The Blue Lion, page 15
part #1 of Cape Danger Series
One pulled out a badge. "Lowry, FBI, ma'am. I suggest you cooperate and tell us where she is."
Heather leaned forward, a frown etching its way across her forehead in distress. "If I had the slightest idea what you were doing here, I'd be happy to."
Matt moved toward the front door. "I'm going across to the funeral home."
"We'll follow," Mason added. Nodding to the agent, he said in a gruff voice, "Bring her." Then he disappeared through the front door in pursuit of Matt.
Matt didn't wait. He took off running in long strides toward the stone building in the distance. His heart pounded in his ears, the only sound he heard since the neatly manicured grass padded the ground under his feet.
God, what if we never find her, he thought. The little one he'd lost his heart to, pledged his life to only a few years ago called to him. They must find her. A glance back over his shoulder told him Mason was doing his best to catch up, but Matt didn't wait for him.
His breath was catching as he reached the building and threw open the front door.
"Hello, sir. How may I—"
"The back rooms," Matt demanded. "The cremator. Where is it?"
She stood to her feet. "You can't go back there, sir. Someone's working. I just heard the retort start up—"
Frustrated, Matt took off in that direction.
"Sir, I'll have to call the polic—"
"We are the police, damn it." Mason's voice growled behind him. "Show us where they are."
Sirens were filling the front of the parking lot and officers were flooding inside the building now. Her eyes were huge, but she ran around the opening for the desk and past them, throwing open the doors to a large, brightly-lit, white room.
Matt stopped just inside, looking around to get his bearings. A large man stood by the cremator, his shoulders slumped, staring at the thermometer on the screen outside as it rose.
Matt stared at it.
Almost a thousand degrees.
"No!" The shout from him filled the room and echoed off the walls. Arms restrained him as he ran toward the oven to try to do something—anything—to stop what he knew was happening. "Meg! No!"
"Matt—Matt, stop—you can't open it now," Mason's voice echoed in his ear, despite his shouts of despair.
He was barely aware of it when the officers brought Heather Hicks into the room. Matt had never known the desire to choke someone to death, but he knew it now as he saw the smirk on her face. She was obviously pleased they had gotten there too late. Her gaze went first to the temperature of the oven and then to the giant man standing in front of it. And then she turned to stare straight at Matt.
"Is this what you wanted to see, Dr. Hart? Can I help you with anything else?"
Matt's lunge at her was abruptly halted as several sets of hands tightened their hold on him.
Heather threw back her head and laughed, a derisive, ugly sound that filled the room. Her eyes left him and moved to the oven, and then back to the huge man who stood, unable to look at her.
Matt went weak at the knees. His princess. His life. He stared ahead at the oven, his eyes open but not seeing anything but Meg's small oval face, staring back at him.
No. No! He couldn't—wouldn't—accept this. He'd worked so hard to take good care of her, but when she really needed him… He'd failed her.
Oh, God. Oh, God, he repeated silently, over and over. It can't be. God, don't let it be.
He closed his eyes, still seeing her face before him. Those beautiful blue eyes seemed to say, "It'll be all right." But he knew it wouldn't. Regret filled his soul. He never should have left her this morning. If only he'd stayed with her. If only…
If only.
Despair closed in on him, until he once again heard Heather's voice.
"Grant?" The sound was filled with suspicion.
Matt opened his eyes at the tone of her voice. It was different. Her expression had changed suddenly. She looked puzzled for a moment, and then anger began to work its way across her face as she glared at the large man standing in front of the oven.
"Grant? What have you done?" Her voice sounded incredulous, uncertain. Her eyes were darting around the room now. Mesmerized, Matt followed her gaze. On the other side of the wall was a body, waiting to be cremated, with a sheet pulled over the head.
Poor soul, he thought sadly. But as he stared at Heather's face, her expression changed again. This time, it had changed to unadulterated hatred. Her voice, too, had changed to one of rage. "What do you mean by this?" she demanded. "Grant? Answer me!"
