“Clean towels,” Justin said. “And get my medical bag from the closet in the bedroom.” The bullet had nicked the carotid artery, and if he didn’t get it patched up quickly, she was going to bleed out.
Whipping off his shirt, he pressed it to the wound.
“Natasha,” he said, getting in her face, and finally slapping it to bring her around. “That’s a girl. Don’t you dare give up, you hear?”
James rushed back into the room, a stack of towels and Justin’s medical bag in one hand, a big black pistol in the other.
“I called 9-1-1,” he said, tossing down the towels, the bag. Then he crawled to the window, eased the slats of the shutter up with the edge of his gun.
“Get away from the window,” Justin snapped. “And turn on the light.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, somebody out there is shooting.”
“Which is why I want you to get away from the damn window. I need the light so that I can see what I’m doing, and I need your help,” he said. “Hold this towel in place, just as firmly as you can.”
James nodded, and flicked the light switch. Then he knelt next to Justin, his face going bone white as he applied pressure.
“Don’t pass out,” Justin said, and the look his brother shot him was dirty.
“I won’t.”
Justin ripped open his bag, took out a scalpel and a surgical clamp. It was less than ideal, but he just needed to buy some time.
“Natasha,” he said again. “We need to get this bleeding stopped, okay? You stay with me.”
Her eyes were glassy with shock, but they flickered in acknowledgement.
Snapping on gloves, he nodded at James, who moved the towel and the shirt away so that Justin could get a better look at the injury. When he pressed his scalpel to her torn flesh, widening the hole so that he’d be better able to maneuver, James flinched.
“The shock is keeping her from feeling the pain,” he murmured, and though his brother was still pale, he nodded.
“Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“Press the towel right here,” he said, indicating the area with a nod of his head. “I need to absorb some of that blood so that I’m not working blind. Okay. Now pull back.”
When James moved, Justin leaned in, identified the artery. “Hand me that clamp. Pressure,” he said after James placed the clamp in his hand. “Now stop.”
When his brother moved, Justin clamped the artery.
Sirens sounded outside, and Justin sat back on his heels. “Shit,” he said, noticing that the young woman’s eyes had closed. “Natasha. Natasha!”
This time, he couldn’t bring her around.
“Will she make it?” James asked.
“I don’t know,” Justin said, as he took her pulse, relieved to find it there, if thready. “I hope so.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
KATHLEEN found Justin, eyes closed, long legs stretched before him, leaning against the wall in the surgical waiting room. He had on clean scrubs, but he’d missed a smear of blood near his elbow. She didn’t know why the sight of that blood should disconcert her, considering that he was probably up to his elbows in the stuff every day, but her stomach gave a little lurch.
She sat down in the chair next to him, unsure if he was simply resting or whether he was actually asleep. After a few moments, he cracked open one eye.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” she said. The tenderness that still took her by surprise welled in her, and she reached over to take his hand. “So,” she said. “Deja vu, huh? I hear you’ve had an eventful evening.”
Justin grunted. “James?”
Kathleen nodded. “He’s pretty concerned. I just bumped into him by the vending machines.”
“Neither hell nor high water can get between James and his appetite. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I wasn’t sure if I should.”
A noise of frustration huffed out of her chest. “So kidnapping me to have sex in your vehicle is okay, but calling me when someone takes a shot at you isn’t?”
“Your rules,” Justin said, his voice testy. “The sex I thought we could keep between us. But it’s a little tougher to keep our relationship on the down-low when there are cops crawling all over the place.”
“Justin –”
“Are you sure you should be holding my hand?”
Because she knew exactly how far he’d been pushed recently, how close he must be to the breaking point, Kathleen let that slide.
“We closed the investigation,” she said. “Into Mandy’s death. So I don’t care who knows I’m in love with you.”
His eyes flashed at that, then he squeezed her hand and sighed. “Suicide?”
“That’s the official verdict.”
He searched her face. “You still have doubts?”
Kathleen shrugged. They hadn’t found any traces of wine cork in the garbage disposal, but after going another few rounds with Mac, and then with the lieutenant, she’d agreed – reluctantly – that they couldn’t justify spending more time and more resources for what was essentially a minor detail. “There are some questions I’d still like answered, but then that’s not all that unusual in my job. A lot of questions go unanswered. I just have to make the best judgment call that I can.”
He leaned his head back against the wall. “I should probably feel something right now, but I seem to be rather numb.”
“Will she survive?”
“This time?” He made a sound that held no trace of amusement. “You want my professional opinion, I’d lay odds against it. Her body has been through a hell of a lot here recently, so she doesn’t have much in the way of strength reserves. The bullet caught her in the neck, nicked the carotid artery. I acted as quickly as I could, under the circumstances, but… she lost a hell of a lot of blood.”
“Justin.” She waited until he looked her way. “If she does survive, it’ll be because you acted quickly. Again. I know you. So I know that you did everything you could – at risk to yourself since you were under fire.”
He made a face that suggested he wasn’t swayed by that argument. “Do you think this is related to the original shooting? That she was targeted by one of the gangs?”
