I rushed out of the room and down the hallway toward a water fountain. The cool water assuaged my burning throat. It almost washed the phantom taste of blood and bile out of my mouth. Most people didn’t feel things in their dreams, but I did. A sharp pain where my scar cut across my abdomen was not abnormal after I’d been stabbed in my dreams. I got to relive the pain night after night. Wasn’t I a lucky girl?
I heard footsteps behind me and pulled away from the fountain. Luke stood nearby, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just one of the many joys of post-traumatic stress disorder.” Shaking my head, I walked back toward the conference room, pinning back stray strands of my hair still plastered to my sweat-soaked forehead.
I heard Luke follow behind me. “I think you should go to the hotel. Get some sleep.”
“No point. I won’t be able to sleep again tonight.”
“You barely got two hours.”
“I’ll be fine—I’m used to it.”
We both entered the conference room, and I started collecting the papers and photos I’d dropped on the floor. Luke gazed down at me, but instead of helping he stood in a defensive pose with his hand on his hip. “How often do you have the nightmares?”
“Depends. Some weeks it’s every night. Others only once or twice.”
“Are they always that bad?”
“No,” I said, getting increasingly annoyed, “sometimes they’re worse.”
“I’m amazed you haven’t gone crazy.”
I stood up with the papers in my arms, meeting his eyes. “Who says I haven’t?” I smiled wickedly and plopped down in my chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shaking his head slowly. He did that to buy time when he was trying to figure out how to talk to me without pissing me off even more. He never did it long enough.
After a few seconds he sat down in the chair next to mine, moving closer to me. “You aren’t crazy,” he said, his voice firm yet sympathetic. “You’re trying to drive yourself crazy as some sort of punishment.”
“Will you please stop trying to psychoanalyze me? It’s getting really old.” I turned away from him and began to organize the papers I’d dropped.
Luke didn’t take his eyes off me. I tried to ignore him, concentrating on the papers, but he wouldn’t look away. I continued to put the witness sheets back in order for another minute, then just couldn’t stand it anymore. I spun toward him. “Will you please stop that?”
“Not until you talk to me.”
I fell back in my chair, crossing my arms. “Fine. What do you want to talk about? The weather? The Redskins?”
“We used to be really good friends. We could tell each other anything.”
“Emphasis on ‘used to.’ ”
“Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?” he asked, leaning toward me. “I’m trying to help you!”
“I…don’t…need…your…help,” I said, drawing out every word. “And unless you want me on the next plane out of here, you’ll stop trying.”
“No,” he stated plainly.
“What?”
“No, I won’t let this go. You need to talk to me.”
“We have nothing to say to each other. I am not your partner or your friend anymore. My life is none of your business.”
“I brought you in on this case. I need to know you can keep it together.”
“I am keeping it together.”
He pointed behind us. “I heard you screaming four rooms away. When I woke you up you were gawking around like a crazy person. You barely recognized me.”
“You shouldn’t have woken me up!” I said. “Don’t you know not to wake up someone when they’re in the middle of a nightmare?”
“I know nightmares. What you were having goes beyond a normal nightmare.” He paused. “Please talk to me,” he whispered. His eyes implored me to speak, almost as if he were the one who needed saving.
“You don’t know what it’s like to…go through what I did. You can imagine, but you don’t really know.” I bit my lip. “One minute I was closing up boxes and waiting for my husband to come home with champagne. And the next thing I knew I had a knife sticking out of my abdomen and my husband’s brains in my hair. How the hell do you recover from that?”
“Not a clue,” he said quietly.
“He was supposed to be locked up. The man went through two federal marshals to get to me. Those men had families. Children lost their fathers because of me. My…husband was shot in the head because of me.”
“No,” he said. “Meriwether was to blame. He killed them.”
“Because of me. He killed those marshals to get to me. He killed…” I said, my voice breaking, “he killed Hayden to punish me. Tell me how it isn’t my fault.”
“You had no way of knowing he’d get free and do what he did.”
“I should have. Wasn’t it my job to know what these guys were going to do next, how they were going to react?”
“It isn’t like peering into a crystal ball. We don’t have all the answers. And you caught him. You stopped him from raping and ripping up more little girls. You’re not to blame. You’re a victim just like Hayden.”
I turned to him, my eyes made of steel. “I am not a victim,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m alive, and he’s rotting in the ground. I blew him away. He’s the victim. My victim.”
Luke turned away from my gaze as if my icy eyes burned him. “You don’t feel any remorse, do you?”
“Would you?”
“Yeah, I would.”
“Then you’re a better man than I.” I stood from the table and got my purse from the floor. “You can’t help me Luke, so don’t waste your time or your breath. There are more important things to worry about. I’m a lost cause.” I put on my coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I walked out of that conference room without even a glance back. I half expected him to follow, but he didn’t. Maybe he’d finally wised up. I hoped so. For his sake.
Chapter 8
My run hit the spot. At first light, I turned off my television, laced up my sneakers, and took off, not stopping for five miles. I managed to run out all my tension from the previous night and was ready to face the fresh hell the day would no doubt throw at me.
