"You're not like Dad, Con." Sean's voice vibrated with suppressed emotion. "You're stronger than Dad was. And you're kinder, too."
Connor took a gulp of his coffee and groped around for a change of subject. The coffee itself was always a handy culprit. "Christ, Sean, how did you make this stuff so strong? It's corroding my gut."
"That's the scotch, bozo, not my coffee. Let's coat it with some food," Sean said. "Go shower while I make you some lunch."
"Don't coddle me," Connor snapped. "I can take care of my—"
"Take a shower, and put on one of my shirts. None of your limp, faded crap. You want the world to think you're sane and well-balanced? Start by shaving and combing your hair."
When Connor came back down to the kitchen, he was freshly shaven and dressed in a crisp denim shirt he'd found in Sean's closet. His brother ran a critical eye over him, and nodded. "You'll do."
Connor grunted and sat down. They honored a tacit agreement not to tear open any more raw, unspeakable topics, and since there was nothing to talk about except madness, murder, love, heartbreak, and God only knew what else, they concentrated on chewing and swallowing Sean's grilled ham and cheese sandwiches in silence.
Sean shrugged on his leather jacket afterwards. "I cooked, so you do the dishes," he announced. "I'm going to go track down Davy. We have to start turning over some rocks about that murder rap."
"Stay out of it," Connor snapped, as he followed him out to the car.
Sean dug for his keys. "Yeah, sure. As if. You should find Erin, now that you've shaved. Talk to her. Lay on that old McCloud charm."
"Charm, my ass. I sprout hair on the back of my hands whenever I get near her. Besides, she's busy with the filthy rich art fiend who wants to drape her in jewels and take her to Paris."
Sean's jaw sagged in dismay. "What? And you just let her go? Where do you keep your brains, Con? In a box under your bed?"
"She wouldn't let me go with her," Connor snarled. "Get it through your thick skull! She doesn't want me, so I can't follow her around. It's against the rules. It's called stalking. Crazy guys stalk women. I'm making a big effort not to act crazy right now. Do you follow me?"
Sean looked pained. "Yeah, but letting her go see a guy who's waving tickets to Paris? Jesus, Con. That calls for desperate measures."
"Don't get me started," he growled. "I've been going over it all night. At least she's not alone, for all the good that does. Tonia would probably cheer Mueller on. Hell, she'd probably propose a threesome."
"Tonia Vasquez, you mean? Erin's bodacious nurse friend?"
Connor stared at him, startled. "How do you know about Tonia the bodacious nurse? I never told you about her."
"I met her this morning when I dropped off Miles. She was talking to Erin's mom. Beautiful tits. I recognized her, you know."
"From where?"
"From the clinic." Sean gave him a funny look, as if it should be obvious. "She was a nurse there when you were in your coma. You know I never forget a face. Or a chest, for that matter."
"The clinic? Tonia worked at the clinic?" The net started to widen in Connor's mind, scooping up shifting, darting thoughts. Sifting and sorting, searching for patterns.
Sean's eyes narrowed as he recognized the look on his brother's face. "Hold everything. What's going on? What's with that look, bro?"
"Erin met her about a year ago," Connor said slowly. "What a coincidence, huh?"
"Uh… wait a sec. Are we still freaked out about Novak? Didn't you tell me Luksch is in Europe, and Novak got blown sky-high yesterday? Have we turned that page, or what?"
"Don't start with me, Sean."
"I'm not!" Sean protested. "Just help me out here! I need to know where we stand before I can figure out what to do."
"I know that, goddamn it!" Connor exploded. "That's been my problem from the start! I don't know where I stand! I don't know what's real anymore! I can't trust my eyes, my ears, my instincts, nothing!"
"OK. I had my tantrum, and you're entitled to yours," Sean soothed. "I'm going to talk to Davy and Seth. You just sit tight. Try not to think. You always fuck up when you think too much. If you see any apparitions from beyond the grave, call me. And stay out of trouble."
Connor tried to laugh. "That's my line. To you."
Sean got into his Jeep and rolled down the window. "Yeah. It's weird to be the one to say it to you for a change. Later, bro."
