The Thousandth Man

  Part 5

 

 

 

His strength already severely depleted, John wasn’t quite sure himself whether he had any business swimming back to the cave. But determination won out over common sense. After weeks of searching for clues as to Roy’s whereabouts, he finally had a break, and he wasn’t going to miss this chance.

 

Getting back was the easy part. Getting out would be harder. He swam hard in an effort to warm his frigid body. The life vest was cumbersome, and made progress difficult, but there was no way he could enter those caves without one. Just before he went through the opening, he glanced back and saw the second man being lifted into the copter. Gil was securing his line.

 

Once again, a thick swell carried him into the cave. Squinting to adjust his vision, his eyes cast about for the boot, and he was at first panicked that it wasn’t visible. Then he realized he was looking in the wrong direction. Turning forty-five degrees, he spotted it where it had come to rest a short while ago, although water was washing around the flopping boot, threatening to dislodge it. Renewed determination gave Johnny the strength to lunge toward it.

 

About halfway there, the largest wave he’d yet encountered smashed into Johnny, bowling him sideways and away from his target. Salt water burned its way down his nose and throat. A familiar fear took hold, and dread gripped him in its embrace; it was the same feeling he’d had that night when he’d almost drown in the river. Once again, his life was held in the balance only by a thin rope. Fighting the current was zapping his strength and he knew he’d better hurry.

 

Swimming against the tide with every ounce of energy he had, John finally came within reach of the boot. Just as he strained forward to snag it, another gush of water swept over the paramedic, tossing him into the rocks. An area just to the left of his eye exploded in pain as his face slammed into a sharp outcropping. Momentarily paralyzed, he fumbled for a handhold to keep from being further pummeled by the treacherous cave wall. When he recovered from the shock of pain, touching the site brought blood away on his hand. He didn’t have time to think about that.

 

The next wave dislodged the boot and it sailed by him. In a desperate lunge, he dove for it, barely snagging a shoelace between his fingertips, then went under. Clutching the boot in both hands, the water carried him back into the wall again, and he crashed into it once more. A sharp sting of pain accosted his arm and the backs of his hands as they were scraped raw against the rocks. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he pushed away and began heading toward the cave opening. Continuing his hold on the boot prevented him from contacting Gil via the handi-talki to help pull him in. He was on his own.

 

 

 

“HT-51, this is Copter 4. What’s the hold up?”

 

Gil grimaced, straining to catch some site of Johnny. He depressed his handi-talki button. “Copter 4, my partner is…retrieving some…equipment from the cave.”

 

“10-4…we’re running low on fuel. We can give you approximately five more minutes before we have to leave.”

 

Damn it, John. “10-4.” Where the hell is he and what is he doing? Gil was pissed. Jeremy had said something about Johnny returning to get a boot. He’d had both his shoes on. Why the blazes did he have to go back out there? Frustrated, he tried to reach Johnny on the HT. When there was no response, Gil began to take up the slack in the rope. It was the only way he knew to get Johnny out of the cave. He’d be damned if he was going to let Johnny strand them on this island without a way back. The slack remained tight and he kept pulling. That meant John was on his way out. Gil stole a look upwards to the hovering helicopter.

 

“Equipment! He went back to get a damn boot!” Jeremy complained loudly, now safely in the confines of the helicopter.

 

The copter pilot raised a brow as Jeremy explained how Johnny ‘almost got them drowned’ trying to get a hold of an old boot on their way out. He remained, however, without comment, instead glancing below to see if Gage was visible. He saw the shock of dark hair in the water, about halfway between the cave and the shore, and looked down at his gauges, his mouth stretching into a grim line. 

 

Gil was shocked at the shape Johnny was in as he stumbled out of the water. He had a large gash less than an inch from his eye that was bleeding heavily, the blood diluted by the water as it dripped down his face and neck, turning his collar pink. His pants and shirt were torn. The backs of his hands were scraped raw and bleeding. But firmly in his frozen hands, he clutched a boot.

 

“We’ve got to go!” Gil shouted over the din of the helicopter. “They’re low on fuel.” Even as he spoke, he saw the line coming down for them.

 

Johnny stood shivering, his wet uniform slapping against his skin in the wind. Tendrils of sopping hair hung in his face, and he reached up a bloodied hand to clear it away. He stepped back when the line hovered in front of him, planning to let Gil go first.

 

“No! You go!” Gil secured the line around Johnny, not willing to argue about it. Gage looked like he was incapable of speaking anyway, his lips a dull shade of gray. The dry paramedic reached for the boot.

 

“No!” Johnny hugged the precious item to his chest with one arm, grasping the rope with the other. “I got it!”

 

Gil shook his head, then motioned for the copter to bring up Gage’s line. He watched as Johnny was slowly lifted into the air, still clutching the boot, wondering if his partner had finally lost his sanity.

 

Once Gil was aboard the copter took off, heading for the closest hospital where they could land. They would have to refuel before returning to LA. They let off the two wayward kayakers with instructions from the paramedics for Jeremy to get checked out by a doctor. None of his injuries was serious.

 

The ride back was devoid of conversation, any dialogue limited to one-word responses from Gage. Gil handed Johnny a four by four for his head and bandages for his hands, and by the time they reached the LA Coast Guard Air Station, the wounds had stopped bleeding.

 

During the ride, Gil observed Johnny, the thought occurring to him that perhaps hypothermia had impaired John’s judgment, easing his anger somewhat. The water temperature this time of year would be somewhere around 65 degrees, quite cold if one was immersed in it for more than several minutes. Johnny had been exposed for close to a half hour.

 

Gage’s shivering had diminished, but he was still pale, and the few times he spoke, his speech was thick and slightly slurred. Gil made up his mind that Johnny was going to see a doctor at Rampart whether he liked it or not. He had the advantage of being a little larger than Johnny, and, senior paramedic or not, he’d carry him in if he had to. Gage didn’t look like he was up for too much of a fight anyway.

 

Gil and John were in the process of unloading their equipment from the copter when the pilot requested a ‘word’ with Johnny.

 

Gil stared a moment, suspecting what the pilot wanted, then said, “I’ll take our stuff back to the squad.” Gil carried the equipment, waiting for Johnny in the squad.

 

Nearly ten minutes later, he saw Johnny walking unsteadily toward him, the look on his face dour. He still clutched the boot, and Gil was somewhat surprised when Gage opened the passenger door, tossed him the keys and said, “You can drive.”

 

Wordlessly, Robinson slid into the driver’s seat, and Johnny collapsed into his old spot.

 

Wearily, Johnny laid his head back on the seat and closed his eyes, making it clear that any conversation was unwelcome.

 

It was just as well, Gil thought, and drove toward Rampart.

 

As he parked, John opened his eyes and looked at him in surprise. “What did you come here for?”

 

“We need some supplies.” Gil had already decided that it would be better to show up under that pretense instead of trying to argue with Johnny about getting his injuries looked at. Once Dixie McCall, or any doctor for that matter, laid eyes on Johnny, he wouldn’t be getting out of there soon.

 

A hot cup of coffee sounded good to John, and at the moment, he wasn’t thinking sharply enough to recognize Gil’s deception. Setting the boot carefully on the floor of the truck, he left it there and got out. “Lock it,” he instructed, and the two strolled into Rampart on the pretense of picking up supplies.

 

Johnny obviously had no idea how he looked or he would never have stepped foot inside the hospital. Gil’s plan worked to his satisfaction. Stares and wide-eyed expressions of surprise followed them down the hall as Johnny’s shoes squished loudly from being water logged. Gage didn’t seem to notice as his gaze was fixed somewhere in space, his only motivation on obtaining that hot cup of coffee. The moment they strode up to the base station, they had everyone’s attention, or at least Johnny did.

 

Dixie glanced up from her chart as Johnny reached for the coffee pot. Her mouth fell open as Johnny turned to her.

 

“Hey, Dix,” he said thickly. A pasty shade of gray, his face was streaked with blood, his eye now swollen half closed. Still damp, the salt water had done a number on his hair, which was a wild mess of tangled strands spiking in every direction. Only the front of his shirt was still tucked in, which was now a wrinkled and dirty shade of blue, the back torn and stained with blood. His pants weren’t in much better shape, also torn. He seemed oblivious to his condition as he sipped his coffee, slowly closing his tired eyes.

 

“Johnny!” she said in a voice slightly raised in mild alarm. He jerked, his eyes popping open, causing some of the coffee to swish over the edge of his cup. It spattered to the floor as she moved to his side, taking hold of his arm. “What happened to you?”

 

Gil turned, hiding his smile.

 

“Huh?” He stared at her cluelessly for a second, finally bringing his hand up to touch his face. “Oh, this? We were on a water rescue. I kind of bumped into – ”

 

“Kind of?!” She cradled his face in her hand, positioning it so she could see the damage. From there, she peered behind him, lifting his shirt to see a good–sized scrape along his back. Her eyes widened as she felt his frozen skin.

 

“Dix,” he whined, arching out of her way. “Come on, it’s just a scratch.” His gaze slid from her to Gil, slowly turning suspicious. “You – ”

 

Dixie looked at Gil. “How long was he in the water?”

 

“At least thirty minutes. Probably about 65 degrees. We were at Santa Cruz. He was in one of the sea caves.”

 

Dixie spotted Mike Morton walking by. “Mike!” She flagged him down.

 

Johnny grimaced. “Oh no. C’mon Dix…”

 

“C’mon nothing.” She ignored him. “Mike, could I get you to take a look at Johnny?”

 

“Sure Dix. What’s u- ” He didn’t need to ask any more questions after taking a quick glance at Gage. “Come on. Let’s go in two.”

 

Dixie grabbed Johnny by the arm. As he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off. “You’re going. No argument, or I’ll get Dr. Brackett.”

 

He looked at her in surprise, his voice submissive. “Jeez, Dixie, you don’t have to get nasty about it.”

 

She pointed her pen at him, all business, though her expression softened some. “I know you.”

 

“Can I bring my coffee?” he asked, his eyes widening contritely in surrender.

 

Gil picked up his cup. “I’ll bring you in a fresh one.”

 

With a groan, Johnny let Dixie escort him in to the treatment room. Gil entered a few moments later with a hot cup of coffee, handing it to Johnny as Dixie began pulling his shirt off.

 

“Hey, watch it,” Johnny groused, as her actions almost spilled it.

 

Mike took the cup from John’s hands and set it on a tray table. “K. Get your pants off.”

 

Gil smiled as he left the room.

 

 

 

Five minutes later, Dixie emerged and headed toward Gil. She had a worried look on her face.

 

Gil frowned, fearing now that his partner had been injured worse than he’d suspected. He’d done almost no examination on Johnny in the helicopter. Now he tensed as he wondered if he’d screwed up. “Is he okay?”

 

She hesitated. “Yes…I think so. It’s mostly just scrapes and bruises. Mike’s putting a couple of stitches in his face, and he’s ordered an x-ray, but it’s just precautionary. He’s mildly hypothermic; his temperature was 97.2, a little low. It’s going to take him a while to warm up.”

 

Gil sighed in relief. “Well, I’m glad it’s not more serious.”

 

“Gil, there’s something else. Something’s…not right with him. What exactly happened on that rescue?”

 

Gil grimaced and told her about the boot, and how Johnny was hurt.

 

“He went back for a…a boot?”

 

“Yep. It doesn’t make any sense, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it yet.” He shook his head. “You know, lately, he’s just…”

 

“Not himself,” she finished. She looked down, fiddling with the pencil in her hand. “No. He hasn’t been since Roy died. Has he?”

 

Gil shook his head. He slipped onto the stool in the corner of the base station. “But it’s not just that, Dix. He’s…still insisting that Roy is alive. He still goes out looking for him on his days off.” Gil hesitated, unsure if he should say more.

 

Dixie’s expression remained concerned, but neutral. Gil knew she wasn’t one for gossip, and that maybe she might be able to offer him some advice, so he continued, taking a deep breath. “He’s angry a lot, argumentative, distracted, and tired. I catch him nodding off almost any time he sits down to rest. He fights with the guys; got written up a few weeks ago for belligerence against the Cap and for almost beating the crap out of an insurance agent that came by the station to talk to him about Roy’s life insurance policy.” Gil briefly explained what had happened and how it had led to the police investigation.

 

Roy’s picture had appeared in the paper again, along with another article about his disappearance, so Dixie was aware of the police investigation and the alleged accusations of fraud against Roy. Johnny had practically gone ballistic about it when he’d seen it at work one morning, and had even called the paper to complain. Dixie, and everyone else at the hospital who had seen it, called it outrageous and unfair.

 

The nurse stared solemnly, not liking at all what she was hearing. Johnny’s behavior was bordering on psychological disorder. It made her sick to see this happening to him. Roy’s fate had been bad enough without having to witness the slow destruction of his partner on top of it.

 

It had been hard for her too, though her work had trained her to remain stoic and uninvolved. Roy was one of her favorite paramedics, and one of the best. But he was a friend too. More than one sleepless night had passed where she’d tossed and turned, even cried, at the imaginings of his drowning. His life had touched so many; with guilt Dixie realized she hadn’t called Joanne in a long time to see how she was doing. Johnny had kept her posted about the baby, but being so far removed from it dulled the impact. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to know what it felt like to lose a husband and have to deal with your baby dying as well. It was selfish and she knew it. Maybe her job had taught her too well to be detached.

