Double Indemnity

by Maggie Kavanagh

  The hit man pushed him forward. Sam stumbled, aware of the gun pointed straight at his back as he entered the chaotic living room. The assholes had upended all of the boxes Nathan had packed, strewing their contents everywhere—household items, clothes, pictures with broken frames. Sam tried to look purposeful. He nudged a broken vase with his foot before kneeling down. The movement made him dizzy. Behind him, Petersen and the hit man argued with each other, making it impossible to concentrate.

  He had no idea what time it was. Rachel would worry if he was late for dinner, but he wasn’t sure she would call the police. God, he hoped not. His only chance of escape was to distract them long enough to head for the door… and then what? From the sound of the wind howling, the snowstorm had only worsened along with the shitstorm in the house.

  Sam remembered his truck was in the driveway, and the other two had likely parked on the back orchard road and come on foot. If he could get to his truck and start it without getting shot, he’d probably be okay. But that was a big “if.” His only hope lay in distraction.

  “You don’t know where nothing is,” said the hit man to Sam. Another blow shattered his concentration and sent him crashing to the floor. Something wet and warm ran down the side of his face. “We were stupid to listen to you. Richard, get him up.”

  Sam clung to the stapler he’d found in a dismembered box of office items. He tried to think, but his head was throbbing, turning his brain to marshmallow.

  And that’s when he noticed the orchids.

  All of them had been ripped out of their pots. They lay scattered throughout the other debris, their fibrous roots exposed and torn. The porous soil darkened the carpet. He picked up one broken stem and tried to focus on it. Emma’s beloved plants had been completely ruined, and for nothing.

  Or had they?

  The orchid he’d given to Lisa, Emma’s favorite. It was a complete long shot, but could that orchid have a hidden secret?

  Don’t overwater the soil.

  The hit man’s eyes were keen. He nudged Sam with his boot.

  “You have seen something? What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  Another strike, this time to his temple. Blood pounded in Sam’s ears, and pain bloomed and clouded his thoughts, blotting out everything else. He dropped the plant. His vision swam, and his shoulder protested in agony as the hit man yanked him to his feet. Sam dropped the stapler when Petersen twisted his hands back behind him and tied them again. The barrel of the gun dug into his spine. He closed his eyes and waited for whatever pain would come next. He hoped against hope death would be swift and that someone would take care of his brother.

  “Shit.” Petersen cursed. Sam’s eyes flew open at the word. “Get down.”

  Sam thought he might be hallucinating. Lights beyond the house appeared first, and then he heard men yelling. Someone flipped him unceremoniously onto his back and onto his bound wrists. His wounds screamed in protest. He tried to push himself upright but only managed to flip onto his belly and wriggle like an inchworm away from the fray. He couldn’t lift his head. The air got cold as the storm burst into the room.

  There were men in SWAT gear, and Sam dimly recognized one of them. Or he thought he did. His head hurt.

  More yelling. Guns fired and someone fell down next to him. There was a ragged hole in the guy’s skull, and blood and brain matter spattered out of the oozing wound and onto the carpet. Rich Petersen was dead.

  Sam vomited before he lost consciousness.

  Someone touched his head, right near the place where it hurt. It didn’t feel good, but he liked it anyway. The touch was nice. Gentle. He opened his eyes.

  “Jesus, Sam.” It was Nathan. “Thank God you’re alive.”

  “Nathan?” He tried to make his mouth say something else but the words didn’t come. Nathan wore a dark blue jacket with the words “FBI” written across the chest in big white letters. He had on a woolen winter hat. Behind him, people were moving and doing things, but Sam didn’t care. He blinked slowly. The vision didn’t go away. Nathan was here and not in jail. He had Sam’s head in his lap, and he looked worried.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Sam nodded, but it hurt.

  “You’re okay, but you have a nasty laceration to the scalp, which is why it’s bleeding so much. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too, which is why it’s so hard to keep your eyes open. I’m going to have to ask you to stay awake, okay? No matter how much you might want to sleep. Can you do that for me?” Sam nodded again. His feet were cold as icicles.

