He was so out of it by the time she got downstairs she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get him to the third floor. But as soon as he saw her, the point was moot. He seemed to rally. Mumbling curses, he grabbed the railing and pulled himself upright.
“You trying to sneak away from me again,” he spat out, his anger sending him backward. He hooked his arm around the railing in time to keep himself from falling.
“I’m trying to help you,” she said tightly and started to reach for his arm. The thought of touching him gave her the willies and she immediately withdrew. “Can you make it up the stairs?”
“I made it down, didn’t I?” He stared at her with so much hatred it shrouded her like a dark cloud.
For a moment she flashed on an image of her father, looming over her, his hand drawn back. Although he’d rarely hit her, the threat had been enough.
She blinked. Her father was gone. But with a shudder, she realized she’d replaced him with Rick.
He wobbled, leaning toward her. “Get out of my way.”
She put her hands up. “Fine.”
She stood back and watched him struggle to the next step. Even with all the crap he’d put her through, there were times—like back at the car—when she’d actually felt sorry for him. When she’d truly wished she knew how to help him fight the addiction. Right now, he could fall and break his neck and she wouldn’t shed a single tear.
Unable to watch him another moment, she fled up the stairs but stayed on the second-floor landing. She waited until he got close, and then she went to the third floor. He crawled up to the last landing. Watching him, she was amazed how she could feel nothing. No pity. No anger. Nothing. He’d left his apartment unlocked, surprising because he was usually worried about his drug stash. She pushed the door open and waited for him to approach before stepping aside. His foul breath reached her before he did. She turned her face before she gagged.
“What are you doing standing out here?” He fell against her, and she automatically grabbed his arm and shoved him away. “You didn’t forget your promise, huh, Liza?”
She reared her head back. How could he remember that? Not that she had any intention of spending the night anywhere near him. “Get inside.”
He could barely lift his lids. “You first.”
“Come on, Rick.”
“You want the diaries? Get your ass in there.”
She stood her ground for a moment, and then realized how stupid she was being. The important thing was to get him inside. He wouldn’t last long on his feet.
“Fine.” She went first, stepping over empty bottles and the same fast-food wrappers that had been there for two weeks. The place smelled as bad as he did.
He slammed the door behind him and then kicked an empty tumbler out of his way. It hit the coffee table and shattered, pieces of glass flying across the carpet.
She stepped farther back, giving him a wide berth to the couch. But he headed for her instead. Panic gripped her. He was in too bad a condition to be a serious physical threat, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do damage. Besides, just the thought of him touching her again…
“Where’s the rest of my stash?” Rick asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“You have it.”
She drew in a deep breath. They’d gone through this before, but that was when she’d thought she was helping by hiding his stuff. “I don’t have anything of yours. You must have hidden it and forgot where you put it.”
He grunted in disbelief, but then he blinked, looking confused. “You don’t have it?”
“No.”
He looked toward the kitchen, and then stumbled in that direction, muttering to himself.
She heard the oven door open and then the rattle of paper.
Rick reappeared with a bag in his hand. He went straight for the couch, without looking at her, and went to work preparing his injection as if he’d forgotten she was there.
Liza didn’t move, in fact she barely breathed as she watched him prepare for his trip into oblivion. With what he’d already ingested, in the next few minutes, he’d be out and she’d be home free.
He took a rattling breath, and then slumped against the paisley upholstered pillows, his eyes closed. She turned slowly toward the door. Keeping her gaze on him, she moved as quietly as possible. She stepped on something that crackled, and she froze until she was certain he hadn’t been disturbed. After transferring her attention to the floor in front of her, she continued toward the door.
She grabbed hold of the doorknob.
The next second his hand circled her wrist. She cried out, more surprised than hurt, and twisted free. He stumbled, too weak and wasted to maintain a grip. But still, he swiped at the air, trying to strike her. She shoved him hard, and watched him trip over a bottle.
He hit the floor, butt first, and then his head slammed the corner of the coffee table. He lay there, not moving, his legs askew, his eyes closed, his ravaged face a deadly pallor.
She covered her mouth, cutting off a frightened cry. Jesus, had she killed him? She lowered her hand from her mouth. “Rick?” No answer. No movement. Not even a twinge. She walked over to him and dropped to her knees. “Rick!”
Nothing.
Silence. Deafening silence.
Her hands shook so badly that when she checked his wrist she knew that she wouldn’t find a pulse even if there was one. She stared hard at the side of his neck, looking for a pulse there. Her vision blurred. She tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry. She pulled back, sinking onto her heels, and wrapped her arms around herself. Her upper arms were tender, bruised from his grip earlier.
How many times had she wished him dead? She’d even dreamed about it. What had she done? She tried to take a deep breath but it wouldn’t come. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe. She tried a visualization technique she’d learned in college, but as soon as she summoned the image of Eve and Jane and herself playing on the beach in Fort Lauderdale the summer after they’d all met, panic overtook her.
She opened her eyes. The diaries. If he died, would she ever find them? Could they still hurt Eve?
