Maggie cast a glance over her shoulder toward the doorway. “And Dylan Fall?” she added, eyes wide.
“I know. That’s the part no one else can believe either, including me.”
Maggie gave a bark of laughter and squeezed her forearm. “That part is actually starting to make more and more sense. I saw the way you two were looking at each other just now.” She pulled the chair behind her closer. “Now, I can only stay a few nights because of Doby.”
Alice smiled, all too familiar with Maggie’s rambunctious Irish setter.
“How is Doby?”
“Healthy. Which means he’s bound to eat my Aunt Janine into poverty if I don’t get back to Chicago by Monday. So . . . talk to me, Alice.”
AN hour and a half later, Dylan looked up from making a call and saw Maggie enter the waiting room. He hit the disconnect button, halting his call in progress, when he noticed the dazed expression on Maggie’s face.
“Is everything okay?” Dylan asked her when she plopped down in a seat a few feet away from him.
“Yeah. It’s just a lot to take in. I’m glad you told me about how beat up she was before I saw her.” She met Dylan’s gaze squarely. “This son of a bitch who did that to her, are they going to nail him good?”
“I just got off the phone with one of the agents a few minutes ago. The FBI is building evidence against Kehoe even as we speak. The U.S. Attorney’s office is confident they’re going to have a solid case against him if Kehoe dares to plead not guilty.”
“Good,” Maggie snarled.
He sagged down in the chair next to her. He’d already decided he approved of Maggie Lopez, but seeing the evidence of her tightlipped, steaming fury, he liked her all the better. But Maggie’s hurt and anger also lit a match to his guilt and helplessness. He kept reliving the seconds when he’d rushed through the house that night in order to meet up with Alice at the usual designated spot. She and Kehoe had probably just been feet away from him: Alice unconscious, Kehoe silent and watching. If only he’d known and intervened then, he might have saved her that horror down by the bluff . . .
. . . and in the pantry.
He winced.
“No offense, but you look like crap. When was the last time you slept?” Maggie asked him.
He opened his eyelids. “Lots of fronts to fight on, lots of fires to put out,” he muttered. Maggie’s gaze on him was kind, but shrewd.
“That’s odd, because Alice said you’ve hardly left her side.”
Dylan grunted noncommittally.
“You know . . . I have a cousin who lives in the Logan Square neighborhood in Chicago. He’s a cop—a big strong guy like you,” Maggie began in a conversational tone. “Four years ago, he was put on the night shift, and so he and his wife had to do some major resetting of their lives. They’d only been married two months at the time. One night while he was working, two assholes broke into their townhouse with the intent of burglary. Tony—that’s my cousin—had taught his wife, Sheila, how to use a gun. So Sheila confronts one of the men with the weapon, but she doesn’t realize the other jerk is behind her. He disables her. Long story short, these two end up pistol-whipping her within an inch of her life. It was brutal what they did, and what’s worse, they seemed to enjoy it.”
“Did they catch them?” Dylan asked.
“It took two and half years, but yeah . . . they did. My point is, Tony was in a living hell. He was the strong, powerful guy—a cop, no less—but he couldn’t predict that situation, he couldn’t protect his wife. Why? Because a sane, normal person can’t predict what a criminal or crazy person is going to do. Tony had to go to work, just like most people. He couldn’t sit around, staring at his wife every second of their life. Shit happens, Dylan, crap that’s not in your control. You just have to deal with the consequences the best you can.”
Dylan sagged another inch in the chair. “I knew there was a moral to this story.”
Maggie gave a bark of dry laughter. “You’re not all powerful. No one likes facing that fact.” Dylan peered at her sideways without moving his head. She arched her brows. “Besides, you were lucky compared to Tony. You saved Alice from the bad guys. Both on Thursday night . . . and eventually, from what they’d done to her twenty years ago.”
“Unlike your cousin, I’ve suspected this bad guy for a long time, but couldn’t prove any wrongdoing on his part. Sebastian Kehoe is considered a successful, law-abiding man.”
Maggie sighed, crossed her arms over her belly, and slouched in her chair next to him. “Yeah, well what were you going to do without any solid proof? Go vigilante? That’s not going to help Alice any, either, to have you in thrown in prison.”
Dylan thought about his brief, blinding bout of vigilante justice in that pantry. Alice had witnessed his savagery. She’d seen a part of himself he kept hidden. He’d nearly murdered Kehoe right in front of her.
For the thousandth time in the past few days, he cringed inwardly at the thought.
ALICE slept solidly and deeply that night. When she awoke the next morning, Dylan was sitting next to her bed in a chair, long legs crossed. He wore jeans, a button-down steel blue shirt, and his glasses, and was reading the Wall Street Journal. She didn’t say anything, and just submitted to the luxury of watching him for a moment.
He was in the process of refolding his paper when he noticed that her eyes were open.
“Morning,” he said, flipping his folded paper onto the bedside table.