by CJ Lyons
She opened it and stood there for a long moment, arm against the doorjamb as if she posing for a perfume ad. She'd changed into a black midriff tank top and filmy, gauze skirt, both of which clung to her, revealing every jutting angle of her emaciated ribs and sunken abdomen. In contrast, her full breasts strained the tank top's spaghetti straps.
Did other guys really find that attractive? Give him Hart with her well-formed muscles, compact breasts that fit oh-so-well into his hands, her narrow hips and tight abdomen—trimmed by work, not from starvation.
He focused his eyes on Burns' face, kept his gaze expressionless as she slowly lowered her arm and stepped back inside, motioning for him to follow. Instead, he squatted, examined the locks on her door. No dead bolt. Only a simple snap lock anyone with a credit card could spring and the chain she'd already admitted to not using.
"Might want to think about investing in a dead bolt." He straightened. She'd moved to stand where the light from the window backlit her, effortlessly cutting through the thin fabric of her skirt. What the hell? He remembered the way she'd brushed against him at the station house. Was she coming on to him?
"Yes, sir," she replied. Then stood there, silently, expectantly.
Drake felt his forehead knot into a frown and cursed himself. Burns was pissing him off with her demur glances and silent invitations. She just wasn't his type.
A stirring in his pelvis begged to differ. He couldn't pull his eyes away as she inhaled deeply, her breasts swelling, straining the fabric of her top. Burns was exactly his type, a cookie-cutter image of so many women he'd been with. Before Hart.
The tall, Barbie-doll blonde before him was Hart's opposite in so many ways, he couldn't even begin to list them. Just as Hart was Pamela's opposite—
Shit. Back to Pamela. Focus, damn it, he was on the job here.
"Where were the items taken from?" He swallowed to clear the gravel that clogged his voice.
"The bathroom." The bathroom was through the apartment's sole bedroom. She led the way, stopping short so he bumped against her. From her expression, he had the feeling that was her intention.
"I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't have touched anything," she said, standing in the open doorway. "But it's the only bathroom."
Drake entered the tiny space. Teal green and black tile on the walls, black and white tiles on the floor, claw foot tub, commode and pedestal sink. The single small window above the toilet was open, but no air moved in the cramped room. Burns joined him, her body adding to the heat. The scent of almonds and apricots swirled around him, thick like an exotic liqueur. Sweat glued his shirt to his chest and back as he turned around to survey the area.
Actor would have had to come through the bedroom to reach the bath. No way anyone could have gotten in through the window. "Are you a heavy sleeper?"
"Yes, why?" Then her eyes went wide as if she'd just now realized the implications. "You mean he was in my bedroom." She shuddered dramatically. "Anything could have happened."
Drake wasn't surprised when she grabbed his arm. Like some kind of knight in shining armor. Jeezit, did she have the wrong cop. He looked at the empty porcelain cup that sat on the back of the toilet. "That's where the rings were?"
"Yes. And my bracelets were beside them in the saucer." She jangled her wrists and raised one golden chain clad ankle to demonstrate. "Usually these are all I sleep in, so he didn't get these. But I had some others—sterling silver and turquoise, one carved coral—a whole bunch."
"You touch anything—" he started. Of course she had. He amended his question. "The cup or saucer?"
A pretty frown creased her brow as she concentrated. "No. Just the flusher, the sink, the door handle," she spun around in the cramped quarters, brushing against him once more, releasing another wave of the fruity fragrance, "and the bath tub. That's all."
That was enough. Something about this didn't feel right. Escaping the confines of the bath, he exited into her bedroom. The bed was rumpled with brightly colored mismatched sheets, and silk pillows of every size and shape. Instead of curtains, mosquito netting was draped over a rod at the window. Candles festooned every available surface. Drake moved to the open window, searching for a morsel of fresh air. Burns followed as if worried he'd miss a vital clue.
No fire escape, the actor would've come from inside, through the front door. Walking right past the stereo, TV, and DVD player just to snag some cheap rings and bracelets? And risk waking the resident? Didn't make much sense as a burglary.
His breath caught as his gaze snagged on the building opposite. They faced the rear of an apartment building. A building he knew well. Against his will, the hairs on his neck prickling, he counted windows until he reached the fifth floor. And found himself staring into what had once been Pamela Reynolds' bedroom.
The last place he, or anyone, had seen her alive.