 

Very quietly, she asked, “Have there been any other…discrepancies…on the job?”

 

Gil shook his head. “With the exception of today…he’s been flawless. I don’t know how he does it, but on the runs he’s totally focused and professional. I don’t know what the deal was with that boot. I know the Coast Guard pilot wasn’t happy with him.”

 

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That’s understandable.”

 

Gil stared at the floor, lost in thought. “I don’t know,” he muttered, “maybe I’ve said too much…” He looked up as the door to the treatment opened and Johnny shuffled out wearing a pair of scrubs, his torn and bloodied work clothes stuffed under his arm.

 

Dixie watched Johnny as he slowly headed toward them. He looked beat. Inside, she was struggling to decide if Johnny’s behavior warranted a mention to Kel Brackett. All she had to go on was what Gil had said, and her own observations that he hadn’t been quite himself. There was nothing so unusual about that, given what had happened with his best friend, someone who seemed to be the only family Johnny had. True, it might do him good to talk with someone about it, especially if he was still in denial about Roy’s death. That was concerning.

 

At the same time, the last thing Johnny needed was the head of emergency coming down on him, especially when he seemed to be performing well on the job. It would be unwarranted. Johnny was a friend, and she cared about him, but it wasn’t her place to butt into his personal life – at least not unless it affected his professional one. Still, a caring conversation with a friend wouldn’t be butting in. She made up her mind to take that time as soon as the next opportunity arrived. Today, however, didn’t look to be that day.

 

Dixie smiled as Johnny approached, Mike Morton in his wake. They both stopped at the base station.

 

Mike turned to Johnny. For once, he had a softness to his eyes and a kindness in his voice. “John, I still think you should go home and rest up, but I am releasing you for duty. I would also suggest staying out of the water for a few shifts.”

 

Johnny had no malice in his eyes as he thanked the doctor, and Dixie raised an eyebrow at the exchange. She wondered about the conversation they’d had in the treatment room. Mike laid an arm on Gage’s shoulder briefly. “Take care.” He turned and left.

 

Johnny’s face had been cleaned up and now displayed a bright white gauze bandage taped next to his eye, which was swollen and turning a pale shade of green. His hands had been cleaned up as well; the scrapes looked painful but not serious. He looked better; his hair was even combed. He offered Dixie an exhausted smile and a small wave as he said to his partner, “Let’s go,” then turned and left before Gil could acknowledge.

 

 

 

“You can drive.” Johnny walked around the squad to the passenger side and crawled in, wincing as he did so. The first thing he did was to pick up the boot, cradling it in his lap almost affectionately as he stared down at it. His expression was melancholy, but thoughtful.

 

Gil drove for a while, pondering in his head about how to question Johnny without sounding disrespectful. He finally just decided not to beat around the bush. “Do you mind if I ask why you risked your life to go back into that cave for a boot?”

 

John looked over at Gil, his face resolute. The next two words out of Johnny’s mouth were spoken as if they explained everything. “It’s Roy’s.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Despite Johnny’s excitement over his newest clue to Roy’s whereabouts, the day got worse, not better. In an effort to support Johnny, Gil mentioned the discovery of the boot to the rest of the crew. Johnny, however, wasn’t pleased that Gil had revealed his latest find. He’d have rather kept it to himself to ponder his own hypothesis without their input. After the way they’d treated him and discarded Roy, John didn’t feel he owed them any information. Besides, he feared it would only invite their criticism. Nevertheless, Gil let the cat out of the bag.

 

Skeptical at first, they couldn’t deny the evidence John showed them. Carefully turning over the boot, he showed them the message Jennifer had magic markered onto the sole one morning, so that Roy would know while he was at work all day that she was thinking of him. In bright red marker, she had penned the message, ‘I’, and then a heart below it, then the word ‘daddy’. Though barely visible now, most of the letters could still be made out. That was proof enough for Johnny.

 

“But that doesn’t prove that Jennifer DeSoto wrote it, John,” Marco had countered. “Any kid could have written that.”

 

Disgusted, Johnny snatched the boot away from Marco. “Roy showed it to me the day she did it,” he snarled. He turned the boot over, studying it, remembering that morning not so long ago, and Roy’s quiet smile as he’d shown it to him. His voice held a deep sadness. “I recognize her handwriting. She wrote something on the other boot too.”

 

None of them could argue. More proof was that the boot was Roy’s size. Coming to the conclusion that John was right, the men grew quiet, casting sober gazes at this unexpected little reminder of their friend. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, but seeing this blatant memory of Roy up so close felt uncomfortable. They’d been trying to forget the pain of that loss so that their lives could be normal again, although none of them would ever be quite the same. It reminded them of how fragile their own existences were – something they didn’t like to think about too often.

 

Chet spoke quietly. “What in the world was it doing seventy miles north in Santa Cruz?”

 

“The tide probably washed it there,” Mike guessed.

 

“What are you going to do?” Chet asked Johnny.

 

Marco raised a brow. “Do? What else can he do, Chet? If anything, this should prove once and for all that Roy’s gone.”

 

John stared stonily at his crewmate. “And just how do you figure that?”

 

“Look John, I’m sorry but…pieces of Roy’s clothes and gear have shown up, everything but Roy. We’d all like to believe Roy survived, but I just don’t think it’s possible – ”

 

 “How do you know Roy didn’t swim there? How do you know – ”

 

“Oh, c’mon, John,” Mike interrupted. “Seventy miles?”

 

“Why not? Roy’s a good swimmer!”

 

“Seventy miles in a storm with no life jacket? After being hit on the head?” Mike asked incredulously.

 

Chet patted John on the shoulder consolingly. “Johnny, you need to get a grip, pal.”

 

John slid off the edge of the table he’d been leaning against, grabbed the boot, and headed toward the door. “I should have known better than to give you guys any information. You’re the most negative group of people I’ve ever met.” He glared at Gil on the way out. “And you had to open your big mouth and tell everyone.”

 

Gil stood speechless as Johnny stormed out the door.

 

He’d gotten no further than the front of the squad when he heard his captain’s voice.

 

“John? I’d like to talk to you in my office please.” His voice was flat and strained.

 

Momentarily closing his eyes, John stopped. With the boot still clutched tightly in his hands, he turned and followed his captain into his office, shutting the door upon Stanley’s order.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Johnny pulled his locker door open and froze. Frantically, he began searching, tossing his coat, clothes, and other personal items onto the floor. Where is it? His mind screamed. His heart thrumming on high speed from panic, he suddenly straightened. As his head cleared, he slowly turned, walking over to Chet’s locker. He wouldn’t have. Johnny flung the Irishman’s locker door open, but didn’t find what he was looking for.

 

A fresh wave of panic found him stumbling through the door and into a dash toward the day room. He burst through, surprising the other men with a loud, “Okay, where is it?”

 

With the exception of Chet, everyone looked at him.

 

“Where is what, Johnny?” Mike asked.

 

“You guys know what I’m talking about! Where’s the boot? Roy’s boot!”

 

All the men turned to Chet expectantly.

 

Johnny stormed over to him. “I knew it had to be you. Where is it?”

 

Chet crossed his leg and rested his elbow on the arm of the sofa. “Just calm down, John.”

 

“WHERE IS IT?”

 

Chet’s mustache twitched as he hesitated. He finally answered. “Don has it.”

 

“Don?! You mean you gave it to Fahey?” John was outraged.

 

“I didn’t give it to him. He…called, wondering if we had any new information for him, and I told him you just happened to find…Roy’s boot on that water rescue. So he came over. While you were gone.”

 

“And you just decided to give it to him?”

 

Chet cringed. “Yeah, John. C’mon, you know you can’t hold on to evidence like that.”

 

Furious, John’s face turned red. “I don’t believe you! You had no right! You got in my locker and stole it!”

 

Now Chet’s voice rose in defense of himself. “I was just trying to help!”

 

“Help?! Help? Since when did you give a shit?!”

 

            Chet stood up and got in Gage’s face, his expression turning angry.

 

Just as Chet had opened his mouth to yell something at Johnny, Hank intervened, concerned at what this might escalate into. “All right. That’s enough!” He stood between the two men, forcing a distance between them. Once again he was reminded of the ugliness that Roy’s disappearance had caused between his crew, and it make him sick. And once again, he was breaking up a fight, and Gage was involved, although in this case he thought he had justification to be angry. He turned to Chet first. “Did you get in Gage’s locker and take the boot?”

 

“Well…yeah, but only because Don told me I had to.”

 

“Had to.” John snorted.

 

“Yes! He said it was evidence and that I had to turn it in.”

 

Johnny pointed to Chet’s face. “Yeah, evidence that he wouldn’t have known about if you had kept your mouth shut!”

 

Hank grew angry again. “Look. You two both better calm down or I’m gonna send you both home!” God, I feel like a kindergarten teacher!

 

Both men stood steaming, but quiet.

 

“All right. Now it seems to me that if Detective Fahey ordered Chet to turn over the boot, then there’s nothing he could do about it.”

 

“That’s right,” Chet said defensively.

 

Hank turned toward him. “However, I don’t remember any phone calls. Did he call here, or did you call him?”

 

Chet looked away guiltily. He was caught. In an effort to look good to his cousin, he hadn’t thought his actions through very clearly, and had called without thinking of how Johnny would react.

 

“Chet?”

 

“Okay. I…guess I called him.”

 

Johnny’s expression turned murderous.

 

“Look, he told us to call him if we turned up anything!” He turned to Johnny. “I thought it would help him in the investigation! Don’t you want him to find out what happened to Roy so he can be vindicated?”

 

“Yes, Chet, I do,” Johnny growled. “And I would have given him the boot. Tomorrow. I wanted to show it to Joanne. I thought she had the right to see it first.”

 

Hank sighed, and Chet looked away embarrassedly.

 

“Sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

 

Johnny’s jaw was set tight, his stance rigid. Shaking his head angrily, he turned and stalked out of the room.

 

Chet watched him contritely.

 

Hank closed his eyes and shook his head.

 

“Cap?”

 

“What, Kelly?”

 

“Would you tell John that Don, uh, Detective Fahey wants to talk to him tomorrow? I don’t think he’ll be speaking to me.”

 

“Right, Kelly. I’ll tell him.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Apparitions of the lost visited John in his sleep that night. The missing souls made their presence known in dreams that cut his heart just as deeply as they had when they’d first disappeared from his life. There they were, teasing him with their presence, then left him reeling again in their absence. Vague snatches of the dreams would come to him in the morning, faded but no less merciless in their diminutive memories.

 

It was shortly before dawn that Gil began hearing faint noises. Almost unintelligible at first, the sounds coming from the bunk a few feet away could only be one thing. The man beside him he now called ‘partner’ was softly weeping.

 

Eyes widened in surprise, Gil quietly hitched himself up on one arm, not sure what he was intending to do. Should he pretend not to hear John’s quiet sobs so as not to embarrass him, or should he see if he could be of some support? He looked around; no one else seemed to be aware of it; all were asleep.

 

He wished he were.

 

Swallowing, he leaned forward a bit, trying to see if Johnny might make eye contact with him. Cloaking his face in shadow, Gage’s arm was slung over his eyes in the usual manner, only now it was trembling slightly as his body shuddered. Torn, Gil lay immobile, uncomfortable in his unintentional intrusion on Gage’s privacy. What would Roy do?

 

Before he could ponder further, it stopped. Johnny heaved a deep sigh, and turned restlessly to his side to face Gil. His arm slid off his face and flopped limply onto the mattress beside him, his fingers relaxed into a C. His eyes were closed and he mumbled something incoherently, then quieted. Soft light coming through the window illuminated the wetness on his cheeks, but Johnny made no attempt to wipe it away.

 

He’s asleep! Gil closed his eyes and slumped back in relief. Relief that he didn’t have to divulge what he’d seen filled him – relief that John would never know what had happened, nor would any of the other guys. His secret was safe. Only Gil would know the anguish Johnny suffered in his dreams.

 

His face troubled, Gil lay staring up at the ceiling, listening to the quiet breathing of the rest of the guys, which now included Gage. It saddened him to think of what John was keeping inside, and that he probably felt there was no one there he could share it with.

 

Gil liked this new crew he was working with; they were all great guys, but it occurred to him that maybe they hadn’t done a very good job facing Roy’s loss. Each of them coped in their own way; for some like Johnny, it was denial; others took the approach of hoping that not talking about it would make it easier to deal with. Neither way was very good in Gil’s opinion. It did however, give him an idea.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Johnny sat hunched inside his locker, his feet propped up on the bench in front of him, his head leaning against the side of his locker. Lost in thought, a million things were awash in his mind. Weighted down with yesterday’s new evidence, he struggled to make sense of how Roy’s boot turned up so far away from where he was lost. Could the tide have really carried it that far? Or had Roy actually swam there? Or – could someone have put it there? That didn’t make any sense, but for some reason, he couldn’t discount it.

