Twisted Justice Part 32

"You're right, Chuck," Laura jumped at Chuck's suggestion, "let's just go get them!"

"I don't think airport security will stop us as long as we have their mother here, Chuck," Greg offered. "Might be another story if it were just you and I. Good thing you came, Laura."

"Sshh," said Chuck. "Did you hear that?"

"Paging Mr. Greg Klingman." A woman's voice emanated from the public address system. "Paging Mr. Greg Klingman. Please go to the nearest airport phone."

"What the -?"

"Gotta be important if they tracked you here," said Chuck with a frown. "Hopefully it didn't register with Nelson."

Greg loped toward the nearest phone. Chuck's eyes roamed the vicinity, constantly returning to Steve as he surmised that he'd heard the page when he turned back for a prolonged, very deliberate look at his sons. With a distraught look on his face, he appeared to say something loud enough to attract the attention of the woman ahead of him in line, who turned in obvious agitation.

"Excuse me?"

"What the h.e.l.l is going on? That guy with the ponytail's been up there for ten minutes," Steve growled. He'd been sweating nonstop since Lopez dropped him off at the airport entrance.

She nodded. "I know. I don't know why it's taking so long to check in."

There were still six people ahead of him. And what about that page? He listened for it again. Greg Klingman? Could that be the same Klingman from that d.a.m.n Tampa law firm? At this point it didn't matter, he needed to get through the line p.r.o.nto, stay clear of Santiago, and find an out-of-the-way place to wait with the boys until the flight boarded. How in the h.e.l.l did that d.a.m.n law firm find out he was here? He needed time to process what Lopez had told him. Could it be bulls.h.i.t or did they have enough to charge him with Kim's murder? Could Lopez make it stick? What awful shame he'd suffer if the world found out he'd let Laura go down the way he had. f.u.c.k, the whole world was caving in on him, and all he wanted now was a new life with Mike and Kevin. Steve's eyes darted around as he stood helplessly in line. He had to cut forward in line fast, but how?

And how had it happened, how had he shot Kim that night? She was so scared when he got there, asking him to show her how to use that thirty-eight. When he started to, the d.a.m.n thing just went off. Kim went down. He'd wiped any prints off the gun with his shirt and fled out the back door. Then to his horror, the police found Laura there and blamed her. What could he do? There was no going back, not now, not ever. He had to get on that plane. Lopez was right - it was a mistake, an accident.

An accident.

It took a few minutes to find a phone. It was now 6:43 p.m. and Greg had to move fast. Anything could happen - this was Laura's window to get her boys back.

"Greg, it's Rob," said the excited voice as soon as Greg picked up the page. "You need to know what's happened. Is Chuck with you?"

"Bad timing, Rob. Things here are about to pop."

"Greg, it's about Celeste, and -"

"Celeste? I don't have time right now. I know she's upset, but -" "She's just been shot, Greg. At the condo on Amelia Island. All h.e.l.l's breaking loose. Some guy, a hired hitman looks like, apparently went after the Palmer girl."

"Celeste was shot? What are you talking about?"

"The girl's okay, but Celeste took a hit."

"Huh? How could this ..." Greg stuttered. "Celeste at the condo? She didn't even know the Palmers were there."

"The details are just coming in, but Greg, your fiancee was a real hero up there. Saved the kid. You know she packs a Beretta?"

Greg was speechless.

"Listen, don't worry. She's on her way to the hospital in Jacksonville. And Greg, they say she's asking for you, so -"

"She wants to see me? Is it serious?"

"Touch and go, but they're taking her to the operating room."

"Operating room? What -"

"Apparently, Celeste went after this guy with her own piece. It misfired, or it wasn't loaded, or something, and the hitter grabbed her. Chuck's guy fired the shot that hit her, trying to stop the other guy."

"Good G.o.d, Celeste had her gun? She hates that thing so much she won't even let me show her how to load it. Listen, I'll be there, Rob. Tell her I'll be there."

"Will do. What's the situation there, anyway?"

"Situation?" Greg repeated dully. All he could see was his beautiful Celeste, imagine her bleeding, hurt, needing him.

"Has Nelson taken off with the boys?"

"Uh, no, not yet. Look, Rob, get word to Celeste that I'm on the first flight out of here. Tell her I love her. Tell her -"

It wasn't until Greg heard shouting that he looked over and saw that Laura and Chuck were not where he'd left them. Still holding the phone, he craned his neck in an attempt to find the source of the commotion developing at the ticket line. Steve Nelson seemed to be in the center of some angry people. Where were Chuck and Laura? Looking here and there, Greg finally saw Laura running over toward Mike and Kevin. Chuck was walking purposefully in the opposite direction, toward Steve.

Frank Santiago chose that moment. Dressed in nondescript khakis and a plain white tee shirt with a Detroit Tiger baseball cap pulled down over a longish blond wig and black sungla.s.ses, he slowly approached the angry group just as a Northwest agent stepped in.

