Christmas Vendetta

by Valerie Hansen

  He fell into step beside her. “Remember, even if your friend is unconscious she may be able to hear us talking so don’t discuss her condition. And whatever you do, don’t start weeping and wailing. It’s bad for the patient’s morale.”

  Sandy Lynn’s head snapped around. Her eyes were slightly puffy but narrowed in a scowl, and her jaw was set. “Do I look like I’m about to lose it?”

  Chancing the hint of a smile, Clay nodded. “Well, you do have a good set of lungs on you. That scream when you were trying to pepper spray me was a lulu.”

  “If the spray had worked you wouldn’t be laughing.”

  “Fight or flight,” he said. “It’s instinctive. Most folks will run if they can. Really exceptional people will stand their ground. Those are rare.”

  “Are you giving me a compliment?”

  “For getting out of the car armed with an outdated weapon? Not hardly.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks anyway. I learned the hard way to fight back.” Although her pace toward the hospital was rapid, he heard her add, “That was the only good thing about my marriage.” She gave a wry chuckle, “Except for the end of it.”

  “I wouldn’t wish a bad marriage on anyone regardless of any lessons you think you learned from the experience.”

  “You’re right about that. The only thing I did wrong was jump into a situation I should have been savvy enough to avoid. Once I was in it, having the courage to admit my mistake and get out was what saved me.”

  “Standing up for yourself, you mean.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Inner strength and conviction come in handy when dealing with the seven-and eight-year-olds I teach, too. They can get pretty rowdy.” Her smile widened.

  “So that’s the career you chose.” He wasn’t surprised. Sandy Lynn had always acted motherly toward her foster siblings when he’d lived next door to the group home.

  “Yes. Eventually. I had to settle down and work hard, but I made it. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.”

  “I was working up in Kansas City until a few months ago when I decided to come home.” He made a face of disgust. “Not the best career choice, as it turned out.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  He wanted to tell her he was proud of her accomplishments. He didn’t yield to the urge. The years of their fractured friendship were not something he wanted to explore, let alone repair. Her career was solid while his was on the skids, not to mention the possibility he might be wrongly convicted if his enemies managed to convince a judge to indict. Sandy Lynn had pulled herself out of poverty through hard work and courage. Yes, she’d made the mistake of marrying an abusive man, but she still wasn’t out of the woods.

  As Clay saw it, all he had to do was stick by her until her assailant was caught. After that he could walk away. The second element would be harder, no matter how difficult the first was.

  Plus, he had to make sure his ruined reputation did no harm to hers. If ever there was a good reason to keep his emotional distance, that was it.

  * * *

  By the time they had circled the small hospital and entered the doors to the ER, Sandy Lynn was fully in control. She breezed past the reception desk and straight-armed the swinging door to the emergency treatment area. “Enid?”

  Following close behind, Clay touched her arm and she jumped, whirling on him. “What?”

  “Calm down. We’ll find her if she’s still here.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “They may have taken her to surgery,” Clay said quietly. “Let’s ask before you go berserk and start tearing down curtains.”

  “I never go berserk,” Sandy Lynn replied stiffly.

  With a cynical chuckle he gestured at her. “What do you call this?”

  “Strong concern. Anybody’d be worried.”

  “I’ll give you that,” Clay said. “I see someone I know. Come on.”

  A petite, dark-haired nurse broke into a wide grin when he greeted her. “Hey, Phoebe. I wonder if you can help us.”

  The brief look the nurse gave Sandy Lynn was clearly not friendly. “I heard you were back in town, Clay. It took you long enough to come see me.”

  “I’ve been busy moving into a smaller apartment,” he said. “We’ll have to get together sometime. Right now, I—we need your help.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” A wry chuckle. “Does your friend there have a problem?”

  Sandy Lynn sensed an underlying hint of jealousy but she chose the high road and smiled. “No problem. I’m Sandy Lynn Forrester. Clay and I were buddies when we were kids. My roommate was brought in tonight, and I came to check on her.”

  “Name?” Phoebe asked.

  “Enid Bloom.”

  “Enid! Why didn’t you say so in the first place? She’s been taken up to the OR.”

  “You know her?” Clay asked.

  “Well enough, considering how big this hospital staff is. She’s a great nurse. Everybody likes her.”

  “Okay. Where should we go to find out how she’s doing?”

  “Waiting room. Third floor rear,” the nurse said, her words clipped. “I heard the guy with the knife said he got the wrong woman. Is that true?”

  “Not the best timing,” Clay told her, scowling.

  Sandy Lynn wasn’t about to let it drop. “What do you mean, the wrong woman?”

  “Just what I said. Enid was conscious by the time the ambulance boys brought her in, and she told us what happened.”

  Sandy Lynn’s eyes narrowed and she turned on Clay. “You already knew. That’s why you insisted on coming with me.”

  “I did. But you were in no shape to be behind the wheel of a car, either. You’re still not.”