The giant man slowly managed to raise his eyes to hers but only briefly.
Matt couldn't help but watch her, in her volatile state, as her face became not the beautiful woman he'd seen at the class reunion only a few weeks ago, but a face that was ugly and distorted by rage.
Pandemonium broke loose in the room as Heather grabbed a knife that lay close to the grinder and the magnet. She ran across the room toward the stretcher.
At first, Matt thought he was her target. But Grant had seen it happen and moved quickly to stop her. Matt stepped in front of her from the other side, directly into her path. Had she lost her mind? Most certainly. She raised the knife, as if to plunge it into his chest as the large man lifted her off her feet from behind, stopping her progress and pulling her backward.
"You," she shouted at him, in rage. "You betrayed me! I'll kill you!" Screaming and fighting, she changed the angle of the knife in her hand. Instead, she brought it down over and over again on the arms that held her from behind, slicing them open.
Most men might have let her go. Grant, however, held on tightly.
Matt suddenly came to life. He managed to wrestle the knife from her hands, and it clattered to the floor. Kicking, she nearly loosened the grasp of the arms around her. Within a few seconds, the team of law enforcement had secured her hands and feet with cuffs and had her down on the floor.
Her threats and screaming didn't stop. The officers were having trouble keeping her restrained as she fought like a person insane.
It was clear to Matt, now. She was.
He watched as they took her out of the room and looked back at the oven. His knees would no longer hold him up.
Mason rushed toward him, shoving a stool under him, and he sat down with a thud, shaking his head.
"Meg," he whispered softly. "Meg." But his voice cracked and became nonexistent. He looked once again at the cremator, his eyes and his heart both hollow.
"Matt," Mason said softly. "Come away. Let's go."
Matt did not respond. A moment later, however, he realized blood was dripping to the floor in front of him. Forcing himself, he looked up to see to the man named Grant. The team of law enforcement were trying to pull the him backward but failing.
Deep inside, the physician in Matt called for a response. He stared at Grant, his voice hollow now too. "You need stitches," he said quietly, "and I haven't the supplies to do it here. They'll take you to the hospital."
But Grant's response was to wave his hands in a frenzied motion, slinging blood, and the police moved in closer.
Matt rose and stepped between them. "Don't cuff him. He has to be stitched up first." He turned to Grant. "Do you understand? She didn't seem to get any major blood vessels, but you need to go to the ER."
Grant's movements grew more frantic. He was shaking his head from side to side and gestured toward the opposite wall.
Chapter 17
Can it be?
Matt turned.
And stared.
The body under the sheet… was he dreaming? The chest seemed to have just the slightest movement as he watched. Grant continued pointing and motioning, but the room full of men wouldn't allow him to move.
Matt put up a hand. "Let him go. He's trying to tell us…" Matt's voice rose. Turning back to the giant, he put a hand on his arm. "What is it?"
Grant stared at him and then moved his eyes back toward the stretcher. Matt's gaze followed.
Slowly, slowly, he began to approach as the others watched. He was afraid to breathe, to move. He thought his heart might stop any second, but his legs took him forward.
Dared he even hope?
A strange sound erupted from Grant, and he began to nod.
Suddenly, there was another sound, a combination between a mewling sound and a whimper. The room fell silent.
Matt's hands were trembling as he reached in trepidation for the sheet that covered the head. But slowly, he managed to get hold of it and bring it down a few inches.
Long, silky, dark hair. He stood, mesmerized, as he realized the body faced the other way, and slowly reached to turn her head in his direction.
Meg stared up at him with those same beautiful blue eyes and blinked sleepily.
Matt brought the sheet down further and, at once, gave a guttural shout of joy at the top of his lungs.
He scooped her up instantly. His little wife, his living, breathing little wife was whimpering in fear as he held her against him now.