He watched the Jeep leap down the rutted driveway. The bit of data that Sean had dropped so casually echoed through his head.
Hell of a coincidence, that a nurse who worked at the clinic while he was in his coma should strike up a bosom friendship with Erin. There was no connection that made sense. No one had any reason to know a year ago how interested he was in Erin Riggs. Her mother had guessed it, his brothers had known it. No one else.
His skin prickled. He felt it happening. Marching orders taking form inside his mind from an authority he couldn't gainsay. He was going back to the clinic, to find out more about this Tonia. Now.
He was Crazy Eamon's boy, flesh and blood and bone. If this meant he was nuts, so be it. It would drive him even more crazy to resist that inner force. He couldn't go against his own nature.
He ran into the house. He was trembling with wild energy. He strapped on his ankle holster with the .22, stuck the SIG-Sauer into his pants. He threw on his coat and bolted for the car.
He was going to catch hell for not washing the lunch dishes. It was a cardinal rule to leave the kitchen clean, but this was a special case. The Cadillac wallowed and fishtailed in the gravel. It finally leaped into action, bouncing heavily over the ruts.
He was diving headfirst straight back into his paranoid fantasy, and anybody who didn't like it could go fuck himself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"I cannot believe it," Tonia scolded. "I simply cannot believe you are dressed like that to go to Mueller's house. You're as white as a ghost, and even if you weren't, that washed-out gray is all wrong for you. And your hair. Save me. The scraped-back peeled-onion look is too severe for your face. What is wrong with you?"
Erin stared down at her lap, too tired to react. "Don't bug me, Tonia. I had a really bad night. I don't want to look pretty. I was shooting for respectable when I got dressed. That's all I ask of myself."
"You should have called me! I would have come over and done an emergency salvage job," Tonia fussed. "Nothing raises the spirits better than a quickie makeover, chica. Some magic eye gel, some cover-up, some foundation, a little blush—"
"I'm not interested in Mueller. I don't want him to be interested in me. There is no reason for me to make a fuss over my looks today."
Tonia shot her a cold glance. "Well! Excuse me."
"Sorry," Erin said miserably. "I didn't mean to snap."
"What's happening with your boyfriend?" Tonia demanded. "Is he the reason you're so pissy?"
Erin's jaw began to shake. "I think it's over."
"Who dumped who?"
Tonia's harsh choice of words made Erin flinch. "I think… I think that I dumped him."
"You think?" Tonia rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're not sure?"
Erin pressed her mouth against her hand. "I can't talk about it."
"Oh. That bad, huh? Frankly, I'm relieved. The guy was way, way too intense for my tastes. I mean, the first time I met him he was holding a gun on me, for God's sake."
"Maybe so." She dashed away stray tears and thanked heaven she'd done without mascara. "But let's have this conversation some other time. Like, six months to a year from now might be better."
Tonia sniffed. "God, you're sensitive. So what's wrong with Mueller? Is he repulsive or something?"
Erin held her eyes wide open, hoping they would dry out. "Not at all," she said dully. "He's pleasant. Nice looking, intelligent, cultured. There's nothing wrong with him. Nothing that I can put my finger on."
"He's just not Connor McCloud. That's his only flaw, right?"
Erin closed h
er eyes. "Tonia. Please. Could you just this once give me a break? I'm begging you. On my knees."
"I'm not saying this to bug you!" Tonia protested. "I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this! Mueller is such a big break for you, Erin. It drives me crazy that you're not taking advantage of—"
"I don't care about Mueller!" Erin yelled. "I don't give a damn about his collection, or his donation, or the museum! I could give a shit! About any of it! It's all just a stupid, meaningless game!"
"Ah. Well. Excuse me for caring," Tonia said. Her voice was clipped and chilly. "If you feel this way, why are we going to Mueller's house at all? I do have other things to do with my time, you know."
Erin dragged a Kleenex out of her purse and blew her nose. "Because I said I would." Her voice was flat and colorless. "And no other reason. I've got nothing else left to steer by. Everything's breaking down, falling apart… All I've got left is my word. So I'll by God keep it."
Tonia snorted. "Oh, spare me the melodrama, please."