  Furious, she was headed toward a bank of elevators before he finished speaking. When he did catch up she was ready. “You’re the one with police connections, so find out where Charles is and why I thought the voice was so familiar.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Good.” She kept her gaze fixed on the elevator doors, too upset to think clearly, let alone find the right words to scold him. That lack was not a good sign. Not good at all. Losing her cool tended to cause her to make snap decisions, and history had proven how poor those could be.

  She blew a sigh, disgusted with herself, and concentrated on the problem at hand. Enid’s welfare came first, of course. Then, she’d need to find them both another place to live, particularly if the attacker had been Charles. Even if it was a stranger, he might return, so the smartest move was to leave that apartment and go elsewhere. Third, there was the advantage of getting away from Clay Danforth. As long as they were renting in the same building, he was far too close by. Too handy. Too likely to drop into her life at odd moments the way he had tonight.

  He may have saved my life, Sandy Lynn told herself as the elevator doors whooshed open. May have? She huffed. There was little question that his arrival had turned the tide in her favor. The same went for his defending her at the car outside the apartment building.

  She shut her eyes. Clenched her teeth and her fists. Fought off the sensation of being looked after. Being safe. It wasn’t as all-encompassing as the peace and comfort she drew from her restored faith in God, but it was nice enough to make her blush.

  Two nurses were waiting for the elevator when it stopped on the third floor. Clay politely stood back to let all the women pass, then got off. Sandy Lynn didn’t have to look back to know exactly where he was. She could sense his presence as if they were nearly as in tune as they had been years before.

  Concern for Enid made her wish for Clay’s physical comfort—the touch of his hand on hers, the support of his arm around her shoulders. Concern for herself negated that wish and others like it. She had her reasons, good ones, and wasn’t about to revive a romance that couldn’t go anywhere. There
was no need to reveal the end result of the damage Charles had done to her during that final beating. It was enough that she knew she could never bear children. Her students helped fill the void for the present, and she wasn’t ready to think beyond her teaching years. One thing she had vowed to never do was consider marriage again. Ever.

  Hiding another unwelcome flush of her cheeks by turning away, Sandy Lynn led the way to the nurses station, inquired about Enid and was directed to the surgical waiting room. It was sparsely decorated for Christmas, with a garland of holly and berries atop the line of windows and twinkling white lights outlining them as well as the two entry doors, one at each end. Dog-eared magazines lay scattered on a coffee table, and a pristine Bible waited on an end table in a corner.

  An older woman, knitting, was the only other person present, and by choosing the single chair between her and the end of the row Sandy was able to keep Clay at bay. Although he didn’t look happy about her choice, he positioned himself across from them and watched the doors. That degree of diligence made her shiver.

  “I’m sure we’re perfectly safe here,” Clay told her. “Nobody in his right mind would consider causing more trouble in such a public place.”

  Sandy Lynn huffed. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? If Charles is the one doing all this, he may not be in his right mind.”

  * * *

  Their elderly companion inhaled sharply. “Sorry. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but is there some reason to be afraid?”

  Clay said, “There’s nothing for you to worry about, ma’am,” wishing he fully believed it. He slipped off his jacket, then palmed his cell phone to check text messages. The final one was enough to raise his eyebrows. “Uh-oh.”

  Sandy Lynn leaned forward. “What? Tell me.”

  “It’s not a parole situation the way you thought. Hood was in a group working on highway cleanup. There was an accident nearby and, in the confusion, several of the inmates escaped.”

  “It was him!”

  “They say not, but it’s not a maximum security prison so the situation is worth rechecking.”

  “Do you really believe he’s still locked up, or are you trying to influence me again? Don’t you think it’s better for me to be on my guard rather than feel too complacent?”

  Clay nodded, hoping his aura of calm would rub off on her. Before he had a chance to answer, their elderly companion stuffed her knitting into a tote, got to her feet and prepared to leave. “Unless you two tell me what’s going on, I’m leaving. I don’t care if my poor husband is in surgery. I’m not going to sit here without knowing.”

  “It’s simple,” Clay explained, slowly and quietly. “There was an altercation at Ms. Forrester’s apartment. Her roommate was injured and is currently being treated.” He got to his feet and flashed a card in his wallet, hoping the concerned woman didn’t insist on looking too closely and discover it was for a gym membership, not law enforcement. “Clay Danforth. Springfield Police.”

  “Oh, gracious. This is disturbing. I’m sorry. I simply can’t stay here.” Halfway to the door, she glanced back and said, “I hope your friend makes it.”

  “And you thought I was being irrational,” Sandy Lynn remarked when the woman was gone. “Not hanging around to see if her husband’s surgery went well? That’s...weird.”

  “Yeah.” Clay’s brow wrinkled. Something about the woman’s behavior was off. Not much, mind you, but just enough to raise the hairs on the nape of his neck.

  Standing, he studied the doorway, watching, waiting, thinking. “Stay here for a few minutes while I go see where she went.”

  “Why?”

  “There was something strange about the way that she was acting.”

  “You scared her by talking about the attack, that’s all.”

  “I’m not going far. I won’t leave you. I promise.”

  “I never said I needed company,” she countered. “Go. Do your thing, whatever it is. Now that I know I was imagining Charles’ voice and he isn’t on the loose I won’t worry as much.”

