by CJ Lyons
"You can't know that. Not even the doctors can know that."
"All I can do is hope for the best. And keep her thinking that way as well. I've seen too many patients who fall into despair, imagining the worst, and they never climb out."
"See, that's exactly why you don't want me here. I can't look at Megan—here, sick, helpless—without imagining the worst and it tears me up inside."
His lips brushed the top of her head and his hands tightened on her hips. The smell of him filled the room: comfort, warmth, strength.
"Shhh....everything is going to be okay. I know it is. You did the impossible, you found Ashley, saved her."
They both knew Ashley was far from saved. "Now who's believing in fairy tales?"
"Thank you for keeping your promise to Megan."
She rubbed her nose against his. "You are so very welcome."
They kissed again and Lucy was ready to take it farther, much, much farther, injured back and small confines not withstanding, when her cell buzzed again. "Damn."
Nick backed away, leaning against the shower stall as she yanked the infernal machine from her belt. It was Walden.
"Hey, boss," he said when she answered. "Finally made it to the morgue in one piece. Got a few things for you."
"Go ahead."
"Found ID's on all three victims. The uncle, the ME thinks he's been dead the longest—several years. Which means someone's been collecting his pension for him. Probably how Fletcher and his mom paid for her hospital bills and nursing home and everything. No signs of trauma, he could have died of natural causes or even been poisoned. It's gonna take a while to tell, the ME says he's been mummified."
Lucy cringed at the image that sent through her mind, was glad Walden had pulled the morgue detail instead of her. "And the women?"
"You were right. One was Tzisaris. ME says she shows signs of being beaten and strangled. Dead for months but decomp was slowed—all the bodies were probably kept someplace cool and dry and free of insects for a while before they were moved into the barn. We're still working on that."
The distinctive buzzing sound of a Stryker bone saw interrupted him. A moment later he continued. "The third is a visiting nurse named Connie Thackman. She was reported missing three years ago."
Right around the time Alicia went to the nursing home. "She ever assigned to care for Alicia Fletcher?"
"Bingo. So, I'll finish up here, but they're going slow—with the partial mummification and all, the ME's taking his time."
"Call me when you know anything more." Then she reconsidered—she might be fired by morning. "Actually, Walden. Stay there as long as you can, but be prepared to take over things tomorrow morning."
"Is it your daughter? Is she worse?"
"No, she's doing all right. But there's going to be some fall out for what happened after I left you." She filled him in on the debacle at the nursing home, Alicia's suicide, and Fletcher's escape.
"Hey, you saved the kid," he said encouragingly. "Don't sweat the rest. It will work out."
Walden was the last person she'd have pegged as an optimist. She hung up. "Go figure."
"What?" Nick asked.
"Walden just told me not to worry, that everything's going to be all right."
Nick wrapped his arms around her, his lips whispering against her hair. "Smart man. Let's say we try to get some sleep. You want the fold-out hard-as-a-rock-bed-thing or the chair by the window?"
"I'll take the chair." It was closer to Megan. If she thought she could get away with crawling into the bed without setting off the damn alarm again, she'd do that.
Nick kissed her once more before opening the door. Finally, they felt back in synch, as if Lucy's world had regained its balance. Megan was snoring softly, one foot hanging out from under the sheets, the oxygen monitor's green light bouncing in time with her breathing. One hundred percent, Lucy noted. Best you could get.
Burroughs wondered if Guardino had given him the easy duty because she was pissed at him about Cindy and wanted to sideline him or because she saw that he'd been pushing himself too hard. His sugar was way out of whack—378 was his last reading despite ramping up his insulin dose.
It always happened when he was under too much stress and didn't get enough sleep. Or exercise. Or eat properly. Which was about every day on this job.
Hard to complain when he was sitting on his ass watching a kid sleep and everyone else was out chasing down leads on Fletcher. He sighed and concentrated on drinking more water, washing out all the ketones before they made him vomit.
