The figure entered the office and at first scarcely glanced in Mallory’s direction. After a moment, he did a double-take and studied her in more detail.
“Doctor Oswald,” said Cline, “I’d like to introduce you to FBI Agent Mallory Wilson.”
“Pleased, I’m sure,” said Oswald. Turning to Cline, he asked, “Do you have those charts you mentioned in our call yesterday?”
“Yes,” said Cline, handing Oswald a pile of records two inches thick. “Agent Wilson, this is Doctor Reginald Oswald, a research scientist. He works with some of the patients in our hospital.”
“Really? What exactly are you researching, Doctor Oswald?” asked Mallory.
“Therapies for intractable GI—Gastrointestinal—diseases.”
“Doctor Oswald is a world leader in the field,” said Cline.
The doctor grinned sardonically. “Not to hear Powell describe it. Well, I really must be going. It was nice meeting you, Agent…?”
“Wilson,” supplied Mallory. “Likewise, Doctor Oswald.”
After Oswald left, Mallory turned a questioning head to Cline. “Powell?”
“Andrew Powell is a competing GI doctor—works across town at San Cristobel General. He and Doctor Oswald have competing theories and go after the same federal funding, so there’s not much love lost between the two. I’d say Doctor Oswald is winning both contests.”
Cline guided Mallory to the pharmacy and ensured she had access to the appropriate records to begin her investigation. Mallory settled into her work, conscious of the staff’s questioning glances but unable to satisfy their curiosity.
“Okay,” she murmured to herself as she accessed the pharmacy’s records. “Let’s just see what kind of tale these records will tell.”
CHAPTER 7
Scrubs drove slowly through one of the seedier neighborhoods of downtown Washington.
“Don’t let them rip you off this time,” Jeanette had warned as he departed.
“Easy for her to say,” he grumbled to himself as he recalled the admonition. “She ain’t the one dealing with these guys. They’d just as soon kill you as take a piss.”
Scrubs hated doing these deals. But between his penchant for street drugs and Jeanette’s proclivity for shopping at the trendiest stores, their finances constantly teetered on the edge of ruin. The sale of patient narcotics provided a financial lifeline the couple desperately needed.
Scrubs decelerated and pulled his aging LeBaron into Leroy’s driveway. He glanced around before leaving the safety of his car. Those three guys at the corner were gang members, but he’d seen them around before and hadn’t had any trouble with them.
Stepping out of his car, Scrubs approached the front door and knocked. Leroy appeared within seconds, opening the door for Scrubs to enter. He wore an uncomfortable, vague expression.
“What’s the matter, man?” asked Scrubs. “You don’t want my stuff?”
“No…it’s cool,” replied the buyer, snapping back into the moment. “What you got?”
Scrubs rolled down his sock and withdrew a small package wrapped in cellophane. He showed the contents to Leroy, and the two haggled over the price for several minutes. During the negotiation, Scrubs noticed Leroy glancing nervously out the front window several times.
“Why you keep looking out the window?” asked Scrubs. “You expecting company?”
“No, man. We’re all right.”
They finally settled on a price. Scrubs handed over the package, and Leroy counted out several hundred-dollar bills. Anxious to leave, Scrubs rolled up the banknotes and bound them with a rubber band.
After stuffing the cash into his pocket, he made for the door and called over his shoulder, “I’ll let you know when I have something else to move.”
“All right, man. Don’t keep me waiting. My boys don’t like that.”
Scrubs stepped into the bright sunshine, and the dilapidated screen door banged shut behind him. As he climbed down the porch steps, a black Cavalier accelerated from the curb across the street and screeched to a halt directly in front of Leroy’s house.
Without warning, the occupants of the Cavalier leveled an ominous array of handguns out the car’s windows and directed a fusillade of firearm rounds towards Scrubs. A car alarm began to sound down the street, and the screams of local residents were just discernible above the din of the melee.
Thankful his assailants hadn’t exited the safety of their Cavalier, Scrubs instinctively leaned over to present a smaller target. He began running for the LeBaron, but in his haste to pull out his key ring, he dislodged the money roll from his pocket, sending it tumbling down the sidewalk. Bullets screamed overhead as he bent down to retrieve the bankroll. One of the rounds severed a small tree branch over his left shoulder, and the limb brushed his face as it fell.
Scrubs swiped up the wad of cash and sprinted in a half-crouch towards the front of his car, aiming to keep it between himself and his attackers. Before he could reach the cover of the LeBaron, though, a ricocheting round passed through his right forearm, sending a flash of white-hot pain radiating throughout the limb while a quick stream of blood began flowing from the wound’s angry gash. As he ducked behind the car, another slug grazed his cheek. “Dammit!” he yelled.
To remain behind the protective shield of his vehicle, Scrubs entered it from the passenger side. As the incoming blitz continued to pound in, Scrubs hunched low in the passenger seat to avoid presenting a profile to his attackers. While the last fragments of the rear window shattered from the impact of multiple incoming rounds, Scrubs snatched a Ruger from his glove box and crawled to the driver’s seat. He crooked his right arm through the crumbling glass of the driver’s-side window and began to blindly return fire. He couldn’t tell if he hit anything, but a pause in the maelstrom of incoming gunfire provided the break he needed to start the vehicle, accelerate backwards out of the driveway, and careen down the street.