  “You still need to be vigilant in case he sent one of his fellow inmates in his place.”

  “That’s possible since he’s a pathological liar,” Sandy Lynn said. “He may have convinced some innocent party to help him.”

  Highly likely, Clay thought. Allegiances formed in prison tended to be strong, especially if accompanied by a cash payment.

  “True,” Clay admitted, glancing at the wall clock, “Give me five minutes to check with hospital security. I’ll hurry back.”

  “Take your time. I’m fine.”

  What he wanted to say was, Yes, but for how long? Which he wisely kept to himself. After checking the hallway in both directions, he walked quickly to the nearest nurses station. It wasn’t staffed, so he grabbed a phone off a desk and pushed the button labeled Security.

  A laconic voice answered. “Yeah?”

  “Security?”

  “That’s us. What’s up? Is Margie having a fit again?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I want to report a possible threat on the third floor, surgery west. Can you send up a man so I can brief him?”

  “Who is this?” The voice had taken on a harsh tone.

  “Clay Danforth, Springfield Police.”

  “Danforth? What kind of joke is this? My brother-in-law’s on the force, and I know you ain’t a cop no more.”

  “Never mind that. A stabbing victim is in surgery right now, and her roommate needs additional protection until I can get a regular officer up here.”

  “Okay, okay, but this better be on the up-and-up. I’ll radio the man stationed on three and have him meet you in the waiting room. Will that do?”

  “Fine.”

  Just as Clay was hanging up the receiver, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The older woman from the waiting room was speaking to a much larger man dressed in dark clothing. Because the two were standing close together and seemed to be speaking privately, his nerves tingled.

  The woman pointed back down the hall to the nearby waiting room where Clay had left Sandy Lynn and nodded.

  The man whirled and Clay saw that a ski mask covered his face. That wasn’t unusual garb in the winter, but it was odd to have kept it on after coming inside.

  Moving rapidly, the darkly clad figure caught the doorjamb of the small room in one gloved hand and swung through.

  Moments later, already on his way back to Sandy Lynn at a run, Clay heard her start to scream.

  FOUR

  Sandy Lynn backed into a side chair before maneuvering to put it between herself and the man in black. Subconsciously sizing him up and looking for characteristics that would prove he was her abusive ex, she grew puzzled. This guy was dressed like the knife wielder in her apartment, yet something told her he wasn’t the same person.

  One loud scream was all she permitted herself before stiffening her spine and facing him boldly. “Who are you?”

  She watched his mouth start to open as if to answer, but he never got the chance. The sound of boots pounding across the hard floor was followed by a blur of action as Clay Danforth rocketed into the waiting room and tackled the masked man. They both went down. Hard.

  Sandy Lynn expected Clay to pull his gun, and then she remembered that he’d left it out in her car because he was no longer an official member of the police force and firearms were prohibited inside the hospital. She started to lift the side chair, realized it was unwieldy and, instead, circled the struggling men. If Clay started to lose the fight she’d have to step in to help him, of course. Somehow. Hopefully, he’d triumph and she could stay out of it. Battling with fists reminded her too strongly of her unhappy childhood, and she avoided physical confrontations as much as possible.

  Clay was a formidable opponent, skilled and quick, but the other man was larger, heavier, which gave him a slight
advantage.

  Braced to assist her old friend despite their estrangement, she hesitated for seconds that seemed more like hours. Causing pain to another human being was inexcusable, yet the more the men grappled, rolling over and over, the more it looked as if she was going to be forced to step in. Still, she waited, hoping and praying for Clay’s victory.

  The other man landed a punch on Clay’s jaw and his head jerked back. Sandy Lynn took a step forward. Clay’s back was on the floor. The attacker raised his arm again, preparing to deliver another stunning blow.

  “No!” Sandy Lynn leaped forward and grabbed him by the forearm. He threw her aside with a muttered curse.

  She recovered, glad she was still wearing her padded jacket. Clay was faltering and about to receive a thorough beating. That, she could not allow. By this time the adrenaline surging through her system provided enough added strength to easily heft the chair and raise it in front of her, legs pointing out.

  Someone moved quickly into her peripheral vision. It was the elderly woman. “Go get help!” Sandy Lynn shouted. “Hurry.”

  Instead, the woman reached into her tote bag and pulled out a long metal knitting needle.

  “Don’t hurt my friend,” Sandy Lynn shouted. “He’s helping us.”

  The attacker cocked his arm to swing.

  Sandy Lynn’s jaw dropped when she saw the old woman slap the knitting needle into his upraised hand and heard her yell, “Get him, boy. Finish him.”

  Nothing made sense. Watching this scene unfold was like entering a theater in the middle of an action movie and getting all the characters mixed up.

  Only one thing was clear. Clay was about to be stabbed. That was more than enough to spur her to action.

  Once she started the chair swinging in an arc, she couldn’t have stopped its forward path if she’d wanted to. And she certainly didn’t want to.

  The leading leg hit the masked man in the forehead, glanced off his ski mask and shoved the old woman out of the way, while the second and third chair legs connected with the thug’s upraised arm and knocked the knitting needle out of his hand.