Chapter 18 #2
She gazed at him for a long moment, looking puzzled and wondering and then finally smiling. She raised her chin, leaned in and gave him a kiss. One of those soft, meaningful, I-love-you kisses, not perfunctory, not lusty, but sensual and filled with feeling.
The sensation of being in someone else’s life hit him again, the way it had when they shopped for baby things.
He reminded himself that Paulette had been on loan—all of it was an illusion.
Right down to his possession of Shana. She was a loaner too.
She was lending herself out to him for a time, but he was no fool.
He knew she’d figure she didn’t need him sooner or later.
He hoped to God later.
The taxi stopped in front of the church and Shana stopped kissing him.
*****
Dane and Shana walked up the front steps to the rectory.
Shana carried Paulette, talking baby talk to her along the way.
Dane walked alongside her, carrying the bags and the carrier.
He didn’t bother suggesting she put the baby in it.
She looked happy holding the little girl.
Someday Shana would make a beautiful mother. In every way.
The sensation that they were a happy family on their way to arrange a christening disappeared the instant Marian opened the door.
The woman who’d been a charming, confident knockout looked like a beaten, shaken wreck.
The entire left side of her face was bruised and swollen and she had stitches in her mouth.
Dane’s muscles tensed. He made an effort not to fist his hands.
He wished he’d been the one to catch up with Spartak, though it turned out better all around that it had been Shana.
“Oh, Marian.” Shana rushed in and gave the woman an awkward hug with the baby between them.
Father Donahue walked toward them through the entry hall. Dane nodded at him. Nothing like a woman’s beaten face to remind Dane about who he was. He was the kind of man who made it his mission every day to prevent—or correct—this sort of thing. Or at least take out revenge.
He thought of the three dead men he’d left at his beach shack. Cap had assured him he’d have it cleaned up before they got back.
“Come this way.” Father Donahue led them to the front parlor where Marian normally presided.
He brought up the rear and watched as Shana entered the room with the baby.
Lara sprang from the couch and tears came to her eyes as she ran toward her baby, Paulette.
Shana, being a strong woman, remained standing and handed over her precious loaner baby.
He noticed a few tears in her eyes, but her smile was wide and genuine as she watched the mother and child reunion.
Dane couldn’t help but be affected himself by the glare of the joy in the room.
And this was another example of why he did what he did.
He let the warmth of the moment soothe him and run over his soul like balm.
The laughter and tears and the positive electricity in the very air were unmistakable. Father Donahue joined the reunion with his niece and her baby and seemed happy, but a little wistful too maybe.
Dane wondered how much of his lothario priest story was made up and how much was real.
And how much he’d given up to be a priest. The man was a true Christian if there ever was one.
He’d acted selflessly for his niece, risking everything to help her.
Not your average padre. Father D turned to him and came to stand with him.
Shana returned to Dane’s side, took his hand and squeezed.
“There are no words that can express how grateful I am and no amount of money that can adequately pay you and Shana for what you have done, how you’ve helped us.”
“I can legitimately say I don’t care about the money right now,” Shana said.
Dane saw her misty eyes as she watched the ongoing happy reunion.
Marian had been absorbed by the mysterious gravitational pull of the baby—which seemed to be a universal effect that babies had on women—and laughed and hugged and cooed alongside Lara.
Dane turned away before he was turned to stone by the sight.
The soothing joy had dissipated and gave way to the familiar pain. But the pain he felt was more of a dull ache rather than a stab. Maybe that was progress.
“You ever been an actor—before you became a priest?” Dane asked Father D.
“No—my recently acquired acting talent was a gift from above when I needed it,” Father D smiled. “I suppose you’re wondering how an old salt like my father ended up with a son like me?”
“Old salt? Okay, we can go with that,” Dane said. Father D gave another wistful nod.
“He loved my mother. She left him when I was twelve. That was the turning point. She hid us away in a monastery in France and he didn’t find us for a while.
By then I was well on my way to priesthood and my mother had been working as a cleaning woman.
She re-married, although strictly speaking, she’d never divorced my father.
To me—and to God I suppose—her explanation was that they were never really married.
“Let me guess,” Dane said with a sudden insight, “Your mother had a little girl named Marian.”
