“No, you?”
He shook his head and shot her a grin. “We probably should have gotten that out of the way that first night.”
Sam slid the car into an open spot in a dark alley in the North End, a historic neighborhood not unlike Southie with closely clustered old brick buildings, but here the sidewalks were lined by Italian pastry shops and old men sitting in lawn chairs. Though the area had been gentrified a bit, as had almost every other part of Boston, the feel of the North End, not to mention the scents of simmering spices and sugary treats, made it all feel old world and comfortable, as welcoming as any small town might be.
Sam led her around the corner, and stopped in front of what looked like an apartment house, but tucked into the first floor was the restaurant. “This place is Mother Anna’s. Ever eaten here?”
She shook her head.
“You’ll love it. Best Italian food you’ll ever eat.” Sam slipped his arms into his jacket and retrieved his gun and badge, clipping both onto his belt. They made their way inside, the brick walls and dark wood tables as inviting as the scents—garlic, oregano, and aromatic spices—all mingling in the air.
“Hey, Sam, long time no see. How are you?” The speaker, a heavy, balding, bespectacled man, approached them and drew Sam into a quick embrace.
“Hey, Vinnie, good to see you. My friend and I are here for dinner. Got a table for us?”
“Your friend is pretty, Sam,” he said, glancing at Jessie. “Too pretty for you.”
Sam introduced Jessie, who held out her hand. Vinnie leaned in and kissed her once on each cheek. “We kiss beautiful women when we meet. Handshakes are for old men, like Sam.” He led them to a table in the back. “I always keep one table open for special visitors. He handed them menus. “Enjoy yourselves.”
Over a dinner of pasta, shrimp and veal soaked in rich sauces, as well as crusty bread loaded with butter, all washed down with red wine, they began to reveal a bit of themselves. Sam loosened his tie as he spoke. “I sometimes wish I’d married, and God knows my mother wishes I would. There’s still time, but this is a tough job for families, and I suppose that’s what holds me back. More than half the cops I know are divorced. Makes it a big decision. I’ve been close once or twice, but, well… I’m still looking.” He winked. “What about you? Why aren’t you married? Seems like you’re the type to have had a few offers.”
She dabbed her mouth with the crisp white napkin. “Engaged once,” she said, and it all came flooding back. What’s-his-name, as she called him these days, since she’d vowed never to say his name aloud or even to think it, had left her for her best friend. Jessie, who’d loved him and was longing to belong to him, to be a part of his life, was broken. “I met him after my father died. My mother left when I was a baby, so it had always been just my dad and me. I have no other family, so I was well and truly all alone. I fell for his promises that he’d love me forever.”
She paused, remembering the feel of his arms when they were wrapped around her. Looking back, she knew part of why she’d loved him was her desperate need to free herself of her loneliness. But that was three years ago, a lifetime almost. She was long over him, and it was best never to think of him again. “And then he cheated on me. With my then best friend.” She said it with an uncharacteristic sneer. “So, that was the end of a friendship and an engagement.”
“Ooh, that must have hurt.” Sam took her hand across the table. “I had no idea you had no family. I’m sorry, Jessie.”
Jessie shrugged. “No need to be sorry. I’m fine with it now. Really, I’m okay.” She pulled her hand away. The last thing she needed was sympathy. “Anyway, it was better to find out that he was a totally self-absorbed loser before, rather than after, the wedding. To tell you the truth, I think it was harder to lose my friend than it was to lose him. I haven’t had a really close friend since then. It’s difficult to trust people. I guess that’s why I’m suspicious of Hart, too. No one’s as good as they seem at first glance.”
“Oh hell, we’re back to him.”
“No, no,” she said. “We’re not. As long as you keep an open mind on Hart, I’ll keep an open mind on everything else.”
“Everything else?”
She flashed her most mischievous smile.
“Oh, God, Jessie. I wish I weren’t on call tonight.”
“Well, you are, and I’m back to work at seven, so we’ll have to call it a night.”
