by Geri Krotow
Yet he’d left the house only hours earlier.
He stood with his back against the far clinic wall, near the water cooler and the pulley apparatus that aided clients recovering from rotator-cuff injury. The clinic usually felt like a second home to her, even after the divorce. It had been one of the few topics of conversation besides the pets that she and Drew were able to manage. It’d cemented their friendship.
A tall man in a suit jacket and jeans spoke with him. From the way he kept writing notes on an electronic tablet, Gwen figured he must be an insurance agent or such. Until she got closer and realized it was Detective Cole Ramsey from the Island County Sheriff’s Department. He’d become friends with Drew after Drew treated Cole for a torn Achilles tendon he’d suffered during a brutal criminal takedown years ago.
Drew’s eyes met hers briefly as he noted her arrival with Officer Joseph. She saw a spark of—gratitude?—then total dread in his glance.
“Detective Ramsey, Mr. Brett’s ex-wife asked to come in.”
“Gwen.” Cole nodded at her.
“Hi.” She looked at Drew. “What happened?”
“I lost a client.” Flat. Expressionless.
“What do you mean lost?”
“A client. Died. Here, in the clinic.” Drew’s voice was low and she detected the note of despair she’d heard only when they were at the end of their marriage, when they’d decided to call it quits.
When he’d accepted that she’d be happier without him.
“A heart attack?” Drew had so many senior clients. This wouldn’t be the first to require a 9-1-1 emergency call.
But it would be the first death.
Drew shook his head. “No. The aquatracker.”
“Someone had a heart attack in the aquatracker?” She’d helped him do an emergency drill with the staff when he’d first acquired the equipment. It took three people to get an immobile body out of the tank while it was full of water. But it could be done quickly, and the entire staff was CPR trained. Drew always had a minimum of two staff members present, including himself, but usually three with the receptionist and a therapy assistant.
“We don’t know if it was a heart attack. It could have been, but we found her already under—”
Gwen didn’t miss the fact that Cole Ramsey stood there, unmoving, taking in everything about their conversation. Of course he did—it was his job. He was their friend; she could trust him. She knew this but still wanted to shove him aside and speak to Drew privately. The urge to console Drew was visceral.
“Okay, but why all the police?” Accidents happened. Usually not in a PT clinic that was as expertly run as Drew’s, but still. What wasn’t he telling her? What was she missing?
“You don’t understand, Gwen. A client died—because she was left unattended for too long. None of us heard her call for help.”
“Oh.”
Drew might as well have punched her with his fist instead of the potent words. She struggled to think clearly.
“You never leave your clients unattended in the aquatracker,” Ramsey said.
“I know. But the phone rang, and I’d asked Serena to make sure she didn’t miss any calls this morning—I was waiting for an important one. I was on my cell phone with Gwen at the time.” Drew ran his fingers through his hair, then along his jawbone. “It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, and the door to the main clinic was open. We never heard a call for help.”
“Which is why you think it was a heart attack or other sudden event.” Gwen thought it should be clear to Ramsey that Drew was no criminal. Why did she feel they were treating him like one?
“I don’t know, Gwen.”
“Who found her?”
“Serena.” Oh, God.
“Wait. Serena, the same one who lost her husband?”
“Yes.”
“Crap.” Gwen grimaced. Serena was a beautiful woman whose sorrow at losing her husband to an IED in Afghanistan was eclipsed only by watching her young son grieve for his dad by going inward, refusing to talk to anyone.
Drew had said the boy, probably six or seven, was doing much better since Serena had taken him to Beyond the Stars, the same place Gwen’s psychiatrist at Madigan Army Hospital worked. BTS was a kind of resort for Gold Star Families. Military families who’d paid the dearest sacrifice—they’d lost their loved one in the war. Drew volunteered at BTS, out on San Juan Island, whenever he had the chance. She’d always admired his generosity. No matter how busy he’d been as a doctoral student, or now as a clinician, he made time to reach out to the community.
Now, just when things had improved for Serena, she was faced with yet another tragedy. Pepe had started talking more since Serena had taken him to BTS. That was last summer, before Gwen went on deployment.
Serena had been through enough, and yet she’d found a dead client in what was supposed to be a safe place.
Drew’s haggard expression confirmed that he’d already been through the same depressing chain of thought.
Gwen walked over to him and put her hand on his arm, ignoring the instant reaction her fingers had to his warmth.
“Drew, this wasn’t your fault. You have so many elderly clients.”
“Of course I do, Gwen, but she was found submerged. And we’re not going to know how long she was alone in there until the autopsy results come back.”
“Gwen, I have to ask Drew a few more questions. You’re welcome to stay, of course, as a friend. Also I’ll need you to sign a release so my staff can get your phone records. Drew’s already signed for both his phones.” Cole’s voice was kind but his expression remained impassive.
“Of course. No problem.”
Drew needed her. He’d stood by her these past few days; the least she could do was be here with him in this horrible moment. At the very least, the phone records would provide an alibi, evidence of how long he’d been in his office, away from the aquatracker.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She looked at Drew. She saw a definite flicker of gratitude in his eyes before he turned back to Cole.