She had to calm down. If he died, she’d have more than that to worry about. Everyone would think she’d killed him on purpose. No one would blame her, not here in the complex, anyway. They all thought Rick was an asshole. But that gave her motive.
“Oh, Rick, you stupid bastard.” She hugged herself tighter, rocking back and forth. She freed her arms and shook out her hands. She had to find a pulse. If not, she’d have to call 911.
The thought terrified her. She picked up his cold, limp hand and pressed her thumb to his wrist. Was that a pulse? Did she feel something? Or did she want it so badly she imagined it?
She sat back again, staring at his lifeless body. There was no blood. That was good. She took her first really deep breath. Maybe this had nothing to do with the fall. The amount of drugs and booze in his system could be enough to take him down.
“Come on, Liza, think,” she said out loud. She could call Mary Ellen to at least help her find a pulse…. No, the woman had enough trouble of her own. If the police ended up getting involved…
Evan. He was a doctor. He would know what to do.
She scrambled to her feet, while looking for her purse. She saw it laying on the floor by the door. Quietly she got back down and crawled toward it, and then glanced over her shoulder, before getting out her cell phone. She pressed his speed dial number. “Evan? Please, Evan. I need your help.”
Chapter 14
He almost hadn’t answered the phone. He usually didn’t when he was driving. The pager was a different matter. Only his nurse and answering service had that number, so a call usually meant a patient emergency.
“Evan?”
“Liza?” He wasn’t sure. Her voice barely made it to a whisper.
“I need your help. I think I—” Her voice cracked and she sniffled. “Please come.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.”
He nearly missed a stop sign. He pulled over to the shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain over the phone. Please, Evan, please…I need you.”
Pitifully, that’s all it took. He got her address, listened as calmly as he could as she gave directions, because she was anything but calm, and then he turned the car around. He did hope he wasn’t being a damn fool. She’d said she needed him, and he went running. Barely a question asked.
In his defense, she did sound panicked. Even though she hadn’t explained the problem, it had to be about Rick. If he’d hurt her…Evan couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about the conversation with Eve and Jane that he’d kept replaying in his head. He needed to concentrate on his driving. Traffic was heavy and he wasn’t that familiar with the area where she lived.
Half an hour and two wrong turns later, he saw the name of the apartment complex she’d given him. He had to look twice because several letters were missing from the sign. After he entered the parking lot, he understood how big the complex was, with no particular method to the layout. Reluctantly, he stopped to ask a man in a gray hoodie getting groceries out of the trunk of a car where to find building three. But the man didn’t speak English.
The place was in disgraceful shape, with litter on the ground next to the trash cans, and damaging potholes throughout the parking lot. The buildings were no better, with improper outside lighting and chunks of missing railing going up the stairs. Broken bottles littered the ground. This couldn’t be right.
He stopped the car and studied the directions he’d written down. How could Liza live in a dump like this? Aesthetics aside, the place wasn’t safe, especially not for a single woman. But his directions were right on. All he needed was to find building three.
After taking the next turn, he saw a chipped number against the dirty brick that could either be three or eight. Then he saw Liza’s car parked near the building. There were no empty spaces nearby but he managed to squeeze into an illegal spot near the stairs. If he got a ticket, so be it. He needed to get to Liza.
As soon as he got out of the car, she stepped out of the shadows near the stairs. No coat, even though it had gotten terribly cold since sunset, and still wearing the off-the-shoulder blue sweater she had on earlier. She didn’t come to him, but stayed where she was, shivering, hugging herself.
“Liza, are you okay?” he asked, quickly looking her over as he hurried toward her.
She shook her head.
He got to her but carefully kept his hands to himself. “Are you injured?”
She shook her head again, her eyes frightened, her face pale.
“Okay, good.” He wanted to reach for her, hold her against his chest but he kept his hands to himself.
“Come,” she whispered, her voice catching.
She turned around and led him up the stairs, one hand clinging to the rail. She faltered once, and he bracketed her waist with his hands until she steadied herself, and then let go when she continued.
She got to the third floor and went only a few steps before stopping in front of an apartment to wait for him.
“Is this your apartment?” he asked. She said nothing but just stood there shivering.
“No. Rick’s. That’s mine,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
A bad feeling gripped Evan’s gut and wouldn’t let go. “Is Rick hurt?”
Her lips quivered. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. With a soft cry she launched herself against him and wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him as if she teetered on the edge of a precipice and letting go would mean certain death.
“I think I killed him,” she whispered. “He’s not breathing.”
Christ Almighty. He gently pushed her back and looked at her terrified face. What the hell had she done? “What happened?”
“I shoved him. He hit his head on the corner of the table.”
“You have a key?”
“It’s unlocked.”
He turned the knob and the door opened. Among the litter, Rick laid on the dingy carpet, one leg twisted ominously, his face pasty white.
“Did you call 911?” Evan went to the man and crouched beside him.
“No. Just you.”