Once home, he walked her to her door and leaned down to brush his lips softly against hers. When he smoothed her hair behind her ear, she swore she felt her toes tingle and her heart race.
“I’ll call tomorrow,” he said as he turned for the stairs.
Chapter Twelve
Jessie was relieved to find that the lock on her door was secure. She let herself in, washed up and peered through her blinds onto the street. The streetlamp was still out, but at least there was no one lurking outside. Feeling safe and exhausted, she slid into bed and drifted off to sleep.
She felt like she’d been asleep for only moments when a shrill blare broke the still of the night. She sat bolt upright, sweeping away the threads of her dream, the noise coming again and again. She rubbed her eyes and spotted her phone, the source of the insistent sound. A call in the night is never good.
That was how she’d learned her father had died. “Quietly,” the nurse had said. “In his sleep.” And though it had been expected since his stroke, the news had almost broken her. Without him, she was alone. Her mother had long ago just up and left, leaving Jessie with only a vague memory of a laughing woman with bright clothes, dark hair and dimples. Her dad had been perpetually angry but somehow stoic, and always there, but he was gone, and there wasn’t anybody else in her life right now, so whatever this call was, how bad could it be?
She reached for the phone and hit accept. “Hello,” she said drowsily.
“Oh, shit. You were sleeping. Sorry, Jess, I thought you’d be just getting in from work.”
The voice, at once so familiar and yet so strange, caught her off guard. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Who…?”
“Nick. I looked for you in the ER tonight. Thought I’d try to catch you for that drink.”
“Ahh, I knew your voice sounded familiar. What time is it?” Her voice was thick with sleep, the synapses of her brain not quite connecting.
“It’s after midnight.”
She’d only just gotten in, it seemed. “I’m on days for a while. I have to be in at seven.”
“Why are you on days?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it another time.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Sure. Call me then.” She hung up, curled back under the covers and woke only when the alarm shrieked in her ear. She rose quickly and went through her new morning routine—find clean scrubs, pull up her hair, splash water on her face, run a hint of liner along her eyes and a swipe of color on her lips—and she was ready to go. She stopped at the corner store for coffee and a muffin and was grateful that Patrick wasn’t there to gush over her again. She glanced at the headlines—Funeral Details for Hart to Be Announced Today. A smiling photo of Ann Hart filled the first page. Jessie shivered. She felt as though Ann Hart was looking straight at her. She turned away, but the discomfort stuck with her. It was almost as though Ann Hart was drawing her in, asking for something.
At work, she was directed once again to the Surgical ICU, and she walked in crossing her fingers that Rob Hart would have been discharged or at least transferred to the floor, but as soon as she stepped through the door, she saw him, through the glass of his room, curled up on his side sleeping the sleep of the innocent, or, in his case, the guilty.
She spied Ellen at the desk. “Please tell me he’s assigned to someone else.”
“I wish I could,” Ellen replied, trying to hide the smile on her lips. “But he requested you.”
“What the hell?”
“That’s what we said, but in
a different, lighter tone of voice.”
“Very funny. I can’t refuse?”
“No. Merrick says he’s been through a tough time, and to just give him whatever he needs. At least for now. He actually said that Hart reminds him of a young soldier he couldn’t save in Afghanistan, so apparently, based on that, Hart gets a pass.” She shook her head. “Who knew that Merrick has a heart? Unbelievable, but true.”
Jessie mumbled as she put her things away, swigged her coffee, picked at her muffin and took report from the night nurse who was happy to announce that Rob Hart had slept through the night. She hadn’t heard so much as a peep from him, which likely meant, she told Jessie, that he’d be wide awake and looking for company all day.
“Why doesn’t he get visitors? Why do we have to entertain him?”
“He’s announced that he doesn’t want visitors. Not yet.”
“Morning, Jessie,” Rob said, pulling himself up as she stepped into his room.
“Morning, Rob,” she said, stonily turning on the bright overhead lights. He blinked and turned away. It was juvenile of her, but at least she’d made him uncomfortable, if only for a moment. One small victory at a time. “How about we get your vital signs and then I’ll leave you alone?”