“Where were you when you heard your assistant shout for help?” Cole asked.
“I’ve already told you, I was in my office over there.” Drew motioned to the room farthest from the aquatracker. “I was printing off instructions for my client, Will Hartz, who’s getting ready to go out of town for a week. He needed instructions for his stretch band exercises.”
“Where was Mr. Hartz while you were doing this?”
“He was lying there.” Drew pointed to the row of therapy tables. “Doing his usual routine of exercises for his rotator cuff.”
“Why weren’t you in the room with Mrs. Forsyth?”
“I don’t spend time in the aquatracker room once the client is accustomed to the machine and his or her particular exercise routine. I rely on Serena or Terri to handle it.”
“Have you ever trained anyone else on the aquatracker?”
“You mean another assistant? Yes. Actually, I’ve trained several other people. There have been six assistants who don’t work here anymore who’ve gone through the training. Gwen learned how to use it when we were still married. But Gwen only learned enough to be able to help in our emergency drills when I first opened.”
He’d referred to their previously married status without missing a beat.
Guilt flushed Gwen’s cheeks. Drew was going through hell and she was obsessing over petty crap. Personal crap.
Cole Ramsey fired what seemed like the most inane queries at Drew. Gwen was proud of Drew as he answered each and every question without hesitation or any sense of discomfort, other than his obvious distress at having lost a client.
The shock of seeing him in such a traumatic situation compelled her to stay at his side.
“I’ll need to speak with
you, too, Gwen. Not right now, but sometime soon. What’s the best number to reach you at?” Cole was practically in her face. He seemed innocuous, but she knew better. He wasn’t going to antagonize her, not if there was a chance she’d have some dirt on Drew. She knew how the interrogation process went. SERE school had taught her well, as had her experience in the PI and afterward, back in the U.S.
Cole Ramsey might be a good friend of Drew’s, but he was one hundred percent Detective Ramsey as far as this scenario went.
“I’m home all day.” She let out a shaky laugh. “This is the first time I’ve been out since I landed on the island a few days ago. I’m not cleared to go back to work yet.”
Ramsey gave a curt nod. “Welcome home. I’m sorry you’re involved in something like this so soon after your return.”
“I’m not really involved in it.” As Cole continued to look at her she rolled her eyes. “Come on, Cole, you know what I mean.”
She thought the death of Mrs. Forsyth was awful, yes, but didn’t see how it affected her, except for Cole Ramsey’s need to question her because of her relationship to Drew. Fact was, Cole had remained Drew’s friend when they’d stopped seeing other couples together. Drew and Cole had still gone golfing or bike riding, and they were in the same Friday-night poker club.
“Accidents happen.”
“Why do you say accident?” Cole’s head tilted a little.
“I mean that no one was in the room with her.” She glanced over at Drew, whose pained expression begged her to shut up. “No one could have prevented her from having a heart attack, right?”
“We don’t know the cause of death yet, Gwen.” Ramsey spoke succinctly and with no emotion. He turned to Drew again.
“You may want to consider getting a lawyer, at least until we’ve determined the exact cause.”
“In addition to the insurance litigator?” Drew’s brows drew together, his anger simmering. Gwen knew that look; she’d lived with it aimed at her for the better part of the past two years.
“Yes.”
Drew stared at Cole Ramsey.
Gwen stepped back next to Drew and placed her arm around him, her hand on his lower back. They’d avoided physical touch, except for his hugs goodbye and then hello, and their frenzied sex the first day she was back. Still, touching him, being a silent support, didn’t feel awkward. More startling yet, Drew didn’t withdraw from her gesture. He leaned into it.
“Am I a suspect, Detective?” His voice vibrated through her fingers.
“Until we have conclusive autopsy results, you’re at minimum a person of interest.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me! You know me, Cole. And Dottie—Dottie Forsyth—has been my client since I opened seven years ago. She’s a regular in the clinic. Everyone loves her.”
“I don’t doubt that, Cole. But I’ve got a dead body with no probable cause. She was an octogenarian, yes, but from all reports a very healthy one. Wasn’t she in here for sciatica she’d developed doing a Zumba class?”
“Yes, I told you that. You have her file. No one here wanted her to die.”
“Let’s hope the autopsy report backs up your story, Drew. Until it does, I need you to stay in town. Will that be a problem?”
“No.” Drew shook his head in exasperation. “I take full responsibility for her being in the room alone, Detective Ramsey, but no one here, including myself, did anything deliberate to harm Dottie Forsyth.”
“Okay. Sit tight, Drew. I’ll be in touch.” Cole nodded and left without further comment.
Drew remained leaning against the wall, against Gwen, her arm around his waist. She didn’t like the way his skin looked. Clammy. Pasty.
“You need to sit down.”
“I need more than that.” He allowed her to steer him to his office, where he sagged into his chair. Gwen perched on the desk.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Drew.”
“How do you know, Gwen? You don’t work here.”
