered entirely in white lace. True, it did have long sleeves, but it was an off the shoulder line, and I was afraid to move too quickly for fear of losing it entirely. Laughing, I gave a tug on the too-short hemline. “Well, if you ask me, Betsy tries too hard to save money on material. There’s practically nothing here.”
Mitch’s eyes lit up mischievously. “Yeah,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, “but what’s there is wonderful.”
“If you had only given me some time, I would have gotten something a little more appropriate.”
“Liar.” Mitch’s smile never left his face.
“That is not a lie.”
“Yes, it is, and you know it. If I had given you more time, you’d just have found excuses to put this off. I’m not getting any younger. I’ve had visions of you pushing me down the aisle in a wheelchair. Or”—he pulled me to him, serious once again—“visions of you disappearing again, this time for good.”
“Mitch,” I whispered, “I promise you I will never leave you.”
“Okay, you two, break it up.” Betsy McCain bustled into the room balancing several florist boxes. “You’re not married yet, and you can’t get married anyway without the maid of honor. And”—she flourished the boxes and set them on one of the chairs—“certainly not without flowers. Although on such short notice I had to make do with what they had.”
“Whatever they are, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” I told her. “It was a very nice gesture.” I gave her a smile as she took off her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. She looked different to me, and it took a while to recognize why. She had abandoned her normal tailored suit, donning instead a dress cut very similar to my own but with less lace and completely in black. “And you look great.”
“Thanks.” She shrugged off the compliment and opened the flowers. “Here.” She handed me the bouquet of white roses, then removed one in black for herself. Then she stood looking at me. “On second thought, and if you don’t mind breaking from tradition . . .” She handed me hers, took mine from me, and stood back, squinting critically. “I like that better—there’s more contrast.”
I looked doubtfully at the black roses, then began to laugh until tears formed in my eyes. “Oh, Betsy”—I choked out the words—“you could never know how much more appropriate these are.”
Mitch frowned, then lightened as Betsy went to him and pinned on his boutonniere.
“Now,” she said, armed with one more flower and a deadly-looking pin, “where’s the best man?”
“He should be here soon.” Mitch looked at the clock on the wall. “He’d better be, he’s got all our paperwork.”
“Chris has our paperwork?” I questioned in surprise.
“Chris,” Mitch said, his mouth tightening slightly, “won’t be coming tonight. Dr. Samuels has volunteered to stand up for us.”
I felt a flush of sudden anger. “Chris was too busy for his father’s wedding?”
“No, Chris was not too busy, he just won’t be here.”
“But Mitch—”
“Deirdre”—he interrupted me with finality—“let it go. I don’t want it to ruin our evening. He’ll come around eventually.”
“Stepkids,” Betsy said with disgust. “There’s nothing worse than sulky little brats who don’t want their parents to be happy.”
Mitch shrugged, but I instantly rose to Chris’s defense. “He is not sulky and he is not a brat. There are issues involved that you don’t understand, Betsy. And”—I softened my voice—“Mitch is right. We shouldn’t let it ruin our evening.”
“Okay, okay. And speaking of the evening, did Mitch tell you where we’re eating after the ceremony?”
“No. Actually this entire event is pretty much of a surprise.”
“Well, then,” Betsy said with an obvious wink at Mitch, “I can keep a secret too.”
“Secrets?” Sam came through the door, a white envelope in his hand, “who’s keeping secrets?”
“Everyone,” I said with a warning glance softened by a small smile and hug. “Thanks for coming, Sam.”
“Not to worry. I had tonight off. And I wouldn’t miss this occasion for all the world.”
Betsy sidled up to Sam and extended her hand. “Betsy McCain, Griffin Designs. And you must be the best man.”
“John Samuels.” He shook her hand and accepted his boutonniere, then turned to Mitch and clapped him on the shoulder. “In this case, though, I suspect the best man is really this lucky dog. Mitch, I can’t tell you how overjoyed I am about all this. You must tell me how you managed to get her to agree.”
“I will when I figure it out myself,” Mitch started to say, and all three began to laugh.
I stood for a while, watching their mirthful exchange, feeling a total stranger in their midst. What did I have in common with these humans other than the calling of their blood to my hunger?
“It is what you chose, little one.”
I snapped my head up and saw Max, shadowed in the doorway, beckoning to me. Aware but uncaring of the others’ astonished faces, I pushed through them to where he waited in the hallway.
I heard Sam’s startled voice call my name, Betsy’s “what the hell,” and with relief I heard Mitch say calmly, “Let her go, she’ll be back,” but none of that seemed important.
Max was leaning against the wall, just out of view of the door. “I might have known you would be here,” I said bitterly. “Have you come to talk me out of it?”
“Not at all, my dear. I’ve come to a grudging respect for Greer over the years, and since he has accepted my presence in your life, I can do no less.”
“Accepted your presence? How on earth could he do that? He’s never seen you.”