I’d felt like a caged animal in my hotel room the night before, all but climbing the walls with my fingernails. I couldn’t read; I couldn’t sleep; even the television drove me nuts. And there was only one person to blame: Luke Stanton Hudson. Our conversation festered in my brain, and every time I replayed it I just grew angrier and angrier. He was so damn judgmental. Everything was black or white, no room for gray. When you’re staring at the man who mutilated you and murdered your husband seconds before and you have a gun in your hand, the world is as gray as it could possibly be. Meriwether deserved a lot more than what I did to him. I was far more merciful than he had been.
But what really got under my skin, what pissed me off to the point I wanted to shoot someone again, was the fact that I cared what Luke thought about me. I cared that he thought I was a cold-hearted bitch. I’d gotten used to the fact that people thought I was unhinged. I was used to the look of apprehension and fear I always found, but I’d never thought I’d see it on Luke’s face. Never. It hurt me a lot more than I ever thought possible. So I ran. I ran from the rotunda of the Capitol all the way to the Washington Monument. I ran until my legs cramped and my lungs felt like balloons about to burst inside my chest. I didn’t think, I just listened to the Allman Brothers and went.
Sweat covered every inch of my body as I walked into the hotel lobby. Immediately, I spotted Luke standing in the corner talking on his cellphone. My stomach did a somersault. I chalked it up to overextending myself and not because he looked so damn good in that light gray suit and blue shirt that matched his eyes perfectly. That was my story, and I was sticking to it. Though I did wipe my brow and smooth my hair on reflex. I walked over to him, and he just pointed to the coffee on the ground next to his feet. Milk and sugar
, just the way I liked it.
“Well, we appreciate it a great deal. We’ll be there in about half an hour. Thank you, doctor.” Luke shut his cellphone.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“You need to get dressed.” Not waiting for me, he walked toward the elevator. I scoffed and followed. Somebody forgot his manners leaving the house that morning.
I leapt into the elevator just in time. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Sorry. Morning,” he said, watching the numbers on the elevator go up. The door opened and we stepped into the hallway. He walked quickly down the hall to my door. I followed a few paces behind, not sharing his enthusiasm. He stopped in front of the door, waiting for me to unlock it. “You need to shower and change.”
“First tell me who was on the phone,” I said, hand on my hip. He didn’t answer. “What? Is it a secret or something?”
Luke sighed as if he wanted to delay the inevitable. “Justine Romy’s boyfriend, Chuck Winkler.”
“Oh,” I said in a disembodied voice.
Dr. Chuck Winkler, best man at my wedding. My husband’s best friend.
Shit.
I hadn’t seen him since he dropped off a bouquet of daisies in my hospital room days after the attack. I was still very weak—losing almost three pints of blood and vital organs does that to you—and I had a revolving door of guests come and visit me, mainly other agents and the odd overzealous reporter. Chuck came the fourth day, looking exactly like a man who’d just lost his best friend. That air of easygoingness and goodwill had evaporated, or I guess more accurately was stolen from him. We didn’t say anything to each other. He just took the seat next to my bed and began to weep. And what did I do? Nothing. I turned away from him and didn’t look back until he left ten minutes later. If anyone felt the loss of Hayden as much as I did, it was Chuck, and I couldn’t stand the fucking sight of him.
“He wants us to meet him at the hospital in half an hour,” Luke said.
“Does he know I’ll be there?”
Luke nodded. “He asked to speak to both of us. Is that okay?” I hesitated for a second, deciding if I could handle another reunion with a person I wronged. Luke picked up on my reluctance. “If you’re uncomfortable…”
“No,” I finally said, “it’s fine. It’s why I’m here, right? I’ll just go get ready.”
I moved over to my open suitcase and pull out a royal-blue blouse, and gray pants with a matching jacket. I rushed into the bathroom and jumped in the shower. I was moderately hesitant to take a shower with Luke in the next room not twenty feet away. I knew he would never come in, but still. I was naked, with only a door separating us. Who knew what thoughts were going through his head? He was a man, and it wouldn’t require much imagination. He had seen me naked before. I stopped myself from continuing this train of thought. It was just avoidance thinking so I didn’t dwell on the fact that in half an hour I’d be face-to-face with my dead husband’s best friend. Then, on second thought, I decided I’d rather dwell on Luke thinking of me naked than what was about to happen. Defense mechanisms did have their uses. I was out of the bathroom in record time. My wet hair was in its twist and my lipstick was on. I was ready.
At least I hoped so.
—
Our Lady of Mercy was a ten-story, white concrete building that could never be mistaken for anything but a hospital. A never-ending stream of ambulances entered and dropped off their cargo, only to reemerge seconds later, sirens blaring. That’s what you got for living in a city with one of the highest murder rates in America. Never a dull moment. Doctors and nurses toiled endlessly over broken bodies for a pittance. It was a thankless job most of the time, which was one of the reasons Hayden and I got along so well. We both knew what humans were capable of doing to each other, and we did our best to stop and repair the damage. We could tell each other about our days and not worry the other would be shocked or disturbed. We had our noses in the grit but knew that when we came home, we could wash it off simply by being together.
