A Strangely Victorious Valentine’s Day

3

“Sir! I’m fascinated. But, please, please, take me!”

“No!” Jackson argued. “Look, if the cops come, you need me—I’m big enough to keep anyone from shooting you, you just push me in front of you!”

Caleb started to laugh. “Look at you guys, all you big, brave guys, willing to come up to protect your poor fragile lovers!”

“Oh, there’s nothing fragile about Angela,” Jackson assured him. “But we have kids, and I’m pretty sure they love me, but love her more.”

“Oh, stop!” Angela said. “They love you as much. And I am so intrigued by Caleb. I mean, I guess they couldn’t prove that he tried to shoot someone because he is so clever, because maybe he knows something that we don’t—”

“I’m bigger than you are!” Jackson snapped.

“Hey, guys!” Father Matthew protested.

It was working. The arguing, the movement, the questions . . . leave it to Angela. She’d known how to get the man talking and now . . .

“I’m going!” she snapped.

She headed straight for Caleb, smiling, her gun down. His gun was lowered as well.

The rest of the customers in the restaurant were silent, scared, just watching, almost frozen in place, maybe even hoping that the crazy man would change his mind to shoot whoever he had come to shoot, and kidnap the woman he wanted . . .

And leave!

No.

He had always had faith in Angela. It was almost as strong as his love.

“What’s she doing?” the ghost of Gary Barton demanded. “I didn’t come to get you killed, too, I’m so sorry! But my baby, she’ll go up there, she’ll let him take her, hurt her, kill her, if it will stop him—”

“Angela knows what she’s doing!” Jackson assured him in a whisper.

“Who are you talking to?” Caleb demanded.

“Myself; I’m scared!” Jackson said. “But I’ll come—”

“No!” Angela snapped.

She still walked straight to Caleb, determined he would switch Meg for her as his hostage.

“Take me, take me! I’m not as big as my husband, but I’m important! Cops won’t shoot me, you can use me to get away, too!”

It was the moment Jackson had been waiting for.

Valentine’s Day. He smiled inwardly. He had now known and loved his wife forever. And his faith in her was as deep as his love.

Caleb was forced to lower his gun more—just edge it away from the vantage point against Meg’s head in order to reach out and take Angela into his arms.

Meg was almost thrown to the floor. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

But when Angela tossed her own gun aside in good faith to be taken as the new hostage, Caleb reached around her to envelope her into a tight and lethal hold.

Not happening.

Angela knew her moment.

She suddenly jerked with frightening speed, going low.

And it was Jackson’s chance.

No choice. In split seconds he aimed and shot the man in the right shoulder, sending him flying back with the power of the block and causing him to lose his weapon so that it went sliding across the floor.

Caleb screamed in agony.

“I’ve medical training, too!” Father Matthew explained quickly, brushing by Jackson and hurrying over to the fallen man’s side.

Angela went down to her knees by the fallen man as Matthew did. The priest was already ripping at his shirt to staunch the flow of blood.

On the man who had come just to kill him.

Customers screamed and went running from the restaurant.

No blame on them there, Jackson thought. They’d all headed out for a great Valentine’s Day dinner and . . .

Well, he didn’t blame those who ran.

With Angela and Matthew helping Caleb Carpenter, Jackson quickly dialed 911, identifying himself and the situation. But the police were already on the way; his gunshot had been loud and someone passing by had called to say it looked like there was a man with a gun holding everyone in the restaurant hostage.

Jackson hurried over to Meg, helping her to her feet, holding her gently as she sobbed. “I’m such a coward! And you . . .”

Lucy was at his side, looking at him with gratitude, and trying to take over with Meg, assuring her that she wasn’t a coward, that anyone in their right mind would be worried about the nose of a gun against the side of their head.

Paramedics and police arrived. Despite the many people who had fled the restaurant, there were plenty of witnesses left to describe the situation. They were all making Jackson and Angela out to be heroes, and Jackson kept thanking them but telling them it was all part of the job.

Jackson had to turn his weapon over, of course, and no matter what one did, there were reports that had to be given.

Paperwork.

It was a long, long night.

A much longer dinner than he had ever planned.

The paramedics complimented Angela and Matthew, telling them that they’d kept the man alive.

Jackson was there when Caleb was wheeled into the ambulance.

“You’re going to live. Probably go to prison, yes, but you’ll get help, and somewhere along the line, sir, you might have a life,” Jackson told him.

“But . . . if he wasn’t the martyr, maybe I was supposed to be?” Caleb said. His eyes were glassy, confused.

The EMTs were just about ready to head out; Caleb would be at the hospital soon. He’d already been rigged with an IV that was supplying needed liquids to him.