“Are you totally sure about that, Deirdre? He’s a lot closer to understanding than you think. And he loves you anyway. How could I stand in the way of a relationship like that?”
I laughed softly. “It never stopped you before. So, am I to believe that you are here only to wish us well?”
“Believe what you like.” Max leaned over and gave me an icy kiss. “Maybe I came to give away the bride.”
“Deirdre,” Mitch called from within the room, “the judge is ready.”
I moved into the doorway. “I’ll be right in,” I answered, but when I turned back, Max was gone. “Damn,” I swore softly, and ran my fingers over my lips, still cold from his touch.
The ceremony went smoothly. Sam must have done a good job faking my blood test, since apparently the paperwork was in order. Although tempted, I did not run screaming from the room, and if Max was present, he at least had the good grace to stay quiet and out of my line of sight. Twice during the short time we were there though, the door had opened. The first person to enter was Chris, the second, a woman who seemed familiar, but at the time I could not quite place her and did not want to stare. I had held my breath expecting one or the other of them to interrupt at the appropriate time, but nothing had happened.
“. . . I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the judge intoned, and Mitch pulled me to him for a kiss passionate and long enough to make everyone in the room slightly uncomfortable. And then it was over.
Chris walked up to us, shook Mitch’s hand, and hesitantly kissed me on the cheek. After the introductions were made, I looked around for the woman who had accompanied him, but she must have left at some time during the ceremony. And there was no time for questioning him; Betsy hustled us into the limousines she had rented. On the way I found out, to my dismay, that she had arranged to hold the wedding dinner at The Imperial. When we arrived, the driver came around and opened our door.
“Well, Mrs. Greer,” Mitch said, smiling at me tentatively, “shall we go in?”
I touched him softly on the shoulder. “Mitch, did dinner have to be here? After my last run-in with Victor, I doubt that I’ll be welcome.”
“Just a minute.” Mitch motioned to the driver and closed the door. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but Betsy made all the arrangements. I called after she told me and found out that Victor won’t be in tonight. He’s out on important business. So you should be safe.”
“I’m not really hungry. And I can’t eat anything they serve in there anyway.”
“I know.” Mitch reached over and patted my cheek. “But I’m starved. And the wedding dinner is almost as important as the ceremony itself. What else did you want to do?”
“Well, I thought we could just head on out to the airport; we could go anywhere you like.”
“After dinner, Deirdre. Betsy was so excited to set this up, and I’d hate to hurt her feelings. She’s been a real help to me. Besides, this’ll give us a chance to work things out with Chris.”
“Oh. I almost forgot about Chris.” I sat quietly for a minute, then leaned over and kissed Mitch on the cheek. “Fine, we’ll go in, but right afterward we’re going to pack some things and get out of this damn city for a while.”
“Great. Now, don’t you think we should go in? They’ll wonder what we’re doing.”
“Let them wonder.” I took his hand and gently stroked his palm with my thumb, then held it up to my lips. “Mitch, this may sound crazy, but did you happen to see Max tonight?”
“See him, no, but I knew he was around.”
“How?”
“For one thing, by the way you acted. You get this distant look in your eyes, this distracted expression when you say he’s present. Now I know what that means, and when it happened tonight, I tried to pay attention. I thought I could actually feel him there, and I could almost hear something, far away and indistinct.” He smiled at me. “Don’t worry about it, Deirdre. It’s a little spooky, but I’ll get used to it.” Mitch reached for the door handle, then pulled away. “So, what did he want anyway?”
“To give the bride away.”
To my surprise, Mitch threw his head back and laughed. “That’s what you get for putting ‘Father’ on his gravestone. Come on, let’s go in.”
We caught up with the other three in the lobby. Betsy was talking to the maître d’; Chris and Sam were carrying on a whispered discussion in the corner. They looked up guiltily when we walked in, and I knew they had been talking about us. But since Chris seemed more at ease, and smiled more freely at Mitch and me, I didn’t really mind. If Sam could help him deal with this situation, it would make our lives a lot easier.
Our table was ready and Betsy claimed Mitch’s arm and followed the waiter. I touched Chris gently on the arm; he barely suppressed a shudder, but Sam nodded at him encouragingly. “Everything will work out all right, Chris.” I smiled at him. “I promise.” He gulped slightly, tucked my hand around his arm, and escorted me to dinner.
“Deirdre, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. Dad asked me to be best man, but I just couldn’t. He was really angry, read me the riot act on the phone.”
“But you finally did come,” I reassured him, “and that’s what matters.”
Chris slowed down and looked doubtfully at the back of Mitch’s head. “I hope so. He can be real stubborn sometimes.”
“Tell me about it,” I said with a small laugh. “Why do you think this happened at all? For all that I love your father, and I do love him, I was not entirely convinced that this marriage was a good idea. But, Chris, it was what he wanted. He’s been alone so long.” As have I, I added silently, but he seemed to understand.
“I know this’ll be good for you both. It’s just that you’re a”—he had the grace to blush slightly—“well, what you are, and that’ll take some getting used to.”