After putting several blocks between himself and the attackers, Scrubs patted his pocket. The money was still there, thankfully. The searing pain in his forearm throbbed in time with his frenetic heartbeat. He tried to use an old towel to stem the flow of blood from his arm wound, but the makeshift tourniquet was too small to stay in place. Although the gash on his cheek stung madly, it didn’t appear to be more than skin deep.
He couldn’t risk stopping for help with the wounds; that might raise too many questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. He decided to head home, praying that the mounting waves of dizziness wouldn’t grow too much worse before he made it back.
Scrubs pulled into his driveway. His LeBaron resembled an outgunned tank after battle. It was pockmarked with holes, the left rear tire was flat, and all the glass except the windshield was cracked or missing. A tendril of steam rose from beneath the hood, suggesting a damaged radiator hose.
Scrubs staggered into the house and called for his wife.
“My God! What happened?” asked Jeanette, rushing to her husband’s side and leading him to the bathroom.
“Ambush. They were waiting for me to leave with the money.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Some local gang who got wind of my deals with Leroy, I guess. They probably figured they’d make some easy money robbing the outsider.”
They reached the bathroom. Jeanette washed both wounds with peroxide and bandaged the arm wound with one of the many rolls of gauze she periodically carried home from work after accidentally leaving them in her lab coat. She used a large Band-Aid on Scrubs’ less-serious facial abrasion.
“I know it hurts,” said Jeanette, “but it’s really not that bad. The round in your arm went clean through and didn’t hit any major structures. It should heal up pretty well. And your face will be fine, too.” After pausing a moment, she continued. “So what are you going to do about the stuff I bring home from work? You can’t sell it to Leroy anymore, can you?”
“I guess not. Not at his place, at least. I’d really rather just work with a w
hole different buyer, but I don’t know anyone else who moves this kind of stuff. I’ll have to think about that one.”
“Well, don’t take too long to decide. The bank will foreclose on us while you’re thinking,” said Jeanette as she applied the last strip of adhesive tape to his arm. She promptly moved into the den and turned on the television.
After moving into the kitchen to retrieve a beer, Scrubs lit a cigarette and drew heavily from it. He exhaled and took a long draught of Pabst. He stared into the next room, his wife’s profile silhouetted against the flickering images of the television screen. It’s too bad she’s not as worried about me getting shot as she is about the goddamn mortgage.
CHAPTER 8
Nancy Goins emitted a passionate cry, long and animalistic. Dennis’s simultaneous groans were quieter but of the same intensity. They separated and lay on their backs, panting and sweating.
After a minute of silence, Nancy finally spoke. “Wow. That was…amazing.” She rolled over and gazed into her companion’s eyes. “How’d you learn to do that, anyway?”
“From you, I think,” said Dennis with a grin. “Hey—I could ask you the same question.”
“Ken won’t be home for a few hours,” said Nancy. “We don’t have to rush.” She didn’t want their time together to end.
Later, as they began to dress, Nancy’s mind drifted back to the first meeting with Dennis, her counterpart at Oak Manor, Stokely’s other hospice. When Serenity had opened for business two years ago, Dennis had met with Nancy regularly to help her get the new facility up and running. Over time, they had inevitably become a bit more acquainted. She had admired his friendly, intelligent nature and willingness to take time out of his obviously busy schedule to help her. She had admired his physique, too, but had expected to keep that observation to herself. That is, until he had surprised her one day at the conclusion of a late-afternoon office meeting.
“Nancy, would you like to continue discussing the hiring plan over dinner?” he had asked.
She had eyed him narrowly, but his countenance had betrayed nothing beyond a cordial business demeanor. What harm could it do?
“I guess so. Did you want to bring some take-out back here?”
Dennis had laughed. “I admire your dedication to work, but I was thinking of something more like Anna Maria’s. Would that be okay?”
Nancy loved the Italian restaurant. She wasn’t sure what to make of the offer but couldn’t see any harm from accepting. Ken was on a business trip, as usual. He wouldn’t care. “Okay. Can I meet you there in an hour or so? I’d like to go home and change.”
“Sure. How about seven-thirty?”
“That sounds great. I’ll see you then.”
Upon arriving at their table, they had chatted about Nancy’s plan to staff Serenity with two more nurses. They had then moved the conversation to the comfortable, superficial topics typically bantered about in the office.
After ordering drinks, Nancy had studied Dennis for a moment. “I hope I’m not taking you away from your family for too long.”
“I…um…don’t have a family. That is—I did until three years ago. That was when Grace, my wife, died.”
“Dennis, I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay,” said Dennis, studying the table for a moment. “Grace and I were trying to have kids. When she couldn’t conceive, she went to see an OB/GYN. That’s when we found out she had stage two cervical cancer.
“She made it four more years. We tried everything, including some experimental stuff at the end. Nothing helped. Finally, she just…slipped away.