CHAPTER 7
Cassie toppled into space. The flashlight dropped, clanging as it spiraled down. Her hand slammed against a concrete step. The darkness gave the illusion she'd fallen a great distance, but in reality it'd only been a few feet. Just enough to disorient her. She pulled the lower half of her body from the hole in the wall and crawled the rest of the way into a stairwell. Tagger grabbed her flashlight and guided her with its beam.
Her lungs felt as if they'd been squeezed tight. Sweat and grime covered her. "How far did we come?"
Tagger retrieved her backpack. "Dunno. We was in the walls behind a kitchen and bath. The hallway has holes in the floor so I thought this way would be safer. That all right?"
He looked at her with a worried expression that said he'd forgotten she was an old person. Cassie ignored him as she did a mental calculation. Kitchen and bath—maybe twenty feet they'd crawled through? Seemed as if she'd tunneled beneath the entire Allegheny Plateau.
She felt her way down the steps to join him. She'd done it, made it through, that was what counted. "How did you find this?"
"Rippers chased me in here one day." He shrugged, the light bobbing with his movement. "It's not so bad here once you get used to it. I can think, do my art. Lots quieter than home."
"With your aunt?" Another silent nod. "Why, what happened?"
They moved into a relatively intact basement area surrounded by cement block walls covered in Tagger's artwork. His reply came to her from the darkness as if that was the only way he could share secrets like this one.
"Ever since Rodney died, she's been going out lots more. One of her friends—she's gots lots, always bringing them by—he came into my room..." His voice trailed off.
Cassie could guess what happened next. "He tried to touch you?"
She barely caught the nod of his head and shrug of his shoulders. But the sniff as he wiped tears away echoed loud through the darkness. "Tried to make me…anyway, I bit him. Hard." Pride edged his voice. "He cried like a baby and hit me. Then he hit my aunt and left, and she came after me, hollering that I was spoiling everything. Then she was trying to beat up on me, so's I left, too."
"How long ago was that?" she asked as she bent low to avoid a sawed-off pipe. Scavengers, taking anything they could.
"Two-three days. S'all right, I can take care of myself." He turned one more corner in the maze. "C'mon. She's in here."
There was a click as he turned on a portable lantern hanging from a twisted piece of rebar in the ceiling. Cassie blinked in the unexpected brightness. They were in the basement laundry area, a windowless room where Tagger’s art covered every surface. Part of the ceiling was collapsed at the far end, legs of a kitchen table straddling the opening. The faint sound of whimpering punctuated by gasps came from behind a fallen piece of charred drywall to one side of the collapse.
Tagger moved toward the sound. Cassie rushed to join him, her gaze raking over the precariously stacked debris. Through the hole, a faint glimmer of sunlight from the apartment above dared to part the shadows. The entire wall looked like it might tumble down on top of them with one wrong breath.
T
hen she saw her patient. This was no woman. This was a girl. Thin. Much too thin for someone so far along in their pregnancy, cheeks and eyes sunken in a finely boned face, ebony complexion marred by a wicked scar burned into her forehead.
Cassie had seen similar scars in people grazed by a bullet. It didn't look very old, maybe a week or two. Pink granulation tissue still glistened in the center of the wound.
This girl looked maybe fifteen, sixteen, tops. What had she done to be shot at, then abandoned here to have her baby alone? What kind of hell had this girl already survived?
"Told you I'd get help, Athena." Tagger squeezed the girl's hand as he knelt at her side. "This is Doc Cass. She's the best."
"You know her?" Cassie assessed her patient's pulse, noting the signs of dehydration as well as the clear fluid puddled on the floor beneath the girl's hips.
"Athena was Rodney's girlfriend," he said. His brother who'd been killed two weeks ago.
The girl's eyes fluttered open and she gasped in fear, tried to pull away. Cassie grabbed a water bottle from her pack and held it to the girl's lips.
"Drink, slow," she urged. The girl complied, so weak Tagger had to lift her head.
Cassie wished she had IV fluids, but all she had in her pack were basic first aid supplies. "How far apart are your contractions?"
"Baby Jane and I had a talk, she's gonna wait," the girl said. "They've slowed down."
Cassie didn't have the heart to tell the girl that might be a bad sign. "How far along are you?"
"Eight and a half months, give or take."
Thirty-four weeks. That give or take might mean all the difference to the baby. Cassie felt the girl's belly. "Anything hurt?"