 

The next question was, what was he going to do about it? Urgent to get back up to Santa Cruz to do more exploring, he considered going home and getting his dive equipment. There were a couple of problems with that though. One, Fahey was expecting to see him today, which was the last thing he wanted to do. And two, Morton had ordered him to stay out of the water.

 

He had a headache, probably from smashing his head into the rocks yesterday, and he was sore all over. He had a softball sized bruise on his thigh that went deep, making it even painful to walk. He wasn’t supposed to get the stitches in his head wet. In addition to that, his back and hands were all scraped up. Feeling as crummy as he did, going diving alone would not be very smart. Besides, he was just plain tired. He hadn’t slept very well. So what else is new, he mused.

 

He wished his replacement would get there; everyone else had left. The clock said two minutes to eight; he hoped Dwyer would get there before a call came in. Weighted with fatigue, his eyelids closed. He drifted.

 

Out of nowhere, vivid snatches of a dream surfaced. Horses flashed in his mind, and through a haze, he saw his herd. They were galloping, their hooves vibrating the earth as they pounded into it. On foot, he was running, trying to catch up to them, but it seemed like the faster he ran, the farther away they got from him. Each horse had a rider, and though he couldn’t make out their faces, he sensed that the riders were long passed family members, his mother, father, and brother among them. Roy was on the sixth horse.

 

He pursued them across a dusty trail, gasping in horror as they neared the edge of a cliff, not slowing. Turning frantically in search of help, he saw the guys at the station. They were just sitting there, on the ground, a short distance away, around a campfire, talking. They didn’t hear his hysterical screams for help, and instead looked straight through him as if he were a ghost. Realizing he wouldn’t receive any help from them, he sprinted for the horses, watching in horror as they continued on without stopping.

 

One by one, they toppled over the cliff, free falling, their riders tumbling off, human and equestrian bodies twisting grotesquely in midair. By the time he’d made it to the edge, they were dissolving downward into a mist. He stood there hopelessly, the agony crushing, the screams of the horses making his blood run cold.

 

A loud screeching noise jolted him awake. Gasping, he bolted out of his locker, nearly tripping over the bench, the horses’ screams still echoing in his mind. The terrifying sound melted into the familiar squealing of the metal bay door rising, and his trembling slowed.

 

Johnny swallowed, the recalled memory tightening his stomach and making his eyes burn. Still shaking, he sank down onto the bench in front of his locker, struggling to calm himself.

 

His gaze wandered up to Roy’s locker, regarding it desolately. No one had touched it in the time Roy had been gone, and something compelled him to reach over and open it.

 

Shock registered as the door swung open and he found the locker empty. He stood staring into the blank compartment for a long time, imaging its previous belongings, stunned and horrified that they were no longer there. Who…the Cap must have…why didn’t he ask me…

 

The silence was broken with nearing footsteps, and moments later, Gil appeared.

 

Johnny quickly swung the door closed, turning to his own locker.

 

“Hey,” Gil offered, scrutinizing Johnny surreptitiously.

 

“Hey,” John answered, his head bowed.

 

“Dwyer’s here.”

 

He looked up. “Oh. Thanks.” He grabbed his coat, ready to leave for the day.

 

“Hey Johnny, I was thinkin’.”

 

John looked over at Gil.

 

“If, uh, you’re not doing anything tonight, why don’t the four of us go out?”

 

“The four of us?”

 

“Yeah. You and Michaela, with me and Cheryl.”

 

Johnny seemed to consider it a moment, then said, “Mick’s working late tonight. Probably won’t be home until midnight.”

 

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

 

“Yeah. Thanks anyway.” He smiled softly, appreciating the gesture.

 

“Well, how about just the two of us then?”

 

John’s brow rose but he didn’t answer.

 

“Yeah. How about you and me go out for a few beers. Maybe shoot some pool.”

 

“I didn’t know you played pool.”

 

“Hell yes,” he said enthusiastically. “I think I could give you a run for your money.”

 

Johnny smiled wider. “Don’t be too sure about that.”

 

Gil grinned. “Then we’re on?”

 

Johnny’s smile faded a little. “Ah, I don’t know. I got a lot to do…”

 

“I’m talking about tonight, not this afternoon. Get your stuff done, then let’s go out.” He sensed John’s hesitation, then added, “C’mon. I got a feeling you haven’t been anywhere or had any fun in a while.”

 

“I don’t need to have any fun,” Johnny said absently, his earlier mood taking over.

 

“Listen to yourself! C’mon, man.” He looked at John in earnest. “You need it.”

 

Johnny seemed to be considering.

 

“I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock. How’s that sound?”

 

The idea did sound appealing. He hadn’t done anything with a friend in a long time, not since Roy… “Okay,” he smiled wider. “You’re on. Seven o’clock will be fine.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Four games of billiards later, Gil sat at a worn, ring-stained wooden table across from Johnny, watching him finish his drink and count the money he’d just made from beating him at pool. It was almost worth losing to see the contented smile on Gage’s face.

 

Gil smiled at a young woman who was approaching their table, shaking his head ruefully to decline her offer to dance. With a slight pout, she moved away to look for other game. John just chuckled at his friend’s discomfort and sipped his drink.

 

“Why is it that, the minute you’re off the market, it seems like every female that has ignored you for months suddenly comes on to you like…like…”

 

“Like they’ve never seen a man before in their lives?” John finished his drink and signaled the waitress nearby. “Scent marking.” He used his drink napkin to mop up a small spill.

 

“Scent marking?” Gil frowned in confusion.

 

“Scent marking.” John repeated as the waitress approached, noting she carried an unordered drink on her tray.

 

When she placed the glass before him, she pointed to a woman across the room. “Compliments of the lady.”

 

John sighed forlornly. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous, and would have been his type a year ago. He made eye contact, smiling, but returned the glass to the tray, signaling his refusal as politely as he could. “Just bring me another Jack and Coke, please.” He turned to Gil. “See what I mean? I’m marked, too.” At Gil’s continued bafflement, he explained, “It’s like some kind of pheromone; your woman marks you as theirs, but that same scent attracts other females. It’s like a competition or something. The fight for the unattainable.”

 

Gil snorted in disbelief. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

 

“Hell, no.” John accepted the new drink the waitress brought and took a gulp. “I know what it really is. Cosmic forces test our strength to see if we deserve the women we’ve chosen.”

 

Gil shook his head. “No, I think it’s God, and he’s got Chet Kelly’s sense of humor.”

 

“Then we really are screwed.” John downed his drink quickly. “If the Phantom is in charge of the Universe, there’s no hope.”

 

Gil laughed out loud. “That reminds me of my first girlfriend in high school.”

 

John shot his friend a look. “You had a girlfriend that reminds you of The Phantom? Jeez, that must have tainted you to women for years.”

 

“No, not The Phantom. You said Hope. That was her name.”

 

“Not a bad name.”

 

“I called her ‘No Hope’, ‘cause that’s all I heard from her. ‘No’.”

 

John sniggered. “Turned you down, huh?”

 

“At every opportunity. For two years! And I was as faithful as a fixed dog the whole time.”

 

Johnny stared at the ice cubes in his glass as he swirled them around. “I never had a steady girl for long in school. I couldn’t see being tied down like that, not when there were so many to choose from.” John signaled the waitress again, enjoying the relaxed warmth from the alcohol; he hadn’t felt this mellow in such a long time.

 

“So, you ran track and played the field, huh? I thought I remembered that about you.” Gil ordered another beer, intending to make it his last since he was the designated driver tonight. “You know why they called you the ‘Galloping Greyhound’, don’t cha?”

 

John frowned. “Yeah; that started when I won the 440 my junior year.”

 

Gil shook his head. “Wrong. It started when you bird-dogged Eddie Callahan’s girl away from him right after that race. What was her name?”

 

“Rachel Redhawk.” John smiled at the memory. “She dug jocks. Man, I ran my butt off to get her to finally go out with me. That girl had more legs than a bucket of chicken.”

 

Gil nodded, also remembering. He smiled devilishly. “Yeah. She sure had you on the run when she caught you sniffing around Karen Goddard. You never were satisfied for long, were you?”

 

“Maybe not, but losing her was worth it.” He sighed, reminiscing. “Karen Goddard. Her name was appropriate; that’s for sure.”

 

“How so?”

 

John rolled his eyes, and in a high-pitched falsetto that was a bit louder than he intended, answered, “Johnny, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod!”

 

Gil nearly choked on his drink. The two men broke up laughing; He looked around embarrassedly, noticing the amused glances from nearby tables. “Jeez, Gage, I can’t take you anywhere!”

 

“No, but you couldn’t say that about Karen!” That broke them up again, gasping for air between laughs. “She didn’t care where we were, so long as I…never mind. I’ll skip the details.”

 

Gil wiped his eyes. “Man, those were the days, huh?”

 

The two quieted somewhat, spent from laughing so hard.  “Look at us now. I’m doing great with Cheryl, and you – you’ve actually settled down and you’re living with Michaela…how is that going?”

 

“Ah, man…it’s great. When we’re actually together, at least. With our schedules, sometimes we go almost a week without seeing each other. We’re like…two ships passing in the night.” John lost his smile, thinking of how long it had been since he and Mick had been together. He glanced back up at Gil wryly. “But she always leaves signs that she’s around.”

 

“Oh, yeah? How?”

 

“By all the underwear and pantyhose drip drying in the bathroom. I can’t get in the shower without moving it. I learned real quick to put it back when I’m done. And, they don’t go in the dryer, either. That’s one mistake I won’t make again.”

 

Gil chuckled. “Hm. I wouldn’t know about that. Never lived with a woman. I take it she got mad.”

 

John laughed. “I guess she did, but she was yelling in Portuguese, so I don’t know exactly what she called me. I can tell you it wasn’t anything good.”

 

“Hey, that’s not fair fighting if you can’t tell what you’re being called.”

 

“It’s okay. She doesn’t understand the Apache I yell back at her either.”

 

Gil grinned. “Bet that makes for an interesting sounding argument. Kinda like a foreign film.”

 

“Yeah. It’s uh…different, that’s for sure. We fight often enough that I’m starting to recognize some of her words; I just don’t know what they mean.”

 

“Uh, oh…sounds like you’re married already…fighting on a regular basis.”

 

“Nah,” Johnny smiled wickedly. “Sometimes we just do it as an excuse to make up, if you know what I mean. I guess we’re both sort of hot headed. Actually, we were made for each other.” He tipped his glass to drink, only getting a drop.

 

Distracted, John frowned at his empty glass. “I seem to need another refill.”

 

Gil put his hand over John’s glass. “Whoa, buddy…that’s how many already?”

 

John slapped Gil’s hand away. “What are you, the drink police?”

 

“No, but we’d better eat something.” He wanted John to relax and have some fun, but he didn’t feel like babysitting a drunken man, friend or not.

 

“Buzz killer,” Johnny muttered.

 

“I wonder what’s good,” Gil murmured, looking around. “Hey, you know I remember Roy telling me once how good the burgers were here…” Gil stopped, realizing what he’d said as he watched the color drain from John’s face. “Aw, man. Johnny, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to – ”

 

“It’s okay, Gil.” John leaned back in his seat and rubbed his face, hard. “It’s okay to say his name. I won’t freak out or nothin’. It’s just…”

 

There was a long silence as Gage was at a loss as to how to finish his sentence.

 

“You miss him.”

 

John’s voice was quiet, and hard to hear in the noisy bar. “More than I thought I could.” He looked up at Gil in earnest. “I know he’s not dead. I just…know it. He’s out there, somewhere…and he needs me. He needs me to find him. He needs me to help his family until he can get back. And Jimmy, he needs so much…without the insurance, there’s only so much I can…” He stopped, mortified at what he’d almost given away.

 

Gil watched him carefully, trying to keep his face neutral. He noticed Johnny’s discomfort while talking about Roy and his family, and he couldn’t miss John’s near panic over his obvious unintended disclosure hinting at his financial contributions to the DeSoto’s. Gil had suspected that had been the reason for all the overtime John had been working lately, but chose not to speak of it tonight.

 

“Anyway, I don’t want to get into all that now,” Johnny continued uncomfortably. “Umm…look, I’m not really hungry. It’s getting late…you ready to call it a night?”

 

Inwardly cursing himself for mentioning Roy and, in the process, ruining what had up to that point been a fun evening, Gil rose from his chair as John did the same. Gil looked at his watch, surprised to see it was after eleven-thirty. “Man, I didn’t realize it was this late. I’m not that hungry either. I’ll drop you off at the ranch if you promise me one thing.” He shrugged on his jacket as John retrieved his own from the back of his chair.

 

“What’s that?” John asked.

 

“Try cutting back on the overtime, just a little. You’re starting to look like it’s wearing you down. Spend some time with your lady, and recharge your batteries.” Gil fingered his keys as they headed out of the bar, wondering if he’d gone too far.

 

“I will,” John agreed, if just to silence Gil’s worries for now. Like I used to do with Roy, when he’d get all mother hennish on me. Agree to anything. “I know Mick would appreciate that.”

 

They climbed into Gil’s pickup and headed toward John’s ranch. “Actually, I think she was yelling something like that at me during our last fight.”