He looked sharply at her. “Do it. Now.”
She hesitated. “I didn’t mean it. He lunged for me, and I shoved him….”
“Liza, please,” Evan said calmly. “Make the call.”
She didn’t move. Just stood there staring at the shaggy-haired man on the floor, as if she were in a trance, her entire body shaking.
“Liza.”
She nodded and, with trembling hands, pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.
He checked the pulse at Rick’s neck. Faint but steady. Evan breathed in with relief. The pulse was weak enough he could see how she’d missed it, but it was there. The guy was definitely alive. Gingerly, Evan slid his hands under Rick’s head. No blood or obvious wounds. His arms and legs seemed all right, too. He checked his eyes. Not good.
“It’s my fault,” Liza said, staring. “He was already high and I should’ve stopped him from shooting up. But I didn’t. I wanted him to shut up. To go to sleep so I could call you and explain. I wanted him dead.” She shot Evan a panicked look, as if realizing her admission.
Evan forced himself to stay focused on his patient. He had a lot of questions for her, but now wasn’t the time. “Did you call 911?”
“Yes.” Tears streamed down her face. She seemed to be having difficulty drawing a breath. “What have I done?”
“He’s not dead.”
She blinked. Disappointment flashed across her face. She quickly lost it. Relief took its place, but was it real?
The hair on the back of Evan’s neck stood. He definitely hadn’t mistaken the disappointment. The thought of it made him queasy. Was she using him to help mount her defense? Had she wanted to get rid of Rick that badly that she’d tried to kill him? He did not want to believe that. “Do you know if he might have used anything else besides the heroin?”
“He’s been drinking a lot. Beer and vodka mostly.”
“Did you give him the drugs?”
She visibly swallowed. “I gave him the money to buy them.”
Evan looked away from her and stared down at Rick. “Why did you call me?”
“You’re a doctor.”
“The paramedics would’ve gotten here faster,” he said, meeting her eyes.
“I was scared, Evan. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I’d killed a man.”
He looked back down at Rick. She might not be directly responsible, but the guy was in bad shape. Would he make it? Evan had no idea.
“You’re angry.” She dropped down beside him, putting a hand on his thigh for balance.
“I’m confused.”
“I’ll tell you everything.” She looked around at the first sound of the sirens. “I was going to tell you tonight at dinner.”
Of course she was. “Right now, let’s concentrate on getting Rick to a hospital.”
“I swear, Evan,” she whispered, desperation making her voice thick. “I know you don’t believe me but—”
He picked her hand up and set it aside, and then got to his feet. Had this been her plan all along? Get rid of her boyfriend and use Evan to justify a self-defense claim? He really didn’t know what to think at this point. Maybe it was better that he didn’t think. Go on autopilot. Be Dr. Gann and get Rick taken care of before engaging in any conversations with Liza.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
He was at the door already. “To flag down the paramedics. This building isn’t easy to find.”
“I’m sorry, Evan. I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t mean to get you involved.”
He stopped and looked at her, crumpled in a heap on the floor. In spite of himself, he softened. He had to at least give her the benefit of the doubt. But that didn’t mean he’d let himsel
f be her doormat. “I have no intention of getting involved.”
* * *
Liza had never felt so alone in her entire life. Ironic, since just yesterday she’d dared to be happy, to actually harbor hope in her heart that Evan would be someone with whom she could share a part of herself. But it wasn’t his fault that everything had fallen apart. She screwed up. In a major way. Would he ever forgive her?
She looked over at Rick, his mouth partially open, disgusting spittle caked at the corners. She shouldn’t hate him. He deserved her sympathy. But she did hate him. More than she’d hated anyone. Even her father.
The sound of the sirens got so loud that the ambulance had to be right outside. She struggled to her feet and went to the door but stayed inside. She didn’t want to see any of her neighbors, and they’d all be out there, gawking, wondering if the ambulance had come for her or Rick.
Nearly everyone had heard Rick’s vitriolic rantings at one time or another. They’d seen her trying to sneak off, and heard him yelling at the top of his lungs to get her ass back to the apartment. Stoned out of his mind, Rick had knocked on doors in the middle of the night looking for her. If he didn’t make it, what would those people tell the police?
She hoped Mary Ellen and Freedom weren’t out there, too. But then why wouldn’t they be? The sirens were so damn loud….
Liza put a hand to her throbbing head and ducked for a quick look. The paramedics had just pulled their equipment from the back of the van. Evan said something to one of them. The man nodded and got inside the ambulance, a minute later climbing out and dragging the end of a gurney. The second paramedic grabbed the other end and they brought it up the stairs, swiftly and efficiently, followed by Evan.
She got out of the way, and they entered the apartment and immediately went to work on Rick. Liza stepped farther back, unable to stop shaking. Yes, she still felt horrible and responsible for Rick lying there, but watching Evan made her feel worse. He was such a good man. Always doing the right thing, and she totally didn’t deserve him. Not that it mattered either way now.
What She Really Wants For Christmas Page 14