Cut and Run(95)

“This is crap,” Macy said to the therapist. “I used to run a sub-six-minute mile. And now I hobble around like an old woman.”

The therapist, a practical, no-nonsense woman who only smiled when her patients excelled, raised a brow. “Work harder, old woman.”

“It’s looking good to me,” Faith said.

Macy shot her a look, a blend of annoyance and hope. “You’re always positive.”

“It’s a curse,” Faith said. “I got us a couple of sandwiches. Turkey on rye, your favorite, and those baked chips you like. Are you almost finished?”

The therapist nodded. “We are.”

“Great. See you there.”

“Aren’t you going to push my wheelchair?” Macy asked.

Faith looked to the therapist, who shook her head. “Boss says no can do. I suppose you’ll have to wheel yourself.”

“You are a slave driver, just like the PT Goddess of Pain.”

Faith laughed. “If you want to eat hospital food, then by all means stay here.”

Macy muttered a curse but held up a hand. “I would crawl for a sandwich right now.”

“I’m hungry, so you better hurry,” Faith teased.

As she left her grumbling sister behind, she had to smile. It was nice having family. They were far from perfect, but that suited her just fine.

She set the sandwiches on a round table in the break room and then put a straw in each cup. She grabbed napkins from a dispenser.

The click of Macy’s crutches had her standing, pulling out a chair, and helping her settle. Faith stacked her crutches against the wall beside them.

Macy grabbed a half of a sandwich and took a bite, her eyes closing with pure pleasure. “You’re in scrubs, which means Kat had her baby. Boy or girl?”

“Boy. Healthy with a strong set of lungs,” Faith said.

Faith was pleased by her sister’s speech and cognitive recognition. Like Faith, Macy was having trouble sleeping. She also suffered from headaches, but her memory and recall were now almost perfect.

Macy picked up a napkin and wiped her fingertips. “And Nancy and Mike now have the baby as planned?”

“They do. It was bittersweet.”

Both were silent for a moment, and then Macy said, “Kat had a choice. And that counts for a lot. She’ll also get to see the boy from time to time.”

“Yes. She’ll be a big part of his life.”

“Are Nancy and Mike still calling the kid Alexander?”

“I suppose. We didn’t get that far today.”

Macy and Faith fell into silence as each ate her sandwich. The fate of Josie, Olivia, and Kathy was never far from their minds, the story of their deaths becoming clear as the details unfolded.

Forensic examination of the bones had revealed that Olivia and Kathy both had broken hyoid bones. The horseshoe-shaped bone was found in the neck, and its fracturing generally indicated strangulation.

Special Agent Kate Hayden, using Macy’s key, had retrieved Jack Crow’s package from her mailbox. She’d returned it to Austin and, with Hayden, Brogan, Faith, and Macy in attendance, had opened it.

Inside the padded envelope, they’d found the second burner phone, as well as several cassette tapes and pictures taken of a very pregnant Josie, Olivia, and Kathy, all chained in the ranch’s basement room.

On the burner phone had been a video made by Jack Crow for Macy. They all had watched the phone’s video image as it captured Crow’s recliner and then his off-screen cussing as he appeared to wrangle with the phone and turn on the selfie mode.

“Jesus, I never thought I’d be glad to see this ugly mug.” He sniffed and sat straighter in his brown recliner.

“Macy, if you’re watching this and we haven’t had a chance to talk about what you’re about to hear, then it means I’m dead. Either the cancer has gotten me or my past sins have finally caught up to me.” He laughed. “Bet on the past sins.

“My doctor looks like he’s fresh out of middle school, but he seems smart. He told me he had all kinds of things he wanted to try, but I told him to save his voodoo treatments. I’m not dying in a damned hospital, hooked up to machines.” He reached for the bourbon on the end table and took a healthy slug. “You should have found the Coronas in the refrigerator. I don’t know how you drink that shit, but I know you like it. Hopefully, you’ve finished your first beer and are working on your second.”

The first time through this video, Macy had cried. Faith had wrapped her arm around her as Hayden and Brogan stood by silently. There’d been questions for Macy about Crow and his most recent conversation with her. She’d wiped away her tears and answered the questions as the professional she was.

Macy had explained that once she’d joined the FBI, Jack had called her less and less. He loved her, he had said, but it was best each stayed on their side of the fence. She’d always known the salvage business wasn’t his primary occupation. She had known he patched up gunshot wounds, broken bones, and overdoses, but she’d not thought his sins went much beyond that. Sadness, loss, and too many unsaid words had sat with her as she watched the recording.

“And you better not be crying for me, kiddo. Don’t shed one damn tear. I lived large, and I crammed a lot into sixty-plus years.”

In the image, Jack reached for a hand-rolled joint and the lighter Macy’s mother had given him for Christmas twenty-five years earlier and flicked the flint until it sparked. He held the flame to the joint’s tapered tip. He puffed several times, drawing in a deep breath and holding it before releasing it slowly.