Tonia's derisive tone was the final blow. Erin's face crumpled.
Tonia swerved into a gas station parking lot to the angry blare of several horns, and killed the engine. She pulled Erin into her arms. "Oh, come down off your high horse for a minute," she soothed.
"I feel so bad. I can't stand much more of this, Tonia."
"I know you can't." Tonia's voice was soft and hypnotic. "Of course you can't. And you won't. You'll see."
Erin didn't want her goopy nose to leak over Tonia's white linen suit, but when she tried to pull away, Tonia just pulled her back down.
"You know what this means, don't you?" Tonia said. "This means I get to fix your face. No matter what you think of Mueller, you've got to go in there with your head high. You've got to show some attitude."
"Whatever," Erin said wearily. "Fix my face. Do your worst."
Tonia started pulling hairpins out of Erin's bun. "We'll start with the hairdo," she said briskly. "It's hateful, and it must go."
Erin sniffled and tried to laugh. "Thanks, Tonia."
Tonia pulled her into an embrace so tight, the back of one of Erin's stud earrings stabbed into her neck. She gasped at the sharp pain, and tried to extricate herself from Tonia's grip.
Tonia hung on. "It'll be over soon, Erin," she crooned. "I promise."
Connor shoved the glass doors open and strode over to the clinic's front desk. He had to struggle to control the trapped feeling that came over him. There had been times when he would've gladly chewed off a limb to get out of this place. Not that the staff wasn't great. They'd all done their best for him. And oh, good, there was Brenda, one of his favorites. A heavyset lady in her fifties was behind the reception desk, peering at a computer through gold-rimmed half-glasses.
"Hi, Brenda," he said.
She looked up at him blankly, and then her eyes lit up. "Connor McCloud! Why, look at you!" She scurried out from behind the desk and gave his face a maternal pat. "You're looking good, honey! What brings you in here? Just come by to say hello? I'll have to call your PTs. JoAnn and Pat worked with you, right?" She reached for the phone. "I'll just buzz them and—"
"Actually, I'm not here to visit. I'm in a hurry." He was sorry to cut her off, but he was too edgy to shoot the breeze with the clinic staff. "I came for some information. You'll have to tell JoAnn and Pat hi for me. I'll drop by to see them sometime. I'm doing pretty good. Those months of torture paid off."
"They sure did, you handsome devil. What did you need to know?"
"I'm looking for information on a nurse who worked here during the period I was in the coma," he said. "Her name is Tonia Vasquez."
"Hmm. Doesn't ring a bell, but this is a big place. Tell you what. I'll buzz Annette. She does admissions up there. Maybe she'll recognize the name." Brenda dialed. "Hi, Annette, it's Brenda. Guess who I have standing in front of me? Remember Sleeping Beauty?… Yep, in the flesh. Cute as can be. He's got a question for you. Could you pop down, or should I send him up?… OK… Yeah, tell me about it, honey. I'll send him on up, then. Thanks a bunch."
She hung up and waved Connor toward the elevator banks. "Third floor, left out of the elevator, then take the first left again, and you'll find her in the glassed-in internal office."
"Thanks, Brenda," he said fervently.
Annette's office wasn't hard to find. He knocked at the open door. A tall, smiling black woman in her forties hurried over to greet him. "Well, hey! Connor McCloud! Looking good!"
He shook her hand, smiled, and did as much of the chitchat routine as his nerves could handle before he blurted out his question.
Annette's brow furrowed. "I don't remember anybody of that name, but I'll beep Geoffrey. He's in staffing. He knows everybody in the clinic, and their great-aunt's birthday, too." She punched the number into the phone. "If anybody will know, it's Geoffrey."
Conversation lagged while they waited for Geoffrey to respond. Annette gave him a cheery smile." And how's your lovely girlfriend doing?"
He was frozen into total immobility. "Excuse me? My what?"
Annette hesitated, wide-eyed and wary of a gaffe. "I was just asking about your, ah… girlfriend."
"I don't have a girlfriend. I sure as hell didn't have one then."
Annette blinked. "She came so often, I just assumed—"
"Who came to see me?" he barked. "What was her name?"
Annette's face stiffened. "I don't recall her name. And I don't appreciate being spoken to in that manner."