 

Keeping his eyes on the road, Gil shot a quick glance at his friend. “You think she said it?”

 

“The Portuguese again. If ‘casa’ means home, I think I heard it a coupla times…like I need to be ‘casa’ more…who knows. Might have been saying ‘castrate’ instead. She was pretty mad at the time.” He tried to revive some of the humor that had been so easy earlier, sensing how badly Gil felt about the way the evening had turned out.

 

Gil laughed at the remark. “Damn, I don’t know if I could shut my eyes at night if I were you.”

 

John glanced sideways with a small smirk. “Well, I make sure to keep the knives locked up.”

 

“What?! Really?” Gil wasn’t sure if Gage was joking or not.

 

Johnny laughed. He’s almost as gullible as Chet. “Nah, we always make up afterwards, then neither of us can remember what we were fighting about to begin with.”

 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Headlight beams washed the walls through the windows as the car turned into the dirt driveway. Relieved, but still annoyed, Michaela stood, crossing her arms, waiting for him to come in the door. Moments later, he entered, and she heard him sigh in fatigue as he wrestled out of his jacket. It had been a long day; having to meet with Don Fahey had made it even longer. Getting grilled by the detective for over an hour about the boot had put an extra layer of stress on him that he didn’t need.

 

Johnny jumped nearly a foot when she spoke.

 

“Where the hell were you?”

 

His hand stopped midair in the process of pulling a hanger out of the closet. “Mick? What are you doing home?”

 

“I got off early, so I could spend some time with you.” Her voice was clipped with irritation. “I get home; your car’s here, but you’re not. There’s no note, nothing. I had no idea where you were, who you were with, whether you were dead or alive.”

 

“Oh,” he groaned. “Sorry, hon. I didn’t know you’d be home so early. I went out with Gil.”

 

“Where?” She paused, her voice now a notch higher on the irritation scale. Even from a few feet away she could smell the alcohol on him. “Did you go out drinking?” Much as she knew she had no right to feel that way, she couldn’t hide her frustration that he’d spent their evening with Gil instead of her. Sometimes she just hated sharing him with anyone else. Maybe it was because they’d spent so little time together lately, and she felt cheated.

 

But worse than that was his recent obsession with Roy. That had stolen most of their time away from each other, and it was beginning to scare her, because it seemed like there was no end in sight.

 

He stiffened at her snappish tone. On the one hand, he didn’t feel up to fighting. On the other, he didn’t like the insinuating, almost untrusting sound to her voice. “Yeah. We went out for a few drinks and to shoot some pool.”

 

He stepped out of the shadows and she got a good look at his face.

 

Her voice rose shrilly. “My God, what did you do to yourself!” She saw the bandage and the slowly blackening eye. “Did you get into a fight?”

 

He scowled at her, irritated at her insinuation that he’d get in a bar brawl. His eyes glanced off the empty wine glass she’d left on the table. He hadn’t been the only one who’d enjoyed a few drinks that night. “Yeah. I got arrested too. That’s why I’m so late.”

 

“What?! How could you?” Apparently she didn’t pick up on his sarcasm.

 

His eyes blazed with fury. “God Mick, do you really think I’d get in a drunken fist fight with someone in a bar? Does that really sound like something I’d do?”

 

She folded her arms in front of her in a huff, unsure of how to react or what to believe. The frustration she’d been feeling for so many weeks now was nearing the boiling point, and it was too late to put a lid on it. Being tired wasn’t helping her mood, and the few glasses of wine she’d had while waiting for him loosened her tongue. “Well I would hope not. But these days I feel like I don’t even know you any more. Lately you’ve been so…so…”

 

“So what?” he demanded angrily.

 

“Irritable…argumentative…distracted…preoccupied…obsessed…”

 

His jaw dropped at her accusations. “Obsessed!”

 

“Yes, obsessed! The laid back, happy, fun John Gage that I used to know seems to have gone on vacation!” She paced around the room a few steps. “You work practically twenty-four/seven, and when you’re not pulling overtime shifts, you’re at Joanne DeSoto’s, or the hospital with the baby; either that, or your off on some island looking for Roy. You spend more time looking for a – a – a ghost than you do with me – ”

 

“A ghost! Is that what you think?” He stood staring at her, his eyes blazing. “And all this time I thought you were on my side. I thought I had your support!”

 

“You do! You can’t say that I haven’t been supportive of you. But when is it going to end?”

 

He just stared at her, his expression one of stunned betrayal.

 

“Johnny, if you’re trying to prove your loyalty to Roy, then you’ve done that! No one doubts your devotion to your friend; you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

 

“I’m not trying to prove anything!”

 

“Except maybe your own insanity!”

 

He couldn’t stand it any more. The thought of her leaving him standing in the cold to deal with this by himself was more than he could handle right now. “Damn it, Mick; don’t do this!”

 

“Why?” she yelled. “I’ve got to make you see what you’re doing before you self-destruct!”

 

“Because,” he grabbed a firm hold of her arms and shook her. His husky voice choked on the words. “I need you.”

 

The grief-stricken desperation in his eyes stopped her. Before she could process it, he jerked her toward him and kissed her hard, his arms encircling her in a tight and frantic embrace. She didn’t fight it as his tongue probed deeply, the kiss long and rough, urgent. Her legs instantly grew liquid. Mick’s hand groped the back of his head and grasped onto a clump of his hair, matching his fervor as their mouths did a duet. Mick could barely breathe as his lips moved from her mouth to her jaw and down, ravaging every square inch of her neck and shoulder.

 

Her nightgown tore as he yanked it down feverishly; the warmth between her legs exploded as the garment fell to her ankles. A gutteral moan poured from her chest as his mouth and hands explored other places on her body, his roughness shocking but extremely arousing at the same time.

 

As her knees gave out, he sank to the floor with her, frenetically shedding his own clothes before climbing on top of her and continuing his assault.

 

Senses overloaded, she could barely move as he brought her to the top. He was panting hard, his primal instincts dominating everything else, seeking a release. They came together hard, her release triggering his, and when they were done they lay trembling in a tangled puddle on the floor in front of the sofa.

 

Michaela fingered a lock of his dark hair as he lay with closed eyes. “Jesus,” she whispered. “We need to fight more often.”

 

 

The man outside licked his lips. God. Gage is an animal.

 

He hadn’t expected this little sideshow. One of the perks of the job, he supposed. Pulling his cap down tighter around his ears, the man in black zipped his pants and backed away from the window. He was done for the night. All he wanted now was a hot shower and a stiff drink. Make that a cold shower.

 

A short distance away, the suit pulled earphones away from his head, watching the other as he stealthily made his way across Gage’s property. Enjoy yourself, pervert? He thought in disgust. Rearranging himself into as comfortable a position as possible, he readjusted his headset and settled in for the night.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Johnny sat on the sofa in his boxers and t-shirt, sipping his morning coffee. He looked up as Michaela slid up beside him.

 

“I’m sorry about last night,” she murmured.

 

He snorted, setting his cup down on the coffee table. “I’m the one that should be apologizing to you.”

 

She reached out and tickled the back of his neck. “What are you talking about? That was the best sex we’ve had in a long time.”

 

A corner of his mouth lifted mischievously. “It’s the only sex we’ve had in a long time.”

 

She smiled seductively. “Well, maybe we can start a trend.”

 

He sighed contentedly and turned to face her, drawing his knee up on the couch. “I certainly hope so.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently.

 

“You do owe me a new nightgown though.”

 

He frowned sheepishly. “Oh. Yeah. I’m sorry…ah, I got a little…carried away.”

 

“It’s okay. Gives me an excuse to buy a new nightgown. Besides, I rather liked it.” She imitated an animal growl.

 

Johnny smiled, that same sexy crooked smile that always drove her crazy. He reached out and pulled her onto his lap. “So, you like dominance and aggression, eh?”

 

“I like anything you do to me.”

 

“Anything?” he breathed, now thoroughly turned on. His hand slid up her smooth leg and under the nightgown.

 

“Um hmm…” She closed her eyes, concentrating on what his hand was doing. Soon she was moaning. His lips lowered to hers in a searing kiss, his mouth tasting of warm coffee. Slipping his hands underneath her, Johnny carried Michaela back to their bedroom and closed the door.

 

 

 

“Ow.”

 

Michaela withdrew her hand from where she’d just touched the large bruise on Johnny’s thigh. Her eyes held concern as she relaxed next to him on the bed. “You never did tell me how you hurt yourself.”

 

He arched an eyebrow at her. “I told you I got in a fight.”

 

“Oh. The guy must have been really short.” She gently smoothed her hand over the contusion on his thigh.”

 

“I did get in a fight.”

 

“C’mon, Johnny.”

 

“With a wall in a sea cave,” he admitted dryly.

 

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. “What happened?”

 

He told her about the rescue then, and the boot he’d found.

 

Her face registered mild shock, which she tried to hide. “So all this happened when you went back for the boot?” She gestured at his injuries.

 

He hesitated. “Yes. But I had to get it.”

 

Her mouth dropped open. “Johnny. You could have been killed.”

 

“No, I wouldn’t have. I had a life jacket on and a lifeline.”

 

She remained silent a long moment, shuddering to think what would have happened if he hadn’t had the lifeline. “You should see your eye.”

 

“I don’t want to see it. Besides, for a couple of scratches, it was worth it.”

 

Michaela sighed. “That’s more than a couple of scratches. You could have lost your eye. Another half an inch and…”

 

He ignored that comment. “Mick, do you know what this means?”

 

No.” Mick plopped down on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “Yes. It means one of Roy’s shoes was lost when he went in the water and it washed out to Santa Cruz. Period.”

 

“Is that what you really think?”

 

“Why not? What else can you possibly read into this?”

 

“Hon, it means that maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong places all this time. Maybe he’s way north of here.” He sighed in frustration. “I don’t know. I’ve got to figure it out. It just doesn’t make any sense, yet it’s incredible that I actually found Roy’s boot.” He looked off into the distance and his voice grew softer. “Maybe it’s a – a sign or something.”

 

Michaela groaned inwardly, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt but finding it difficult. “What did the guys at the station say about it?”

 

“The guys,” Johnny scoffed. “They’ve already written Roy off.”

 

“And what about Captain Stanley?”

 

Johnny looked away uneasily, recalling what had transpired in the Cap’s office the evening after that rescue. He didn’t want to tell her what had happened, but knew he had to. From the beginning of this relationship, he’d pledged to always be honest with her. He was in too deep to play games.

 

“What?”

 

Johnny heaved a deep sigh and struggled to sit upright, wincing as he did so. His battered body was even sorer today than it was yesterday. “Actually, he uh…didn’t say much about the boot. He was too busy chewing me out.” He recalled the conversation, Cap’s unhappy stare as he spoke…

 

“John, I’ve got an incident report from the Coast Guard regarding the Santa Cruz run today. Apparently the Chief felt it was urgent enough to have it couriered over to me.”

 

John swallowed nervously at the mention of the Chief, steadily holding Hank’s gaze. His boss’s posture was stiff, almost unfriendly.

 

“I’d like you to tell me exactly what happened out there today.” His steely gaze remained fixed on Johnny. “I’ve already spoken with Gil and got his version.”

 

There was nothing John could do but tell the truth. He knew going back in to get the boot had been questionable, else he wouldn’t have debated with himself about it at the time, yet he honestly felt he hadn’t risked anyone’s well-being except his own. Obtaining that boot outweighed everything else at the time. It possibly meant the answer to finding Roy. He did his best to explain that to his captain.

 

Stanley didn’t agree. “You made the copter pilot wait until he was almost out of fuel. That could have had catastrophic consequences! You risked not only the life of the man you rescued but your own – ”

 

“Cap, the copter pilot would have left without us. There was never any risk to the victim! You know I would never – ”

 

Hank held up his hand to silence John. “Yes. You’re right. I know you would never jeopardize a victim’s life for your own benefit – at least, not the John Gage I’ve known for the last five years.” He paused for effect. “But you haven’t been the same man lately. Not since Roy’s died. This incident worries me, John. It places doubt in my mind about you. About your judgment. Doubt I’ve never felt before.”

 

John’s face grew hot with humiliation. He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing, each one like a slap in the face.

 

“The loyalty you’ve shown to Roy is unprecedented, John, and I admire it. But when it begins to affect your job and your professionalism, I’ve got to step in.” He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his desk. His face softened into an apologetic stare. “Johnny. It’s time to get some help.”

 

 

 

“What was he angry about? That you got hurt?”

 

Reluctantly, John explained about the incident report from the Coast Guard pilot. Recanting his captain’s rebuke brought a fresh wave of shame, her expression of disbelief furthered his humiliation. Yet he steadfastly defended his actions. He frowned at her like a disgraced child. “I got written up again.”

 

She closed her eyes. “Oh, Johnny. And so what happens now?”

 

“Well, if it happens again, I…I’ll get suspended.” The thought of that made him sick. “But it won’t. And…” he dreaded telling her the most degrading part, “I have to go see a shrink before I return to work.”

 

She sat quietly, absorbing the information before speaking.

 

He looked at her expectantly, uncomfortable with her silence. “Well aren’t you going to say anything?”

