Sin & Bone: A Medical Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 2)

by Bette Golden Lamb

  Sitting in the soft leather driver’s seat, hands clenched around the wheel, he tried to stifle the tremors that rippled from head to toe. His breath caught, he choked; two quick puffs from his inhaler and he was able to breathe again.

  “Calm down,” he whispered. He forced himself to slowly inhale and exhale until he was in control. On the move again, he obeyed every stop sign, every red light, the posted speed limits.

  If only he could turn around, go back to where he’d grabbed her and dump her there.

  It was too late for that – she’d recognized him.

  ₪ CHAPTER 3

  Gina’s hand shook as she unlocked the door of her ancient red Fiat Spider. Sitting behind the steering wheel, she was numb, her fingers tingling with fear. The caller’s words repeated and repeated in her head – cutting, killing.

  Get going, Mazzio. Harry’s waiting for you.

  But she sat frozen in the seat of the Fiat, staring at the dashboard.

  Most days she was tough enough to stand up to any challenge that fell into her court by the mere act of forcing her body into motion. Movement could catapult her through most problems. But she knew the toughness was just a veneer, created long ago to camouflage her insecurities. At the core lived a little girl, no different today than when she was a scared kid growing up in the Bronx – run from danger, keep your fists up high, fight as dirty as it takes to escape. Inertia was the enemy.

  So why was she just sitting here?

  Because a few menacing words had stripped away her armor, stripped away the cover-up that said she was strong, that fooled her into believing she was safe.

  It took only one disturbing telephone call to reveal what she was really made of – hot air. There was no getting around who she really was -- a terrified woman on the run from a dark memory.

  That alone had been a good enough reason to move to the West Coast. But the geographic escape had also given her hope, provided an opportunity to define herself and find some kind of peace.

  At least that had been the plan.

  Her stomach cramped as the black memory blossomed. She tried to shove it back into the past where it belonged, to squash it, to snuff it out. She breathed deeply, squeezed her sweaty hands together, and hurriedly looked around at the deserted streets where predators could be hiding in any alley, behind any wall. It had been the same kind of night then, a night like this – damp, forbidding. Only worse because it was a Bronx winter night with piles of dirty snow on the ground.

  * * *

  Gina and another nurse always shared a ride to Jacoby Hospital. But the Bronx facility was short-handed that night; she was fast-talked into an extra four hours, and lost her ride home. The threat of another snowstorm was in the air but she’d decided to walk back to her apartment anyway. It was only a couple of short miles and she needed time alone to come down from all the tensions of the day.

  She was in a particularly good mood, had the next two days off, and much to her relief, Dominick was going to hang out with a bunch of his drinking buddies, go down to Atlantic City to gamble. She planned to meet a friend and go to the Metropolitan Museum, maybe even take in the Museum of Modern Art, where a traveling exhibit of Toulouse-Lautrec’s work was getting smashing reviews – mostly his popular bigger-than-life posters of brash women. She’d always felt more of a connection to Lautrec’s prostitutes than with the delicate female portrayals created by most artists of that era.

  When she arrived at their apartment building, exhaustion hit her hard as she climbed the four flights of stairs. Dominick was standing in the doorway, holding a beer bottle by the neck, slapping it repeatedly into his palm.

  “Where the hell you been?”

  Alcohol fumes polluted her space; she wanted to turn tail and run. He quickly yanked her through the doorway and flung her into the living room. Off balance, she stumbled, smashed her head against the coffee table, and crashed to the floor. An explosion of light assaulted her, everything became blurry.

  Her husband’s voice was low, tense with anger. “Tell me why I shouldn’t bash your fucking head?” He threw the beer bottle across the room; it shattered against the wall, splashing beer everywhere.

  She started to scream, but he backhanded her into silence. She tried to see his face, to plead with him, but everything became lost in a haze. Sound diminished until all she could hear was his incoherent shouting and her hammering heart. She squirmed on the icy-cold floor, trying to get away. Dominick ripped off her panties, fell on top of her and rammed himself deep inside.

  “That’s the last decent fuck you’re ever going to get,” he said as he rolled away.

  She heard a crash, then pain ripped through her. Red, orange electric flashes of searing fire burned from deep within.

  She screamed and screamed until everything shut down.

  A buzz of frantic voices broke through: “Stop the goddam blood! Get me more packing! Dammit, she’s gonna bleed out!”

  “Help me,” Gina whispered.

  “She’s awake!”

  Someone took her hand. “We’ve got you, Gina.”

  “Who?” She tried to open her eyes, started drifting away. Words were running together, fading.

  “Asshole … broken beer bottle … she’s not gonna make it. get her to the OR … now!”

  * * *

  Neighbors had heard her screams and called 9-1-1. Otherwise she would have bled out on the apartment floor.

  It had taken two days, six units of blood, and two surgeries for the medical staff to put her back together. They even saved her uterus, though being able to have children was still an unresolved issue. But she knew it was not likely.

  Her breath caught between uncontrollable sobs. Could she ever rid herself of the terror that Dominick would find her now that he was out of prison? Could she ever rid herself of the fear of being totally helpless again? Could being with Harry finally make her feel safe?