"Princess! It's me, Matt—" His voice all but disappeared as he made it back to the stool and sat down with her. Holding her to his chest and burying his face into her hair, he just held her, overwhelmed.
Time passed as he sat there with her. In his arms, Meg could barely keep her eyes open. She could only slightly crane her neck upward to try to focus on him. He knew she couldn't see him, but he didn't care. When she took a deep breath, he laughed with glee. "Breathe, sweetheart."
"Matt? It's you?" A breathy and whispered sound escaped, and he held her closer. "Oh, Matt. I was so scared."
Mason moved toward Grant. Pointing to the retort, he shook his head. "Then, who?" He motioned to the others. "Release him."
Grant moved forward, reaching for the envelope that lay near the stretcher and handed it to him.
Matt took it. "Mr. Lyndon Welsh." He paused, frowning. "This man was scheduled to be cremated, and you put him in, instead of Meg?"
Grant nodded. The entire room watched as, for the first time, his face took on a smile.
Meg, wrapped in the sheet, tried to move but without success. She managed to raise one hand in a motion that reached for Grant.
Matt moved forward with her, realizing there were bloody spots on the back of the sheet. He moved slightly closer, and as they reached the large man, Meg managed to reach up and put a trembling hand to his cheek.
"Thank you." It was a whisper, but it was there. She smiled at him, and unable to hold her hand up any longer, she let it drop.
Grant made a sound deep in his throat and nodded. The sound of sirens filled the air outside. Mason was on the phone with Stacy, telling her they'd found Meg alive and were taking her to the ER.
"Wait. I almost forgot." Matt reached into his pocket and pulled out the pair of glasses. "Be still, princess," he said softly, putting them on her.
Wide eyed, she gazed around the room at Matt and then at Mason. She pointed toward the retort, and he gave her an odd look as he carried her over.
"It was almost my grave," she whispered. "But Grant saved me."
He hugged her tighter. "I'm taking you to the hospital."
Meg shook her head and leaned over onto his chest, closing her eyes. "I just want to go home, Matt," she whispered. "Please?"
Matt scowled. "I really think you need to go to the hospital for some tests—no, listen to me." He shook his head at her protest. "You need a good medical check and some blood tests to find out what they drugged you with. Along with other things." He glanced at Mason, who shook his head.
"I know you don't want to, Meg, but Matt is right. In addition to that, we need a statement from you as soon as possible. You can do it at my house or at the hospital, either of them will be acceptable. But we need it soon, so we can begin to put all these pieces together."
Meg gave a whimper of dissatisfaction, and Matt held her closer. "I don't want to," she said, with a pouty little mouth. "Matt, can't you just examine me at home—"
He was shaking his head. "No, princess."
"But—"
"Meg? I said no. You know as well as I do that the things I'll need will be available at the hospital and nowhere else. And we'll also have to have another physician present." He leaned down into her ear, his voice quiet but stern. Mason had left the room.
Sitting down again, he held her, speaking softly into her ear. "Are you pouting, young lady?"
She blinked. "No."
"Megan?" There was a warning in his voice this time, and she sighed against his chest.
"Maybe a little."
"That's what I thought. Listen to me, sweetheart. You were nearly taken from my life today, and you can't ask me to take it lightly. It's important that we cross all the t's and dot all the i's so they can use the evidence in court. This has to be done right. If she'd succeeded, not only would I have lost you, but Nicole would have been next."
Meg's eyes widened as she thought of her friend. Nodding, she said softly, "I'll do it."
Footsteps announced the presence of Mason once again. "There's a second ambulance here, for Meg."
Matt began to move with her toward the door, but Meg looked up with pleading eyes. "Please, Matt. Can't you take me? I don't want to ride with them."
He stopped at the doorway and looked toward Mason. "That, I can do. We'll meet you there."
Mason stared at him. "No, you won't. You're without a car, remember? I'll come back and get you." Mason nodded, turning on his heel, and tagged an agent on the way out. "Lowry, drop me off at my car, would you?"