“You never really get over something like that, you know? You just figure out how to get out of bed each day, whether you want to or not. Eventually, I discovered that putting in long hours at the office helped me focus my mind on something else—at least until I got home.
“Geez, what a cheerful companion I am,” he had said with a shake of the head. “Tell me a little about you.”
“I was just thinking about your comment on throwing yourself into work,” Nancy had replied. “I never thought about it before, but I guess I’m doing the same thing.”
“You don’t have anyone waiting for you at home, either?”
“I do. Well, sometimes I do. Ken, my husband, is a marketing executive for Harris & Faber.”
“The advertising company?”
“Yes. He travels for work a lot. And when he’s in town, more often than not he’s out schmoozing with clients or other members of his firm.”
“That must be tough on you.”
“It is, but you know what? It’s harder when he’s home.” Dennis’s raised eyebrow had asked the unspoken question. “Ken is a charmer. We started off strong, but over the last few years, he’s drifted away. We just don’t feel connected any more. I guess I’ve turned to my work at Serenity as an outlet, too.” She hadn’t intended to share so much. Somehow, the words had just spilled out.
Dennis had swallowed. “I used to think being a widower was the most terrible kind of isolation a person could experience. After hearing this, though, I’m not sure which is worse: the loneliness you feel when you’re alone, or the loneliness you feel when you’re not.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
At the end of the meal, Dennis had nervously asked, “So…would you like to get together again sometime? I mean…like this, not just at Serenity?”
Nancy thought again about the nights Ken was on the road or with friends. Those nights seemed to be more common of late, and spending time with her had long ago fallen off his priority list.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
They began meeting regularly. Several months later, it happened at the end of another dinner at Anna Maria’s. At the conclusion of the meal, they had reached for the check simultaneously, and Dennis’s hand had somehow ended up on top of hers. Rather than drawing back, he had closed his fingers around hers. He had looked up at Nancy, eyes wide, as a drowning man might look towards one throwing a safely line that offered the only chance of life.
“Come home with me,” he said, swallowing.
Nancy had wordlessly nodded and followed him as if in a dream. That evening marked their first occasion of intimacy. That first time, they had started out slowly, each unfamiliar with the other’s preferences. Before many weeks had elapsed, though, Dennis knew more about her desires than anyone living.
Dennis took Nancy to heights in a way Ken never could. At first, Nancy had simply enjoyed the exquisiteness of the experience. Over time, though, she began to contemplate the difference between the two men. She soon realized Dennis’s advantage lay in his apparently greater concern with her pleasure than his own. His ability to touch her in all the right ways inspired in Nancy an ever-growing desire to please him, resulting in a hedonistic contest in which they were both winners.
And yet, as Nancy ended these reminiscings in the hotel room, she realized her relationship with Dennis was—in the long-term—untenable. They must either move forward or backward. She couldn’t walk the razor’s edge of infidelity forever, even with a husband as disengaged as Ken.
“Dennis…” Nancy didn’t know how to proceed. “I need to know about us.”
“Us?”
“Yes, our future. Do we even a have a future? Or are these…meetings all we’ll ever have?”
Dennis seemed both surprised and pleased. “I thought you just wanted to have fun on the side. You know…friends with benefits.”
“I did at first, but after a while I started to feel different about all this. I want more. I thought you should know the truth. I hope I’m not scaring you off.”
“Not at all. To be honest, I’ve been having the same kind of thoughts and fears—thoughts of feeling differently about you, and fears that you’d bolt if I told you so.”
Nancy raised her head, and gazed into Dennis’s soft, brown eyes.
“I’m starting to view you as more than just a friend,” he said.
Nancy’s heart quickened,
and she felt a warm flush wash over her body. “How much more?”
“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure…but I’m becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the prospect of a future without you in it—not just the occasional rendezvous, I mean, but all the time.”
Nancy experienced the pleasure of realizing the goal she had considered at best a remote possibility was already at her doorstep. But her excitement diminished as she considered Ken, knowing her husband would never agree to a divorce. She wondered how all this could be worked out.
Dennis wrapped his arms around her. “Nancy, I don’t know how all this is going to unfold, but I do know that I…I love you.”
Nancy could scarcely trust her ears. Had he truly just said he loved her? She laid her head on his chest, and wondered how she could live without him.
TUESDAY, JULY 10
CHAPTER 9
Returning to Atlanta after his weekend visit with Mallory and Beverly Wilson, Alton had resumed his normal work routine. As he drove to work on Tuesday, he contemplated his better understanding of the men of Mallory’s past, an understanding which couldn’t help but highlight his importance in securing her future happiness. He promised himself he would use this better understanding for Mallory’s benefit. If she decided she wanted him to take up permanent residence in her life, he would justify her trust with an unwavering commitment.
Upon arriving at Kruptos, Alton wound his way through a maze of cubicles and settled into his office to begin the workday.
He received a mid-morning call from David Dunlow, who, like Alton, had served as an Army officer in Afghanistan. David now worked for the Secret Service in Washington. Besides Mallory, David had been Alton’s closest friend in Kabul. Among the circle of fellow soldiers, David had been the cutup of the group, unilaterally assigning Alton the nickname of “Al.”
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