All looked well and safe. Katy kept a neat house.
Leslie checked and rechecked that every window and door was locked. All curtains in the living room and on the entire front of the house —including the two bedrooms and bath —were drawn. As she walked around, she prayed for Carla. For Tanya. For all that would take place here. God, let Carla somehow see the clear truth of You, not the muddiness her own choices have made You to be.
The sun was setting. After clearing away Carla’s coffee cup —the roast beef sandwich remained untouched —Leslie turned on the porch lamp, then lights in every room of the house. When night fell, there would be no darkness here.
At 6:25, they heard a car pulling up to the curb out front. An engine cut, the slam of a door. Leslie sidled around the couch to the front window and edged back a drape.
A woman hurried up the sidewalk toward the porch, clutching a purse, fear and relief hunching her shoulders, dread cross-stitching her face.
Leslie turned to Carla. “She’s here.”
Carla nodded, then started to shake.
SIXTY-NINE
Tony’s cell rang at six-fifteen. Paul Jilke was on his way from the airport and needed directions.
It would take every bit of willpower Tony possessed not to choke him on sight.
Ten minutes later Jilke turned into the Mexican restaurant parking lot, driving a white Ford Explorer. Tony slipped out of his Taurus and climbed into Jilke’s car.
“Well, there’s the mighty hunter.” Jilke’s sarcasm screeched like nails on a chalkboard.
“Where’s my wife and son?”
“Oh, they’re fine, fine.” Jilke waved a hand. “Being watched over. And fed. You do your job here, Tony, and they’ll be none the worse for wear.”
Tony’s blood boiled. Kidnapped, held against their will — and none the worse for wear? He thrust his heels against the SUV’s floor, jaw tightening.
Jilke shifted in his seat. Ah, so ever-in-control Paul Jilke was finally nervous. Tony felt a righ teous satisfaction at that. Those two women must be one powerful threat.
“Tanya Evans hasn’t been found yet.” Jilke knocked a knuckle against the steering wheel. “We’re following her credit card. She uses it, we’re on her. Meantime” — he pointed toward the dealership — “this guy’s our man. I feel it in my bones.”
“Yeah? What if your bones are wrong and the kid just goes home? All the hours you had me sitting here will be one royal waste.”
Jilke glared at him. “He knows something, count on it. Wherever the guy takes us, we follow. After I get through with him, he’ll tell us everything he knows. And some things he doesn’t.”
They waited. Watched car salesmen come in and out of the showroom, meeting people who wandered onto the lot. Blond Boy appeared and greeted an older couple. Soon he was leading them from car to car. A blue sedan seemed to interest them in particular. Eventually the three of them moved into the showroom.
Minutes stretched on, people coming and going into the Mexican restaurant. Jilke said little to him, and that was just fine by Tony. Any more of his arrogance and Tony just might have to shove his teeth down his throat. Jilke’s phone rang numerous times, his “men” checking in. Apparently they had no information on Tanya Evans. With each call, Jilke’s anger grew. By the time Blond Boy got off work — whenever that was — Jilke would be downright toxic.
At 7:45 Blond Boy walked out of the showroom with the couple, shook their hands. The woman got into the car in which they’d arrived. The man headed for the new blue Chrysler sedan, a bounce in his step. Tony and Jilke watched him drive it off the lot and down Sprague.
“One for our side,” Jilke sneered.
Tony said nothing. High and mighty Jilke thought he knew so much. About desk jobs, maybe. But how often had he done his own dirty work on the streets? In fact, the sale was one for their side. A deal at the end of the day would make the kid happy. Help him forget the afternoon’s unfortunate occurrence. On the way home he’d be a little more relaxed, a little less cautious. Thinking his rotten day had turned out decently after all.
Too bad for him. His rotten day had only begun.
SEVENTY
Carla used her iced ankle as an excuse not to get up to greet Tanya. Truth was, she doubted her legs would hold.
Tanya hurried over the threshold as she and Leslie exchanged quick greetings. Leslie closed the door and bolted it. Then leaned against it, hands cupped, looking from Tanya to Carla as if not sure her presence would now be wanted.