"You just can't cut the line," said a stocky woman in a loud, angry voice.

"We've been waiting longer than you," said her husband.

"Such a rude young man," said someone behind Steve.

"I have a sick child!" shouted Steve as he pushed away the hand of a burly man blocking him from reaching the ticket counter. "I've got to check in early so I can give him his medicine."

"Sir," said the pleasant young gate agent as he made his way to the center of the controversy. "What's the trouble here?"

Literally dripping with sweat, Steve lied, "I gotta get through. My kid -"

"Wait your turn, mister," said the stocky woman as she planted herself directly in front of Steve.

"Okay, okay." Steve put up his hands in surrender and the young agent nodded affably, walking back toward the check-in podium.

Feigning a look of curiosity, Frank Santiago nudged his way closer until he stood beside Steve. Quickly and carefully aiming his weapon to a spot just below Steve's left rib cage at an upward angle, he pulled the trigger. There was a loud "pop," like a champagne cork. Steve slumped and slid to the floor, falling against the husband of the loud, stocky woman. Everyone from the airline agent and clump of irate pa.s.sengers to merely curious bystanders looked first at each other, then down at Steve. As the group's gaze focused on the bright red blood seeping through Steve's light blue polo shirt, all activity in the airport seemed strangely still before a few women began to scream.

In less than a minute, Frank was in the waiting car. The clock registered 6:46 p.m. Hat, gla.s.ses, wig, and gun had all been tossed into the trash can outside the exit doors. Mission accomplished. He'd be on I-94 before the cops figured what the h.e.l.l was going down and in Chicago in time to catch the Delta flight back to Florida. Another ident.i.ty, another change of clothes for the flight, and no one would even suspect that he'd been anywhere near Detroit.

As he swung the Fairlane around the corner, only feet away from the airport exit, he heard the sound of sirens. They were coming from everywhere. Then, to his horror, the huge steel apparatus next to the exit gate came crashing down. Airport security vans came at him from every direction. He was trapped. Without a f.u.c.king gun. Trapped.

Laura reached Mike and Kevin just before the scuffle by the ticket counter. Sitting on their luggage now, they were just staring apathetically ahead. Kevin saw her first and a huge smile broke out across his face. He nudged Mike. "Hey, it's Mom!" It sounded like a cheer.

"Shut up," Mike groaned. "I'm not in the mood for your jokes."

But Kevin had already jumped up and ran to a beaming Laura, who grabbed him in her arms.

"Mom, Mike said you'd find us!"

Mike was suddenly standing as Laura reached out and embraced him, Kevin still clutching her waist.

"I can't believe you came!"

"That's right, and I'm taking you and Kevin home with me." She glanced around, looking for Greg and Chuck. She just wanted to leave with the boys. She'd deal with any consequences later. But where were they? Steve was up there somewhere by the ticket counter, thankfully not even paying attention, but a crowd was gathering - "But Mom, Dad's up there. He's -"

"I know what he wants, honey," Laura said as she held her eldest son tightly. "I'm so relieved that you got through to Mrs. Whitman. Otherwise, I wouldn't even have known -"

"We told him we didn't want to go to Alaska, didn't we, Mike," Kevin piped.

"Yeah, but can we just leave now?" Mike gestured to their luggage. "What about all our stuff?"

"We'll leave it. But we've got to find Mr. Dimer first, he's got the car. And before Dad sees me here."

"Look at all those people." Kevin pointed toward the growing cl.u.s.ter where Steve was.

Laura followed his gaze. She saw Chuck shout something into the ear of a dark-suited man with slick black hair - someone she recognized with a flash of terror. Detective Lopez? He was already talking into a walkie-talkie. What was he doing here? Was he here to arrest her?

Chuck had bolted away from the growing crowd and ran right past her and the boys, charging out through the exit. What was going on? He should be with her now, not running off. This was her chance to get the boys out! She saw Greg run over toward the growing crowd. Lopez was nowhere in sight. Why all this confusion? Greg eventually glanced back at her with a strange, haunted look.

"Where's Dad? Something happened," Mike said. Before Laura could stop him, he ran over and elbowed his way into the group. Near the ticket counter, everyone was looking down at the floor, down at the crumpled form that lay on the gray industrial carpet that was quickly staining red - with Steve Nelson's blood.

Laura heard screams. After momentarily holding him back, she suddenly grabbed Kevin by the hand and followed Mike. A sense of catastrophe, more acute than even the litany of disasters that had overtaken her life in these past weeks, filled her. Threading her way through the onlookers and clutching Kevin's hand, she finally saw Mike, looking down and standing very still - too still. She pushed through to him, still clinging to Kevin's hand. Greg grabbed her shoulder from behind and forcefully spun her around to face him.

"Give me Kevin," he said simply. The distress on his face telegraphed something terrible. "Go," he instructed, "I'll take Kevin. You go to Mike. We'll wait by the exit."