  She wiped her tears on a sleeve. A spike of anger stiffened her spine. She pulled a business card from her purse, bit down hard on her lower lip, and punched the phone number into her cell.

  “San Francisco Police Department.”

  “Detective Mulzini, please,” she said, looking at his card. He was the only cop she knew by name.

  “Sorry, ma’am, he’s off duty for the next few days.”

  Gina paused, unsure how to proceed. “I need to speak to someone about a telephone incident.”

  “Obscenities?”

  “No, no! Worse than that. Weird, scary stuff. Someone might even be dead.”

  “A possible homicide?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you want Detective Yee. Hold on a sec.”

  Gina tapped a finger on the steering wheel, thinking about the wheezing voice. It made her jumpy. She listened again for any signs of life near her car. It was quiet around the hospital. By now the day staff was either in a favorite hangout, getting a head start on the weekend, or curled up with a good book and sipping on a glass of wine.

  “Detective Yee here,” said a female voice.

  “Yes, hi! My name’s Gina Mazzio. I work…I’m an advice nurse at Ridgewood General.”

  “Would you spell that, please?”

  “What, Ridgewood?”

  “No, your name.”

  “Mazzio. M-a-z-z-i-o.”

  “And what can I do for you?’

  “About an hour ago I had this call on the advice line that was really disturbing.”

  “And you say you’re a nurse?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about this call?”

  Gina could tell she didn’t have the detective’s full attention. She pictured the cop sitting with a take-out dinner, just waiting to get her off the line.

  “The man who called said a woman had been … sliced.”

  “I see.”

  Right then, Gina knew Yee didn’t see, didn’t believe, didn’t care.

  “When will Detective Mulzini be back in the office?”

>   “He’s not going to be much help to you. He and his wife are off to Hawaii for the next week.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “’Fraid you’re stuck with me.”

  “Is there anything you can do?”

  “Well, tell me, did you get a name or call-back number? Anything that could help us identify the caller?”

  “No. He hung up on me.”

  “And you expect me to do what?”

  “I was hoping there might be something.”

  “Without more information, Ms. Mazzio, there’s nothing we can do. I’d say you were a victim of some loser starting out his weekend with a crank call.” She paused. “There’re plenty of those around.”

  ”I thought that, too, at first. But, if you’d heard him—“

  “I’m sure it was scary. But you haven’t given me anything to work with.”

  “I see.”

  “Listen, if he calls again, give me a call. How long you gonna be there?”

  “I’m already off work, calling from my car.”

  “Wish I could be of more help, but this kind of thing’s pretty hard to track down.” She paused. “Let me mull it over. Call me if it happens again. Okay?”

  “I suppose it’ll have to be.”

  Gina started the Fiat and drove off into the darkness, her mind racing far ahead of every intersection. The detective hadn’t believed a word she’d said.

  If she and Harry weren’t getting married tomorrow, and out of town until Wednesday, she would have talked to her manager first thing Monday morning, or even now. But Lexie Alexandros was also going away for the weekend, might have left town already.

  She glanced at her watch. Late. She wondered if Harry was back from his travel assignment in Denver. If so, he was probably pacing the living room. wondering where she was. She sped up and gave a sigh of relief as she turned onto her street and, miracle of miracles, a car pulled away from the curb in front of the apartment building. She nosed into the empty space, avoiding having to do the dreadful parallel parking thing.

  When she entered the lobby, Harry was standing by the elevator, suitcases on the floor. “Great timing,” he said, giving her a huge grin.

  She ran toward him and launched all 5’10” of her into his arms.

  Harry squeezed her, nuzzled her neck. “Hey, beautiful, I wasn’t gone all that long. Just another out-of-towner.” He leaned back and looked straight into her eyes. “I sure did miss you, though.”

  “And I was afraid you’d be upstairs wondering what the heck happened to me.” She buried her fingers in his black hair and tousled his curls.

  He looked at her with dreamy blue eyes. “If you don’t stand on your own two feet soon, we’re both going down for the count.”

  She loosened her hold and allowed her feet to slide to the ground. He tightened his grip on her waist.

  “I’m so glad you’re back,” Gina said. Tears rolled down her cheeks; she pulled a tissue from her pocket.

  “Hey,” he said, pulling her into the elevator, “what’s going on?”

  She tapped the button for their floor. “I’ll tell you upstairs.”

  * * *

  “So, how was Denver?” Gina asked. They sat at the dinner table, bathed in the glow of candlelight. From the time they’d sat down, she’d merely picked at her food.

  “Another fiasco, but then what else is new?” He reached across and took her hand. “That’s not really important. Tell me what’s got you so upset.”

  “Later.” She still couldn’t talk about it. “I want to hear about your two-week stint in the Mile-High city.”

  He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, let out a deep groan, and put down his fork.

  “As usual, I couldn’t keep my big mouth shut – dared to question the ICU manager about her out-dated protocols for sepsis,” he said. “She all but told me to shove it and shove off. ‘What does a traveling nurse know anyway?’” He gave Gina a brilliant smile. “But the mountains were spectacular, covered with fresh, glistening snow. It was so pristine. I kept wishing you were there with me.”

