He didn't want to get checked out, he wanted to know what the red X meant, but Cruz directed the medic to attend to him. CJ swiped at the wet liquid running down his face. “It's mostly just juice. What I really want to do is just go home and shower.”
At that, Cruz turned back to CJ. “Are you sure? What about your hand?”
CJ examined his palm and shook his head. It was still bleeding pretty good, but he didn't think it was very deep. “It's fine. If I need stitches, I'll go to my own doctor.”
Mr. Gonzalez approached and held out a wad of paper towels. “Here.”
“Thanks, man.” CJ took the wad, pressing it against the cut.
Cruz waved a hand. “Okay. Guess you can go.”
“Did you want me to talk to a sketch artist? I might be able to recognize a sketch.”
Shrugging, Cruz closed his notebook. “Maybe. We'll contact you if we need more information.”
A paramedic caught him as he was trying to leave, and CJ got his hand bandaged. It was a waste of time because, in twenty minutes he was just going to jump in a shower and get the bandage all wet, but it was easier to give in, plus it would be easier to drive home if he didn't have to hold a paper towel against his palm.
* * *
At home, he carefully stripped out of the sticky clothes, mindful of any glass, and set them in a laundry basket in his room. His dad was still at work, and he was glad for that. His dad would have taken one look at him, and lay into him about what happened and CJ wasn't ready to talk about it just yet. He kept seeing the barrel of the gun pointed at him. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time he'd faced one when he wasn't armed. He hadn't brought his weapon with him since he thought it was just going to be an accident. A tragic accident, not cold-blooded murder. He stood under the hot spray, watching the water at his feet turn pink and lavender as the blood and juice washed away. Gingerly, he washed his hair, finding a few more pieces of glass. He leaned out of the shower and tossed them in the wastebasket. He hoped he hadn't made a trail of glass through the condo.
Finished, he sat in the living room, the TV remote in his hand intending to watch the news, but he still had at least an hour until it came on. He picked at the bandage circling his palm. Blanche would probably get a good chuckle out of his first-aid efforts as he'd tried to duplicate the bandage applied by the paramedic.
Damn. He had a date with her tonight. Not that he didn't want to see her, but the excitement he'd felt when he'd woken up this morning and remembered the upcoming date, had fled. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration because she had passed her boards and was now a nurse practitioner, but the last thing he felt like doing tonight was celebrating. Except, he still wanted to see her. They'd spoken on the phone and gone out to lunch a couple of times since the event in the ER where she worked, but then she had to buckle down and finish her classes, take her boards and still work. They'd had no time for anything else. She'd called yesterday to give him the good news when she got her results.
It seemed like hours had passed, but he'd left Mark's photography studio only ninety minutes ago. Not even two hours. He had told Mark he'd be back when he was done, expecting to be gone only an hour at the most, but his arms and legs felt chained to the sofa. Questions entered his thoughts. Foremost was why had the driver killed the guy? Who the hell was the victim? In all the confusion, CJ hadn't even asked.
His cellphone rang from somewhere in the house and he stirred. It was probably Mark wondering where he was. Feeling like he was tearing free of invisible tethers, he stood and plodded into the bathroom, finding his phone on the counter. He was right. It was Mark. He put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?” He barely recognized his own voice and Mark must have been confused because there was a pause before he spoke.
“CJ?”
“Yeah. It's me. Sorry I didn't make it back to the studio.” CJ hung his head, dragging the fingertip of his injured hand through a few drops of water on the vanity. “I had to come home and shower.”
“Don't worry about it. What happened? Is everything okay?”
CJ opened his mouth, intending to answer but in forming the words, he saw again, the victim, his body going limp. The spray of blood. The barrel of the gun. His throat locked up. He closed his eyes, trying to block the images but that just focused them even more so he abandoned that tactic. He stared at his feet and the rumpled bath mat. He was supposed to hang it over the curtain rod to let it dry when he was finished. His dad would be pissed.
He took a deep breath and swiped his finger on his jeans.
“Talk to me, CJ.”