Gazing over the half wall, Tanya drank in the sight of Carla as if she’d waited for this meeting for years. Her breathing came fast and fluttery. She dragged fingers through her hair, mouth open, but no words coming. Carla wouldn’t have recognized her. The nurse she remembered was young and golden-haired, a little chunky, with a compassionate, round face. This woman looked thin and worn, her jawline sharp. Deep crow’s feet at her eyes and trenched smile lines made her look older than her —what — fifty years?
Carla couldn’t speak. One hand gripped the couch cushion, the other hugging the part of her where Rebecca had once grown. I can’t do this, I can’t do this! As if her world hadn’t been ruined years ago, then turned upside down again yesterday. This woman would now break it in two. Carla knew — knew — what Tanya would tell her. And she could not bear to hear it.
“Carla.” Tanya breathed her name, already making her way around the low wall and into the living room. She crossed halfway, then stopped.
“Hi.” Carla felt like she was wrapped in gauze. This couldn’t be real. Maybe she was dreaming this. Maybe she’d dreamed the entire last twenty-four hours.
Tanya angled toward an armchair by the half wall and perched upon it. Leslie pushed away from the door. “Can I get you some water, Tanya?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Tanya’s gaze did not leave Carla’s face.
Leslie moved into the kitchen and opened a cabinet. Picked up a glass.
Carla pulled in a breath, crossed her arms. “You’ve driven a long way. I imagine you need to use the bathroom.”
“Yes. Actually I do.”
“It’s down the hall.” Leslie leaned over the long counter and pointed. “Second door on your left.”
“Thank you.”
Tanya headed down the hall. Carla watched Leslie put ice in the glass, fill it with water. She brought it into the living room and placed it on a small table by the chair. Then looked to Carla, biting her cheek. “What do you want me to do? Stay with you? Go into another room?”
Carla focused on the burgundy-colored carpet at Leslie’s feet. The scene felt so surreal. Where was the earthquake? The crack in the heavens? Sixteen years of hiding her terrible, soul-wrenching secret — and it all came down to this. A revelation in some stranger’s living room.
Leslie’s feet blurred. Carla blinked hard, then raised her eyes. Before this night was over, the guilt would kill her. If she’d made different choices, her daughter would be alive today. “You sure you’re ready for this, Leslie? Because it isn’t pretty.” Carla’s voice was thick.
Leslie nodded.
“Okay, then, you asked for it. The story of my life in a nutshell.” She took a deep breath. “When I was sixteen, I clerked for Bryson Hanley. He seduced me into having an affair. I got pregnant. The baby died at birth.”
Leslie’s jaw loosened, then dropped. Her eyes rounded. She pulled back her head, gave it a small shake of disbelief.
“Tanya was the nurse in the delivery room.” Carla saw Tanya appear in the hall, stop at the entryway tile. Her eyes were bright. She had been crying. How good of her. She should be crying rivers of tears. “The nurse who was so kind to my face. Who I trusted.”
Carla pushed herself up on one elbow. Her gaze locked with Tanya’s, even as she continued to talk to Leslie. Her throat squeezed until words could hardly pass. “The doctor told Tanya the father was Bryson Hanley. Senator Hanley, who feared he had so very much to lose, even then, by the birth of that baby. My b
aby.”
Carla’s gaze shifted to Leslie’s wide-eyed face. “Now she’s here to make a ‘confession.’ At the same time someone connected to Bryson Hanley is trying to kill me.” Sickness rose in Carla’s stomach. “Now tell me, reporter Leslie, the gal with the nose for news — what do you suppose she could possibly have to confess to me? The nurse who helped Dr. Hughes — Hanley’s old friend and confidant — deliver my baby? The healthy, perfect baby who died while I was asleep.”
Leslie’s face drained of color. Disgust flattened her forehead. Slowly she looked to Tanya.
A cry seeped from Tanya’s throat. She flung herself into the living room, across to the couch, and sank to her knees before Carla.
“No, no, you don’t understand!” Tears fell in fat drops down her face. She brought up both hands, fingers laced in a desperate plea. “And you have to know who Dr. Hughes was. He was the chief of staff at the hospital, the head doctor. And like a father to Bryson Hanley. Dr. Hughes ordered everybody around, and everybody obeyed. The whole hospital ran by his word. Nobody questioned him, ever. And who was I? A young single mother who loved being a nurse. I never wanted to do what he forced me to do, Carla, and I almost didn’t. But I had no choice. He won my silence, because Dr. Hughes always won.”
