I know that,” she said. “An ornery old buzzard, if you ask me. When he was in the hospital, he refused to take his medicine. And he bribed one of the orderlies to bring him one of those big stinky cigars he loves so much.”
Actually it had done her heart good to walk into his sterile white hospital room and see Lionel with a naughty grin on his face, puffing away like a chimney. “He’s a man, all right. Grumpy. Inconsiderate. Stubborn.”
“That’s exactly what he needs to make him well.” Michael gestured toward the staircase. “Shall we go upstairs?”
“I suppose. If that’s the only way I’ll get straight answers.” She crossed the foyer and automatically reached for the railing with her right hand. When she bumped the splint, she winced.
“Looks like you’ve been hurt, too,” he said.
“I got mugged.”
“I know. A mild concussion and hairline fracture.”
She figured Lionel had told him. “It could’ve been a lot worse. I was lucky that a good Samaritan stopped to help me.”
“Lucky? I don’t think so. This so-called Samaritan didn’t come fast enough.”
“He saved my life. And I never had a chance to thank him. He took off when the paramedics arrived.”
She didn’t expect him to understand, didn’t expect anything from Michael Slade but lies and a tendency to run away when the going got tough. Turning her back on him, she hiked up the stairs and crossed the upstairs landing to her grandpa’s bedroom.
In the doorway she stopped in her tracks and stared. Then she beamed a wide grin, delighted by what she saw. Lionel was out of bed. He was sitting in the easy chair by the bay window. Though the weakened left side of his body slumped, he looked like his old self. “Grandpa, how did you—”
“Mikey helped me get over here. You two want to tell me what the hell was going on outside?”
Her anger was completely disarmed. Having Michael pay a visit might be sheer agony for her, but his presence seemed to have had a positive effect on her grandpa. It had gotten him moving. “Grandpa, what is Michael doing here?”
“First things first,” Lionel said. “Who was that guy on the street?”
“Drew Bateman,” she said.
Lionel exchanged a meaningful glance with Michael. “I haven’t heard that name in a while.”
“He’s an ex-convict,” Annie said, “and he seems to blame you for keeping him in jail.”
“Well, he’s right about that. If it was up to me, I’d lock him up and throw away the key.”
“I didn’t recognize him.” And she surely would’ve remembered somebody so ugly. “Is he from Bridgeport?”
“He’s from Wayside, over on the coast.”
“Why does he blame you?”
“I helped get him convicted.”
That didn’t make sense. As municipal judge, her grandpa hadn’t dealt with felony crime. A serious criminal like Bateman wouldn’t have been arraigned in Lionel’s makeshift courtroom at the back of the police station. So how was he involved with a case that included aggravated assault on a cop? She drew the obvious conclusion. “You were a witness at his trial. You testified against him.”
“That’s right.” He held out his right hand toward her. “Come here, honey.”
She went to him and perched on the arm of his chair, gazing fondly at him. Though his cheeks were sunken and his body ravaged from the stroke, she still saw him as the strong kind man who’d taken her in and raised her after her parents were killed in a boating accident. She’d been only ten years old. If it hadn’t been for Lionel, Annie didn’t know what would have become of her. He’d been her solace and her inspiration. Everything she was she owed to him.
He gently patted her arm. “Did he scare you, Annie?”
“Grandpa, I’m a cop.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She wouldn’t tell him about the flashback of rain and fear. Annie didn’t understand the sudden panic attack herself, and she surely didn’t want to worry her grandpa. “I’m all right.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He did the opposite. He said he wouldn’t touch me because that might get him arrested. At the same time he promised to always be around, watching.”
“I’m sorry, Annie. Bateman is my problem.”
Once upon a time she would’ve left all the worry to him. She’d believed her grandpa could do anything. He could chase away the monsters under the bed and keep her safe. But it was her turn now. She was the caretaker.
“Bateman is our problem.” She lifted his hand to her lips and planted a little kiss on the knuckles. “Tomorrow morning I’ll stop by the police station and take out a restraining order. Is Derek Engstrom still running things?”
“For the past six years,” he said. “You’re a good kid, Annie.”
“So are you.”
“By the way,” her grandpa said, “Michael is going to be staying with us for a couple of days.”
“What?” She bounced to her feet.
“Or maybe a week,” her grandpa said.
A week? She couldn’t stand to have Michael here for a week. It would be too strange. Though she didn’t want to push Lionel or dampen his positive mood, Annie had to be direct. “Since you’ve mentioned Michael, I’d like very much to know how you happened to get in touch with him.”
“Well, that’s an easy question. We talked on the telephone.”
“Just like that? After all these years?”
“I’ve kept track of Michael,” her grandpa admitted.
If Annie had heard those words eleven years ago, possibly even eight or seven years ago, she would have been devastated. Michael had meant so much to her. He was the only person, other than Lionel, she’d trusted after the death of her parents. When Michael had abandoned her without a word, she’d lost her first true love and her best friend.
But she’d made her peace with the past and had moved on with her life. If her grandpa and Michael had been pen-pals, and kept it from her, she wouldn’t let it matter. But she still didn’t want him staying at the house, raking up old memories. “Grandpa, this isn’t a real convenient time for Michael to visit.”
“You misunderstand, Annie. He’s not here for a visit. Michael came here to help take care of me. Just until I get rid of this dang clumsy walker and can stand on my own two feet.”
She glanced at Michael, who stood with infuriating calm,