"But Greg -"

"Now, Laura," he commanded, taking Kevin's hand and turning away.

Her heart hammered as she entered the throng of people. Then she saw him. Steve, crumpled on the ground, his face and hair wet with sweat. And the blood, everywhere, seeping out from under him. So much blood.

She reached out for Mike, trying to pull him back, to shield him, but he wouldn't budge. "Mom," he shouted, "do something! Dad's bleeding!"

Laura sank to the carpet. "What happened?" she demanded from the crowd who had moved away just enough to give her some s.p.a.ce when Mike announced in a loud voice that she was a doctor.

"There was a pop. We heard a "pop," a man close by reported in a quivering voice. "Was that a gun?"

"I thought he fainted or had a seizure or something," said the woman who'd challenged him in the line. "He said his kid was sick, not him. Do you really think he was shot?" she asked her husband.

Laura tore at Steve's b.l.o.o.d.y shirt. What else could it be? This ma.s.sive, this quickly. There was a collective gasp as she exposed the gaping hole in Steve's chest. She knew then that the bullet had destroyed the left ventricle of the heart. Carefully, deliberately, she placed her bare hand in the b.l.o.o.d.y wound, feeling for familiar structures. Laura herself gasped as she palpated the huge hole with its tattered edges. Irreparable. Covering it rapidly with her sweater, she leaned forward to check the carotid pulse that she knew would not be there. None. Respiration? No, how could there be?

"They're coming with an ambulance," a voice called.

"Here, here," another voice rang out as the crowd silently parted. "Over here."

Emergency attendants rapidly moved Steve's lifeless body onto the stretcher as Laura went through the useless motions of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She had to, her sons would expect it of her. Because it was a chest wound, her specialty, they'd a.s.sume she could fix this. They'd never understand the futility, the nearly instant mortality as the bullet ripped apart the big muscle of the heart.

Frantic, Laura looked around for Mike, praying that he hadn't seen her reach into the hole in Steve's chest. Finally she saw him, silent and stricken by the exit, standing beside Greg and Kevin.

"We'll meet you at the hospital," Greg called to her when their eyes met.

Her pink top was stained with the darkening red of Steve's blood as was the front of her white pants, but Laura continued to lead the rescue team through the motions of resuscitation as they expertly loaded the ambulance and took off, sirens screaming.

But none of it mattered. Steve was dead.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

Steve Nelson was p.r.o.nounced dead by the emergency room doctor on call at Henry Ford Hospital at 7:30 p.m. Any minute, Laura would have to go out into the waiting room and face her sons. How could she explain that there was nothing she could have done? Would they think she had not tried hard enough to save their dad? They had experienced the escalating animosity between her and Steve through the last several weeks. Would Mike and Kevin think that she just let him die? She closed her eyes for a few moments. Could this all just be a terrible nightmare?

Laura asked for a few moments alone with Steve. She kissed him on the forehead and then slowly, tenderly, caressed each cheek. Tears flowed as she remembered the tall, handsome young man she'd met in college and married. How much in love they'd been. How could everything have gone so horribly wrong? Steve wasn't a bad person, and neither was she. First they'd just drifted apart. They'd both made mistakes. But by the end, they'd become bitter enemies. What could she have done over the years to prevent it? She'd tried to talk to him, but he'd just never let her close enough, emotionally. And then there was Patrick. When Steve found out the truth, she knew he could never forgive her. She'd always known that. His manhood was affronted. How ridiculous of her to think she could hide it forever, that one night. Now she somehow had to face all five of her children. Tell them that their father was dead.

Dressed in a clean, green scrub suit with a knee-length white lab coat, she approached her sons with red-rimmed eyes. They sat with Chuck Dimer away from the ER's main waiting area, in a secluded room normally used for staff conferences.

"Here's your mom, guys," Chuck said as she walked in. To her, "I thought it'd be quieter in here."

"Thanks, Chuck. Mike, Kevin," she said gently.

"How's Dad?" asked Kevin.

"He's ... he didn't make it," she said softly, more tears welling.

"He's gonna be okay, isn't he?" continued the boy.

"No," Mike practically shouted as he glared at Kevin. "He's not gonna be okay. Didn't you hear what Mom just said? Dad's dead!"

"That's not what she said," Kevin challenged his older brother. Then his eyes searched Laura's. "Is it, Mom?"

"Kevin, Mike, your father is dead," Laura said tenderly as she knelt between them, reaching for their hands.

"Oh, no, Dad," sobbed Kevin. Kevin had never faced death, Laura realized. None of her children had. To him, it was just something that happened on TV, some abstract fantasy. Something they talked about in religion cla.s.s. Why you had to be a good person, so when you died, you went to heaven.

"What happened, Mom?" Mike asked matter-of-factly.

"A man made his way into the crowd and shot him," Laura answered simply. She knew she had to be totally honest with her eldest son.

"Why? Why would someone want to shoot Dad?" He looked at her through his own tears now.

"I don't know."