Free I Know Who Holds Tomorrow by Francis Ray Page B

learning the situation, Ronald had parked the Dakota in the next available parking spot, then brought Zachary the keys and the change of clothes he always kept in the truck. Ronald had waited patiently while Zachary cleaned up, then took the soiled clothes back to the truck. He’d politely refused Zachary’s offer of money.
    Keeping one hand on Madison’s arm, Zachary opened the door with
the other. Head down, as it had been since they left ICU, Madison stepped onto the running board but didn’t seem to have the strength to pull herself up.
    â€œLet me help you.” Placing both hands around her slim waist, he lifted her into the seat, then scooted her legs around. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she was all right, then he realized what a stupid question that was. “I’ll call Gordon. He’ll know how to contact your family.”
    Her eyes shut tightly, she leaned over farther in the seat. He felt helpless in the face of her grief. Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, he pressed it into her loosely clasped hands and closed the door. As long as he could remember, his mother had always insisted he have a handkerchief in his pocket. A gentleman, in her opinion, should always carry one. He might be thirty-five, but he hadn’t gotten out of the habit.
    Unhooking the cell phone from his belt, he activated it, then using the bright lights from the overhead security lights in the emergency room parking area, he read Gordon’s number, then keyed it in. It was picked up on the second ring.
    â€œYes.”
    Zachary didn’t have to ask if this was Gordon. He recognized his voice, but he was struggling with his own.
    â€œMadison, is that you?” Gordon asked, his tone rising in anxiety.
    Zachary sucked in a gulp of air and leaned against the back end of the truck. “It’s Zach. Wes … Wes didn’t make it.”
    â€œOh, God. How’s Madi—Never mind. Where is she?”
    From the cadence of Gordon, voice Zachary could tell he was moving. “With me in the emergency-room parking lot. I’m taking her home.”
    â€œI’ll be waiting for you when you get there.”
    Zachary rubbed his hands across his face. “Do you know how to reach her family?”
    â€œI’ll take care of it.” The sound of a motor came through the phone. “You just take care of Madison.”
    â€œSee you.” Zachary answered, then flipped the phone closed. He wished he could promise to do that, but if it came down to Madison’s well-being or Manda’s, there would be no contest. Manda was not going into foster care.
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    Driving up to the manned guardhouse of the Legacy Estates in far North Dallas, Zachary identified himself, then drove through the ten-foot black iron gates past the splashing thirty-foot waterfall, then followed the curving two-lane road through the exclusive estate where homes ranged in price from a half a million to over five million. There were only twenty-one homes in the development and all were sold. Wes and Madison’s sprawling, single-story house sat on a one-third—acre lot in a cul-de-sac.
    Zachary saw Gordon pacing by his car the moment he turned into the long driveway lit by four antique gas yard lights Wes had had shipped from England. Zachary’s hands clamped on the steering wheel. He could recall it all as if it were yesterday—Wes dragging him out here and telling Zachary his plans to build a showplace. Zachary was to be the builder. He wanted it to be single-story because he had lived in a two-story home growing up and damned if he was going to spend his time running up and down stairs again.
    The Legacy Home Association had strict rules and regulations about the houses built there, but Wes had every confidence Zachary would meet and surpass their demands and expectations. He had and they’d celebrated with a beer. Two years. Two lousy years ago.
    By the time he braked in