 

Her eyes bore into his. “Johnny I’m scared.”

 

“Scared? Scared of what?”

 

“Of what’s happening to you.”

 

“What’s happening to me? What are you talking about?”

 

“Don’t you see? Your life…it’s out of control. You’re never home; you’re a workaholic. Everything you do centers around Roy. You’re rarely happy; you’re withdrawing from life. But what really frightens me is that you’re doing dangerous things. You’re getting in trouble at work. People are saying – ” She stopped abruptly, not wanting to divulge the fact that people at the hospital were starting to talk about him.

 

At first they’d expressed pity at the loss of his partner and best friend, but lately talk about his undying quest to find Roy had them implying that Johnny might just be teetering on the edge. Some of the gossip she’d heard wasn’t so nice.

 

“People are saying what?” He asked indignantly.

 

She stammered a little. “You’ve said yourself that your friends think you shouldn’t keep searching for Roy. It’s becoming an obsession.”

 

“I am not obsessed. I’m just trying to find out the truth. Is there anything wrong with that?” His voice rose a notch.

 

“No. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you don’t have to sacrifice your job – or your life, to do it!”

 

“I’m not!” He knew she was partially right, but refused to give in and admit it.

 

Michaela worked to keep her voice calm. She knew if she didn’t they might wind up in another argument, and that wouldn’t solve anything. “Honey, I hate to see you under so much stress. Maybe if you quit working so much. Do you have to pull so many overtime hours?”

 

“Mick, Joanne has no income right now. Jimmy is likely going to need another operation. Where do you think the money is going to come from?”

 

She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “Joanne can get social security or something. She can get a job. You can’t possibly afford to pay for another operation! Are you planning to support Roy’s family for the rest of their lives?”

 

“Of course not. When Roy comes home – ”

 

“Johnny. Listen to me.” She took him by the shoulders and forced her voice to stay even. She spoke slowly for emphasis. “I know it’s hard, but it’s been two and a half months. I think it’s time to accept that he isn’t coming back.”

 

Johnny’s gaze rested on her face for a long moment, a world of hurt and betrayal in his eyes. His voice was soft as a whisper when he spoke. “You don’t believe in me either. Would you be so quick to give up hope if it was me?”

 

The realization that Johnny could have just as easily been the one to have been lost struck her, and not for the first time. Imagining life without him almost made her physically sick. And she couldn’t bear seeing the look of pain she was inflicting on him now. She threw her arms around him and hugged him. “No,” she whispered. “I would never give up on you.”

 

He held her tightly, relief flooding his body. “I’m glad you understand.”

 

“Yes,” she murmured. “I understand.” She only prayed that she would have the strength to support him as long as he needed her to. She sent out a small thank you to Captain Stanley for ordering him to see a psychologist. She’d thought of suggesting it herself, but knew the hell she’d have to pay if she did. Maybe someone else would be able to make Johnny see the truth.

 

 

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Hank Stanley smiled, cursing the loud squeak in his swivel chair as he leaned forward to answer the telephone. He’d been anxious for this call. “Peter, it’s good to hear from you. How’ve you been?” He cradled the phone between his shoulder and head while he reached for Gage’s file. Clicking the head of his pen, he sat poised to write.

 

“I’m good Hank. Carol and I just got back from the east coast last week. Visited our oldest son in Boston, then headed out for a long weekend on Nantucket.”

 

“Ah, that sounds like a nice trip. Hear it’s a beautiful island. Never been there myself. Too far.”

 

“Yes, it’s a long flight, but it was good to visit home again. Hated to come back.”

 

“Can’t blame you for that. I’d love to hear about it, but…”

 

“You’re anxious to hear about you man. Quite understandable.”

 

“Yeah, Peter. He told me he’d made an appointment with you. You got him in quick.”

 

“Well, he was pretty determined. Said he didn’t want to miss any shifts. I had a cancellation at the last minute so I fit him in.”

 

Hank grimaced. “Yeah, he’s been unusually enthusiastic about working lately.” He was almost afraid to ask the next question. “So, uh, should I be expecting him back here anytime soon?”

 

Peter sighed, then gave an answer Hank didn’t expect. “Yes. I believe he said his next shift was tomorrow?”

 

Hank sat up straighter. “That’s correct.” His brows furrowed. “So, he’s all right, in your opinion?”

 

“We had a good talk, Hank. I think you were correct to be concerned, but mentally speaking, I believe he’s fit for duty.”

 

“Really?” Hank couldn’t hide his surprise.

 

“Yes. Of course he’s under some stress, but I believe he’s handling the death of his partner about as well as can be expected.”

 

“You don’t think he’s denying reality?”

 

“Oh, he understands that his friend has passed. He’s just having a hard time not knowing exactly what happened.”

 

Stanley’s eyebrows shot up into this forehead, wondering if one of the two of them had misinterpreted John’s behavior. “What about his steadfast denial that Roy isn’t dead, and the fact that he continues to search for him?”

 

“Well, according to him, he’s not denying Roy is dead. And his continued searching is so that the widow can have some…closure. John doesn’t want to give up looking for clues as to where his friend might have ended up. His intention was to be able to find the body so that they can have a funeral. A rather grisly prospect, I would imagine.”

 

The Captain grimaced. “But that’s just it, Pete. John ought to realize that by now there’s no way anyone’s going to find Roy’s body.”

 

“He told me about the boot he found. That’s pretty significant, not to mention amazingly unlikely, isn’t it?”

 

Hank’s mouth twisted. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I still can’t believe he found it, him of all people. What concerns me, Peter, is that he endangered his victim and the integrity of the rescue to do so. I’ve never seen that kind of misjudgment from him before.”

 

“Well, as far as that goes, he knows he made a bad call, but in my opinion that doesn’t equate to a mental imbalance. The surprise of finding his dead partner’s boot in the middle of a harrowing rescue isn’t something one would expect. I’d say it’s enough to give anyone a start. Now I’m not excusing what he did, mind you, I’m just saying that it’s somewhat understandable. As far as that goes, you’ll have to apply whatever disciplinary action you deem is necessary to fit the crime. I’m just saying I don’t feel at this time that his mental outlook is particularly unusual or dangerous.”

 

Hank drew in a deep breath. Part of him was relieved, but another part confused. “Well, you’re the expert. If you think he should return to work without further evaluation, then I’ll have to go with your advice.”

 

“Hank, I did advise him to cut down on the overtime.”

 

“Did he explain to you why he was working so many extra hours? I know I shouldn’t ask this, and you don’t have to answer, but…is there a problem at home?”

 

Peter’s smile came through in his tone. “You’re right; I can’t tell you if there are problems at home. But I can tell you this: he hinted at pulling some extra hours to provide a little extra cash for the DeSoto family, at least until some extra funds are available.”

 

Hank’s mouth fell open in surprise. John had a reputation for being a tight wad; the thought that he was working overtime to provide for Joanne stunned him. It wasn’t that Hank thought that John wasn’t generous; he’d just been under the impression that John’s overtime hours were more of an escape than anything. “I see,” he said quietly.

 

“I also invited John to come back and talk with me any time he felt the need, or just to relieve some stress. I think he’ll do that, Hank. I enjoyed our talk; he’s quite a fellow actually, enthusiastic, loyal, and honest. I’ve read his record; he’s got an impressive list of accomplishments.”

 

“That he does. That he does.” Hank scratched his head thoughtfully. “Pete, I feel much better knowing he talked to you. I want to thank you.”

 

“It was my pleasure. Let’s get together soon and catch up. Maybe with the wives, eh?”

 

Hank smiled. “Right. Sounds good. Look, I’ve gotta go. You take care.” Slowly, the captain hung up the phone, glad that things had gone smoothly for Gage.

 

Station 51’s captain wouldn’t have been so pleased had he found out that Johnny had knowingly boondoggled the department psychologist into believing that he was absolutely fine.

 

Johnny knew his job depended on his going in to that appointment and making sure that Dr. Peter Jamison understood that he believed that Roy was dead, and that he wasn’t denying reality. He’d left relieved, knowing that the doctor was going to pass along a good report on him, and that his work schedule would go on uninterrupted, and, equally importantly, that he could continue in his venture to find Roy. He’d just have to be more quiet about it. I should have been an actor, he’d thought to himself as he’d departed.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Rainbows of colors streamed through sparkling stained glass windows, adding to the ethereal glow created by wall sconces and flickering candles.  On display at the front of the church were Roy’s turnouts, helmet and boots, a reminder of the brave soul Roy Desoto was and how he died. An eight by ten photo of the man sat next to them on a little stand.

 

Over two hundred people attended Roy’s memorial service. Most were from the fire department and hospital, and some were friends outside of work and relatives, but what surprised Joanne DeSoto the most was that many of those Roy had treated or saved on the job also came to pay their respects.

 

Only one person was blatantly absent from the service, and that was DeSoto’s best friend, John Gage. Everyone else from Station 51 attended. While well aware of the almost legendary relationship the two shared, those who didn’t know John well could only speculate as to why he hadn’t shown up, most surmising that it was too painful, yet critical that he hadn’t been able to swallow his own sorrow to eulogize his best friend. Of those who knew him well, some feared something darker – that his mental state was slipping to the point that he couldn’t accept reality.

 

Chet and Gil had thrown every argument they could at John to try to convince him to attend – guilt, a sense of duty, or just to be there to support Joanne and the kids; Chet even suggested he come just to humor everyone if for no other reason, just as long as he showed up. As far as the other guys were concerned, John’s absence was a disgrace to the station, and awarded him with a cold shoulder the last few days before the service, in disbelief that he would dishonor his partner like this.

 

Joanne DeSoto gave up trying a week before the service. Overwhelmed with the baby’s precarious balance and the loss of her husband, she was too defeated to keep arguing with him. She’d said her peace a week before, driven to tears by Johnny’s stubbornness and refusal to attend. He’d known her husband better than anyone, and she had been counting on Johnny to say the words that would let the world know what kind of man her husband was, while comforting everyone else. Especially herself.

 

“Joanne, I’m sorry. I just can’t do it. I can’t deliver a eulogy for someone that I don’t think is dead. It doesn’t feel right.” What would Roy think when he found out they’d had a funeral for him?

 

In a tearful tirade, Joanne had sent him away, telling him not to come back.

 

Her words had stung, but Johnny knew she hadn’t really meant what she said, and that with time, she’d probably invite him back into her life, if only for the kids’ sake. At least he hoped so. It only gave him more incentive to want to find Roy. It became a crusade not only to vindicate Roy, but himself.

 

Seeing the obituary in the paper was a shock John hadn’t expected. It was a long one, complete with Roy’s military history and information on his part in the startup of the paramedic program. There was a long list of credits and achievements, some Johnny didn’t even know existed. He almost got sick when he read the list of names of loved ones left behind, not just the family, but friends, including himself.

 

He’d fought with Michaela that morning, leaving her to attend by herself. A last minute appeal by her had failed to convince him to come.

 

“Honey. He was your best friend.”

 

“Is.”

 

“John. Please. Don’t dishonor him by not coming to his funeral.”

 

“I’m not the one who’s dishonoring him,” Johnny said angrily.

 

Her hands dropped in surrender, slapping her thighs. “Isn’t there any way I can change your mind?”

 

“I won’t be part of something that writes Roy off before we really know what happened to him. You all can go and mourn for a person who hasn’t died. I won’t do it.”

 

Mick slammed the closet door. “You are so damn stubborn!”

 

“No. I’m loyal.”

 

“Isolating everyone is not going to make Roy reappear!”

 

“And holding a funeral for a guy who hasn’t even been proven dead isn’t going to accomplish anything either. If everyone really cared about Roy, they’d be out there helping me find him, not burying his memory.”

 

There was no reasoning with him. Michaela looked at her watch. “I’m going to be late.”

 

“Have a good time.”

 

 

 

In an attempt to get as far away from it as possible, Johnny drove up to Ventura instead, intent on searching Santa Cruz. He spent the morning diving, until high tide, switching then to a search on dry land, desperate for any additional clue as to Roy’s whereabouts. Unfortunately, his day proved to be of no avail, but he wasn’t going to let that dissuade him from further attempts.

 

At the church, before rows of dark polished pews packed with people, Hank Stanley read the eulogy he’d written. Incense hung in the air as he spoke of bravery and brotherhood, honor and sacrifice, devotion to family. All the things he felt best described Roy. The sight of him standing behind the podium in full dress uniform was sobering and heartbreaking, an audience of glittering eyes the evidence.

 

After it was over, Jennifer wandered up to the front of the church, threw her arms around her father’s soiled turnout coat and began sobbing. All Joanne could do was to hold her child; there were no words that could relieve her anguish. After all the weeks of hoping her daddy would come home, reality had finally revealed its cruel face. Chris stood bravely next to her, his hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort his sister, his own lip quivering. The sight was tragically touching.

 

Those who heard her sob, “Mama, why isn’t Uncle Johnny here? I thought he was Daddy’s friend,” shook their heads in sadness for the little girl. Since Roy’s disappearance, Johnny had been the closest thing to a father the two children had. Today they felt like he had abandoned them too.