He nodded and held out his arm.
She hit the blood pressure button and watched him wince as the cuff tightened against his arm. “Would you like me to call some friends in for you?”
“No. I don’t want to see anyone.”
“You must be tired of answering the same old questions from the police, huh?”
“Not really. I spoke to them that night in the ER and then the next morning, when I remembered the tattoos, and maybe once or twice again. They came in with the mayor to tell me they have a suspect, but since then, no, I haven’t seen them. I asked Dr. Merrick to tell them I need rest, and anyway, it all happened so quickly, there’s just nothing else I can add. I don’t much feel like visitors either.”
“I’ll leave you alone then.”
“Please stay for a while. Tell me about yourself.”
Jessie made it a point to never share personal stuff with patients. She shook her head. “Not much to tell.”
“I bet there’s lots to tell. Are you married?”
“No.”
“A beautiful girl like you. Come on.” He flashed what could only be described as a flirtatious grin.
She wanted to tell him to screw off, that she knew he was a creep, but she couldn’t. She backed out of the room, telling him she had another patient. She didn’t have another assignment, but she couldn’t bear to be near this jerk. And in her mind, he’d been involved in his wife’s murder. If she could figure out a way to expose that, she would, but in the meantime, just as Sam said—it wasn’t a crime to be a jerk.
She stretched her neck this way and that, hoping to ease the knot of tension that had settled there. It was Saturday, five days since the shooting, two days since Ann Hart’s death, and Jessie couldn’t figure out why this case had stuck with her the way it had. She’d cared for hundreds of shooting and stabbing victims, some she remembered, most she forgot. That was how ER nurses and staff dealt with the tragic incidents they encountered, but she couldn’t let this one go. It didn’t help that she had to see Rob Hart up close. If anything, that compelled her even more. She was no detective, though like most ER nurses, she fancied herself one, though she had to admit it was a bit of a stretch to go from triaging confusing symptoms to solving crimes. But this time, she felt as though she was seeing what the police were missing.
Jesus. She had to stop thinking about this.
Or convince Sam to listen to her just one more time.
Chapter Thirteen
She spent her day avoiding Hart. She volunteered to accompany an intubated patient, who was hooked up to three infusion pumps and two fancy monitors, to CT scan. That killed two hours. She mixed antibiotics and the blood thinner heparin for another nurse, flushed an arterial line and finally looked back in on Hart, who smiled broadly.
“Hey, you,” he crooned. “Where’ve ya been?”
She wished he’d stop speaking. That might allow her to be a little less suspicious, but clearly, he was well aware of HIPAA. He knew she couldn’t talk about his frisky, flirtatious ways. “Busy,” she said. “This is an ICU. Most people are very sick. You’re the exception.”
“You don’t think I should be here, do you?”
Oh, Jesus, don’t let me be fired for what I’m about to say, she thought. “No. Same as yesterday—you don’t need intensive care.”
“I do,” he said. “Just not the way you think. I need the safety this space provides me. I don’t mean to be a burden.”
And she almost felt sorry for him, but he was smiling again, that sappy, sweet, flirty smile that made her sick to her stomach and knocked some sense back into her. That’s how men like him got away with things. “You’re not,” she said, hoping to salvage her job. “You’re really not.”
She took an hour for lunch and then covered another nurse’s patients so she could have lunch, and finally her shift was over. She gave report on Hart and poked her head in to tell him she was leaving. He held his newspaper up. “Have you seen this?” Funeral arrangements were set for Monday, two days from now, she read. “They never even told me. I had to read it here.” He passed the paper to Jessie.
She glanced through the story quickly. A Mass would be held at the Cathedral. Burial would be private, but friends and family were invited to attend the celebration of Ann’s life. She handed the paper back. “You’ll be going?”
He shook his head. “I’m not strong enough.”
“Yes, you are,” Jessie blurted before she could stop herself. “But of course, it’s up to you.”