He cleared his throat. “I went to save a guy from being mowed over by a car and I did that, but he died anyway.”
“Tell me.”
“The driver shot him.”
Mark swore and said, “Are you okay?”
“Um, yeah. I mean, I cut my hand on some glass, but nothing major.” He paused. “The driver tried to shoot me, but he missed.”
“He fired at you?”
“Yeah. A couple of times, I think. Shattered a bottle of grape juice. You should have seen me when I got home. I looked like a purple clown.” He tried to chuckle, but it tangled in his mouth, sounding more like a sob.
“Hey, why don't you and I go out and have a beer?”
CJ looked at the clock on the wall. “Thanks for the offer, but I have a…a date tonight. I'm supposed to pick Blanche up in an hour.”
There was silence and CJ knew Mark was thinking he was pretty callous to go out on a date after his big screw up cost a man his life. “We're celebrating that she passed her boards.”
“That's great. Tell her I said congrats.” He sounded like he meant it.
“I will.”
“And hey, CJ…you did the best you could.”
CJ shrugged. His silence must have spoken for him because Mark replied, “I'm serious, CJ. You go out and celebrate. I mean it. We'll talk tomorrow.”
Chapter Two
“Hey, CJ. Come on in.” Blanche smiled and opened the screen door. “I'm almost ready. I'll just be a minute.”
“That's okay. Take your time.” CJ flashed her a fleeting smile, then stood just inside the door, his hands jammed into his front pockets, or they would have been, except one had a sloppy bandage preventing it from going more than fingertip deep. His gaze skimmed her apartment, but he didn't really seem to be seeing it.
Was he angry she wasn't ready? Doubt crept into her thoughts. Was he only being polite by taking her out to dinner? Maybe she shouldn't have called him with her good news yesterday. He probably had felt obligated to ask her out to celebrate. It wasn't as if they were boyfriend and girlfriend, after all. They were casual friends. She'd been considering taking it to a new level though, if CJ was interested.
She moved over to the sofa and gestured to it. “Have a seat. I just have to powder my nose.” She tried to ease the awkwardness with the lame joke, assuming he'd get the common reference, but he just nodded and picked up a magazine on her coffee table. Yeah, she was sure something was wrong because there was no way he was interested in reading, The Journal of Professional Nursing.
She returned a few minutes later, her shoes on and a light wrap thrown over her shoulders. It wasn't very cold out yet, but by the time they finished dinner, the fall evening would be chilly. “I'm ready. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No worries.” He closed the journal but not before she had a glimpse of the article he'd been reading.
She waved a hand at the magazine. “I found that to be a fascinating article…didn't you?”
“Huh?” He glanced at the periodical. “Oh yeah. Sure.”
“I can't wait until Using Ecological Models in Research on Health Disparities, the Conclusion, hits my mailbox. Do you want me to let you know when it arrives? Wouldn't want to leave you hanging.”
She almost laughed as his brows knit in confusion. “I'm just teasing you, CJ.” She tilted her head towards the magazine. “It has good info, but not exactly p
leasure reading, you know?”
He nodded and smiled. “Oh. Sorry, I wasn't even reading it. Just thinking.”
“Is everything okay?”
CJ nodded. “Sure. It's all good. Come on, I'm starving.”
The ride to the restaurant was punctuated by awkward comments about the weather, football, and traffic, making her wonder if she'd imagined the connection she'd felt with him. Had she misread his signals so completely?
He'd chosen a comfortable upscale pub. Casual, but not a neighborhood hangout kind of place. The clientele's business attire hinted that they were professionals; lawyers, stockbrokers, and the like. Kind of an odd place for CJ to choose, but laughter and good cheer emanated from the patrons, and she decided it was more relaxed than it seemed. She could deal with that. She decided to join them and have a margarita before dinner. CJ ordered a beer, and downed it in a few minutes.
After more stilted conversation, Blanche, bolstered by the margarita, said, “So spill it. What's the matter?”
He looked surprised and shrugged. “Nothing's the matter. Why?”