Leslie teetered to the armchair and sank into it. Carla couldn’t move. Tanya knelt one foot away, head down, shoulders shaking. Like a penitent. Close enough for Carla to lay a hand on her head and soothe her, as for so many years Carla had longed to be soothed. No way. This woman had smiled in Carla’s face — while she let them kill Rebecca. And for what? Just because of “who Dr. Hughes was”? Rage and grief knocked through Carla. Well, get this, world. The charade was over. Make no mistake — Carla Radling would keep quiet no more. This woman would pay.
Most of all, Bryson Hanley would pay.
Tanya choked off the tears and lifted her head. Grim determination settled over her face. She shifted off her knees and sat on the floor, a strand of hair caught on her wet cheek. “I am so sorry.” She searched Carla’s face. “I’ve carried this for years. The guilt was so strong, I fell into depression. Quit nursing within a year and never went back. I know this is nothing compared to the pain of losing a daughter, nothing at all. But I want you to know it changed my life too.” She inhaled a shuddering breath.
“Now it’s time I told you the truth . . .”
SEVENTY-ONE
Tanya clenched her jaw as sixteen-year-old Carla Radling thrashed. Head thrown side to side, moaning, legs churning against the delivery room bed. And the worst of her labor was yet to come. Carla was only four centimeters dilated, with contractions five to six minutes apart, but in the last two hours, the pain that lashed her body had brought her no closer to giving birth.
Tanya gripped Carla’s fingers. “It’s all right. This one’s almost done now.”
Soon the girl’s writhing slowed, then stopped. Carla swallowed hard and gazed at Tanya, her deep brown eyes full of fright. “How much longer?”
Tanya tried to smile for her. “It’ll be a few hours yet. But we’ve paged the anesthesiologist. Once you have an epidural, it’ll be so much better.”
Carla’s brows knitted with weariness. “How long before he comes?”
Tanya’s heart panged. This young girl was so brave even in her fear. Sixteen was too young to give birth.
“Soon, I hope.”
In truth, it would be longer than that. This was no big Seattle facility. At the small Terrin Hospital anesthesiologists were hardly a dime a dozen. And the one they needed right now was tied up in surgery.
And where was Dr. Hughes? The man had come in and out of the room twice, looking harried, mind elsewhere. Not that he was needed yet, with so little happening. Still, Carla should have the comfort of knowing her doctor was near. She wasn’t some woman in labor with her fourth child. She was no more than a kid.
Carla licked her lips. “I’ll be okay. This is for Rebecca. I can’t wait to hold my baby. Seems like I’ve waited forever.”
Before Tanya could reply, Dr. Hughes strode in. He went immediately to the bottom of the bed to examine Carla with a mere “How we doing here?” Tanya bit back her disapproval. What was wrong with him? He usually had far better bedside manner. He could have held Carla’s hand for a minute, looked into her eyes. Let her know he saw her as a person, not just a pair of spread legs and uterine contractions.
Dr. Hughes felt around, then pulled back, holding his gloved hand out from his side. He shook his head. “She’s not progressing fast enough. I want to start Pitocin.”
He moved toward the door with a jerk of his head for Tanya to follow. Silently, she padded out behind him. She had her reservations about the Pitocin. It would be given intravenously, monitored until contractions came more frequently. That would still take awhile, but it could also mean some very hard labor. Speedy dilation came with a price. Tanya wanted to make sure the anesthesiologist would show before it was too late.
In the hall, with the door to Carla’s room closed, Dr. Hughes spouted his orders. When she started to question, he cut her off with a finger pointed in her face. “Get the IV — now.”
Seething inside, Tanya scurried to obey. Nobody crossed Dr. Hughes. Soon Carla was hooked up to a bag. The monitor indicated the baby was doing fine.
The Pitocin worked. Over the next hour and a half, the contractions increased. Carla was barely hanging on. Her fingers dug into the bedcovers, sweat standing on her forehead. “Please, please, please,” she sobbed. “I can’t stand it. Do something!”