Father D beamed then and nodded. “You’re good, Mr. Blaise—you’ve more than lived up to your legendary status.”
Shana gaped at them then said, “Let me make a guess—you already knew about Dane before you called Governor Douglas.”
Father D nodded. “My father told me about you. I called him when Lara disappeared leaving her baby behind. Normally I wouldn’t have. We have an understanding. He’s here in Boston partly because of me. I’d like to think that. But it’s mostly to take care of Lara and watch out for my step-sister.”
“You mean Marian?”
“No, I meant Lara’s mother. His daughter by his second marriage.”
“I thought Lara’s mother—your stepsister--was dead?” Dane asked.
“Yes, but she called for my father to come and care for Lara before she passed. His second wife died violently and he’s been overly protective of all of us since. Even of Spartak. His father is still in Russia, my only remaining sibling.”
“It’s no accident you ended up with this parish.” Dane said.
“I knew who my step-sister was. And there was Lara. I had lobbied to be in this parish to be near family and I didn’t know Anatoly would end up here.” He paused. “I have mixed feelings about this.”
“But let me guess—he’s winning you over.”
“Yes.” He smiled that strange smile again—happy and sad at the same time.
“I bet he’s a generous supporter of the parish,” Shana said.
Father D laughed. “Yes, that’s been a nice added benefit.”
Dane considered the man then said, “I’m not going to ask you if any of the crap you told us about the women is true—I’m assuming you wanted to lead us to the Garage Club to find Lara, but without giving away your father’s operation.
” Dane nodded approval at the man. The priest’s face was battered and his arm was in a sling.
“You’re a brave man and a good priest in spite of any flaws you might have and in spite of certain family members. ”
“I take that as high praise, but don’t be too hard on my father. You are a lot alike.”
Before Dane could respond to that, Sister Anne showed up at the door and waved at him for his attention like she was a schoolgirl with the right answer.
“Hi—what is it?” Shana said.
“Come with me. There’s someone here who wants to meet with you.” She darted a glance between Shana and Dane.
Dane said to Father D, “Take care of your family.” Then he and Shana followed Sister Anne to Father Donahue’s office. It was the same serious room that Dane recalled before, but there was the smell of a decent cigar in the air. He looked over to the big chair by the fireplace and saw why.
Anatoly Ivanov sat in Father Donahue’s favorite chair with his feet up, smoking a cigar.
“Hello, Dane. Shana.” He nodded respectfully toward each of them. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up. I am old.” He gestured for them to sit down and they did.
“Anatoly. You’re taking a chance coming here, aren’t you?”
“You tell me, my good friend. Should I be worried?”
Dane shook his head. “A deal is a deal.”
“Except when it’s not,” Toly said. They both laughed, both remembering the old days.
“We appreciated your help with this case, Mr. Ivanov,” Shana said. She sounded sincere.
“Sure, Toly—you gave up a lot of men to the cause in this one.” Dane didn’t want to say it, but they were both thinking that he’d given up his own grandson.
“I’d do it again. This time it would be easier, because I’d know I could trust you. With the lives of my granddaughter and great-granddaughter.”
If Dane wasn’t hallucinating, he’d swear the tough old guy had tears.
“You’re old and soft and crazy. Least I could do was help you out.”
He laughed. “I like you, Dane Blaise. I always did. Biggest balls I ever met.” He turned to Shana. “This is true. Did he ever tell you about—”
“Another time, Toly.” Dane had no idea what story he was about to tell, but none of them were for polite company. Not even for Shana.
Shana said, “Chicken.” But her eyes were disappointed.
Toly said, “Okay. Time for business then. I am glad you were able to convince the feds to leave an old man alone. I have a bonus for you—”
“We can’t take—” Shana said.
“Hold on, Toly,” Dane said. “Father Donahue is our client, not you. Let’s make that perfectly clear.”
“Yes. I see. I know which side of the fence you are on. You have this Beachcomber Investigations business—it suits you—a beachcomber. Father Donahue told me he hired you. I am authorized to pay you, on behalf of Father Donahue, my son,” he gave Dane a pointed look.
Dane had to smile at that, noting the pride.
Toly slipped an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Dane. Shana shifted in her seat.
“Don’t worry, my dear, I am not forgetting you. You played a crucial part in this and I am especially grateful—on behalf of your client—”