“Her family never liked me. I’m sure they blame me for Ann’s death. I heard them shouting the day she died that it was all my fault. They’re not very sympathetic to me. I mean, I know that when a wife is killed, police look first at the husband, but I’m a victim here, too. They’ve forgotten that.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I have my own wounds to heal, and anyway, I think I’d be a distraction. To tell you the truth, I just don’t want to do that to Ann, or to myself.”
Jessie wanted to scream. He’d made himself the center of this drama, not Ann. He was a sociopath. Why couldn’t the police see through him? “Don’t you want to say goodbye?” she asked, hoping he’d take the bait and say something, anything, that she could take to Sam.
“I did,” he answered. “That night in the alley.”
Jessie felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn’t expected this. “That night? You knew she was dying?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Well, no… not exactly.” His voice was a whisper as though he’d caught himself saying more than he’d intended. “It seemed pretty clear to me that she probably was. That’s all I meant.” He looked away; it was as though he’d drawn a curtain. The conversation was over.
There was nothing she could say to that. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jessie said.
That evening, the nightly news reported that an insider had divulged to the Associated Press that Hart would not be attending his wife’s funeral. Jessie sat forward, her jaw tight. “The Associated Press added that Mr. Hart is too ill to attend. He will be sending his love, and if he has the strength, a final note to his dear wife.” The announcer cut back to the reporter who was again in front of the hospital. “The police and the mayor’s office have said they are still searching for the prime suspect—Jose Ramos. If you have any information at all, they are asking that you call the number scrolling at the bottom of your screen.”
She clicked the television off. “What the hell? Bert said he was leaving! How the hell did he learn this? And a note to his wife? Hart never mentioned any note.” She shook her head in disgust just as her doorbell chimed. “What?” she shouted into the small receiver.
“It’s Nick. We have a date?”
She buzzed him
in, and laughing, she pulled the door open before he could knock. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that… Never mind.”
Nick stood there quietly, his blue eyes focused on her, his shoulders—usually so strong and sturdy—sagged just enough to notice. “You forgot, didn’t you?” His gaze dropped away; those shimmery blue eyes suddenly hidden under a fringe of thick brown lashes.
Jessie nodded. “But your timing is perfect. I’d love to get out, away from the news, and if you give me five minutes, I’ll change. Beer and wine in the fridge,” she called over her shoulder as she looked through her closet. She stepped out of her sweats, pulled on a pair of jeans, a turtleneck sweater and a pair of leather boots. She ran her fingers through her hair, swiped on a coat of mascara and grabbed her jacket.
“Ready,” she announced.
Nick turned and whistled as he caught sight of her. “On second thought, let’s stay in.”
“Another time,” Jessie answered. “Tonight, I need dinner and someone to talk to.”
He stood, all six feet four of him towering over her five feet three. His hand on her chin, he nudged her face up to his until his lips found hers and lingered there with the softest, gentlest yet most insistent kiss she could ever remember. She let herself sink into his arms. When she could pull herself away, she traced the lines of his jaw with her finger. “But feed me first,” she whispered.
“Where to?”
“Anyplace that’s quiet and has good food.”
They wound up at the Playwright, a popular pub within walking distance of Jessie’s. The afternoon football games were over, the rowdy crowds spilling into the street as they approached. It was early Saturday evening, that quiet time before the dinner crowds arrived, leaving the place almost entirely to Nick and Jessie.
They chose a quiet corner booth, and ordered dinner and beer. Even in the dim light of the pub, or maybe because of it, the penetrating blue of Nick’s eyes bore into her. She felt her heart race and she reminded herself again that he was exactly the kind of guy she should fall for. And what was not to like? He had it all—good looks, good job, a quiet confidence, and if that weren’t enough, there were always his eyes. Paul Newman eyes, Donna had said once when she’d seen him in the ER.
Dead Girl Walking: Absolutely addictive mystery and suspense (Jessie Novak Book 1) Page 8