  “Okay. We’re going to go to the hospital and get you stitched up.” Nathan smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hands were covered with blood.

  “Nathan—” Sam started. Petersen’s body had been concealed with a sheet. A large puddle of blood spread underneath it and across the floor.

  “Shh. We’ll talk later, once you’re all taken care of, okay? It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

  “Nathan, the plant. Listen.” He tried to think of the word he needed to say.

  A frown turned down the corners of Nathan’s mouth. He spoke in hushed tones to another man wearing an FBI jacket. “It’s worse than I thought. He’s not making any sense.”

  The other man peered down at Sam with a serious face. “Let’s get him on a stretcher.”

  “The orchid,” Sam finally managed. That was the word. He smiled. “Lisa’s orchid.”

  Chapter 17

  THE DOCTOR who stitched Sam’s head made him drink a little carton of orange juice. He didn’t particularly like orange juice, but he did it anyway, hoping they’d let him go home if he cooperated. His stomach protested at the juice. He’d been sick several times since his arrival at St. Mary’s, an effect of the concussion, the doctor said.

  Nathan had disappeared after helping to load him on the stretcher. Sam wanted to ask where he was, but he still wasn’t sure which strangers he could trust.

  “You’re going to have to stay here tonight for observation.” The doctor, who looked startlingly like an older Shaquille O’Neil, flipped through Sam’s chart. “We’ll get you transferred to a quieter room.”

  “I don’t want to stay here.” Hospitals weren’t really his thing.

  “With this storm, no one’s going anywhere. And it’s only a precautionary measure. Tomorrow morning you can go home, as long as you promise to rest up for the next few days. You should be fine.”

  The doctor called a nurse, who brought a wheelchair and helped Sam into it, though he insisted he could walk.

  “You’ve got some pretty worried friends out in the waiting room,” the nurse told him. “Once we’ve got you all situated, we’ll send them up.”

  Sam could only imagine. Rachel would be furious with him for driving to Nathan’s in the first place. He hated to think he’d ruined her dinner. And Yuri would give him shit for poking his nose where it didn’t belong. Sam smiled. He’d been so close to never seeing his friends again, he was almost looking forward to being yelled at.

  They didn’t yell at him, though. Yuri and Rachel hovered like nervous hens while their significant others lurked in the background, as if afraid to intrude by coming too close. Rachel sat on the edge of the bed, watching him with wide eyes, and brushed his face with the back of her hand. Sam tried to pretend he wasn’t disappointed not to see Nathan.

  “That bad, huh?” Sam asked her.

  “You have a helluva shiner. Two, actually.”

  Sam touched the gauze bandage wrapped around the top of his head.

  Yuri frowned. “Does it hurt?”

  “They numbed it to stitch it up, so not really. I think it probably will, though.”

  “You scared the shit out of us, Sammy.” Yuri had to be worried if he was using cutesy nicknames. Sam chuckled. His brain seemed a little less foggy.

  “What’s so funny?” Rachel looked from Sam to Yuri.

  “I was thinking this would have been a great Halloween costume. I feel partially mummified.�
��

  “Yeah. Well, maybe you can put a beard on and be a badass Santa,” Michael offered from the other side of the room. “Scare the crap out of some little kids.”

  Sam smiled at Yuri. “You know, I like him. He gets to stay.”

  They talked about the dinner he’d missed—Rachel’s famous brisket and Alex’s latkes—before Sam finally managed to turn the topic back to the events of the night.

  “So, how did you know I was here?”

  Rachel and Yuri exchanged a glance, and Sam saw a whole conversation pass between them—they’d obviously agreed not to broach any serious subjects with him until they decided he could handle it. Sam groaned.

  “I’m fine, you guys, seriously. I’m not used to being pistol-whipped, that’s all. So, what happened I don’t know about?”

  “Sam, this can wait until—”

  “No. I want to know.”