  When she didn’t respond, he looked at her plate of pasta, which she’d still barely touched. “Hey, you usually like my Italian. Now I know there’s something seriously wrong.”

  Gina quickly stuffed a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth, chewed, then smacked her lips. “You’re the best Italian cook in the world. Next to me, of course.”

  She dipped her garlic bread into the sauce and took a big bite. She knew the concoction had its origins with an off-the-shelf brand that had been tastefully enhanced by Harry’s own combination of herbs and spices. It was pretty good ersatz Italian.

  “You’ve become even more adept at changing the subject than I am,” he said. “If you don’t want to talk about whatever it is, just say so.”

  Gina shrugged, took another bite of spaghetti, and started collecting their plates.

  “So, that was it with the ICU manager?” she asked as they rinsed off the dishes, put them in the dishwasher.

  “Unfortunately, no,” he said. “Actually, I sort of pulled a Gina.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  He ran soapy water into the pasta pot and swirled it around with a brush. “I did what I thought needed to be done.”

  “Oh-oh!”

  Harry kissed her cheek. “Anyway, instead of a reprimand, I got bamboozled into going before the hospital’s Future Health Care Committee, jumped right in and told them how inadequate their provisions were for the community’s underprivileged. And I suggested that maybe the docs should step up to the plate and become more vocal if they wanted to see any real change.”

  “Are we the only ones who actually think a change in health care for the poor is going to happen?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Don’t know why you go to meetings like that. It’s always talk, talk, talk. Nothing ever seems to get done.”

  “Yeah, but just think about it: Out on the road, I get a nice variety of bureaucratic bullshit, while at Ridgewood, you get the same old crap over and over. How boring is that?”

  Gina stretched and headed for the living room. “Let’s have some music to soothe the savage breast.” She set the player on random after selecting a number of their favorite CDs.

  “You got Santana on there?” he asked.

  ”That and some Gato Barbieri.”

  Harry leered at her. “Ah, wild romance to a Latin beat.”

  Gina smiled, but avoided saying anything about their plans for the next day.

  “I’ve seen that look before, Mazzio. You aren’t going to do it again, are you?”

  “Do what?”

  “C’mon! Regina and Bill have gone to a lot of trouble to make things happen.” He straightened the scatter of magazines on the coffee table, a little more forcefully than necessary.

  “I know,” she said. The Latin beat floated through the small apartment.

  Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down onto the teal-blue sofa they’d recently found at a garage sale. He tossed the purple throw pillows on the floor and nodded at the print of Chagall’s Lovers in the Night that hung over the sofa.

  “I still think that’s a portrait of us,” he whispered.

  They kissed until Harry pulled away. “I missed you, beautiful, and I really want to talk about our wedding, but before we do anything, you have to tell me what has you so down.”

  It took a moment for her to get the words out. “Something happened; it triggered some old memories. That’s all.”

  “The woman I ate dinner with tonight is not the woman I’m planning to marry tomorrow. My fiancée would have given me a half-hour discourse, with flying hands, for God’s sake, in a lousy Bronx-Italian accent about my hybrid spaghetti sauce.”

  He tilted her chin; they gazed into each other’s eyes. “Now tell me what’s going on. Please!”

  She struggled up from the sofa and walked to the window. Rain was coming down hard again, cascading from the eaves and rushing furiously into the street.
The streetlights made it look as if someone was pouring water from a huge bottomless bucket.

  “I spoke to a crazy man today.”

  “A man? I thought most of the nutcases you spoke to in Ob/Gyn were women.”

  “Ha, ha! Aren’t you the cute one?”

  Harry held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to be my usual humorous self.”

  “This guy wasn’t funny. He said a woman had been cut into pieces.”

  Harry rescued a pillow from the floor and tossed it back onto the sofa. “Come on, Gina. He’s not the first nitwit who’s tried to get his jollies by shaking you up on the phone.”

  “True. And it takes a lot to get to me, really get to me. But this was different.”

  He moved next to her at the window, slipped a hand into hers. They both watched the rain and wind tear at an umbrella a woman was struggling to close before dashing into an apartment building across the way.

  “You should have heard his voice, Harry. He was having so much trouble breathing it intensified everything he said. Made it even creepier.”

  “Why would he call a female advice line?”

  “Wish I knew.”

  Harry wrapped his arms around her, crushed her to him. “I haven’t seen you so wrought up, so troubled since the last union negotiations.”

  “I wanted to let Lexie Alexandros know about it, but she was gone at five … on the dot. I tried the hospital’s Security Hot Line. And guess what? It was busy. I even tried Administration, if you can believe it.”

  Gina said in a falsetto voice, “‘Ridgewood General’s administrative offices are closed for the weekend. Please call back during regular business hours.’”

  “I felt like I was the only one left, not only in the clinic, but the entire hospital.”

  “What about the police?” Harry said.

  “All I had was a wild story to tell, with no facts to back it up. Besides, I’d had it. I needed to get out of there. I called the cops on my cell in the Fiat and the detective I talked to treated me as though I was mentally challenged. She basically blew me off.”