Killerbyte (byte Series Book 1)

by Cat Connor

  I turned at a knock on the door. The doctor opened it. “They’ll take her down to radiology now. Do you want to go too?”

  “Yes,” I replied. Stupid question. As I left the room behind them I spotted Caine striding towards us.

  He made eye contact with me. “Stay with her.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Where is the body?”

  I pointed to Doctor Dunn, “He can show you.”

  Caine nodded. “Keep me informed.”

  His eyes rested on Ellie as the gurney passed him heading for the elevator. Again I saw the expression my father described as fatherly interest. Was that enough to make him kill? I knew he hadn’t killed Ellie’s mother, and why would he ask for guards for her dad if he were the killer? Is it possible I was wrong about Caine or is that what he wants me to think? But was everyone wrong about Aidan?

  Once again, I had to hurry to keep up with a gurney carrying Ellie in a hospital. I hated that she was hurt. The elevator halted at the first floor. Ellie mumbled something. I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “It’s okay, babe.” An automatic reply, just so she knew I was there.

  We hurried through the doors to the radiology suite. Ellie went straight in for the head CT. I paced the floor outside pausing only to answer more stupid and some not-so-stupid questions from helpful staff.

  No, I don’t want coffee.

  Yes, I know guns aren’t permitted inside the hospital.

  No, I still don’t want coffee.

  Her last hospitalization was at Stonewall Jackson hospital for a skull fracture, concussion, and a broken arm.

  Why was Ellie discharged against medical advice from Stonewall Jackson hospital? Because some freak left a body in her room and compromised her security.

  No coffee, thanks!

  My mind lingered over thoughts of Ellie. Each thought caused a razor-sharp pain to pierce my heart.

  I don’t want coffee.

  I want her to be well.

  I saw the double doors to the CT suite open and breathed a sigh of relief as the gurney bearing Ellie trundled over to me. She turned her head toward me and smiled.

  Thank you, God.

  “Hey, how’s the head?”

  “It’s okay.”

  The radiologist spoke, “Nothing out of the ordinary is going on in that skull of hers.”

  “Good!”

  “Nothing more than a moderate concussion, anyway. The fracture is healing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. She needs monitoring for twenty-four to thirty-six hours. I made a call and CCU is prepared to take her. She’ll be in the same room as her Dad.”

  “Thank you again.”

  “No problem.”

  Ellie struggled to sit up.

  “Stay put.” I pressed her shoulders back down.

  “I don’t want to lay here, I feel stupid.” She grimaced at me.

  “I don’t care what you want, do as you’re told.”

  Ellie narrowed her eyes and glared. “I’m getting up!”

  “The hell you are!”

  Someone cleared their throat causing us both to look left. “I have a solution,” said the radiologist, “A wheelchair.”

  I looked at Ellie; she was determined to be contrary over this, which I took as a good sign. She really was okay. “That may work if Miss Contrary can control herself for five minutes.”

  “I’m not contrary!”

  “The hell you aren’t!”

  “Wheelchair?” The radiologist offered again.

  Ellie screwed up her nose.

  “Your choice, Ellie. A wheelchair or the gurney?” I tried to keep my voice even and reasonable. She sure appeared okay, but I had previous experience with a concussed Ellie. What I wanted to prevent, more than anything, was a repeat of the last time, which scared the hell out of me.

  “Wheelchair,” she said, annoyed. I helped her sit up.

  “Just sit there for a minute to get your balance before you try to stand.” A wheelchair miraculously appeared beside me.

  The nurse put a foot at right angles to Ellie’s feet to stop her slipping, turned her to sit in the chair then lowered the foot rests.

  She draped a blanket over Ellie’s legs. “CCU has been notified; a bed has been prepared in your father’s room.” She stepped behind the wheelchair and kicked off the brakes. “I’ll take you up there.”

  “That’s lucky,” Ellie said, “because Captain Compass here would probably get us lost.”

  And with that, I knew without a doubt that Ellie was just fine. The nurse giggled quietly.