He let out a long, slow breath through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry, Annette," he said carefully. "Forgive me for snapping at you. I shouldn't have. Could you describe this girl to me, please?"
Annette was mollified, but still suspicious. "She had long brown hair and a lovely smile. She was always dressed in a suit. She came on her lunch hour and read books to you. She signed in every day. I suppose I could look for some old registers, if you're so curious—"
"Please," he said. "Please, Annette."
She went into an adjoining room and rustled around for a minute. She came back out burdened with two thick three-ring binders and dumped them on the desk in front of him. "There you go. Be my guest."
He opened the book at random. The name practically leaped out into his face. Erin Riggs.
He turned the page. There she was again. He flipped over another page. Every time, his eye fell right onto her graceful cursive script, as if pulled by a magnet. Erin Riggs, Erin Riggs, Erin Riggs. His heart was galloping. He riffled through the pages rapidly.
Every goddamned day.
"Did you find what you're looking for?" Annette asked.
He looked up at her. Something naked and desperate in his eyes made the frosty hauteur fade out of her face, to be replaced by cautious concern. "Yes," he said. "More than I was looking for."
A chubby young man with a receding hairline swept into the room in a cloud of flowery aftershave. "Hello, beautiful! I saw your number on my pager, but since I was headed here anyway, I thought I'd just—"
"Do you remember Tonia Vasquez?" Connor demanded.
Geoffrey gave him a blank look. "Who are you?"
"Connor was one of our patients a while back," Annette explained. "He's looking for a nurse who worked here sixteen months ago. I thought you might remember her. That's why I beeped you."
Geoffrey exchanged quick glances and nods with Annette. "Tonia Vasquez? Yes, of course I remember Tonia. You said sixteen months, though? Wait a second." He leaned over the computer. "Can I close out of this document and access the database, Annette, o light of my life?"
"Mi computer es tu computer, cupcake," she responded.
Geoffrey typed with blinding speed, tapping and scrolling. "Here we go. Very strange. Her employee status is still current, but it shouldn't be, because Tonia moved down to San Jose over three years ago. She wanted to be closer to her daughter and her grandchildren."
"Grandchildren? No way! This woman is in her twenties!"
Geoffrey shook his head. "The
only Tonia Vasquez who ever worked for us was pushing sixty. Lovely woman. Odd about the employee status. Must be a glitch in the system. I wonder if she's still getting paychecks. Wouldn't that be a howl? I'll have to call payroll and check it out right away."
"Uh, yeah," Connor said.
Somehow he managed to shake hands and thank them for their help. He sprinted down the hall, knees wobbling. He'd thrown out his net, and instead of darting fish, a writhing sea monster had boiled up out of the depths. And Erin had chosen Tonia to accompany her to Mueller's lair. No, Novak's lair. He was convinced. There was no time for the luxury of self-doubt. Erin's life was on the line.
He ran past the slow elevator. He would take his chances with the stairs. He groped for his phone, but there was nothing in his pocket.
Of course. He'd given the phone to Erin, she'd turned it off, and he didn't know where she was. Again. God. It was like a bad joke.
There was a pay phone in the stairwell. He dug for change, and plugged it in with shaking fingers. He tried Erin, for the hell of it. In vain. He was the last person on earth she wanted to talk to.
But she'd come to see him during the coma. Every goddamn day.
He pushed it away. Later for that. No time to process mind-boggling revelations right now. He dialed Seth.
"Who the hell is this?" Seth snapped.
"It's me. Look, Seth, I've got an emergency—"
"Why is your phone turned off? And why are you calling me from a land line? I can't scramble you on a land line!"
"I don't have time for this, Seth. Listen to me. Novak's not dead."
Seth was silent for a moment. "Uh… I heard it was confirmed," he said cautiously. "How do you figure?"
"Erin's best buddy Tonia posed as a nurse at the clinic when I was in the coma. She must've used the employee ID of a real nurse who retired three years ago. I'm at the clinic now. I just found out."
Seth grunted. "OK. Whatever. I'll buy it. I'd rather hunt Novak with you again than have you be crazy. You got a plan?"
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