 

Michaela stood nearby, her eyes brimming with tears for the children. At that moment, she cursed Johnny for doing this to them. As unselfish as he’d been through everything, how could he not have understood how cruel it would be for him not to be there?

 

Jennifer lifted her tear-streaked face to Michaela as she approached, hoping her Uncle Johnny’s girlfriend could offer some sensible explanation as to why he had seemingly deserted them.

 

Joanne, her own eyes red and swollen from crying, stared hollowly at Mick, the deep disillusionment clearly showing on her pale face. The children weren’t the only ones who felt abandoned by Johnny. His absence today was painfully felt to the depths of her soul. She wasn’t sure how she was going to make it through the day without him.

 

Jennifer could not be consoled. “Oh mama, why did it have to be Daddy? Why couldn’t it have been Uncle Johnny?” she sobbed.

 

Chris’ mouth dropped open and he nudged her. “Jen!”

 

Joanne looked at her daughter in mortification and gently took her by the shoulders. “Jennifer! You don’t mean that!” Her expression full of remorse, she turned toward Michaela; the other woman’s dark eyes were narrowed in distress.

 

“Yes I do! Uncle Johnny promised he’d never let anything happen to Daddy, and he broke his promise!” Jennifer pulled away from her mother and ran.

 

“Jennifer!” Joanne called.

 

Christopher stopped his mother from following. “I’ll get her, Mom.”

 

Joanne moved toward Michaela. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice wavering in tearful dismay.

 

“It’s all right. She’s so young. She’s just distraught.” Mick’s eyes followed Chris as he pursued his sister, the pain from the little girl’s outburst evident in her face.

 

After the service, a gathering was planned at the Desoto house, and most people were outside the church waiting for the funeral party to depart. Having witnessed the scene inside, Hank Stanley caught up with the DeSoto children. Scooping up Jennifer in his arms, he asked kindly, “How would you two like to ride home in your daddy’s squad?”

 

Chris’ sober face lit up a little. “Can we?”

 

“Absolutely,” he smiled. “C’mon. You can even turn on the lights and siren.”

 

Even Jennifer wiped away her tears at that suggestion.

 

“Let me go ask Mom,” Chris suggested, and Hank waited outside with Jennifer still in his arms while the boy ran back inside. He was back out less than a minute later, followed by Joanne.

 

She walked over to the squad with them. It had been decided that Chet would drive them; aside from Johnny, he knew Roy’s family best.

 

“Joanne, would you like to go with them?” Hank asked.

 

Staring somberly at the squad, she debated, not sure she could handle sitting in the vehicle her husband used to drive every day. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself to drive the Porsche yet.

 

The children persuaded her, and the four squeezed into the front seat, Chet behind the wheel, Chris in the middle, and Jennifer sitting on her mother’s lap in the passenger side. As promised, the children got to operate the lights and siren, which was a thrill for them. Joanne tried to hold back her tears as she sat shotgun, doing her best not to think about all the runs her husband went on in this truck, and the fact that there would never be another for him.

 

Though it was early December, the sun was shining and the temperature reached nearly seventy degrees. It helped that people could wander in and out, instead of trying to crowd everyone inside the house. Friends and neighbors brought countless dishes of food, and Joanne’s family set it up.

 

Photos of Roy filled every room encompassing all the stages of his life, his childhood and teen years, military photos, wedding and family shots, and of course those taken at the station with his crewmates. The gathering at the house was much more uplifting than the service at the church had been, and laughter could be heard as stories about Roy were passed around.

 

As the day progressed, Johnny’s absence was keenly felt, and people began to talk about him, first making sure they were out of Michaela’s earshot. The Rampart Rat Pack, which included Kelly Brackett, Joe Early, Dixie McCall, and Mike Morton, stood together, quietly discussing it.

 

“I have to admit, I’m really surprised he’s not here today,” Brackett commented.

 

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Dixie said. “Maybe it really was just too much for him.”

 

“You say he’s actually still searching for Roy?” Dr. Early asked Dixie.

 

“That’s what Michaela says,” Dixie answered, glancing around to make sure they weren’t overheard. Lately she had been privy to information via Michaela, who had been confiding her frustrations about Johnny, usually while sipping coffee in the doctors’ lounge.

 

“Hm.” Kel Brackett rubbed at his chin. “That worries me.”

 

“It worries me too, Kel. It just doesn’t seem like normal behavior. Even for Johnny,” she chagrinned. “He’s taking too long to accept this.” Dixie took a sip of her ice tea.

 

“Yeah I know. I wonder if I should have him evaluated. Maybe I could have Dr. Sharp talk to him.”

 

“Might not be a bad idea,” Joe agreed. “We’ve all been able to see how much it’s been affecting him personally. It could start affecting his job – ”

 

“Uh, fellas, I think you should know that Johnny’s already seen Dr. Peter Jamison.” While not wanting to divulge Michaela’s confidences, Dixie felt it was necessary to disclose that Hank Stanley had ordered Johnny to talk to the Department psychologist. “Apparently he felt Johnny was fit for duty.”

 

Joe raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Apparently his behavior was also a concern to Hank Stanley.”

 

Dixie didn’t feel right divulging any more. “Yeah,” she merely said.

 

Mike Morton had been silently listening to the conversation but felt compelled to speak up. “Hey guys, ease up. You’re all coming down on him. He just lost his best friend, and as you’ve been saying, the only family he’s got.”

 

Everyone stared at Mike in surprise.

 

“Gage may be a bit…intense at times, but I don’t believe he’s crazy. As a matter of fact, I admire his perseverance. He’s still doing a good job as a paramedic, yes?”

 

Brackett nodded.

 

“Well, then, give him a break.”

 

“Mike, we only have his best interest at heart,” Dixie countered.

 

“And that of the patients he treats. You know, he’s got an extremely stressful job. The added stress of dealing with Roy’s death could send him over the edge in a crisis situation. I’d hate to lose him – ” 

 

“Oh, c’mon Kel. I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen no evidence that he’s let this affect his job. Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?” Mike stated defensively.

 

The other three exchanged glances with each other.

 

You know, Gage is a fine paramedic. He’s worked hard to get where he is.” Mike looked at the three of them meaningfully. “Harder than a lot of others have had to because of who he is. Just because he shows a rather unusual devotion to a friend, you’re all ready to call him crazy. Now I don’t think for one moment that Roy is alive, but I think we could all learn something from him. There is something to be said for dedication. Take it from me, when life is down, it really helps to have your friends on your side.” Mike glanced toward the drink table. “Excuse me.” 

 

His coworkers watched him walk away in astonishment.

 

“Wow. Where did that come from?” Dixie asked.

 

“I don’t know for sure,” Joe replied, “but I’d say from experience.”

 

 

 

It was late in the afternoon when a very somber Jennifer spied Michaela staring wistfully at a photo of Roy and Johnny. She was sitting by herself looking at a picture of the two friends perched up on the old engine they’d restored, dressed in their parade costumes.

 

Sensing someone near her, Mick looked over to find Jennifer standing just a foot away. Her eyes were watering.

 

Stretching out an arm, Mick drew her near. “Hi honey,” she said gently.

 

Jennifer was quiet for a long moment before she spoke. “Michaela?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m sorry about what I said about Uncle Johnny.”

 

Mick smiled sadly. “I know you are, sweetheart.”

 

Tears began flowing out of the little girl’s eyes and she hiccupped. “I didn’t mean I wanted Uncle Johnny to die instead.” She began crying harder.

 

Mick hugged her tightly. “Oh, I know you didn’t Jen.”

 

“I wish Uncle Johnny was here.”

 

“I do too sweetheart.” Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a tissue and wiped Jennifer’s face. She took the little girl’s hand in her own. “I know it’s hard to understand this, Jennifer, but sometimes grown-ups don’t handle losing someone they love very well either. I think…I think Uncle Johnny loved your daddy so much that…that being here today was too hard for him. He just couldn’t bear to say good-bye.” While that was truer than even Johnny would have admitted to, Michaela thought it was needless for the child to know that the main reason Johnny wasn’t there was because he thought her daddy was alive.

 

Jennifer stared up at her. Upon trying to comprehend this, the raw innocence of the eight year old took compassion on her ‘uncle’. “Poor Uncle Johnny. I wish he were here so I could hug him to make him feel better.”

 

Michaela hugged the child again. “You know, I think that would be just the thing for him.” She looked down at her. “How about I give one of your hugs to him when I go home?”

 

“Can you do that?”

 

“I sure can.” She smiled.

 

“I’m going to give you the biggest one you can carry.”

 

“Okay. I’m ready.”

 

Jennifer hugged Mick harder than she would have imagined the child was capable of, then promised her she’d deliver it to Johnny. That seemed to make the little girl feel better.

 

“Michaela?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Tell Uncle Johnny to come see us soon, okay?”

 

“I will sweetheart. Believe me, I will.”

 

Unnoticed behind them, Joanne slipped away after hearing the whole conversation.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Detective Fahey tossed a file folder aside and reached for another, shoving a pile of paperwork aside on his desk to make room for it. A can of pencils spilled to the floor and he cursed.

 

John Gage’s banking history stared up at him, not offering any clues. Fahey couldn’t figure it out. The discovery of the sale of John’s herd of horses had set off red flares as noisy as spinning fireworks on the Fourth of July, yet he hadn’t been able to trace the transaction. Either Gage had been paid in cash, which was extremely unlikely, or he had another account somewhere that was hidden, out of state, or maybe even out of the country. That was going to take some time to investigate.

 

Finding the registration of the herd of six horses to the American Paint Association had been easy enough to check out. It was the discovery an empty barn on Gage’s property that had tipped Don off to the sale. During his surveillance, his junior detective had discovered that the barn was full of tack, oats, hay, everything but the presence of horses. Now, for the life of him, Fahey couldn’t seem to track down to whom they’d been sold or when it had happened. He’d been studying the file endlessly ever since the information was put into his hands a day ago, and no further facts had become available. It was like the horses had just disappeared.

 

Don was convinced that John was hiding something. He suspected now more than ever that Gage was somehow funneling that money to DeSoto, but had no idea how. So far, they hadn’t been able to catch him at it. It was also possible that he was being blackmailed; there was more than one motive for that, one of them sitting in another file folder on his desk.

 

He picked up Gage’s police record and studied it again. Most of it was innocent, one traffic ticket, a charge of theft a few years ago on the job that was dropped when the real thief confessed, and more recently he was listed as an accomplice in a hit-and-run incident with the squad. Those charges were also dropped when the victim was found faking his injuries.

 

But tucked into the middle of the file was a police report from a couple of years ago when Gage had been involved in a domestic dispute. The report stated that Gage had been the victim of an assault while with a woman by the name of Amie Prescott of San Diego. Dean Prescott, the woman’s husband, committed the assault against Gage at the Hilton Hotel, room 339.

 

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. A statement made by the woman’s husband said that Gage had been carrying on an affair with his wife, and that he had lost control when he found the two together. Gage sustained moderate injuries but declined to press charges. No big surprise there, Fahey mused. Gage didn’t want anyone to know he was a homewrecker.

 

In an effort to find more dirt on Gage, Don personally obtained copies of all of Gage’s hospital records. The young nurse he’d asked to retrieve them had refused until he’d flashed his detective badge in an intimidating manner. He later assured her they would be kept private.

 

For the time being, these two clues were the best he had. Somehow he was sure they were tied together. He would figure it out one way or another.

 

Up until now, Fahey had two of his men tailing Gage on his off duty hours. Maybe it was about time he took things a bit further. He would put in a request to bug the paramedic’s home and phones. He should have done it a long time ago.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Chet walked through a maze of desks and ringing telephones, amazed at how anyone could get any work done in an atmosphere of such chaos. Everywhere he looked people were busy talking, chairs and bodies in perpetual motion, a constant hustle and bustle. It was enough to give anyone a headache. Man, I’m glad I decided not to be a cop.

 

Weaving his way through the clamor, he spied the frosted panes of glass of an enclosed office, and headed toward it. Seeing his cousin’s name imprinted on the door in gold letters, he knocked.

 

“Yeah!” the voice called from the other side. “Come in!”

 

Chet grasped the handle and opened the door, peering around it.

 

“Hey, Chester, c’mon in.”

 

“Hi Don.” His cousin motioned for him to take a seat, then offered him some coffee.

 

The office was a barely controlled clutter of papers; filing cabinets hung open with folders haphazardly jutting out, their tops spilling out more mounds of paper. Even the wastebasket was full, a few crinkled wads carelessly discarded on the floor next to it where the shooter had missed his target. Stickpins held maps and police posters to the walls.

 

“Is this gonna take long?” Chet asked, anxious to get home after a long shift.

 

“What’sa matter, got a hot date?” Don teased.

 

“Yeah. With my bed. We were up half the night on calls.”

 

“Well, drink that, and you’ll feel better.” He gestured to the cup of coffee.

 

Chet looked down at the steaming cup with second thoughts, wondering if he’d regret the caffeine buzz when he got home. He leaned forward anxiously. “So, what’s this about, Don? You got some new information on Roy?”

 

“Well, I’ve got a few leads. I need to ask you some questions.”

 

“Okay, sure. Anything if it’ll help solve this thing.”