  Outside the elevator doors in the foyer to the Coronary Care Unit, I tapped the nurse’s shoulder and indicated for her to stop. Ellie gave me a questioning look as I crouched in front of her, steadying myself by resting my hands on her blanketed knees.

  “Before we go in, do you remember what happened?”

  Her eyes searched mine. She chewed her lip but said nothing.

  “Ellie, do you remember?”

  Her voice shook as she told me. “I went to check on Mom.”

  “What happened then?” I had doubts as to whether I should tell her or not but I knew Aidan would ask.

  “I went into her room and the next thing I remember is seeing a radiologist and you.”

  I steeled myself and spoke the words as kindly as I could. “Your mother died. Caine is there now trying to figure out what happened.”

  Ellie’s eyes widened, making her appear very alabaster-doll-like. “Died?”

  I nodded.

  “People don’t die from bipolar disorder.”

  “I know, that’s why Caine is there.”

  Her eyes roamed, confusion settled upon her face. “Can we go to the museum yet?”

  Something rose up and tried to choke me. I struggled to keep my voice calm, “Not yet, but soon.” First, I need to find whoever put you through this and dissect his abdomen with a chainsaw. Then we can go to the museum.

  “She’s really dead?”

  “Yes.”

  I observed an eerie smile creep across her face. “Ding dong, the bitch is dead.”

  Oh Jesus! “Ellie you need to implement your social filter before you see your Dad and Aidan.”

  Her smile changed from creepy to real, “It’s okay, Mac, I won’t say that in front of them, no matter how true it is.”

  “Just checking.”

  “I know. I’m okay, Mac. I am okay.” Her smile sure seemed convincing, but if I had a penny for every time I had heard her say that over the last week or so, I’d be a wealthy man.

  I looked up at the nurse. “Can I use my cell phone out here?”

  She nodded. I made a quick call to Caine and suggested we say nothing of Jenny’s death until after Simon’s operation in the morning.

  Twenty-Seven

  In My Father’s Eyes

  The room hummed with questions when we arrived. As promised, I had a bed next to Dad’s.

  “Let’s get Ellie settled, and then I shall explain,” Mac said.

  The nurse tried to help me to stand. I snapped, “I can do it.”

  “I need to help you,” she replied.

  “I can do it!” I stood up by myself.

  “Just let the nurse do her job,” Mac said.

  “Back off,” I said, hoping to catch both Mac and the nurse with one comment. “I don’t need help.”

  The nurse left as soon as I climbed up onto the bed. I refused Mac’s fussing.

  I’m okay.

  “What happened?” Dad asked.

  “Ellie passed out and hit her head.”

  Ah, a half-truth from Mac.

  “Ellie? You all right?” Dad turned to face me. He had limited head movement due to the oxygen tubing.

  “Yeah, Dad, I’m fine, this is a precaution because of the skull fracture.” I indicated the bed. “I’m really okay.”

  He smiled. “You need to slow down a bit, take it easy. Let Caine carry some weigh
t.”

  “Advice heeded.”

  I watched Aidan. He’d said nothing. I could tell he was listening even though he stared into the dark beyond the rain-lashed windowpane. Mac sat on the end of my bed.

  “Daddy, I have to ask, this is bugging the hell out of me ...”

  I knew what I wanted to ask but for a split second I held my breath. I wondered what was really going to pop out of my mouth and hoped it wouldn’t involve any “ding dong the bitch is dead” type phrases.

  “What?”

  Concentrate, Ellie!

  “Why does Bob call you Colonel? There’s no such rank in the Navy.” I made it. A simple, reasonable question with no ding-dongs.

  Dad gave a small smiled. His breathing seemed better than when last I saw him, “It’s a long story.”

  “We have time,” I replied. I thought if Dad told me a story I’d be able to stop thinking about Mom and the Unsub and the mess we were in.

  Mac’s dad coughed, “You want me to tell it, Colonel?”

  “Don’t make me sound too bad here, Tank.”