They followed the throng toward the door. But as he walked with her out into the sunlight, they caught sight of one man standing off to the side. Despite all that was going on around him, he looked alone.
It was Pierce Hicks.
Matt nodded toward him but was hesitant to speak. Pierce met his eyes and looked away, looking like a lost and broken man. There was nothing to be said. Matt knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Pierce had nothing to do with what had happened.
Silently, he left the front door and carried Meg to the car where Mason waited. Holding the back door open, he nodded, and Matt climbed inside with her.
The trip to the hospital was silent, He could tell Meg wanted desperately to talk but was hesitant in front of Mason. It was just as well. In moderate control of her limbs now, she clung to him quietly like a little mouse. He hated to make her go through all this, but without evidence, there would be no case against Heather. Closing his eyes, he leaned down and kissed her temple, wishing it would all be over for her.
After carrying her in through the ER doors, he set her gently down on a stretcher. He looked closely at the sticky residue on her skin that made her adhere to the sheet.
"Princess?" He leaned down to her ear. "This isn't blood."
"No," she whispered. "Grant took something from his pocket and sprayed it back and forth across me to make Heather believe he'd beaten me."
Matt closed his eyes in relief. He would personally testify on Grant's behalf if it were possible.
Matt stood by her stretcher, holding her hand as the physician in the ER did the exam, making sure all but one nurse and the other physician were out of the room where they worked. By the time all the testing was done, the rape kit completed, Meg was irritated as hell, and he ended up leaning down into her ear more than once, assuring her it would all be over in a few moments and reminding her to behave.
There was no evidence of abuse. There were no marks of any kind on her, other than the telltale needle-marks on her arm where she'd been drugged, not once, but twice. The red spray that had been used on her skin was sampled for pathology and cleaned off, and she was finally ready to go.
He was as patient with her as possible but insisted this was necessary. Nikki showed up in tears at the ER with some clothes for her to wear home, and Meg hugged her tearfully. She was quiet as she rode back to the Wallace's house in Matt's lap.
Stacy rushed to greet them as they arrived, but she stopped as Matt gave a slight shake of his head. Meg was nearly asleep. He carried her up the stairs to the attic, bathing her lovingly before climbing into bed behind her and cuddling her. He'd talked Mason into waiting until she was more alert before questioning her. Even then, she was fitful and irritable.
Finally, he turned her over onto her back and leaned across her, caging her in under him. "Listen to me, young lady. I'm trying to be as patient with you as possible. Can you understand that?"
A penitent expression overtook her small face. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry."
"I know. You've been through hell and back. But I'm doing my best, and I expect you to do yours. Hear me?" He tilted her face upward, and she nodded. He kissed her soundly and added, "When we began this relationship, you asked that I not let you get away with attitude, even when you're sick, and I'm keeping that promise. Are you sleepy?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Do you feel like going downstairs and answering some questions?"
She looked up. "No. But you're going to make me, aren't you?"
He smiled. "I'll hold you in my lap if you want, and if you get tired, we'll make them stop so you can rest. It's the best I can do."
A smile crept across her mouth. "Promise?"
"Promise."
A subdued Stacy sat downstairs next to Mason, with her hand clasped through his, as Lowry from the FBI and the chief of police sat waiting for them. Meg insisted on going down on her own two feet, and Matt insisted she go slowly. She'd put in her contacts before going down, and she wore a sweater and jeans. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and she shivered as she moved into the living room.
"Have a seat, Mrs. Hart," Lowry said, all business.
Meg looked around. There was only one seat left, and Matt took it, pulling her into his lap. She leaned over against his chest and waited. "I understand you have questions for me."
"Yes. Many. I'm sorry to put you through this right now, but it's important. We have Mrs. Hicks in custody now, but it's only a matter of time before we'll have to release her, without your testimony. I want you to tell me exactly what you remember. I know you were drugged. But keep it as close as you can."