I never liked hospitals, even before my stay after the attack, but returning that day took about everything I had. Going back to where I often visited my husband, seeing familiar faces, was unnerving. Especially seeing Chuck. What was he going to do when he saw me? Slap me? Hug me? Did he know about Luke and me? What was seeing us together going to do to him? He’d just lost a girlfriend. Why on earth would he want to see the woman responsible for killing his best friend?
“This is a bad idea,” I said minutes from the hospital.
“What?” Luke asked.
“Us. Being there together. I mean, should we both be talking to him?”
“You’re just a consultant; you can’t interview him alone.”
“You can deputize me,” I suggested. Federal agents had the power to deputize a citizen under dire circumstances. That qualified in my book.
Luke gave me a sideways glance. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
He glanced again with a sigh. “I am under strict orders not to give you any more power than you already have.”
“Why?”
“I think you know.”
Yeah, I knew. Reggie, the asshole.
We pulled up to the hospital and parked in the visitors’ lot. Luke stopped the car and turned to me. “This is about the case, nothing more. As long as we play it professional, so will he. That’s all we can do. You’re okay to do this,” he said, not as a question but a statement of fact. I nodded. I could do this. I got out of the car.
When we asked for Chuck at reception, the woman pointed to the doctors’ lounge. I knew where it was. Luke and I maneuvered our way through the gurneys and orderlies and stopped in front of the lounge. I took a deep, calming breath and stepped in.
Chuck sat at a small table in the middle of the room, sipping coffee. He hadn’t changed much. His brown hair was cut about an inch from his head and his hazel eyes were heavy with sleep. He’d lost a little weight. When I last saw him a beer belly was in the works. The change was probably Justine’s influence.
He didn’t smile when he saw us. I couldn’t remember him when he didn’t have a smile on his face. He was always so gregarious and fun-loving; though having the person you loved taken from you so violently wiped all remnants of a smile from your face. I could attest.
He appraised me, but the conclusion he drew didn’t show in his eyes. He slowly stood up from the table and walked over to me, completely ignoring Luke to my left. When he stood a foot away from me, he stopped. Then he did something I didn’t expect. He wrapped his arms around me, squeezing tight. I was shocked enough to stop breathing. Without realizing it, I hugged him back. We hugged for what felt like hours, but was really only a few seconds.
He broke away first. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just…had to hug you.”
“It’s okay,” I chuckled. “I don’t mind.”
He half-smiled. “You look…” he began but trailed off.
“I know. I look like hell. Everyone keeps telling me.” I glanced at an uncomfortable Luke, then told Chuck, “You don’t look so hot yourself.”
“Well…” He shrugged his shoulders. We left it at that.
Luke, deciding it was time to end the love fest, took a step toward us. “Dr. Winkler, we just have a few follow-up questions for you.”
“Right.” Chuck gestured at the table for us to sit. I took the chair across from him, with Luke taking the seat next to him; he moved the chair closer to me. The few dinner parties I’d managed to put together with the four of us were always this awkward. Luke and Chuck never seemed to get on, which always puzzled me because Chuck liked everyone, but he never warmed up to Luke. They tried at the beginning, but later on Chuck just seemed to get colder and colder toward him. I never thought to ask why, and in the later years I just gave up. That air of frostiness filled the doctors’ lounge.
“How long were you and Dr. Romy dating?” Luke began.
“Six months,” Chuck said. “She actua
lly asked me out.”
“I believe it,” I said with a smile. “You were always shy.”
Luke cleared his throat. We both glanced back to him. “In the past month or two did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Any strange men following you or her?”
“No, nothing. She would have told me if something was off.”
“Did she attend any medical conferences lately?” I asked.
“Not for about a year.”
“Did she go out of town at all?” Luke asked.
“No,” he answered, shaking his head.
“Have you ever heard the names Sarah Illes, Amanda Denker, or Patricia Curtis?”
“None of those are familiar, except from the news,” he said.
“Do you know of anybody who would want to hurt her? Old boyfriends? Disgruntled patients?”
“No.”
Luke let out an exasperated sigh and clicked the pen he was using to take notes shut. “You said you had new information for us,” Luke said, not veiling his annoyance.
“No,” Chuck countered, sounding equally annoyed, “I said I had something new for you. Do you want it or not?”
Both men glared at each other in a duel to see who was the more pissed off of the two. I jumped in before the fisticuffs began. “What do you have for us?”
They broke off the stare. Luke peered down at the floor, embarrassed he’d shown any emotion, let alone anger. Chuck chuckled uneasily. “I have some things she left over at my place in my car.”
“Why don’t I walk you to your car to get them,” I suggested. “Luke, I’ll meet you at our car.”
Luke glanced at me, then at Chuck. “All right.” He stood from the table. “Don’t be long.” Luke left the room, and all the tension went with him. Chuck’s shoulders relaxed when the door finally shut.
“Okay, you want to tell me what that was all about?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just don’t like that guy. Never have. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him the day she disappeared. He brought me in for questioning and treated me like a criminal.”
“That’s his job,” I said, “and he’s very good at it. If anyone can find the man who killed Justine, it’s him. I never knew a better agent.”
Beautiful Maids All in a Row Page 8