The door pushed open and he sprang to attention, one hand on his weapon. Then he relaxed, it was just Mrs. Yeager again. He'd told her she could say goodnight to Ashley—as long as Ashley was asleep and didn't know she was there.
Last thing he needed was a hysterical kid on his hands, especially when Guardino was right down the hall with her own kid.
"It's okay," he whispered. "She's asleep."
Melissa took two steps into the room and stopped as if frightened of her own daughter. "The nurse said the medicine they gave her might help her to forget—" A shudder shook her thin body. "Forget what happened to her."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't know. She's been sleeping ever since I got here."
"They said on the news—something about a barn, where she was kept? Were you there? Did you see it?"
She was still a good eight feet away from her kid, expecting Burroughs to have all the answers, make everything right again in her perfect little world.
Half of him wanted to shake her, slap her silly, and make her wake up to the fact that there was a damn good reason her kid had tried so hard to escape that perfect world.
The other half felt sorry for her, saw that she was slowly starting to figure that out on her own.
Suddenly she started crying. Not bawling her head off, not making any noise to wake the kid, just standing there, shoulders slumped, tears streaming down her cheeks like Niagara Fucking Falls.
"He killed her. He killed my baby. I'll never get her back."
Shit. He ran into the bathroom, grabbed the box of tissues there and handed them to her at arm's length. She had the look of a woman who needed to be held. She'd better look to someone other than him—he'd had his full share of women for the day, thank you very much.
Instead, he took her elbow, she was a bony thing, and led her to the door. "Let's get you someplace private, Mrs. Yeager."
He darted a look over his shoulder. Ashley hadn't moved, was dead to the world. He'd only be a minute. He escorted Mrs. Yeager down the hallway and past the nurses' station to the other wing where the family lounge was located.
She was still weeping, eyes puffy and red, tear tracks like silvery icicles marring her blush and makeup. He tried his best not to look at her, it was embarrassing to see her reserve break so completely, and pushed open the lounge door.
Waiting on the other side was Cindy Ames.
"Mrs. Yeager," she said brightly, ignoring the wad of tissues in Yeager's hand to pull her into the room. "It's so nice to see you. I figured you might end up here."
Burroughs stood at the doorway, his palm resting on his weapon, half-tempted to simply shoot the reporter before she could do more harm. Cindy flashed him a triumphant smirk and he came dangerously close to easing his Glock from its holster.
She'd taken time to change into a navy pantsuit and new blouse, this one gold with fabric draped at the neckline. New shoes as well, he noticed. She wasn't walking like a drunken sailor with her broken heel any longer.
"I'd love to hear your side of Ashley's story," Cindy said, drawing Yeager down to sit beside her on the loveseat. "Tell the world about your experiences so that hopefully no other family ever has to go through this again."
Melissa nodded uncertainly, dabbing her face with the tissue and glancing at Burroughs as if he were the one in charge of what she said and did. Good. Because last thing they needed was Cindy fucking things up more than they already were—or worse, getting
the mom to agree to an exclusive with Ashley. He shuddered to think of what the rapacious reporter would do to the kid's fragile and damaged psyche.
"Cindy, I don't think this is a good idea. Why don't we give Mrs. Yeager some privacy?"
"Detective Burroughs, I don't really believe it's up to you, now is it?" She focused on Yeager with a greedy gleam in her eye. "I have my cameraman downstairs, you wouldn't even have to leave the building. I'm sure you want everyone to remember you as Ashley's advocate, someone concerned with her recovery."
Melissa jerked her head up at that. "Of course I'm concerned, who said I wasn't? I'm her mother."
Cindy patted Melissa's hand. "Exactly my point. I'm so happy you agree." She inclined her head at Burroughs. "You can leave now, Detective. I can handle everything from here."
Lucy jerked awake. Fear choked her throat, adrenalin revved her heart into overdrive. She blinked, her vision adjusting to the dark hospital room, one hand automatically reaching for her weapon.
The light snapped on. "Don't make a move, Lucy."
Fletcher sat on Megan's bed, one hand holding a forty caliber Glock to her head. Megan's eyes were wide with terror, searching her mother's out. Expecting Lucy to save her.