 

Don sat down on the corner of his desk, weighing his upcoming words. “Talk to me about John Gage and women.”

 

Chet shot him a bewildered look. “What? You had me come here to talk about Gage’s love life? What’s that got to do with finding Roy?”

 

“Just humor me, will ya?”

 

Chet paused, trying to figure out what this could lead to. “He’s got a live-in girlfriend he’s pretty serious with. What else you want to know?”

 

“You think he’s faithful to her?”

 

Chet scrunched up his nose. “What kind of question is that? Of course he’s faithful to her. He loves her.”

 

Don looked down at a file in his hand. “Uh huh. Tell me about his past. He a ladies’ man?”

 

“Jeez, Don, I don’t know. Johnny’s had a lot of girlfriends. I haven’t kept track of ‘em all. The chicks definitely seem attracted to him for some reason. What that is, I don’t know.”

 

“Has he ever been involved with a married woman?”

 

Chet looked appalled. “Married? Johnny? No way. Why would you ask that?”

 

“Just answer the questions, Chet.” Don tossed one folder down and picked up another. “Tell me about his relationship with Joanne Desoto.”

 

The light bulb came on then. “Jo? C’mon Don. That’s not funny.”

 

“I’m not trying to be funny. What’s the relationship?”

 

Chet couldn’t believe what Don was insinuating. He was sounding just like David Martin, that scum from the insurance company. His tone became defensive. “They’re friends! That’s it! Johnny’s helped her out a lot since Roy died. What are you trying to say here?”

 

“That your friend isn’t as squeaky clean as you think.”

 

Chet threw his cousin a look of disbelief. “You think he’s doinking Joanne DeSoto?” Chet couldn’t help but chuckle it seemed so ludicrous. “That’s a pretty big accusation, Don. Why would Johnny want to screw around with Roy’s wife when he’s got a gorgeous girlfriend that he’s in love with?”

 

“I’ve got a few theories.”

 

“Whatever they are, you’re wrong, man. Johnny doesn’t screw other guys’ wives.”

 

“Doesn’t he?” A smug look tugged at the corner of his mouth.

 

Chet stared uncomfortably at his cousin.

 

“He ever mention a girl named…Amie?”

 

“Amy? No. No, don’t remember him seeing a girl by that name.” But then, there’ve been so many. How would I remember? Barbara, Valerie, Cindy, Pam, Jeanette, Mary Lynne, Sue…those are just the ones I can think of…jeez, who else was there?

 

Fahey reached for a file on his desk and held it up. “This is John Gage’s medical file.”

 

A combination of irritation and surprise broke out on the fireman’s face. “How did you get that?”

 

“Police privilege. Nineteen months ago Gage was admitted into Rampart’s emergency room, came in with multiple facial contusions and a broken arm. Essentially, he’d been beaten up.”

 

“Yeah, I remember that. He got mugged outside of his apartment building one night. It’s one of the reasons he moved and bought that ranch. He was off work for a while recovering.”

 

“That’s not quite what happened, Chet.”

 

Chet stared at him, not sure he wanted to hear what Don was about to say.

 

“At ten p.m. May 20th, 1975, LA’s Finest was called out on a domestic dispute to a room at the Carson Hilton. Seems a woman’s husband caught her and Gage in bed together and beat the crap out of him. Another hotel guest heard it and called the police. One of our officers drove Gage to the emergency room; he declined a call to paramedics and an ambulance. A Dr. Steven Starer treated and released Gage. The woman’s name was Amie Prescott of Santa Barbara.”

 

Chet looked stunned.

 

“Surprised? People hide things, Chet. People you think you know well.”

 

“I don’t believe you man. You gotta have the wrong guy. There’s more than one John Gage in the city of Los Angeles, you know.”

 

Don shook his head apologetically. “It’s the same one. John Roderick Gage. Not too many of them.” He walked around and sat behind his desk, picking up a manila folder. He slid the paperwork out of it. “Any of these sound familiar?” He thumbed through them. “April, 1972, Admitted to Rampart General for radiation poisoning, October, 1972, admitted for illness due to monkey virus; October, 1973, admitted for rattlesnake bite, October, 1974, admitted for open fracture to the leg due to blast injury, March, 1976, admitted for internal injuries after hit and run accident.” Don closed the file and tossed it across his desk. “There’s more, but that should be enough to convince you.” He eyed his cousin, cocking his head slightly. “I’m surprised you want to work with the guy as accident prone as he is. Jeez, Gage has been in the hospital almost as much as he’s been out of it.”

 

Chet folded his arms defensively. “None of those times were his fault, Don. So what’s your point? You going to crucify him for supposedly having an affair with a married woman a couple of years ago?”

 

“Not supposed, Chet. And no, that’s just to prove a point. If he did it once, he’s more likely to do it again. He lied about it to you, and to the Department. That’s two lies. I wouldn’t exactly call that exemplary behavior.”

 

“Look, even if what you say is true, then it’s none of anybody else’s business, including yours.”

 

“Well there’s where you’re wrong. It’s my business to discover what happened to Roy DeSoto, and if I see clues or behaviors from close friends of his that are questionable, then I’ve got to follow that lead. John was his partner, best friend, and was with him the night he disappeared. I think he’s tied into this.”

 

Chet slapped his open palm down on the arm of his chair. “How does any of this crap about Johnny tie into Roy’s disappearance?”

 

“As I said before, I have several theories. One. I think Gage might know where DeSoto is. He may be protecting him now that charges of fraud have been brought up against him in the insurance case. In the meantime, Gage is funneling money to him while Desoto lays low until it blows over.”

 

“Funneling money! Johnny doesn’t have that kind of extra cash.”

 

Fahey remained silent. He didn’t want to open another can of worms until he had more information. “So you assume. Like I said before, people hide things, Chet.”

 

Kelly just shook his head.

 

“Two. DeSoto could be blackmailing him.”

 

“Blackmailing! Don, you’ve been watching too many episodes of Barnaby Jones.”

 

Fahey frowned, perturbed, but undaunted. “If DeSoto knew about Gage’s affair, he could be blackmailing Gage, making sure that he keep his whereabouts unknown while demanding money from him. Or, it could be a mutual agreement; DeSoto keeps the affair quiet, while Gage hides his whereabouts.”

 

“Don, that’s ridiculous. They were best friends.”

 

“I have to consider every possible option, Chet. Sometimes things that don’t seem the least bit plausible, are.”

 

“Don, if Johnny knew where Roy was, then why does he spend every day off going out and looking for him? I’ve even gone out with him while he went diving.”

 

“Easy. A cover up. Trying to throw you and everyone else off the track. Besides, when he says he’s going out looking, he may be hooking up with him instead.” Although my tails haven’t been able to ascertain that yet. Don sipped his coffee while regarding Chet. It honestly looked like his cousin wasn’t buying into any of this. Well, he always has been gullible. He was beginning to realize that Chet wasn’t going to be good for any information.

 

“Theory three. Gage might really not know where he is.” He leaned forward toward Chet. “Maybe he doesn’t want DeSoto found. I’ve got a pretty strong feeling he and Joanne Desoto have a thing going.”

 

“Aw, c’mon Don. I told you already there’s no way!”

 

“Chet, you can’t be naïve about these things. Look, Gage has already shown he has no aversion toward married women! The girlfriend is just a little extra piece on the side. Besides, she’s a doctor. She’s got money. Or, it’s even possible that Gage and his girlfriend knew about the insurance policy ahead of time, and had DeSoto knocked off so he and the wife could collect on the policy and they have their little menage a trois.”

 

Chet got up. He couldn’t take any more of this. “This is the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard! I can’t believe you!” He stormed around the room. “Why can’t you just believe what really happened! It was an accident! There was no fraud, no blackmailing, no affair!”

 

Don got up and quickly made his way over to his cousin. Obviously, he’d gone too far, had underestimated the friendship his cousin had with Gage. He had to find a way to calm Chet, else he’d be of no help to him in the future. He was damning himself now; he should have remembered how much like brothers firefighters were – like cops, and how they stuck together. Well, he did know that, which is why he suspected Johnny of helping Roy.

 

Don put his hands on Chet’s shoulders. “Hey, calm down, man. I was just throwing out possibilities. I didn’t say we’d proven any of them yet.”

 

“No, and you’re not likely to. I don’t believe you, Don!”

 

“Look, I’m sorry. Calm down, okay. I’m just trying to get at the bottom of this.”

 

“Well you’re not going to do it by wasting your time on this garbage.”

 

“Okay. Maybe you’re right.” Not for one moment did he believe that, but he had to ascertain that Chet did.

 

Chet seemed to calm down a bit. He sat back down on his chair, wearily rubbing at his face. “Man, I’m tired. Are we done?”

 

“Yeah, just about. Just let me ask you one more question.”

 

“What?”

 

“When was the last time you were over at Gage’s?”

 

“His house? I don’t know. I guess it’s probably been a couple of months. Since before Roy died. Why?”

 

“He raises horses, doesn’t he?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You ever seen ‘em?’

 

“Yeah, of course. I’ve ridden them. Sometimes Johnny invites his friends to go riding.”

 

Don tried to act nonchalant. “When was the last time you saw the horses?”

 

Chet scowled, again, not seeing what any of this had to do with anything. “I don’t know. It’s been a while. Probably since we helped his girlfriend move in a few months ago.” He didn’t even want to ask where this line of questioning was going. He was just tired, and wanted to go home.

 

Don smiled. “All right. I guess that’s it. Go home to your bed.”

 

Without a word, Chet rose and headed toward the door, rubbing at his temple. The conversation had given him a headache.

 

“Chet? Thanks for your help man. Sorry if I seemed out of line.”

 

Softening a bit, Chet turned. “Sure man. Just…quit looking for a conspiracy and just find what happened to Roy, all right?”

 

“That’s always been my intention.” He waved once as Chet departed. “So long.”

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Chet couldn’t get yesterday’s conversation with his cousin out of his mind. He considered telling Johnny, yet was somewhat nervous about doing that. He’d promised Don that he would keep his information confidential, and in turn, Don would keep him informed on what was going on. But if he couldn’t tell Johnny and the other guys what was going on with Roy, then what good was the information?

 

Don was his cousin, but Johnny was his friend. Truth be told, Chet felt a greater alliance and loyalty to Johnny. He’d never been particularly close to Don, but over the years he and Johnny had become closer than either of them would admit to.

 

Since the meeting, he’d considered the possibility of Don’s claims being the truth, and try as he might to be objective, he just couldn’t fathom it.

 

The accusations of John’s affair bothered him, along with the outrageous lies that John allegedly told everyone about it. Sure, he could certainly understand why Johnny would lie about such a thing if it were true; it was the possibility that it had happened at all that blew Chet away. Johnny had dated a lot of women, but a married one? That wasn’t like him. And lying wasn’t like him either.

 

But even if it was true, it didn’t mean that Gage and Joanne were having an affair. That, and the whole rest of Don’s ‘theories’ were so out of the ballpark that Chet had to question if he was a competent detective. Could Don have other evidence that he hadn’t revealed?

 

Deciding to hold off on mentioning it, Chet quietly observed Johnny at work almost all that next day. Gage was his usual brooding self; the old light-hearted, rather cocky character seemed to be in hibernation. Lately he’d taken to ignoring the paramedic’s fluctuating moods, the art of pulling pranks no longer amusing. Johnny just didn’t take it like he used to. 

 

As the day wore on, Chet grew more and more unsettled at the prospect of keeping the information from Johnny. He sure didn’t seem to be hiding anything. All along his only concern had been to find Roy. There hadn’t been any suspicious behavior going on that he could see. The idea that Johnny was hiding Roy and secretly funneling money to him, blackmailed or not, was preposterous. Chet just couldn’t believe that Roy would stoop so low as to fake a death to collect insurance money. He knew the character of his two friends much better than Don, and he was certain neither was capable of such a thing.

 

The more Chet thought about Don’s accusations toward Johnny, the more personal they became. Pointing a finger at Gage was the same as accusing himself and everyone else in the department as far as he was concerned. It gave them all a bad name, and the urge to stand by his brother and defend him seemed like the right thing to do. Too much had gone down between them for him to feel any differently. One learns to trust a person who’s risked their life to save yours a few times.

 

Gage deserved to know what was being said about him, and Chet felt a responsibility to tell him. And so at the end of the shift, just as they were all getting ready to leave, Chet flagged Johnny down in the engine bay as he was about to leave. No one else was around.

 

Gage had his jacket slung over his back and held with one finger, while his other hand clutched a bag with his dirty uniforms and overnight items.

 

Chet jogged toward him. “Hey, John?”

 

Johnny turned and looked at Chet. “Yeah?”

 

“Could I talk to you a sec?”

 

Johnny shrugged. “I guess. What about?”

 

Chet closed the gap between them, glancing around to make sure they were alone. “Uh, well, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

 

Johnny looked perplexed, sensing the nervous manner of the Irishman. “Okay,” he said guardedly.

 

“Listen, I talked to Don the day before yesterday.”

 

Johnny gave his full attention to Chet. “Yeah? He got anything new to tell you?”

 

Chet glanced away in unease the moment John’s gaze met his eyes. “Yeah. I just thought you should know…I think he’s out to get you.”