Tanya wished she could take the pain for her. When the anesthesiologist finally showed, Tanya nearly cried. The epidural brought fast relief to Carla. She eased back against the pillows, breathing hard. Shivering started. Epidurals affected some patients that way. Tanya did her best to keep her comfortable.
“Soon.” She stroked Carla’s arm. “Soon you’ll be a mom. Rebecca is a beautiful name.”
“I know.” Exhausted, Carla gave a feeble smile. “Rebecca.”
A contraction set in. The monitor showed its progress and peak. Carla, numbed below the waist, watched the screen, clearly feeling nothing. When it passed, she focused on Tanya. “Please tell me the pain won’t come back. I thought I was going to die.”
“It won’t. We’re watching your medication, and we won’t let it.”
Tanya left Carla for a moment to visit the waiting room at the end of the hall, telling Carla’s very worried boyfriend that she was doing better and in no more pain. His gratitude nearly brought fresh tears to her eyes.
Back in Carla’s room, Dr. Hughes hurried in, all business. He greeted Carla distractedly, said he and “Nurse Evans” had to step outside for a minute. Before Tanya knew what was happening, he’d guided her all the way down the hall into a private office and shut the door. He gestured toward a chair. “Sit down.”
Tanya sat, her heart tripping double-time. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good. Had she done something wrong? Her thoughts fled to her seven-year-old son, Curt. She couldn’t, couldn’t lose this job.
Dr. Hughes stood by the door, hands clasped, feet apart. The white coat, the grayed hair of his sixty-plus years, the furrows in his forehead were as Tanya had always seen him. But the raw grimness on his face scared her to death.
“What’s about to happen stays here, understand?” He raised his eyebrows for emphasis. “I won’t have to spell out the consequences if it doesn’t.”
He stabbed Tanya with a stare. She managed a nod.
“Good. We have little time, so I want you to listen to me, then do what I say.” His words came clipped and low. “In a little while I will be calling Bryson Hanley’s wife to tell her that tests I took this morning have indicated she needs to come in immediately for a C-section. She’s three weeks early. She came into my office for an exam this morning, mentioning she hadn’t felt the baby kick in a while. I was concerned enough to do the ultrasound myself. It appears the baby is dead.”
Tanya
’s jaw unhinged. “Oh, no.” Like everyone else, she had followed the Hanley’s happy story of pregnancy after so many years of trying.
“I managed to distract Catherine enough that she didn’t realize what was happening. I wanted to inform Bryson first, let him break the news. No question it would devastate Catherine. I told Bryson we should take the baby as soon as possible, but at the moment I had to hurry and get back here to check on Carla. Bryson hadn’t known she was in labor.”
Tanya frowned. Why should it matter? Did he know Carla?
A shadow crossed Dr. Hughes’s face, as if he was about to speak the unspeakable. He swallowed — and in that horrible moment, Tanya had a crazy thought.
No. No way. Bryson Hanley, protector of the family and children, could never do such a thing.
“At the news about Carla, Bryson decided not to tell Catherine her baby is dead.”
Tanya could hardly breathe. Her mind filled in the horrific blanks. No, no, no. This couldn’t be. But she saw the truth. As much as she and all the other staff at Terrin Hospital kowtowed to Dr. Hughes, he served the state’s Golden Boy. She pictured the scene. The serendipity of fated timing turning over in Bryson Hanley’s brain. The dawning idea of salvation for him and his wife. His silver-tongued words to convince the doctor . . .
Dr. Hughes’s jaw flexed defensively, as if he saw her horror. “As soon as Carla’s baby is born healthy and well, I will call Catherine and tell her the ‘tests’ indicate her baby may be in danger and should be taken now. Everything will happen very quickly and with as few people knowing as possible. I will insist on that, saying it’s to protect the senator’s privacy. I will use the largest operating room — you’ll soon see why. Carla will be medicated — nothing to hinder labor, but to make her woozy at the birth. Catherine will be under full anesthesia. You will bring Carla’s baby to the Hanleys and take Catherine’s baby away.”
Crimson Eve Page 21