She sighed. “We have to stay focused on today, Drew. One thing I’ve learned in the short time I’ve been home is that I can’t look back at my months on the run with Pax. I don’t know if I’ll ever hold him again, and it kills me to imagine that I won’t. But if I stay in the present, I can take comfort in the fact that there’s a chance I’ll have Pax and be able to raise him as my own.”
She squeezed his shoulder. “You have to stay in today to keep it together, Drew. You can’t bring Dottie Forsyth back, no matter how much you beat yourself up over telling Serena she had to answer the phone. She slipped up and was out of the room at the wrong time, for a little too long.”
He had his head on his arms, and she reached over to run her fingers over his hair, but stopped and rested them on his shoulders, instead. She’d lost the right to touch him like a wife long ago. But a friend would rub a beaten-down guy’s shoulders.
His muscles were knots of tension. “The autopsy is going to show that Dottie had a heart attack or stroke. It was her time. No one can change that.”
He raised his head and she steeled herself to take his glare.
“I am accountable, Gwen. Someone should have been in there with her. She shouldn’t have had to die alone.”
“You’re not God, Drew.”
He pushed back from the desk and she let her arms drop. Drew paced. Even in the throes of their dying marriage, she’d never seen him like this. Cornered. Trapped. As if he’d never get out of the hell he saw himself in right now. She understood. It’d been her life for six months in a hot, merciless jungle where she’d fought like hell to come back, if only to tell Drew a heartfelt “sorry” for all the misery she’d brought down on both of them. For not letting go sooner. For selfishly clinging to their marriage when it was so clear it wasn’t working for either of them. She’d been too focused on her career.
She wasn’t going to abandon Drew to the depths of despair she’d fought through herself, with Pax in her arms.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GWEN TOLD HERSELF she wasn’t listening for the automatic garage door opener, wasn’t counting the minutes until Drew came home.
She wasn’t allowed to report back to work for another three weeks. Her military medical team had said it was standard practice, to give her time to decompress and allow her body and psyche to heal.
None of it mattered now, not with the crisis Drew had on his hands. She had to be here for him, whether he thought he needed her or not.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” She spoke to Rosie and Nappie.
Nappie slowly wagged her tail, and Rosie uttered her usual greeting, “Hello, sailor.”
“Did you miss me, sweetie?” Gwen put down her mug of tea and held out one hand. Rosie climbed on, as if months of separation hadn’t happened. As if Drew and Gwen had never ruined their marriage.
Then Rosie bit Gwen’s finger.
“Ouch!” Gwen winced. “Dammit, Rosie, I don’t need that today.”
“Aww, are you okay?” Rosie cocked her head and started to whistle at Gwen.
Gwen laughed. “You’re lucky you didn’t draw blood, you green chicken.” She put the bird back on her perch and walked to the back kitchen window.
Puget Sound had whitecaps on it. Typical for April, when the winds still blew like winter.
There’d been whitecaps when she’d ditched the P-3. They’d damned near made her food for the ocean’s bottom dwellers.
Her initial elation at still being alive when she’d finally hit solid sand on the southern Philippine shore had been crushed by her almost immediate capture. Lucky for her, her captors hadn’t been well trained by their leaders. She’d been able to escape and make a run for it.
She’d thought of Drew the entire time. About forgiveness. About how, in the big picture of life, maybe nothing was impossible. Even an impossi
ble marriage.
Her gaze shifted to the side kitchen door and she remembered Opal’s visit. She’d meant to tell Drew, but it could wait.
“I can’t worry about it now, right?”
“Pretty bird.” Rosie seemed to agree.
The creak and rumble of the garage door as it opened brought a sense of anticipation.
She had to stay firm for Drew. It was the least she owed him.
He walked through the door and Gwen looked over from her water view and offered him a smile, which drooped into a frown as she studied Drew’s appearance. His hair was wild, his skin white and clammy and his shirttails weren’t tucked in. Drew never looked less than completely put together when he was going to or coming from work.
“I thought I was the survivor here,” she said lightly.
“I can’t joke about this, Gwen.” His voice sounded as shaky as he looked.
“I’m sorry. Here.” She walked to the cabinet where they kept their glasses. “Let me pour you a strong drink.”
“Nothing fancy. Just the Makers Mark.”
“I know.” Of course she remembered his go-to drink in times of stress. He wasn’t a big drinker; neither of them were. They’d enjoyed wine together with delicious meals when they’d still been married, or rather, when their marriage was real. She’d watched him throw back a shot or two as they went through the death of their relationship, or when they’d lost another friend to the war.
“Here you go.” She handed him the whiskey and reclaimed her large mug of half-drunk tea. “I’d join you but I’m still feeling a little shaky. I’ll have a glass of red later.” In truth, she hadn’t felt her usual, solid, know-it-all self since she’d floated on the Philippine Sea for two days, praying a shark wouldn’t find her. It was a miracle she made it out of the ocean. She wanted to laugh bitterly as she recalled that she’d thought her hardest times were behind her.
Until she heard the rapid automatic gunfire from the first of many insurgent takeovers.
None of it compared to watching Drew’s life fall apart in front of him.