  Yuri finally relented. “You were late for dinner. So, when you didn’t answer your cell, we called Shady Brook, and they said you’d left a couple hours before. I figured you went back to your place, but you still didn’t answer. The snow was coming down at that point, so we started to get worried.” His tone said they’d been concerned about more than Sam driving in the storm. His state of mind the past couple of weeks hadn’t been exactly cheerful.

  Rachel spoke next. “And then Alex had the idea that maybe you’d gone to see Nathan, so we called the county jail to ask, and they told us Nathan had been released. They weren’t going to tell me any more, but you know me.” Sam nodded. He definitely did. “I demanded to know where he’d gone. They told me to call the police department, so I did. Nathan was there.”

  Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “I still don’t know all the details. Nathan was worried—he was worried about you—and he was talking really fast. It seems the FBI had some sort of surveillance on his house, and he said you were with Rich Petersen and some other guy, the guy who killed Emma. He insisted he was going to get you out. But with the storm, well, I could tell he was worried he wouldn’t get there in time.”

  Yuri cleared his throat. “He told Rachel he’d call her, and he did about an hour later. That’s when he asked us to meet you here.”

  A dull ache started to throb at the base of Sam’s skull. The unexpected news of Nathan’s release and his role in Sam’s subsequent rescue didn’t seem real.

  “Where is he now?” Even in a room full of his best friends, he wanted Nathan nearby. It had been so long since they’d seen each other.

  Another shared glance. “I don’t know,” Rachel said. “He was here for a second when they first brought you in, but he didn’t stay. I figure he probably had some things to take care of down at the station.”

  Rachel kept looking at Yuri, obviously holding something back. “What?” Sam asked.

  Yuri spoke reluctantly. “Petersen is dead and they arrested the other guy, Hoffman or something. And, I’m sorry to tell you, Sam, but it looks like Chief Sheldon was involved. He’s been arrested too.”

  Sam blinked as the words sank in. Sheldon’s involvement had become apparent back at Nathan’s house, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. Hearing a trusted friend confirm it to be true was even worse.

  “I just don’t understand.” His voice sounded dull in his ears.

  “I know, baby,” Rachel said. “But I’m sure Nathan will be able to fill you in when he comes back. Rest for now, okay? You must be exhausted.”

  “We could all use some sleep.” Alex massaged Rachel’s shoulders.

  Rather than chance the drive home in the blizzard, Sam’s friends decided to camp out in the hospital room until the snow let up or someone kicked them out. The nurses didn’t seem to mind, and no one bothered them. Sam was glad for the company, save for the way Rachel or Yuri kept waking him every hour on the hour to keep tabs on the concussion. He didn’t sleep deeply. Every time he dozed off, he saw the blood-soaked carpet and Petersen’s oozing brains. He dreamed that Sheldon stood over him with a gun and scolded him for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. And Sam woke with a start, heart pounding, at the sound of his desolate laugh.

  The cold gray dawn began to stake its claim on the room. Alex and Rachel were curled up together on the other bed, and Michael was slumped asleep in a chair. Yuri, however, was awake, and he looked like he hadn’t slept all night.

  “Hey,” Sam said, his voice gravelly.

  “Hey.”

  “Thanks for staying.”

  “It’s no big deal.” Yuri stood and patted his arm.

  None of the others stirred. Sam kept his voice low. “I know I haven’t always been the best friend, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being selfish and treating you like shit.”

  “Damn. They must have hit your head pretty hard after all.”

  “Shut up. I’m trying to be serious. It’s not just a cliché, you know. That whole life-or-death thing makes you think. And I’m grateful you’re my friend.”

  “We’re family, Sam. You know that.”

  It was true, after all. Some people were born with family, and some people found family along the way. He didn’t deserve Yuri’s loyalty, but maybe now that he had a second chance, he could try to earn it.

  “Aww, boys,” Rachel said, whispering over Alex’s sleeping head. “You’re so precious, I want to puke.”

  “Don’t give me any ideas,” Sam groaned.

  Soon after, everyone else started to stir, and grumblings of hunger arose in the room. It looked like the storm had ended, leaving Stonebridge under a nearly two-foot blanket of white. Yuri and Rachel promised to dig out the car and come back for Sam once the doctors approved his release. Rachel kissed him on the cheek. “We’ll be back for you later.”

