Chapter 8 #2
Dane went to his desk and dialed the number on his secure house phone, a laborious process on the old-fashioned rotary dial.
He put the clumsy earpiece in its speakerphone cradle and let it ring until they heard some clicking sounds and a faint buzz precede the familiar booming voice of Oscar, aka Antonio Rizoni, retired alleged mobster, snitch and witness protection customer who moonlighted for the CIA.
“Dane—is that you? You still kicking? I suppose Father Pedro got to you.”
“You could say that. How the hell are you, old man? And what the hell are you doing sending a padre to save a bastard like me?”
Oscar laughed. “Mission accomplished then.”
“Yes and no.” Dane’s voice took on a church-like tone. “We have bad news.” He paused, but Oscar said nothing.
“Father Pedro didn’t make it—he took a ferry ride with Shana and fell overboard at sea.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t jump.”
Dane quieted a beat and took on that implacable look he had.
She drew a breath of surprise, but then as she exhaled, like a thousand scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together in fast motion, she saw the picture lock into place.
“Funny you should say that,” Dane said. “I was wondering why he would stay on the deck of a ferry in wind-tossed seas.”
Damn him. Dane had figured it out too. Would she never stop wanting to best him?
“But I saw him,” she said. Needing to throw a monkey wrench into Dane’s insight. “He didn’t look like he jumped. He didn’t climb over the rail. He just… disappeared.” But it made no sense to her. She knew better.
Cap said, “A death wish would explain why he threatened a couple of crew members who tried to get him inside. When I took their statements they said they figured he was crazy and they had their hands full with their sane passengers. The crew was light. The two I spoke with were going for help when Shana found the padre and he had … disappeared overboard.”
Cap’s words filled in all but one missing piece of the puzzle in her mind. Why?
“Explain,” Dane said to Oscar.
Oscar sighed, Shana supposed with regret.
“Nothing too complicated or mysterious. The old man was dying and it was his wish to go on one last mission to save a soul.”
“Mission?” Dane voiced her skepticism.
“Don’t let his appearance fool you—he was a tough bas—guy.
I told him about you, Dane. Father Pedro said it would be his honor to save you.
So he went. I had no idea what he would do or how he would do it, but I knew he’d find a way.
Never saw a man so determined. Not even you.
It was like he poured all the life he had left in him into saving you. ”
The tears sprung to her eyes before she had a thought, but Shana didn’t care if anyone—even Dane—thought her a crybaby. Father Pedro had given his life to save Dane. The man she loved with everything inside her.
Dane had no idea what to say, what to think. He wouldn’t argue that he’d been saved. He felt lifted from his morose depression, from the hell of guilt. He still felt the pain and the regret, but it didn’t weigh him down into utter hopelessness like it had before. He looked at Shana.
Her green eyes were misty. Their usual snap was missing, but she’d never looked more beautiful and inviting, never looked more like his girl.
“I’ll be damned,” Cap said. “The old man was suicidal.”
Oscar laughed. “You’d have to be suicidal to want to save the soul of a bas—renegade the likes of Dane the Demon—I bet Pedro had to go all the way to hell and back to retrieve it.”
“I suppose jumping off a ferry in a storm would qualify as hell,” Dane said. Then he felt humbled and a deep calm sadness washed over him. “I’m sorry we couldn’t bring him back, Oscar. No matter that he didn’t have long to live. He deserved to go in the peace and quiet of his own bed.”
“Not old Pisser Pedro. He was a lot like you and me. He wanted to go down fighting and by God he did. He accomplished his last mission and I bet he passed with a smile on his face. You granted his last wish, Dane. Whether you knew it or not.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a stranger step up to save my life—or rather my soul—if you believe in that crap.”
Cap grunted.
Oscar said, “Tell me this—after he went overboard and you tried rescuing him I assume, did he live long enough to lay eyes on you, Dane?”
Dane played the scene back in his head to when they found the life raft and picked up the crew to bring them on board the 47.
“I’ll be damned.” The old bastard had looked him in the eye. Dane could see the faintest visage of a smile. Then the old man had closed his eyes and was gone.
Dane took a deep breath and had a sudden need to go outside for some cleansing, calming sea air to fill his lungs, but he finished the call with Oscar. He wrote down the particulars on a notepad at his desk and made arrangements to send Father Pedro’s body to its final resting place.
Turning to Shana, he met her clear green eyes.
She’d been tracking him as if she thought he might disappear, or revert to his basket case status.
He didn’t go outside. Instead he returned to her side on the arm of the couch and bent toward her, touching his lips to her head, brushing them against the soft curling tendrils.
He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of her hair, the scent of her. Taking in her essence, he calmed.
She sighed and looked up, then past him out the window. “It’s snowing out again.
Now what, Dane?
“Let it snow.”
Now he knew he never wanted to let her go.
But he wished to hell he knew whether or not she still wanted to go.