  “That’s a big ask,” Tank replied.

  “Your turn will come.”

  I watched Bob stretch his legs out in front of him. He assumed a storytelling pose, and I had a feeling we would learn some entertaining family history of ill-spent youth.

  “Back when we were younger and more rambunctious, we both received a call from Blake, a buddy of ours, he wanted us to go on down to his place for a little get-together.”

  “How young?” I asked.

  Bob looked at Dad. “What were we, Colonel, twenty-five or twenty-six?”

  “Yeah, about that.”

  “We both agreed it was a great idea so off we went, turned out to be quite an adventure. We had a couple of bottles of Jim with us and we had one hell of a night. Your daddy was so toasted he was blind.”

  Dad coughed, “I don’t believe you were far behind.”

  Bob laughed and nodded. “We were messy. At any rate, the next morning I woke to the sound of Simon hammering on the door, seems that the doorknob had come off and the rod had fallen out ... we were trapped, and he didn’t look good. All our hammering was to no avail. Blake was dead to the world somewhere. Simon was down to the wire. His choices were limited, so he opened the window. We were two stories above ground and I knew there was no way he was climbing out of the window in his condition. He knew that too and leant out and puked pure bourbon onto the ground below.”

  We were all laughing.

  “Some hours later, Blake realized we were trapped, and fixed the door. We’d both gone back to sleep before that happened. We cooked breakfast and started to clean up the hellish-awful mess we’d all made the night before. Blake went on out to the yard and came running back in hollering that someone had killed all his chickens. We scooted out to investigate. About as quick as two severe hangovers would let us. We found seven dead chickens. Turned out that the chickens had eaten Simon’s vomit!”

  He paused, winked, and then said, “Nobody kills chickens like the Colonel.”

  I moaned, “Oh, that’s gross. I’ll never eat chicken again.”

  Bob laughed. “First time I’d ever seen chickens marinated from the inside out.”

  “So that’s how you got your name?” Aidan grinned as well.

  “Yes,” Dad replied, smiling, “We were young once you know.”

  I looked at Bob. “So what’s your story?”

  “You trust me to tell this, Colonel?”

  “Go ahead. I’m right here to put the kids straight if you paint yourself too pretty.”

  “We have this buddy, GW, his family has money, but he’s a good guy. This happened maybe a year after the chicken killing. We knew GW would be in Washington on business, there’d been a rumor suggesting as much. The Colonel here called him up and said we were thinking of going fishing, did he want to tag along. GW was all for it and said to come and meet him, we’d have a few drinks then head out early the next morning. Easy we figured. Simon was doing a stint at the Pentagon and I was in Fairfax County. In we went to meet GW in the hotel bar. He was running late, so we had a few drinks.”

  Dad coughed and gave Bob a prod.

  “We had a few shooters and a few more shooters and I had a few more than the Colonel.”

  “That’s better,” Dad commented.

  “About an hour and a half later we called GW’s room, he said he was sorry and we should go on up. He didn’t just have a room he had a whole suite, was very nice. He told us to make ourselves at home, have a drink and so forth while he took a shower, and then we’d go to some bar he liked. I found this golf club. GW must’ve been getting in some putting practice.”

  Dad interrupted, “I think I need to explain this bit.” He struggled somewhat for breath but carried on, “Bob here picked up the putter, wielding it like a baseball bat and took a swing at the golf ball, only he missed the ball and let the club go. It sailed through the air and smacked straight into this big fish tank on the other side of the room. There was water everywhere, with the poor tropical fish flapping on the carpet amidst the broken glass. GW came running, wrapping a towel about himself. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Bob’s face and the mess and burst out laughing.”

  “He was a good sport,” Bob said and took over the story, “he got dressed super-fast, hid the golf club and ball, then told the hotel staff that the fish tank must’ve had a crack in it. The three of us hightailed it out of the hotel and ended up in GW’s favorite bar, still laughing.”

