Bridge of Scarlet Leaves. Kristina McMorris

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I don’t know.”

      “I repeat,” the broadcaster declared, “we are in a state of emergency. Authorities recommend that everyone stay inside and tune in for further details.”

      A state of emergency. The death count rising.

      In a combustive flash, he saw his father on the hospital bed. His mother lay lifeless on a silver table so shiny he could make out his own reflection. The memory of rain pelted his eardrums, interrupted by the screech of brakes.

      But that screech was real. A fresh sound. He turned to the window.

      “TJ? You there?” Jo said.

      Maddie was stepping out of a taxi in a coat and hat, yet relief had no chance of regaining its footing. “She’s here,” he said, and slammed the handset onto the cradle. The bell inside pinged.

      TJ faced the door with arms crossed. Air labored through his nose. He was a bull preparing to charge.

      She didn’t see him until she’d closed the door behind her and set down her case. Her demeanor shrank beneath his gaze.

      “Where the hell have you been? And don’t you dare lie to me again.”

      Flushing, she fumbled for a reply.

      “There’s a goddamned war going on out there. You understand that? Got any idea what that means?”

      She straightened, lifting her chin in feeble defiance. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

      “Yeah? Then why don’t you prove it by telling me where you’ve really been.” He pressed her with a hard stare.

      “I . . . think we should discuss this later. When you’ve had a chance to calm down.”

      The challenge to his temper only inflamed it more. “Well, that ain’t gonna happen for a while. So why don’t you start explaining yourself.”

      She locked on his eyes and replied firmly. “You’re not my father, TJ.”

      “You’re right. But maybe I shoulda been. I guarantee, then, you wouldn’t be traipsing all over the place with God-knows-who, doing—” An impossible sight cut through his words. A gold band gleamed from Maddie’s finger. Her wedding finger.

      She wouldn’t . . . couldn’t have. Yet the evidence was smack in front of him.

      “You got married?” he breathed.

      Her gaze fell to the ring. The answer was clear. What he didn’t understand was why. Why’d she run off and elope? Why’d she keep it from him? His mind seized the most obvious reason, and the air in his lungs turned to lead.

      “Maddie, are you pregnant?”

      Her forehead bunched. “Oh, God, no.” She gave an insistent shake of her head. “No, it’s nothing like that.” She reached for his arm, but he moved backward.

      TJ wanted to feel grateful, but all he could think about was which asshole was responsible. Which one would trade a girl’s innocence for lustful kicks. Why else would a guy have persuaded her to sneak around? Anyone with good intentions would have been up-front, not treated her like a dirty secret. Like a mistress. Like a whore.

      He muscled down the thoughts. Left to roam free they just might unlock the cage inside, setting loose the constant rage that prowled back and forth behind the bars.

      A succession of honks summoned his face toward the window. The silhouette of a pickup appeared, its headlights off.

      “Come on, Kern! Let’s move it!” Jo’s brothers, plus a few other neighbors, crammed the truck from cab to bed. The fading sunset outlined their rifles pointed straight at heaven.

      TJ grabbed his jacket from the coat tree. With any luck, he could take his fury out on an enemy bomber orphaned from its flock.

      “Where are you going?” Maddie asked as he headed for the door. “TJ . . . ,” she pleaded.

      In need of escape, he simply walked out.

      15

      From the far corner of the lawn, Lane stared at the crime scene, his senses gone numb. No lights shone through the windows. By government order, darkness draped the city.

      Men in black trench coats, black hats, even blacker eyes, swam in and out through the front door. They carried boxes off the small porch and down the driveway, loaded them into two old Packards with rear suicide doors.

      FBI agents.

      He recognized their type from the picture shows. That’s what this had to be—a movie set. It wasn’t real. At any moment, the word Cut! would boom from a director’s horn and Cecil B. DeMille would leap from the trimmed hedges.

      “Sir, you’re gonna have to clear out.” The man approached him on the grass. His features were like Gary Cooper’s, but spread over an elongated face.

      When Lane didn’t respond, the guy sighed, took another tack. “I can see you’re concerned about the family. But right now, they’re part of an investigation. So I gotta ask you to move on till we’re done. I know you people like your privacy, and I’m sure the Moritomos are no different.”

      The mention of his surname—Moritomo, how did the fellow know that?—tore Lane from the surreal dimension of his hopes. There would be no intermission between reels, no velvet curtains or salted popcorn. Dramas crafted for the silver screen were morphing into the reality of his life.

      “Listen, pal.” The agent planted a fist on his hip. “I’ve asked you nicely, but if you’re not gonna abide—”

      “They’re mine.” Lane’s reply emerged with so little power he barely heard it himself. “The family in there is mine.”

      The man studied him and licked his bottom lip. He nodded toward the house. “Well, then you’d better go in. Agent Walsh will have some questions for you.”

      Lane scarcely registered the path he traveled that led him into the foyer. He was a driver after a weary day who had blinked and discovered he’d already reached his destination.

      “On

san!” Emma came running. She latched onto his waist. Her little body trembled.

      He set down his suitcase to rub the crown of her head. “What’s going on, Em? Where’s Papa?”

      She peeked over her shoulder and pointed toward the kitchen. Her manner indicated that the monster trapped in her closet had found a way out. Lane knelt on the slate and clasped his sister’s hands. It dawned on him how rapidly she had grown. He once could cover her entire fist with his palm. “You go to your room while I figure out what’s happening, okay?”

      “But those men, they keep going in there.”

      “Your bedroom?”

      She nodded with a frown. “They’re looking through all my stuff. They took Papa’s СКАЧАТЬ