"She'll be dead before you can reach your gun. Your other gun," Fletcher said with a chuckle. "Or before either of you can finish screaming."
Lucy fought the truth in his words. Her hand clenched with the urge of blowing a fist-sized hole through his face. Anything to get the monster away from her little girl. She found enough saliva to swallow and faced him. "Where's Nick?"
"Called away. Patient emergency. Or so he thought. I think he left you a note on the table."
Nick was alive. Lucy felt the knot in her throat relax a millimeter or two. Enough so she could breathe. "What do you want?"
"Where's Ashley? You took her away from me." He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "That wasn't very nice of you."
"I doubt Ashley would agree."
"No. She's mine. I saved her." His voice rose, not loud enough to reach the hallway, but loud enough to startle Megan.
She flinched, pulling away from him. He tapped the barrel of the gun against her skull and she clamped her mouth shut, gulping down tears.
"Let her go. I'll do whatever you want. Please, just let her go." Breaking every rule of crisis negotiation, Lucy pled for Megan's life. To hell with the rules. What good were they if they couldn't protect her daughter?
"Will you? Do whatever I want? Without question?"
Lucy latched onto the opening. "Yes. Absolutely. Let her go and I'll help you escape—take you to Mexico, Canada, wherever you want to go."
"You'll take me to Ashley?" His eyes narrowed, considering her offer.
"Yes." She risked standing, arms wide open in surrender. "We need to go now, before the nurses come to check on Megan. Let's go."
He cocked his head and made an old-woman clucking noise with his tongue. "You're not telling me what to do, are you?" He jerked hard on Megan's hair, eliciting a gasp from her.
Think, Lucy, think. She willed her stunned brain to process his words. What did he really want, what did Ashley represent to him?
She lowered her gaze so that her eyes didn't meet his. Bowed her head slightly, allowed her shoulders to slump.
"You know what's best." The words almost caught in her throat, harder to utter than any perversion she'd been forced to act out while undercover. "You're in charge here. I'll do anything you want."
He loosened his grip on Megan and stared at Lucy for a long moment. "Prove it."
"What do you want?" Make it all about him, he's the center of the universe.
"Give this to her." He stretched out his free hand. In his palm lay a syringe filled with a clear substance.
Lucy didn't bother to mask the trembling in her fingers as she took it. She uncapped the needle, assessing its potential as a weapon. None. Not while he held Megan like that. She bit her tongue, fighting the urge to ask him what was in it. Must not question his authority.
She slid her fingers along the IV tubing, tracing it down to the medication port she'd seen the nurses use. Megan's breathing grew tight and raspy. Her hands were clenched in white knuckled fists.
Lucy closed her eyes for a long moment. Please God...
"Not in the IV," Fletcher commanded just as she was about to risk Megan by launching herself across the bed at him. Better that than an unknown poison that might kill Megan. "It's ketamine. I calculated it for injection in a muscle—not sure if it might be dangerous in the IV."
She risked looked up at him. His smile was awful: wide and excited, his tongue flicking over his lips as he watched her. "You would have done it, wouldn't you?"
No. "Yes," she answered, not meeting Megan's gaze. "I'll do anything you tell me to."
He nodded. "Yes, you will. As long as she's alive and vulnerable." He jerked Megan's body like she was a rag doll. "Go ahead, give it to her."
"Where?"
"In her arm." He twisted, holding Megan, his gun still against her temple. Now Megan's arm was within easy reach.
Lucy leaned over the bed, her daughter only inches away. Could she tackle Megan, grab her, throw her down, out of harm's way? Fletcher shook his head as if reading her thoughts, tightening his grip on Megan. Lucy glanced down at the needle. It wasn't very big. The worse damage it could inflict was to maybe take out an eye.
Not before he killed Megan.
Lucy raised the sleeve of Megan's hospital gown, exposing her flesh. She angled herself so that she blocked Fletcher's view. Megan trembled. Lucy met her daughter's eyes as she held her hand out of sight, beneath the gown. "Don't worry."