  “I think I’d better tell the rest seeing you have little memory of the following events,” Dad said, with a smile. “By this stage of the evening Bob was smashed, in fact he was more smashed than that fish tank. He wandered out onto the street and proceeded to water the sidewalk when a cop car happened along. We realized he was missing, only to find him just as the cops detained him for being drunk in public. We did the decent thing and followed along thinking we could bail him out, but the cops decided to leave his sorry ass in the drunk tank overnight.”

  I saw a lot of tanks in this story.

  Dad carried on, “We waited, as good friends would. We had an okay time … the cops let us use their dartboard and even gave us coffee and donuts. Anyway we’d been hanging around waiting for about two hours when this cop comes up to us and says we should get our buddy and take him home he’s causing too much trouble and they didn’t want to have to charge him with assault. He’d started three fights in the tank. On our way home, I came up with an acronym TANK, The-Asshole-Never-Knew. Bob had no idea he’d started fights or had been in the tank. He was so drunk he couldn’t remember a damn thing after arriving at the bar.”

  “Tank is an acronym?” I asked. “Anyone hearing the names ‘Tank’ and ‘Colonel’ would assume a military connection, as we did.”

  Dad laughed so loudly, it culminated in a near-death coughing fit.

  Simon said, “We were young once.”

  Once Dad settled and stopped coughing I directed another question to him, “Who is GW?”

  “He’s a buddy of ours.”

  “He’s not that GW is he?” My eyes shifted from Dad to Bob and back.

  They both laughed.

  The door opened, and Caine stepped in. I saw him and held up my hand, “One sec, family business.” I turned back to our fathers, “Is he that GW?”

  Bob bellowed with laughter, “We can neither confirm nor deny.”

  Dad said, “We’re not at liberty to say.”

  I grinned at them both then said to Caine, “Sorry, we’ve been hearing some old stories.”

  “Are you well enough to help me out for a few minutes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Mac, can you give us a hand too, please?”

  “Sure.” Mac smiled at Aidan. “See what else you can get out of these two, Aidan, I suspect there are many, many stories we’d be interested in.”

  Aidan replied, “I’ll do my best.”

  “We shall ret
urn.”

  “As for you two,” I directed myself to the fathers. “You do know I expect a full explanation on this GW thing.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Don’t Take Your Guns To Town

  “Who’d you think it was, Mr T?” he said, with a huge gleaming grin, followed by a hearty chuckle.

  Owen coughed politely. Once she had my attention, she said, “Ellie, please go.”

  Something in her voice stopped my argument in its infancy. “Okay.”

  Kurt pushed his chair back and joined us at the door. “I’m coming too.” He looked towards the door. “Wheelchair?”

  “Quit with the wheelchair comments! I can walk.”

  “You should be in a wheelchair,” he replied.

  “I’m not an invalid!’

  Mac shook his head at Kurt, who joined us by the door.

  “Miss Contrary here can argue till you’re blue in the face,” Mac said.

  “If I said she could walk and didn’t offer a wheelchair, you think she’d want one?” Kurt asked, looking over me at Mac.

  “I think you’re playing with fire,” Mac replied then dropped his voice. “But you’re right.”

  “I’m right here! And walking. Get over it,” I responded, leaving no room for discussion. In that that instant, I proved to myself just how contrary I really was. I knew a wheelchair was smart; I knew I needed one. Yet with the offer made, I clamored about it being unnecessary.

  Why can’t I just take the easy way, just fucking once?

  Sam nodded, understated as always, as he led the way.

  Ellie should have a wheelchair,” Mac said as we stepped into the corridor behind Caine.

  “No!” I said. “I’m perfectly capable of walking. You can knock off that invalid shit.”

  Caine stopped, turned and looked at me with discerning eyes. “Do you need a wheelchair?”

  “No!”

  He looked a Mac. “You heard her.”

  We followed Caine through the hospital corridors, a seeming never-ending maze that twisted and turned. I wished the Lone Ranger would appear and save the day. Short of that, I hoped there would be some answers waiting for us when we arrived at where ever we were going.