A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

I Will Be Alright

Still a little disoriented from the drugs he'd been given twenty-four hours ago, Harry held his hand to his aching head and walked unsteadily from his bedroom into the kitchen, then he stopped short, blinking at the unbelievable sight that greeted him: Ted and Katherine were standing near the sink, locked in an embrace that looked definitely passionate. Harry's mind was a comfortable, fuzzy blur at the moment, and he smiled at the cozy, domestic picture. "The water is running," he said, startling all three of them with his dry, croaking voice.

Ted lifted his head and grinned at him, but Katherine jumped as if she'd been caught in the act of doing something wrong and pulled out of his arms. "Harry, I'm sorry!" she blurted.

"For what?" Harry asked, walking over to the cabinet and taking down a glass that he filled with water. He drank it all, trying to quench the strange thirst he felt.

"For letting you see us like that."

"Why?" Harry asked, holding the small glass under the faucet to refill it, but his head was already beginning to clear and the memories were trying to crowd in.

"Because," Katherine babbled awkwardly, "we shouldn't be doing this in front of you, not when we're supposed to be helping you deal with what happened in Mexico—" she broke off in horror as the glass slid from Harry's hand and crashed to the floor.

"Don't!" Harry burst out, bracing his hands on the counter, trying to shut out the sudden memory of Zayn's enraged face just before the Mexican police started hitting him and the sound of his body thudding to the floor at his feet. He shuddered again and again, clenching his eyes closed against the vision, then after a minute, he managed to straighten and turn. "Don't talk about it ever again," he said. "I'm all right," he added with more determination than accuracy. "It's over. I'll be all right if you don't talk about it. I have to make a phone call," he added, glancing at the clock on the wall above the sink, and without realizing he was doing the opposite of what he'd just asked them to do, Harry picked up the telephone, called Louis Tomlinson's office, and gave the secretary his name.

The last explosion of emotion left him feeling drained and afraid. He was strained to the breaking point he realized, looking at his trembling hands, and it had to stop right now. Life was hard for a lot of people, he reminded himself, and he had to stop reeling from every blow. Right now. Immediately. He could either get a prescription for tranquilizers and turn himself into a zombie, or he could deal with the future in a calm, rational way. Tincture of time would cure the rest. No more tears, he vowed. No more outbursts. No more pain. People depended on him—all his regular students and the women he taught to read at night. They especially looked up to him and he had to show them how he dealt with adversity.

He had classes to teach and football and softball teams to coach. He'd have to get busy and stay busy. He must not fall apart.

"Louis," he said with only a slight tremor when he finally took Harry's call, "I have to see him, I have to explain—"

His voice was sympathetic, kind, and final. "That won't be possible right away. He can't have visitors at Amarillo for awhile."

"Amarillo? You promised me he'd go to a mental hospital for evaluation and treatment!"

"I said I'd try to accomplish that, and I will, but these things take time, and—"

"Don't talk to me about 'needing' time," he warned, but he held onto his composure. "That warden's a monster. He's sadistic, you could see he was in Mexico. He'll have Zayn beaten until—"

"Hadley isn't going to lay a hand on him," Louis interrupted gently, "that much I can promise you."

"How can you be sure? I have to be sure!"

"I'm sure because I told him we were going to want to question Malik in connection with kidnapping charges and that we'd expect him to be in perfect condition when we do. Hadley knows I don't like him and he knows I mean business. He won't screw around with me or the FBI, especially not when he's already under investigation by the prison authorities as a result of that prison uprising last month. His job and his skin are both too precious to him."

"I will not," Harry reminded him forcefully, "be a party to charging Zayn with kidnapping."

"I know that," Louis said soothingly. "It was just a means to keep Hadley under control, not that I think it's really necessary. As I said, he knows the prison authorities are investigating his conduct and watching him closely."

Harry's breath came out in a rush of relief, and he said, "You sound a little better today. Get some rest. I'm going to come see you this weekend."

"I don't think that's a good—"

"Whether you want to see me or not," he interrupted firmly. "You can worry about Malik, but it's you I'm worried about. He's a killer and you did what you had to do, for his sake and everyone else's. Don't ever let yourself think anything else."

Harry nodded, telling himself firmly that he was right. "I'll be fine," he said. "Really I will."

When she hung up, she looked at Katherine and Ted. "I will," he promised them both. "You'll see. It's nice to know," he said with a tremulous smile, "that something good came from this nightmare—the two of you."

He ate the breakfast they forced on him, then he got up to make a second phone call.

With the firm intention of urging Liam Payne to use his considerable influence to get Zayn into a hospital, Harry dialed his private number in Chicago. His secretary put Harry call through, but when Liam Payne picked up the phone, his reaction to Harry's call was beyond Harry's worst imaginings:

"You vicious, scheming bitch," he said, his voice hissing with rage. "You should have been an actor! I can't believe I was stupid enough to swallow that act you put on and let you use me to trap Zayn!" He hung up on Harry. Harry stared at the dead phone in his hand while the realization slowly hit him that Zayn's friend obviously hadn't thought Tony Austin's death was Zayn's doing: The need to accomplish his goal and also exonerate himself became a compulsion. He called Chicago, got the telephone number for Bancroft & Company's main department store, and asked to speak to Meredith Bancroft. When Meredith's secretary insisted on knowing Harry's name before she'd put the call through, Harry fully expected Meredith to refuse his call.

A few minutes later, however, Meredith's voice came across the distance—cool and reserved, but at least she was willing to talk. "What can you possibly want to discuss with me, Harry?" she said.

Unable to keep the pleading from his voice, Harry said, "Please just listen to me. I called your husband a few minutes ago to ask if he has any influence to get Zayn transferred to a mental hospital, and he hung up on me before I could ask him."

"I'm not surprised. He hates you thoroughly."

"And you?" Harry said, swallowing to steady himself. "Do you believe what he does—that the night you were here I concocted a scheme to trap Zayn and turn him in and that I used both of you to do it."

"Didn't you?" Meredith asked, but Harry sensed a hesitancy in her voice, and he grabbed at it.

His words spilling out in a desperate jumble, he said, "You can't believe that. Please, please don't. I went to see his grandmother after you were here and she told me the truth about how Zayn's brother died. Meredith, Zayn shot him! Three people who made him angry are dead! I couldn't let him hurt more people, you have to understand that and believe me..."

Hundreds of miles away, Meredith leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples, remembering the laughter and love in Harry's dining room. "I—I do believe you," she said finally. "The night Liam and I were at your house, that just couldn't have been an act. You loved him very much, and trapping him was the furthest thing from your mind."

"Thank you," he whispered simply. "Good-bye."

"Are you going to be all right?" Meredith asked.

"I don't remember how 'all right' feels," Harry said with a broken laugh, then he shook off his self-pity and said politely, "I'll be fine. I'll cope."