Double Take

“So now what?” His spiky hair mussed and dripping, John loosely held the steering wheel and stared at the rain.

“Now…” He pictured MacKenzie’s shoeless right foot. Please, God, let her be okay.

Detective Parker tapped on his window. Cole hit the unlock button and waited as the officer climbed into the backseat, the suspicion in his face making Cole’s blood freeze.

“It seems you were right, Cole Leighton.”

“Yes, sir.” Cole closed his eyes, then opened them and stared straight ahead. He could use a blanket of his own right now.

“We did a sweep of the area—no one was here except you guys. We can’t do much in this rain. CSI has it covered for now, so why don’t you two come back to the station and give us your statements? There are a few things we need to clear up.”

“That’s fine.” Actually, it wasn’t, but he doubted he had a choice.

“Mind if we get into some dry clothes first?” John asked.

Cole caught his cousin’s sideways look. The heat blasted the outside of his jeans, but they were still wet and stiff. Water squished between his toes, which reminded him again of MacKenzie’s blue foot.

“Oh, it shouldn’t take too long. We’ve got some blankets. Coffee. Let’s get it over with, in case there’s some pertinent information.”

John nodded his reluctant agreement.

“Good,” Parker said. “I’ll follow you there.”

The door opened, and rain rushed in before it slammed shut. Parker got out and the detective faded behind sheets of rain. They waited in silence until Parker’s car flashed its high beams. John put the Dodge in gear and headed for the main road.

When they hit pavement, John said, “How come I get the feeling this interview is going to be more like an interrogation?”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“No, man. You did the right thing. I’m just saying…they better have some good coffee.”

Cole forced a laugh. “Don’t count on it. But maybe they put on a new pot since I was there last.” Less than two hours ago. Parker’s eyes had narrowed then. This time they’d be mere slits. He wouldn’t try to figure out if Cole was a kook or a paranoid bookworm or a bad guy. He’d be pretty certain of the latter. A bad guy with a hero complex.

Well, he’d be basically correct, wouldn’t he?

“Cole, you did the right thing,” John said again. “You have an alibi. There’s no way they’re going to believe you did this.”

In spite of the chill, a bead of sweat dripped down his face. Not good. They’d probably take his fear as an indication of guilt, a sign that he knew something.

“What are the odds?” he said. “Only a few days in town and I just happened to choose that bus, that book, at that time? And I didn’t have anything to do with it?” One in a million. One in a hundred million. No, more like…zero, zilch. No chance at all.

“Tell me.” John’s face was hard, his eyes on the road. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

Cole flinched. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. The odds aren’t good—so what? Maybe God stuck you on that bus at that time with that book and gave you the wisdom to figure things out. Because He knows how stubborn you can be.” John glanced away from the windshield, caught Cole’s gaze, then concentrated on the road again. “You saved the girl’s life. We can deal with whatever happens next.”

Cole swallowed. Closed his eyes. He’d felt, for that brief moment when he’d held MacKenzie Jacobs—when he lifted her from the water and set her carefully in the backseat of the truck—that he could redeem himself. That this life could make up for one that was lost years ago. That he could start over again with a fresh page in God’s book.

But that would have been too easy, and he deserved anything but easy.

Cole folded his arms on the tabletop and lowered his head. At three in the morning, he didn’t really care if the action might seem suspicious. His heavy eyelids refused to stay open. So, while he waited for Parker to return, he’d take advantage of the reprieve.

His aching eyes closed, but his mind would not shut down. The routine rolled through his mind—he’d been through it before. They’d analyze the recording of his interview. Maybe test the stress levels in his voice for indications of guilt. There would be stress, all right—he’d been stressed out for almost twenty-four hours. More like twenty-four years, but that was beside the point.

Shut up, Cole.

A chair scraped, jerking him to awareness once again. Lifting his head, he found Parker sitting across from him.

“Sorry to keep you up so late, Mr. Leighton,” he said in a neutral tone. “Just a couple more things and then we’ll let you go get some much deserved rest.”

“Go ahead.”

“We’d like you to take a polygraph test. That’ll really help us wrap a few things up, and then we won’t need to take much more of your time.”

At least, not after they’d locked him up and thrown away the key.

“Fine.” As if he had a choice.

“Good.” Parker smiled. “Secondly, I wondered if you’d loan us your copy of that book.”

Cole gave a brief nod. “I’d be glad to.” Parker shouldn’t need a polygraph to hear the truth ringing in that statement.

Kenzie didn’t want to open her eyes. The warm bed and soft hospital pillow called to her. Last night she thought she’d never be comfortable again. Now she was, and she didn’t want to move. Ever.

Then the aches hit. Her head. Her hands and wrists and legs. Everywhere, she hurt.

“MacKenzie?”

“Mmm,” she said, not opening her eyes. She didn’t want to find out if they hurt, too.

“Oh, honey…”

“Mom.” Her lips were cracked. “You missed your flight. You didn’t need to come.” The days of needing her mother were past…and Mom hadn’t been there then, anyway.

“Oh, it was no bother. Somebody needs to take care of your houseplants until you come home.” She spoke in overly bright tones this time, and it was almost worse than when her voice had dripped with pity. “Did you see the flowers someone sent you? Beautiful roses for a beautiful girl.”

Ah, yes. There was the pity again.

Her suffering could have been over. Just a little longer in the water, and Kenzie would no longer have to wish she was the one who died and Mikey was the one who lived.

Kenzie finally opened her eyes to stare at the roses, not allowing herself to glimpse her mother’s expression. She’d learned to read her well, but at this moment she didn’t want to know what lay between the lines in her mother’s furrowed brow.

“Is there a card?”

Her mother’s graceful fingers stretched toward the vase and rotated it. “Nothing.”

“Did you…see who brought them?” The man who’d saved her? She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t missed him, yet hoping he had come.