Protector - Laurel Dewey [103]
“Have you informed Emily about this ruse?”
“Not yet. That’s my next stop. I wanted to give her as much time to recuperate as possible before laying out the whole thing.”
“You’re expecting a helluva lot out of this kid! She loses her parents eight days ago and now she’s being shuttled to some two-bit town and asked to call me ‘Mom.’ I’m sure your psychotherapist pals down at DH would have a field day with this one!”
“That kid is smart and you know it,” Weyler countered. “I know that once I sit down with her and explain why we’re doing this, she’ll have no trouble playing the role. She already looks up to you as a protective figure. Calling you ‘Mom’ occasionally shouldn’t be too difficult. You’re just going to have to learn how to respond to it!” Weyler stood up. “We’re shaking this thing down tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. sharp. I’ll pick you up at the house and drive you to the drop point.”
“I’m not driving my car?”
“No. I’ve secured a vehicle that we confiscated from a meth bust last year. It’s the perfect cover for your new role.”
“I’m more comfortable in my own car!”
“I can’t have you zooming around Peachville in a ’66 ice blue Mustang. You’d stick out like a sore thumb. Remember? Blend into the scenery. And circulate with the townsfolk. Let Emily play with the neighborhood children. But stay ever vigilant, with one eye on that child and the other eye out for any sign of trouble. Oh, leave your credit cards at home. I’ll supply you with enough cash to get you through at least two months. And have your brother collect your mail and bring it down to DH once a week. We’ll make sure all your bills are paid while you’re gone.”
“Any other orders, boss?” Jane asked, with a touch of sarcasm.
Weyler thought for a second. “Have you visited your father to say good-bye?” Jane shook her head. “Then you better get going. Visiting hours are up at eight.” Weyler started to move toward his parked car but then turned back to Jane. He could see that the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “It’s going to work out, Jane.”
Jane looked off to the side. “You know what I find amazing, boss? You try to stay low your whole life and not stand out. But somehow the forces of the universe find you in the crowd and decide you’re ‘it.’And then for some unknown reason, they conspire against you until you either give up or give in.”
Weyler was silent as he studied Jane’s somewhat dejected body. “You want to know what I find amazing, Jane?”
“What?”
“How our fulcrum, the thing we hold onto and that gets us through the day and night . . . how that thing often becomes our identity and is the one thing that can destroy us in the end.”
The unannounced trip to visit her father went against her character. Whether she was going to his house or to the hospital, Jane always planned the visit days in advance. She needed time to get properly numbed in order to endure her father’s wrath. But there she was sitting in her car outside the nursing home front door, sucking the nicotine out of every cigarette she had left in her pack. That familiar knot began to pull tighter in her stomach as she neared his open door. Cautiously, she moved forward and stood in the doorway. Her father was fast asleep in his bed with the television, tuned to Court TV, on mute. She stayed still and observed him. His head was awkwardly bent to the side and his mouth slightly parted. A prickly growth of beard covered his usually clean-shaven face. The razor-sharp buzz haircut was a little unkempt. His complexion was sallow and his cheeks slightly sunken. For the first time in her life, Jane felt a sliver of superiority in his presence. As quickly as she felt it, however, she wondered if the whole thing was some sort of trick and that he would suddenly awaken, bolt from the bed and attack her. It was that last thought that kept her positioned in the doorway.
“He’s been sleeping on and off all day.” Jane quickly turned to find Zoe, the head nurse, walking up to her. “It’s not one of his better days,” Zoe whispered to Jane, stealing a peek