83
In the parlor of the hunting lodge, door closed, Allison Parker sat slowly back on the couch that had been her hospital bed for the past few hours.
The pill had been humming like a quiet engine and she was nearly pain free. And not as groggy as she’d expected. It was one hell of a drug and she could see why Jon had fallen for it.
She watched her ex-husband pull up a chair and sit opposite her, the same chair, the same spot where Colter Shaw had just been.
Jon Merritt... the man who had once been her husband, the man with whom she’d shared so very much.
With whom she’d spent joyous and energetic and playful times in bed.
With whom she’d created a child, a beautiful and smart and unique child.
With whom she’d fought bitterly to save herself and that very daughter.
He sighed.
And as he did, Parker cocked her head and inhaled. She tried not to react but suspected the tiniest of frowns crossed her face.
Jon laughed. “Can’t smell anything, can you?”
“I...” She was blushing.
“It’s all right. No, I haven’t had a drink since the day of my sentencing. And for the record, not a wise idea to show up drunk in front of a judge.”
She glanced toward the door, referring, in silence, to the bottle of bourbon, which Colter Shaw had removed from the backpack.
“I bought it yesterday morning. I needed to see that I could handle it. Never even opened it. The most powerful stuff I’ve been drinking since I’ve been out’s been Pepsi. Straight, no chaser.”
She said, “I heard about that — in the Al-Anon meetings. People who were dry would sometimes get a bottle and keep it close. To test themselves.”
He nodded. “You were in Al-Anon. Hannah Alateen. You did that for me.”
Parker shrugged. “Didn’t last long. For her. Me either.”
He sighed. “That’s not on you, A.P. The program only works if I meet you halfway. And I didn’t get close.” He rested his palm on her unwounded thigh, tentatively, as if prepared for her to whisk it off.
She didn’t.
He said, “We don’t have much time. Need to get a few things said.”
“Jon.”
“Need to.”
This was his imploring self. From the old days. Dead serious and orbiting around the important.
But, my God, he was a man who would talk to you. And listen. How rare is that?
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Beacon Hill.”
This wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She thought he would bring up her betrayal under the seahorse.
He spoke the next words slowly. “The Beacon Hill incident... Sounds kind of like a thriller novel, doesn’t it?”
Allison Parker wouldn’t know. Advanced Semiconductor Applications in Radioactive Environments was on her bedside table.
He said, “Truth’s like a splinter, don’t you think? That’s what the doctor told me in County. Dr. Evans. Good man. A splinter. It’s got to come out one way or the other.”
She had no idea where he was going. But nodded encouragingly.
“Beacon Hill... Meth-head father, family, hostages, barricade, weapons. Gunshots reported. Danny and I armor up and go in, no time for SWAT. We get inside, and right off, Danny’s hit. The shooter was in full body armor.”
Jon was breathing hard now, as if he’d just run a race. “Son of a bitch keeps firing and firing... Christ, there were bullets everywhere. The only cover in the room was this bookcase. With all the books, the slugs weren’t penetrating. Except there’s somebody hiding there. It’s his daughter, home from college.”
“The only victim who died.” She felt a chill within her. Was this going where she thought?
“And the father’s getting closer, firing constantly. Must’ve had a twenty-round mag. I had to get to cover. One slug was an inch from my ear. I could hear it over the sound of the gunshot. They break the sound barrier. He aims again and—” His voice clenched. “And I know he’s going to get me. So I just grabbed the daughter and pushed her out. I got behind the bookcase. She gets hit.”
She recalled the girl was shot multiple times.
“Oh, Jon...”
His pallid face was a mask, maybe the most wrenching expression she’d ever seen on him. Worse even than on November 15 as he was led off in cuffs.
“Then, finally, there’s a pause. He’s reloading. I step out fast and take him down. I know he’s gone. I call for medical and try to help the girl. But...”
Six shots, Parker was thinking. What could he do?
“She didn’t die right away, A.P. She stared at me, looking confused, like she’d asked me an important question and was waiting for the answer. And then she was gone too.”
Tears appeared in his eyes. She put her hand on his.
“But your leg... Oh...”
He nodded. Wiped his face. “I gloved up, finished reloading the perp’s gun and hit myself in the body armor, and then parked one in my thigh. Make it look real. I lay down in front of Danny, like I’d been hit, shielding him.”
“Jon...”
“I killed her, A.P. I told myself I did it because he’d stop shooting when he saw his own daughter. Give me a chance to acquire. But that was bullshit. I might as well’ve just used my own piece on her. I should’ve gone down for second-degree murder or aggravated manslaughter. But, no, I ended up the Hero of Beacon Hill. The ceremony, the articles, the looks when I walked into the station... The more adoring they were, the more it stabbed me.”
“So that was the pain you were trying to stop. The drugs, the drinking.”
“Oh, the leg? That was nothing.” He glanced at hers. “You’ll find that out in a couple of weeks. No, it was the girl’s eyes asking me that question. I saw her everywhere. I was lying in our bed, walking down the street, physical therapy, driving... doing anything. The drugs dulled it. After that the booze. But she kept coming back.
“Half the times I came home wasted? I’d been out to her grave in Forest Lawn. I’d buy a bottle before I went and finish it there or on the way home.”
Parker frowned. “November fifteenth. The anniversary of Beacon Hill.”
He nodded.
She touched the side of his head, the hair above his left ear. This was a place where she would seat her face when they made love, a connection that she found so very comforting and, when the moment arrived, electrical.
What plagued him wasn’t psychosis. It was guilt.
“You didn’t plan it,” she whispered.
“I made the choice.”
“Did you? Let the engineer have a word.”
He looked into her eyes.
“It was action, reaction. You pick up a hot pan, pull back and smack your baby in the nose. Not for all the money on earth would you hurt her. But it happened. You do things automatically to survive.”
Then her head was down and she felt tears. She whispered, “I did the same thing. I sent you to prison.”
“To save yourself and Han.” He shook his head. “Ain’t we a pair, A.P.?”
“Hannah suspects I did it.”
“Oh, her father can do no wrong in her eyes?”
Then his expression changed and another item on the agenda appeared.
“Have you noticed anything about my marvelous complexion? Don’t have much of a tan.”
She gave a laugh. “You’ve been in jail for nearly a year, Jon.”
“I’d still be looking this way if I’d been sunbathing in the Bahamas.”
He displayed some puncture wounds on his arm.
She frowned.
“Chemo.”
She stared at the needle marks. “Oh, Jon, no!”