 

Johnny looked mildly alarmed but tried not to show it. “Exactly what did he say?”

 

“Well, um…” Chet stammered, now having second thoughts about saying anything.

 

Johnny dropped his bag and jacket to the floor and put his hands on his hips. He moved closer into Chet’s personal space. “C’mon, out with it, Kelly. What did he say?”

 

Chet took in a breath. “He’s got it in his head that you’re hiding something.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Well, one possibility is that Roy is still alive and you’re helping him hide, funneling money to him until things blow over with the insurance fraud claim.”

 

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. That’s why I spend all my spare time off looking for him. ‘Cause I know exactly where he is. Guess he can’t think any more originally than Martin. What else did he say?”

 

Chet licked his lips. “Second theory is that he thinks you may have had something to do with Roy’s death, and that you and Joanne have got something goin’ on together, and that you were tryin’ to get rid of him so the two of you could share the insurance money.”

 

“What?!” Johnny closed his eyes in disbelief as he expelled a frustrated lungful of air.

 

“Yeah. Says you just have your girlfriend on the side for a little extra, you know, because she’s a rich doctor, or that she may even be in on it with you two.”

 

Anger welled up inside of Johnny. “That asshole! What kind of detective is he anyway? He’s worse than Martin!” He looked at Chet, who stood in uncomfortable and uncharacteristic silence. “He actually thinks I had something to do with Roy’s death?” he asked in incredulity.

 

Chet nodded. “It’s one of his theories.”

 

“Well what did you say?”

 

“I told him no way.”

 

Somewhat vindicated, Johnny stood fuming, his jaw clenching and unclenching. This was terrible news. Even though his instincts had initially told him not to trust Fahey, he’d still hoped the detective would reveal the truth. 

 

Chet glanced off into the distance at the traffic on the freeway. His nervous expression said he had more to tell.

 

“What else?” John asked.

 

Chet sighed. Johnny wasn’t going to like this. “Third theory is that you’re being blackmailed.”

 

“Blackmailed?” Johnny’s anger caused him to blurt that out rather loudly, and Chet looked around in worry that someone might hear.

 

“Ssh. You want the other guys to hear this?”

 

Gage lowered his voice a bit. “Blackmailed? Why whom? And why?”

 

“By Roy. You keep his whereabouts a secret, and he’ll keep something he’s got on you a secret. As long as you take care of him, get him the money he needs, he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

 

Johnny looked outraged. “About what?” His voice rose again in total disbelief.

 

Chet’s face was apologetic and even a little scared looking. This was the part he’d been dreading, yet he knew he’d be relieved once Gage set him straight. Then he could go back to Don and tell him how off base he was. “He says you lied to the department about some injuries you got a couple of years ago. You remember when you got mugged outside your apartment building?”

 

Johnny nodded slowly, a cold chill racing down his spine.

 

“He said you really didn’t get mugged. Ah, he mentioned a girl by the name of….of ah, what was her name…oh yeah…Amie, um, I think her last name was Preston…or Prescott or something…”

 

Johnny’s mouth fell open and all the blood instantly drained from his face. He staggered backward a half step as if Chet’s words had physically struck him. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times mouthing words, but he couldn’t speak.

 

“He said…well, he said she was married and that you were having an affair with her…” he chuckled nervously as if the idea were ridiculous, “and that her husband found you together and beat you up, but I told him there was no way, that I’d never heard of any girl by that name, and that anyway, that’s something that you‘d never do, and well, that’s why he thinks you’re having an affair with Joanne, and, because it shows you have no qualms about dating married women, and that you lied to the department about it, and so that’s why you shouldn’t be trusted, but I told him…”

 

Chet rambled on; the longer he talked, the more nervous he became, and the more he stumbled over his words. At first he misread Johnny’s reaction, thinking that what’d he’d revealed was so absurd that Johnny couldn’t believe what he’d been accused of. Then, a sinking feeling grew in the pit of his stomach when Johnny didn’t dispute what he’d said. He thought that if he just kept talking that any second John would blow up and be so outraged at what Don had said that he’d probably want to go kill him. But that didn’t happen.

 

Johnny was suddenly very hot and a wave of dizziness swept over him. Adrenalin shot through his body like electricity, igniting a fight or flight reaction. His palms began to sweat. The impulse to run was overwhelming, but the shock of what Chet had revealed weighed down everything else, including his feet, numbing him into inaction. Unbridled outrage boiled below the surface, yet he felt paralyzed to do or say anything.

 

The existence of a woman whose name instantly brought a tidal wave of emotions crashing through him, a woman who had caused so much turmoil and heartache in his life, a woman whose memory he’d worked so hard to bury, had just been discovered, her resurrection uninvited.

 

Memories flooded into him. Of how they met, what they’d done, of his near obsession with her, and of how he’d kept her a secret from everyone. Somehow from the beginning he’d known it was wrong but didn’t know why. It had just been a feeling.

 

It started out purely as a seduction. She was a stunning beauty with dazzling violet eyes. Her flawless porcelain complexion covered a perfect facial bone structure, framed by an elegant mane of black hair as soft and shiny as silk. They’d met at a renovation store and the attraction had been stronger than with anyone else he’d ever met, for both of them.

 

Without first even learning each other’s names, they’d wound up in bed at a hotel room the very afternoon they’d met, the sex hotter than anything he could remember. He got addicted fast, and soon it became much more than sex. He became enthralled with her, infatuated by her. Long, sleek, and sophisticated, she was different than any other woman he’d met, and she made him feel wanted, desirable, more exciting than any other man. She couldn’t wait to be with him, her enthusiasm intoxicating. They shared so much, most of it in whispered confessions under the covers.

 

Maybe it was because she lived out of town that the wanting was so strong. He couldn’t have her just any time he wanted. It was always on her terms, only when she called. An interior designer from San Diego, she traveled the world, always on the go. LA was one of her main ports, so she would arrange to see him every time she visited, which was two or three times a month.

 

Why he never mentioned her to anyone was a mystery even to himself. Something about keeping her as his own secret was exciting; it was a part of himself he didn’t have to share with anyone. He was too serious about her to allow Chet or anyone else to tease him about her. No, he didn’t want anyone marring her exotic image.

 

It wasn’t until much later that he’d found out she was married. By then he was completely addicted. Seeing her out with her husband that one night had almost killed him, the betrayal worse than anything he’d ever felt. When confronted, she’d admitted the deception, the blow of the truth making him physically sick, sending him to his bed for several days with bouts of vomiting and the shakes.

 

Attempts to break it off became fruitless; she had become so entwined into his being that losing her would have been like cutting off his oxygen.

 

How many times had she promised to leave her husband after that? Even though he’d never asked her to, never wanted her to. He didn’t want another man’s woman. He knew it was wrong. Yet he craved her. After he’d found out, it killed him, but he’d broken it off. She’d begged him to come back, telling him that soon she would be only his.

 

Intoxicating as a drug, his dependence on her was overpowering, and after a month without her he practically went into withdrawal. Then she called, urgently requesting they meet to talk. Johnny met her only because he’d hoped her news would be of a divorce. But the talking came later, long after clothes had been torn away and sexual appetites had been sated.

 

Then came the reality that nothing had changed. And promises. More promises. And pledges of her love to him. That’s what got him. Always forgiving, the sincerity of her feelings made it possible to pardon her. Yet he felt dirty just the same. Guilty. Vile. He thanked God he’d never told anyone about her. The shame of them finding out would be overwhelming. Especially Roy. God, what Roy would think of him! Losing the respect of his best friend would be the most demoralizing.

 

In the end, losing his self-respect was worse.

 

Too weak to end it himself a second time, the husband had done it for him. They’d just made love when her husband knocked on the door of their hotel room. Thinking it was room service, Johnny had made the mistake of opening the door in his robe, while Amie lay naked under the covers. He never saw the fist fly into his face, just felt a sickening incredulity as he fell backward to the floor, along with the revelation that the gig was up. Dean Prescott was on top of him before he could ponder any further, and as his fists connected with Johnny’s face and torso, Amie began to scream.

 

Johnny had finally been able to roll away from him and pull himself to his feet when the man lunged toward him with renewed rage, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. He was a large man and was able to wrestle Johnny backwards, where he fell onto a wooden desk chair, his arm smashing into it as he went down. The chair broke, and so did Johnny’s arm. Dean might have killed him had someone from the hotel not knocked on the door at that moment. A key jiggled the lock and the door opened, the manager and a bellhop pulling Dean off Johnny until police could arrive.

 

John’s face was a bloody mess, and he lay groaning on the floor from his broken arm. Refusing to let them call a squad, somehow he dragged himself into the bathroom, splashed the blood from his face with water, and got dressed. The police arrived and removed Dean Prescott from the premises, asking Johnny if he wanted to press charges after getting both of their statements. Just wanting the whole thing to be over, Johnny declined, allowing one of the officers to drive him to Rampart. Terrified of what everyone would say, he’d concocted a story about being mugged.

 

He never saw her again. She called, but he told her it was over. It wasn’t just because the husband had beaten the crap out of him. No, he’d deserved that. Those wounds would heal. Like a fire smoldering inside a structure, eventually engulfing and destroying it, so were the wounds inside that caused the death of the relationship. The realization that if she could cheat on her husband that she would likely cheat on him proved to be the fatal crack in the foundation of their bond. Really, she’d been cheating on him all along. He should have paid attention to his conscience; he’d sensed it had been wrong from the beginning, yet he’d ignored his instincts and relied on his heart. Where had his mind gone?

 

The feelings of self-loathing and loss of self-respect took a long time to get over. Not to mention the awful emptiness that he’d had to endure, that deep down ache inside. It wasn’t too bad at work, but when he was alone… He couldn’t even talk about it with anyone, had to keep it all to himself, and then act like everything was normal, when down inside he’d felt like dying.

 

Roy had known something was wrong, asked him repeatedly, then quit asking when Johnny insisted over and over it was nothing. After that, for a long time he’d see Roy scrutinizing him surreptitiously, with this look in his eye like he was really worried but felt uncertainty as to whether to approach the subject.

 

He’d hated that. Hated that look that said, ‘Junior, I’m worried about you; I know something’s going on. Whatever it is, you can talk to me. I’m there when you’re ready.’ But he’d never be ready. Never ready to talk about this. Never ready to see the disrespect and disappointment that he knew he’d see in Roy’s eyes if he told him. No, he’d dished out enough helpings of that to last a lifetime, thank you.

 

Months had passed and slowly, the pain lessened. He’d often wonder about her, especially after she got the divorce, wondering if he shouldn’t have given her more time. But then sensible reasoning would return and he’d realize it was for the best. Maybe he’d just never find the right woman. Maybe accepting that would give him some peace.

 

Then he’d met Michaela. She’d been the antidote to the poison in his heart. She took him by storm, yet he’d been so afraid to fall again. Fortunately, she worked at Rampart, and it was easy to confirm that she wasn’t married. She made him happier than he’d ever been, and he couldn’t believe he’d ever settled for the kind of relationship he’d had with Amie. Sure, he and Mick fought a lot, but getting everything out in the open had only proven to strengthen their relationship. With the exception of the affair, John had been completely honest with her in everything. He knew he’d tell her eventually, but it had to be when he felt more confident in their relationship…and in himself.

 

But now Chet knew. Before long, everyone would know. He didn’t expect Kelly to keep his mouth shut long. Then it would only be a matter of time before Michaela found out. What would she think? He couldn’t bear for her to find out. Not yet, and not like this.

 

 

Chet was winding down, yet still defending John and indignant toward his cousin for possibly thinking that Johnny could have an affair with a married woman, or Joanne, or do any of the things he’d accused him of.

 

He blinked slowly, as if to clear his vision. “Chet. Stop.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Just. Stop. Okay?”

 

“Oh. Sure, Johnny.”

 

Johnny took a shallow breath, unable to expel it. “Was there anything else?”

 

Chet fiddled with his mustache, nonplussed that Johnny hadn’t tried to defend himself against Don’s accusations. “Uh, no, not really. I mean, he asked me some questions about your horses, but – ”

 

A fresh wave of anxiety flooded through Johnny. “Hor - horses? What about them?”

 

“I don’t know. It didn’t really lead to anything. It was kind of strange. He just wanted to know when the last time was that I saw your horses.” Chet eyed Johnny, thinking he looked a little pale. “You okay, man? Johnny?”

 

Johnny seemed to be not looking at Chet, but staring right through him. Mechanically, he bent down and picked up his coat and bag, then turned to leave, slowly walking away like a robot.

 

Chet watched him go, now concerned with his behavior, and not at all comfortable with the doubts beginning to sprout from John’s lack of response to whole “affair” accusation.

 

John’s steps increased in speed as he got father away until he was almost jogging, and his body carried him to his car with a sense of urgency that began to increase with every second. The stunned feelings of disbelief were slowly morphing into rage. This had gone too far. Investigating Roy’s disappearance was fine, but he wasn’t about to let them destroy his life. He hadn’t done anything wrong and right now was the time to put an end to it. The car door slammed. The engine revved to life. And Johnny peeled out of the parking lot.

 

Part 6