“I don't buy it. You've barely spoken to me since you arrived at my front door. I like you, CJ, but my heart won't be broken if you want to call off whatever it is we have going on. We can each go our own way.” The lie tasted vile in her mouth. Her heart would be broken, or at least bruised. CJ was special and it wasn't just because of the camera.
CJ appeared stunned at her words.
“No…I don't want that. We've got a bond.” He reached across the table for her hand, taking it lightly in his. “You're the only one I've told about the camera.”
Then it dawned on her and she pulled her hand from his, drained her margarita and said, “Listen, CJ, you don't have to keep dating me to protect your secret. It's safe with me.” She reached for her purse. “I'll just call a cab.”
CJ jerked as if she'd slugged him in the jaw. “What?”
Then his eyes narrowed and he rested his arms on the table, leaning towards her. “Blanche, I've never been worried that you'd tell anyone. I'm not now, and I won't be tomorrow, next month or next year. Not without good reason, I mean. If someone's torturing you, by all means, spill your guts, but that's not why I'm here tonight. I like you. A lot. You're smart, and funny. We've had good times—at least, we did when people weren't trying to actively kill us.”
The corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes glinted with humor. Then he dragged in a deep breath. “Seriously, I want to be here with you.” He held his bandaged hand in his other one, his right thumb rubbing back and forth on the gauze as he stared at his palm. “Today was just a shitty day. I knew I should have canceled our date, but only because I don't want to be a downer.” His head lifted and he glanced at her before returning his attention to the bandage, pulling a loose thread. “The truth is, I'm a selfish ass because I wanted to be with you. I feel good around you.”
The waitress dropped off the appetizers, and Blanche ordered another margarita. The rush of feelings CJ's confession had elicited threatened to overwhelm her. Another drink probably wasn't the wisest decision in the situation, but she felt even more like celebrating than she had when she had received the results of her boards. She grinned, but then it hit her what he'd said about his day. The grin faded. “Tell me about your day. Why did it suck?”
He looked away, and she thought he would refuse her request, but then he spoke in a monotone. “The camera showed me an image of a man who'd been run over by a car. The dream showed more, and so I went to the right place, at the right time, but…”
“But…what?”
“Well, I saved him from being hit by a car.” CJ shrugged, then continued, “What is it doctors say? Something like the operation was a success, but the patient died?”
Blanche nodded. “Pretty close.”
“Yeah. Well, the driver stopped, but it wasn't to apologize for almost killing me and the other man. Nope. Instead, he shot the other guy dead, then tried to do the same to me. So yeah. It was a complete fuck-up on my part.” His voice cracked, and he looked around as if hoping nobody had heard him. “Sorry for the language.”
Their waitress appeared with Blanche's margarita, and Blanche snapped her mouth closed on her response to CJ. She gave a terse, “Yes.” when the waitress asked if they were still working on the appetizers.
Once the server was out of ear shot, Blanche scooted close to the table, and this time, she did the reaching, taking CJ's hand in hers. “The last thing you are is a…a screw-up, CJ.”
He looked at her, one eyebrow raised and shook his head, his gaze slipping away.
“I mean it. You could have been killed too! There's no way you could have known that the guy was going to pull out a gun. You didn't see one in the photo did you?”
CJ shook his head.
“How about the dream?”
“No. Didn't see that happening in the dream either.”
“So how did you screw-up?”
He sighed and nodded. “Okay. I get it. It wasn’t my fault the guy was shot. I couldn’t have known that was going to happen with the information I was shown, however, I should have paid more attention. The detective investigating called and wants to meet with me tomorrow. He also wants me to work with a sketch artist. It's going to be a joke though, because after the car hit and the guy was shot in front of me, I wasn't thinking clearly. I was in self-preservation mode. If I had paid more attention, I'd at least have a decent description of the shooter and the car. So, it is sort of is my fault that the shooter will get away with it. And it just sucks that I couldn’t save the guy—even if it wasn’t my fault.”
“I know. It does, but you're only human, CJ. You don't wear a red cape, and you can't stop a speeding bullet.”