But Jackson told him. “The martyrs were in the past, Caleb. The message is love. They died because of their message that we needed love in our world, not hate, not war, something that is still being desperately taught by some today. And I promise you, maybe, with a lot of help you may have a real life one day.”

The ambulance door shut.

One of the customers who had acted as a witness for the police walked by Jackson shaking his head.

“You’re a better man than I. I would have killed the bastard!” he said.

“If I’d had to, I would have,” Jackson said.

He stood in the parking lot, watching the ambulance go, its siren shrilling, seeing others as they finally made their way to their cars.

He realized that the ghost of Gary Barton was standing next to him.

“I probably would have killed the bastard, too!” he said softly. “Why? What got into his head that he needed to kill Matthew and take Lucy? He never really knew her; I guess he just saw her around. I don’t . . .” He turned to Jackson and grimaced. “I’m dead, and I still don’t understand. Maybe one day . . . but I’m not ready to go yet! I’m just going to make sure that Lucy is really okay!”

“She will be, sir. She does have an amazing husband!”

“That she does. And now . . . thank you! Thank you, thank you!”

He said the words and hurried away. Jackson saw Lucy was across the parking lot with her husband still speaking with Meg. There was a young man with them now, too.

Her fiancé, Jackson thought. He smiled.

And he turned because his own wife was joining him there. He took her into his arms. “I promised that we’d stop by the police station—”

“And we’re doing it now!” she said. “Hey, we were pretty good, right?”

He smiled. “I think maybe those saints of old were really with us—along with a knowing ghost, of course. I’m sure it helped that you knew his name, all about him . . . and Gary Barton did allow all that!”

“Right! Police station. Let’s do it.”

They did. The cops were great, telling them how lucky the people in the restaurant had been with two agents there in the middle of what could have been a deadly incident.

They were professional and polite and friendly. They were all law enforcement, and they’d even worked before with some of the men and women on duty that night.

And while they were there, Jackson got a text from Adam Harrison. Of course, what had happened was all over the news. He would hear from all their agents.

But the text from Adam was the good one. He’d share it soon.

Finally . . .

They were headed out to the car.

“What is it about us?” Angela asked him. “Do we just attract trouble wherever we go?” she asked.

Jackson smiled at her. “Maybe . . . hm, think about it! Things happen around us because the fates know that we’ll be able to manage whatever happens, do whatever is needed? I mean . . . okay, there aren’t all that many people in the world that the ghost of Gary Barton might have been able to talk to. And more than that . . .”

“More than that?” Angela asked, frowning.

“There aren’t that many people with your knowledge, your knowledge of history, and your deep-rooted understanding of what makes people and the world tick!” he told her.

She smiled. “Okay, so, in truth, I don’t really count on having great holidays anyway.”

“But! We are going to have a great holiday,” he told her.

“We are?” She laughed. “It’s ten something already. Not much of Valentine’s Day left! The wine was great, but we never did get food.”

“Ah, ha! But we got a great Valentine’s Day present after all this. A friend has talked to Mary Tiger and our children. Mary is staying overnight. The kids know that we adore them, but they’re both anxious that we get time to be a romantic mommy and daddy duo. There’s this place . . . well, truthfully, Adam Harrison, our great beloved founder, looked quickly into something called ‘Ridley’s Inn.’ It’s owned by one of the chains, but this hotel falls into their new luxury group. According to Adam, we have a room until four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Angela, it’s a cabana room out by the pool with a private little stream into it and a private whirlpool inside. It’s incredible. Oh, and Marcie from tech picked up our go-bags and dropped them at the office, so . . .”

She stared at him, her eyes opening wide, a smile curving into her lips. She was as beautiful as that long ago day when he had met her before the years of work and children and all that had filled their lives.

She didn’t speak.

“Well?” he said hopefully.

And she laughed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love! And yes, yes, please! Let go be romantic! The most romantic mommy and daddy investigators in the whole weird world!”

He pulled her into his arms.

Oh, yeah. Valentine’s Day was going to end.

But it was going to be all right.

Because there really was a message to the day.

And it had come out all right. Even Caleb was alive; and while he would go to prison, he’d receive psychiatric help and maybe, as he had told the man, he’d have a decent life one day.

Father Matthew had helped to save the life of the man who had wanted to kill him.

Their ghost Gary Barton could be relieved; his beloved daughter was fine.

And for them . . .

Love was the message.

And the meal didn’t matter, flowers didn’t matter . . .

Just the two of them. Knowing that the message of love could extend in so many wonderful ways.

And a whirlpool right now, private, alone with Angela . . .

Yeah. The day was ending all right!