“I don’t think there’s enough evidence yet to make that call. Rutledge is involved, based on Natasha’s earlier allegations, but…” She lifted one shoulder. If she knew Justin, he was probably beating himself up that he hadn’t taken those allegations more seriously. “Was it only the single shot fired?”
“Yes. But then I guess one was enough.”
“Hmm.” Kathleen wasn’t sure what to make of that. True, many executions were carried out with only a single shot fired, provided the shooter was confident that it was a kill shot, but given what she knew of the local gangs, they tended toward spraying everything in sight with a hail of bullets – as they had at Jugs – or, when the hit was more up close and personal, they utilized the classic double-tap. And a slit throat for added insurance. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Justin was quiet a moment, but then he told her, as best as he could remember, everything Natasha said.
“She said she found something that suggested you were in danger?” A chill skittered along Kathleen’s spine. “What?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “The gun went off as soon as she stood up. We didn’t exactly have a chance to chat afterward.”
“You told all this to the cops at the scene?”
“Ah, some. I rode in the ambulance with Natasha, though, and so didn’t have much time to make a full statement. I just talked to one of them again about fifteen minutes ago, though. He’s around here somewhere.” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “I think he was going to see if he could find out anything about Natasha’s condition.”
“Do you know if they searched her car?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “I didn’t even think about it until the detective had me go through everything step-by-step. The content of our conversation sort of
took a backseat after the shooting started.”
Kathleen frowned, and Justin squeezed her hand.
“She could have been talking about almost anything. Natasha was just in the hospital. Hell, maybe she overheard Mandy’s friends plotting against me. You know that blue underwear?”
“I have a vague recollection.”
“James said they weren’t his. Or that he didn’t put them there, rather. I thought maybe someone stuck them in my coat pocket to set me up, like I’ve been harassing the nurses. Or the patients,” he considered. “I spent a fair amount of time talking to Natasha – alone – even though I wasn’t her doctor. They could probably find a way to make something of that if they really tried.”
Kathleen considered. She guessed it made sense. Having interviewed them herself, she knew that those two women had no love lost when it came to Justin. And that little slip of the tongue regarding retaliation definitely gave the impression that they weren’t above actively pursuing revenge.
Seemed she needed to have another little chat with Cynthia and Julie.
But because she was inclined to hedge her bets, she was going to talk to the detective, see what, if anything, they’d found in the young woman’s car.
“I’m going to go see what I can find out. Can I get you anything?” Kathleen asked. “Coffee?”
Justin shook his head. “James was going to bring me some. But thanks.”
Kathleen laid her hand alongside his stubbled cheek, then leaned in and kissed him. “I’ve missed you.”
A tired smile crinkled his eyes. “When this is all sorted out, you want to take a little trip with me? Someplace cold, so that we can just sit in bed, not a care in the world, and watch it snow outside the window.”
“Just sit?”
“Well. In between bouts of wild monkey sex, of course.”
“Of course.” Her smile matched his. Then it slid from her face on a sigh. “Let me go talk to the other detective, so that we can sort this out as soon as possible. Not having a care in the world sounds good right about now. Not to mention the hot monkey sex.”
She gave his hand one final squeeze, then headed toward the hallway.
“Kathleen?” Justin said, and she turned around, brow lifted.
“I’d be happy just to sit with you, too.”
JAMES Wellington slid into the driver’s side of Justin’s pickup, pulling a coffee out of the carrier and handing it across the cab. “Here. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
“Thanks,” Corelli said dryly. “What’s with the scrubs?”
“Oh.” James looked down at the blue pants and shirt with distaste. “I had blood on my clothes, and the police carted them off. Evidence, I guess. They gave me these at the hospital.”
Anthony sipped his coffee. “I wondered if you’d decided to follow in your brother’s footsteps.”
“Hell no.” James shuddered. He wasn’t a wuss about blood, generally speaking, but when it was fountaining out of a woman’s neck, soaking your hands and your clothes as you tried to stem it… let’s just say he wasn’t about to sign up for that experience again anytime soon.
“Okay,” Corelli said. “I’m here. So what was it you wanted to show me?”
James studied the other man. “Where were you earlier this evening?”
Corelli smiled, then laughed. “You think I shot that young woman?”
“No.” James frowned. “But I’m still not sure I trust you.”
“Hey kid, you called me.”
So he had. Because he also wasn’t sure he trusted the local police on the island. They hadn’t managed to come up with any answers up to this point, and from James’ observations, he didn’t think that they took the threat to Justin all that seriously. After all, he was a big, capable guy, and the likely culprit – in their minds – was a jilted ex-girlfriend. A jilted ex-girlfriend who was now dead. His brother hadn’t been physically attacked, no property was stolen. Just some trespassing and the destruction of a shower curtain – which the “victim” hadn’t wanted anyway.
They had bigger fish to fry. Like the attempted murder of Natasha Griffin.