He cracked a smile. “I can't fly either.”
“No, you can't.” She pointed at the bandage. “See? Just a mortal man. There's proof right there that you're not invincible. What did you do to it?”
“Just a little cut.”
Blanche gave him a skeptical look and snagged a mozzarella stick. She took a bite and pointed what was left of the stick at CJ's hand. “I'm going to put a proper bandage on that before the night is over.”
* * *
“Thank you for coming in, Chris. Have a seat.” Detective Cruz waved towards a chair in front of his desk.
“No problem, sir. You can call me CJ. It's what I go by.”
“Oh, okay. So, CJ, I know you just met with the sketch artist. How did that go?”
CJ shrugged. “I did the best I could, but I don't know how helpful the sketch will be. He ended up looking like the Unabomber.”
Cruz chuckled. “Well, they eventually caught him, so that could be a good thing.”
“The artist also sketched the tattoo.” CJ pointed to his own knuckles. “I remembered a bit more as I thought about it.”
“Very good. That'll help a lot.” Cruz typed something into his computer, and then looked at CJ. “I'm just going over some of the preliminary forensic reports and putting together witness reports. So far, several other witnesses have corroborated your version of events. They heard the engine, and saw the car hit the grocery. A few expressed disbelief that you and the eventual victim weren't killed in the accident. They said it had been very close.”
CJ pressed his lips together and nodded. He remembered the rush of air as the car had brushed by him. “Yes, sir. It was close. I don't know how we weren't hit either.”
Cruz regarded CJ for a moment. Just when CJ was beginning to squirm under the scrutiny, Cruz said, “What has me puzzled is that one witness swears you crossed the street ahead of the car and made a beeline for the victim as though you were going to tackle him. You were calling out to him. Did you know Michael Thompson?”
“Who?”
“The victim. His name was Michael Thompson. He was a local thug.”
CJ started. He hadn't known anything about the victim. “Thug?”
“A gangbanger who has been in and out of prison
since he was seventeen. He was thirty-two at the time of his death. Left a couple of kids, but he didn't see them often. We think he was targeted because of his connection to an illegal weapons ring.”
“Wow. I didn't know.” He supposed he shouldn't feel so bad that he hadn't been able to save the guy, but knowing the guy had kids kept the guilt from fading. Even if he hadn't been the best father, now the kids had no father at all.
“Are you sure?” Cruz folded his hands on the desk.
“Yeah, I'm sure. Why would I know this guy?”
“I'm just looking at your record here, CJ, and see that you had a run in with the police just a few months ago. The charges were dropped, I see, but you had used an illegally acquired handgun.”
CJ swallowed and nodded. “Okay, yeah, that happened, but it was one transaction and I had a good reason. I'm a licensed gun owner in my home state, but I had learned about a terrorist plot, and needed a weapon fast. It's all there in my file. I'm sure of it. It was on the news and everything. The weapon was used in defense of immediate threat to others. In light of that, the police confiscated the weapon, but the charges were dropped.”
“I see. Very unusual circumstances, and you're right. Some of this was on the news, but not the part about your father being head of the Chicago FBI. Did that have anything to do with getting the charges dropped?”
“Maybe. I don't know. I didn't bring him up and I don't think my dad pulled any strings, if that's what you're asking.”
“Okay, look, CJ. I believe you, I just want to make sure a jury will believe you, too.”
“A jury?”
“Yes, so when we catch the shooter, and it goes to trial, the defense attorney won't win his case based on you having your own agenda. Maybe you were trying to buy a gun and the shooter was trying to stop you?”
“No, that's not what happened at all.”
Cruz lifted his hands, turning his head. “Hey, I'm just playing the devil's advocate here. I was actually hoping you did know the victim. Your description of the tattoo matches the description of a tattoo for a person wanted in connection with another murder. I'm closing in on who it is, I just need more proof. If you can ID this suspect, I can arrest him, and you have no idea what this could mean. It goes beyond just street warfare.”
Capture: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 2) Page 2