Jake stared at the clock for a while, then watched Bordon’s face. Little tubes ran into his nose, keeping oxygen flowing through his lungs. An IV dripped life-sustaining fluid into his bloodstream. Neither was going to save his life. The gray pallor of his features was proof of that.
Twelve-thirty. He went to walk in the corridor to loosen up his muscles. He was nervous every time he did so, afraid that Bordon would awaken for the few seconds he was gone. But having spent endless hours by the bed, time in which to think, wonder and rationalize, he was becoming increasingly certain that events that seemingly had no connection just might be an interlocking key, the solution to both mysteries.
Despite the hour, he called Skip. No surprise, Skip had been sleeping, and he had to think for several minutes—and Jake had to repeat himself several times—before he seemed to understand Jake’s questions. “Yeah…the computer was an area that seemed to be wiped clean of prints. Oh, yeah, and your phone and the answering machine.”
Jake thanked him, apologizing for the hour. Skip told him no problem, a statement that obviously wasn’t entirely sincere.
Jake started to head back to his chair, then hesitated and called Nick’s place.
He was glad when Nick answered the phone himself.
“Nick’s.”
“Nick, it’s Jake Dilessio.”
“Yes?” Nick said carefully. His niece might be twenty-five, but Nick couldn’t help feeling like a protective father. “You want to talk to Ashley? You can call her on her cell. But I guess you know that.”
Jake hesitated. He wasn’t sure that Ashley would answer her cell phone if she saw he was calling. But he wasn’t certain he wanted to talk to her right then, anyway. On the one hand, he was still feeling frustrated and incredibly angry. He was also wondering if he was slightly insane to feel such a proprietary sense of protection and concern, as if she were in his care. As if he had the right to know her every movement.
“I don’t need to speak with her, Nick. I just wanted to…make sure she was home. That she was all right.”
“She’s a big girl, Jake. She stays out as late as she wants. But I guess you know that.”
“Nick—”
“She’s home, Jake. I heard her going through the house about twenty minutes ago.”
Jake hesitated. “Thanks,” he said. He wasn’t certain what to say to Nick. He didn’t want to worry an old friend needlessly. “Listen, Nick, this is the situation. I’m up here in the center of the state.”
“I heard. The Bordon incident has been on the news all day. Reports have his condition as critical.”
“He’s dying,” Jake said flatly. “I’m sitting here hoping against hope that he’ll say something before he does.”
“I see. What about that corpse you have on your hands? Think he ordered the execution from prison?”
“I did—once. Now…I don’t know. What I’m sure of is that the food fight was caused to cover the killing of Peter Bordon. And the thing is, I found a sketch Ashley did of the accident that landed Stuart Fresia in the hospital. There’s a figure on the side of the highway, someone wearing a black cape and cowl. That was the uniform worn by members of Bordon’s cult. I’ve also discovered that a former cult member who’d been presumed dead may have survived the plane crash that supposedly killed him. I know. I’m probably stretching things, but there was a reporter hanging around the hospital after Stuart was admitted, and according to Carnegie, the investigator on the case, he isn’t checking out as who he says he is. I keep wondering if he could be the guy from the cult. Anyway, I’m concerned for Ashley.”
“She’s in for the night, I’m certain. I’ll talk to her in the morning, though. It’s all right to tell her what you’ve told me, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll keep my eye on her.”
Nick was quiet for a minute. Jake waited, thinking he meant to say more. Or maybe he was waiting for Jake to say something. Finally he filled the silence.
“I’ll be back in Miami as soon as I can. If anything comes up…let me give you Carnegie’s direct number. You know how to reach Marty, and if you can’t reach him…let me give you a few other names.”
“I’ll grab a pen. Damn…where the hell is a pen? Sharon? Shit. There she goes. Sandy, you got a pen there? No…hey, Curtis! Okay, here we go. I got a pen.”
Nick took down the names and numbers Jake gave him. They rang off.
Jake headed back into the hospital room. The prison guard was still standing at the end of the bed. Jake nodded to him and slouched wearily in the chair. A moment later, the doctor came in. He studied his patient, opening his eyes, checking his pulse.
“How’s he doing?”
“I think you can see,” the doctor said with a shrug. “One way or another…I don’t think he has more than ten hours left.”
Ashley’s next move hadn’t been learned at the academy. It had been taught to her at a women’s defense class she had attended with Jan, who thought she should learn what she could since she spent so much time on the road.