“I’m not a kid.” Frown still in place, he pulled out the two plastic bags he’d stored in the center console. “Here.” He tossed them onto Corelli’s lap.
Anthony held them up to the light shining through the window. “What am I looking at? Besides a raunchy pair of underwear.”
James explained that Justin had found the underwear in his pocket. Then he described how the gift tag had come in an otherwise empty envelope in the mail.
“Odd,” Corelli agreed. “Your brother thinks these women – his ex-girlfriend’s cohorts – are setting him up as a way to get revenge for their dead friend?”
“He appears to be leaning that way.”
“And I take it that you’re not.”
James scratched the back of his neck as he ordered his thoughts. “I think my brother has a stalker.”
“Has?” Corelli’s eyebrows lifted.
“He found the underwear and got that gift thing in the mail after Mandy killed herself.”
“The underwear could have been there for a while. How often do you check the inside pocket of your coat?”
“Yeah, but the stamp on the envelope shows that it was mailed just three days ago. So it couldn’t have been Mandy, seeing as how she was dead. And there’s something about that tag: a gift for you.” He sipped his coffee. “It makes me uneasy. He’s gotten a number of gifts already, but they were… tangible. An ornament, a book. A fresh cup of coffee, made just the way he likes it. Who knows what the hell this means? There was the sugar in his gas tank, but other than that, there’s been nothing negative directed at him. You see what I mean? And that shower curtain – he hated it. So maybe whoever did this thought she was doing him a favor.”
“Question,” Anthony said. “If he hated it so much, why didn’t he take the damn thing down?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think he kept it there as a reminder not to get involved with someone he works with ever again.”
Anthony snorted. “Okay. But what about the prints? They were made by a man’s shoe, remember.”
“Yeah, I’ve hardly forgotten. Did you find out anything about Joe Palmer’s shoe size, by the way?”
“Twelve.”
“That’s only half a size difference.” Which didn’t exactly clear him as a suspect. “Shit. But it doesn’t make sense. It’s an anomaly.”
“It’s the anomalies which make investigating frustrating – and interesting. A puzzle where all the pieces are not only in the same room, but numbered, is going to be pretty damn boring to work.”
“Yeah, but since this is my brother we’re talking about, I’d take boring over interesting. The woman who was shot tonight. Natasha. She told Justin that she had proof he was in danger.”
“What? What sort of proof?”
“I don’t know. I just found out about it when Justin was talking to one of the detectives at the hospital. She told him she had something in her car, but before she could get it – bang.” He thought of the physical results of that bang, and controlled another shudder.
Shit. He really hoped she lived.
And not just because she might have information that could help Justin.
Corelli tapped his fingers on his thigh, then shot a sharp look in his direction. “Have you talked about this with Kathleen?”
“Some,” James acknowledged, shifting. “But I didn’t give her the evidence,” he nodded toward the bags “because I was afraid she’d insist upon turning it over to the island police due to professional courtesy or whatever. And no offense, but I don’t think those guys are quite as concerned about this as I am.”
“Yet you showed them to me. Despite the fact that you don’t trust me.”
James sighed. “I guess I do trust you,” he admitted, though it was grudging. “For the most part. But if you screw me over, I will find you and I will kick your ass, pressure
points be damned.”
One corner of Corelli’s mouth kicked up in a grin. Then he pulled out his phone, started typing something into it. “I’m going to check out this PO box, see if I can find out to whom it’s registered.” Then he tossed the baggies back to James. “You need to turn these over. As I keep reminding you, I’m a professional and I’m also an ex-cop. That gives me a little more wiggle room. I’d hate to see you facing a charge of obstruction.”
When James rolled his eyes, Corelli pointed his finger. “Do it.”
“Fine.”
Anthony climbed out of the truck, then placed one hand on the doorframe as he leaned down. “I’ll get in touch with you if I find out anything.”
“Thanks.”
Corelli slapped a palm on the roof, then closed the door and walked off.
James watched him go, and then frowned at the carrier that held Justin’s coffee. No doubt it had gone cold.
“Shit,” he muttered, then slid back out of the truck. Might as well get a fresh one for himself while he was at it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
NEEDING to stretch his legs, Justin walked down the hall. The layout might be a little different than the facility in which he worked, but the smells, the sounds were pretty much universal. Deciding that he needed a little break from eau de hospital, he headed toward the door. The night was clear, the moon bright and full, shepherding her flock of stars. The air felt brisk, though not quite as cold as it had been, and he closed his eyes and breathed it in.
Footsteps pounded down the pavement, moving toward him, the hurried click of high heels on concrete.
Opening his eyes, Justin saw a dark-haired woman hustling toward the door.
“Anne?”
She stopped, whipped around. Her face was as pale as the moonlight, her eyes dull with shock and grief.
“Oh,” she said, then blinked a few times. “Doctor Wellington. Justin. I didn’t see you there.”
She stood rooted there another few moments, seemingly at a loss as to what to say.
Recognizing the sort of helplessness that often accompanies extreme emotional duress, Justin moved toward her, took her gently by the arm.
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