“Fine, we have a lot of time. But keep it to yourself tonight, kiddo. Betsy doesn’t know and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“And what doesn’t Betsy know?” She bounded over to us, her eyes gleaming almost maliciously, acquisitively. “More secrets?”
I sat down next to Mitch and held his hand. “Only that I married the best man in the city.”
“Oh, that,” she said disparagingly. “I knew that. But you’ve got only one, Deirdre”—she settled Sam in on one side of her and Chris on the other—“and now I have two.”
Chris looked embarrassed, but Sam laughed. The waiter brought and poured the champagne. I wanted to ask about the woman who had entered the courtroom and then quickly departed, but I hated to spoil what was left of the evening with an interrogation of Chris. Betsy had no such compunctions.
“So tell me, Christopher, who came in after you tonight? And why didn’t she come along? One more person wouldn’t have been a problem, would it have, Deirdre?”
“No, absolutely not.” I glanced at Mitch, who suddenly seemed nervous.
“It was Jean,” Sam interjected.
Mitch nodded and said nothing, but glared at Chris.
“Good God, so it was,” I blurted out with a funny choked laugh. “I must have been really nervous not to recognize her. But who the hell invited her? She was the last person I expected to see.” I looked at Sam. “Do you think she listens in on your phone calls?”
“No, she was off duty this afternoon; she works only nights. And I know I didn’t mention it to her.”
“Don’t look at me,” Mitch shrugged. “I haven’t seen her since I checked out. And anyway, what possible difference can it make?”
“Who is Jean?” Betsy asked, sounding slightly annoyed at being left out of the conversation.
“A nurse at the hospital where I work,” Sam said. “And like Mitch said, it’s not really important, just curious that she should have shown up like that.”
Chris cleared his throat. “I stopped by there this evening, looking for you, Dr. Samuels. I couldn’t find you, but Jean was there and I asked if you were going to the wedding. Nobody told me not to say anything. And when she asked herself along, well, what could I do? She stayed until it was over, then slipped away before I noticed she’d gone.”
Nobody said anything, and he continued in her defense. “She took good care of you, Dad, better than any other nurse there, and if she wanted to see you married, I can’t see what harm it’d do.”
“No harm, Chris.” I reached across the table and touched his arm. “We just wondered how she knew. I think it was sweet of you to bring her along. Now, let’s just drop the subject, shall we? How about some more champagne?”
By the time everyone’s glass was refilled, dinner arrived and the conversation turned to other matters. I sat quietly through the meal, picking at my rare prime rib, trying to ignore the waves of nausea caused by the varied aromas of the food around me. When the waiter finally cleared the plates and provided coffee, I sighed in relief.
Mitch caught the hint, paid the bill, and got up from the table. “Thank you for your help today, Betsy and Sam. It was wonderful. But we have some packing to do before we leave on our honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon?” Betsy asked blearily, the champagne having taken its toll on her. “I didn’t know you were going away.”
“Oh.” I stood up and rubbed my head against Mitch’s sleeve. “We just decided on the way over here.”
“Where are you going?” Sam smiled up at us over his coffee.
“Ah, we don’t actually know yet, do we, honey?” Mitch kissed the top of my head. “But we’re heading straight out to the airport. We’ll send you a postcard.”
I walked around the table and gave them all a hug. Mitch shook Sam’s hand, kissed Betsy, and clapped Chris on the shoulder. “See you later,” he called, and we left the restaurant.
The limos were nowhere in sight, so we flagged a cab and when one finally stopped, we snuggled in the backseat.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Mitch asked me as we arrived at his apartment.
“No, it was a lot of fun, actually.”
“You see, you should’ve married me two years ago.”
“Yes, I guess so. Mitch, we have some things we still need to work out.”
“I know, but it can wait, can’t it? Let’s enjoy the next few weeks before we get back to the harsh realities. And speaking of enjoying, we don’t need to rush right off to the airport, do we?” His one hand tightened on my shoulder while the other played with the lace on the hem of my dress.
“No.” I turned to face him. “We have a little time.”
“Good.” He kissed me, his lips crushing mine, his hand delicately moving up my thigh.
“Actually,” I said breathlessly when he removed his mouth, “tomorrow night would be soon enough to leave.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” The rawness of passion in his voice made me gasp, and like the night in the hospital made me forget where we were. Had it been a longer drive to his apartment, we would have made love right there in the cab.
As it was, the driver coughed and discreetly announced our arrival. When Mitch paid him, we ran up the steps of his apartment clutching each other and giggling like teenagers. He unlocked the door and picked me up to carry me in.
My head was nestled into his neck, so when he dropped me abruptly, I was taken completely by surprise by the three men, Victor Lange, Ron Wilkes, my attorney, and Fred, the Ballroom’s bartender, standing in Mitch’s living room. More surprising still was the fact that both Ron and Fred held rather large handguns, aimed directly at us.