Megan's lips were two thin white lines, sweat beaded on her forehead. But she met Lucy's gaze, her eyes full of trust. Lucy jabbed the needle in. Megan yelped in pain, new tears blossoming on her face.
"Very good," Fletcher said, his voice throaty as if he was aroused by the scene. Probably was, the bastard.
Lucy flicked Megan's gown back into place before Fletcher could see the fluid dripping harmlessly down Megan's arm. Swiftly pivoting away from him to further distract him, she dropped the syringe into the sharps box mounted on the wall. She glanced over her shoulder at Megan, saw her slump, her eyes fluttering. Good girl.
"Perfect. She'll sleep for hours, not remember a thing when she wakes." Fletcher laid Megan onto her pillows and aimed the gun at Lucy. "Let's go."
"I never wanted to hurt anyone," he said as they left Megan behind. "All I wanted was to save Ashley. Do you have any idea how those people were treating her? What they did to her?"
Nothing compared to what Lucy was going to do to him. "Those people are her parents."
"They were killing her. They didn't care anything about her."
"And you do?" She steered him down the hallway, away from Megan, away from Ashley, and towards the nurses' station.
"Of course. Why do you think I went through all this effort to rescue her? I love her."
He froze for a beat, emphasizing his words. Just what Lucy had been waiting for. She spun, grabbing his weapon hand and forcing it away from her as she slammed her palm up under his chin. He fired, the sound shattering the silence like a thunderclap from the heavens.
She swept his leg out from under him, still trying to get control of the gun. He went down, the back of his head bouncing from the floor, pulling her with him. The Glock went off again. She felt a rush of hot air brush the side of her face, heard the scream of a woman behind her.
Footsteps pounded close by as she grappled with Fletcher. He grabbed her by the hair, slamming her head against the floor, his knee on her chest, constricting her lungs.
She gasped for air just as she heard Burroughs shout, "Drop the gun, Fletcher. Drop it!"
Fletcher's face barely changed expression as he glanced up and shot at Burroughs twice. Melissa Yeager appeared in the edge of Lucy's vision, screaming. "You killed her! You killed my baby!"
Then Fletcher shot
her as well. He shifted his weight to aim at a second woman, the reporter, Cindy Ames.
Lucy found her opening, freeing a hand to chop at his voice box, snapping his head back as she flipped him over. She wrenched his wrist as his weight pulled him in the opposite direction.
He gasped, a harsh, raspy sound like her father's cancer buddies had made with their artificial voice boxes. Now on top of him, she twisted his wrist farther until his fingers went limp and he dropped the Glock.
She scrambled to her feet, holding his own weapon on him. Her ears buzzed with the reverberation of the shots but as they cleared she heard people yelling and footsteps behind her.
"It's all right, I'm a federal agent," she called out, her gaze never leaving Fletcher. She couldn't spare a glance to check on Burroughs or Melissa, hoped that some of the running she heard was someone taking care of them. Fletcher's eyes fluttered, then opened fully. "Someone call 911."
"I don't think you want to do that, Lucy," he said, his smile painted with blood from where he'd bit his tongue. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head.
"Stay where you are," she ordered, her voice low and deadly, her finger moving from the trigger guard to the trigger. "Hands where I can see them!"
"You won't shoot me. Not unless you want to kill all these children." He pulled his left hand out from his side, holding a small remote control he'd plucked from his waistband. "Know what this is?"
"What?"
"A dead man's switch. My thumb moves a whisper and you, me, the entire floor and everyone on it goes up." Now he was grinning at her. "All those children and their families dead. All your fault. Only I can save them."
Chapter 39
Monday 2:02 am
She was floating. It was so quiet, so peaceful that she wondered why she'd ever fought this. No worries, no fear, no pain...
"Hey, wake up," a girl's voice broke through her blissful solitude. Then something pinched her leg. Hard.
She blocked the pain, floating further away so that the girl's voice was a dim dream, receding fast.
"Wake up, Ashley. Now. I need your help."