  “Where’s my truck?”

  “They told us it’s still at Nathan’s, probably buried under the snow. We’ll have to get it another day.”

  “Well, then, I’ll get a cab. It’s fine.”

  “Absolutely not.” Rachel frowned. “Cabs aren’t even running. I think you should come and stay with me and Alex for a couple of days.”

  “I could take him home,” another familiar voice added. Rachel stepped to the side, and Sam saw Nathan standing in the doorway, still wearing his FBI gear. So it hadn’t been a dream. He gave Sam a tentative smile, and Sam’s heart skipped a beat. “I mean, if you want. I don’t mind.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, smiling helplessly back. “Sounds good.”

  Rachel put her hands on her hips. “Perfect.” She leaned down and whispered in Sam’s ear. “Damn, he’s fine.” But before she could embarrass Sam further, Yuri grabbed her around the waist and dragged her toward the door.

  “We’ll talk to you later, okay, Sam?”

  Sam rolled his eyes at them. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “We want to hear everything,” Rachel said.

  “Well, maybe not everything,” Michael added.

  Once they were alone, sounds of laughter fading down the hall, Nathan approached Sam’s bed. “You have some pretty great friends there.”

  “Yeah. I’m lucky like that.” Sam couldn’t stop staring, but he didn’t feel self-conscious since Nathan seemed to be doing exactly the same, taking in everything from head to foot.

  “How are you feeling?” Nathan’s eyebrows knit together.

  “My head hurts worse than a hangover after a week-long bender, but given the circumstances, not bad. Better than the other guy. Did you find it?”

  Nathan nodded and regarded Sam with something like wonder. “We found a plastic bag with a flash drive in the potting soil, just like you said. I can’t believe it was there this whole time and I had no idea.”

  “Emma was sneaky.”

  “She was brilliant.”

  Sam struggled to sit up. He felt strange talking to Nathan from the business end of a hospital bed.

  “So what was on it?”

  “Everything I hoped. But I can’t get into it right now. I’m actually expected back d
own at the station in a few.”

  “They told me Sheldon’s been arrested.”

  “He has. Yes.” Nathan’s face didn’t give anything away. “I know you cared for him. I’m sorry.”

  “He was my father’s friend.” Sam waited for the anger, hurt, and betrayal to kick in, but he only felt numb. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years, preferably in the same bed as Nathan. He wondered if that was still a possibility, or if what Nathan said before still held though the danger had passed.

  “Sam, I—”

  Someone knocked lightly on the open door. The same doctor Sam had seen the night before poked his head in. “I’d like to give the patient a quick examination before he’s released.” Sam nearly groaned aloud in frustration at being interrupted.

  Nathan swept his hand through his hair. “Should I go outside?”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  The doctor examined Sam’s pupils and checked his reaction time, then wrote some notes on his chart. He smiled. “Looks good. Your concussion was severe, so no drinking or driving for a few days, especially not together. Rest up and don’t run any marathons. Okay?”

  Sam nodded. The doctor left and Sam got dressed, keeping the scrub shirt he’d been given and discarding his old one, which was covered in blood. Nathan came back into the room.

  “Did that doctor—” he gestured toward the door.

  “Exactly like Shaq, am I right?”

  Nathan chuckled and nodded. “They’re signing your release form.” He approached the bed and squeezed Sam’s shoulder affectionately.

  Sam looked up at him. “What were you gonna say before we were interrupted?”

  “Let’s get you home first, okay? You need to get cleaned up. We’ll talk later.”

  “But you’ve got to tell me—”

  “Yes. I promise. And Sam, I’m sorry I couldn’t get there sooner. With this goddamn snow, it’s a miracle we got there in time. I don’t know what I would have done if we hadn’t.”

  Another knock—this time an orderly with a wheelchair—stopped the conversation. He guided the offending vehicle to the side of the bed and parked it, then gestured like Vanna White.