Athena winced when she palpated her left kidney and Cassie noticed bruising along her side. Fresh bruises, only a few days old at most. The baby didn't move under her touch, felt like it was vertex, though, that was good. A breech delivery in these conditions would be a nightmare. She grabbed her stethoscope. Even though it wasn't an obstetric one, this far along, she might be able to make out the baby's heart tones. Athena and Tagger watched her anxiously as she strained to hear. Finally she caught the faint heartbeat. Slow, maybe eighty beats a minute. Too slow.
"Tagger, we have to get her out of here. There has to be another door, right?"
His eyes darted past her before he nodded. "In the stairway. Opens onto the alley."
Now she understood why he'd taken her through the claustrophobic labyrinth. If Tagger showed his face in an alley full of Rippers, they’d kill him.
But she couldn't leave Athena to go herself. This baby had to be delivered soon—or it might die.
"Athena, I'm going to examine you down there. Try to exhale, blow your breath out, it might feel a bit uncomfortable." Nothing compared to a baby passing through the same area, but she didn't tell the girl that. Cassie slipped on a pair of vinyl gloves and did a manual exam. Athena sucked her breath in and clenched her muscles for a moment. Cassie tried to help her relax. "Jane, is that what your baby's name is going to be?"
"Plain, simple Jane," Athena said. Tagger gave her another drink as Cassie finished. "Nothing fancy like mine—nothing she has to live up to. She's gonna be her own woman."
Cassie gave the girl a grim smile. "I think you've done a fine job of living up to your name, Athena."
"Is my Baby Jane all right?"
"She will be if we can deliver her soon. Her head's all the way down, she's ready to go, but I don't think she can wait much longer."
"Why not?"
"She's been too stressed and now her heart is beginning to slow. When you feel the next contraction, I want you to try pushing."
"I can't, they hurt too much and I'm too tired." The girl sounded desperate, at the end of her strength. Cassie could only imagine. How long had she been hiding here, without proper food or water? Living in the dark like an animal. No place to bring a new life into the world.
Athena's body writhed in pain as another contraction shot through her. Cassie pulled one of the girl's legs back, nodded to Tagger to do the same with the other.
"Good girl, Athena. Just breathe. Like this." She demonstrated a panting type of stacked breaths. Athena's eyes squeezed shut as her entire body strained to push her baby out. "Good, good. Just like that," Cassie coached her. A glimpse of dark hair appeared as the baby crowned.
Athena collapsed, gasping for air. Cassie relaxed the girl's leg. "It won't be long now." She opened her knapsack, gathered her supplies. She'd cut the cord with her Leatherman, bundle the baby in her foil emergency blanket, tie the cord with a piece of nylon cording. As long as Athena didn't hemorrhage and the baby didn't get stuck, things should work out.
Except for the dozen Rippers between them and escape. No wonder the paramedics hadn't arrived yet. Probably drove past the place and decided it was a crank call. Surely Tony Spanos wouldn't give up that easily. But could he find them?
The idea of having the burly Greek at her side as they faced the Rippers gave Cassie a little hope. Only person she'd rather see would be Drake.
She listened to the baby's heartbeat again. Down to seventy. Another contraction tore through Athena who bit down on her own hand in an effort to remain quiet.
Cassie admired the girl's fortitude. Last thing they needed was a bunch of Rippers barging in during the delivery. She positioned Tagger so he could hold Athena's legs and she would be free to catch the baby.
"The head's right there," she told Athena. "Keep pushing, you can do it." Had better do it. She wasn't sure how low the baby's heart rate would drop with contractions. The added stress might be too much for Baby Jane. "C'mon, little girl. You made it this far, just a few more inches. Your momma's waiting for you."
Cassie gently ran her fingers along the rim of the birth canal, helping Athena's muscles to stretch. She hadn't caught a baby in a while. This one sure had a lot of hair for being so early. She felt Athena's strength flag even though the contraction was still strong.
"Breathe, Athena. Now!" she commanded as the girl's eyes fluttered and her body went limp for a moment. "You can do it! Push!"
Athena squinched her face up and bore down. The baby's head popped free, into Cassie's waiting hand. She had no suction available, so did her best to clear the baby's airway with a piece of gauze. "Good girl, hold on just a moment. The head is out."
Cassie rotated the baby's head, checked for a cord around her neck. None. Good, one less thing to worry about. "All right, one more push. Now!"
Athena complied, her breath escaping in a strangled moan. Cassie delivered the baby's shoulder, the rest of the body following effortlessly. She laid the baby on the space blanket and dried it off.
C'mon, breathe. Please, just breathe, Cassie prayed.
"Tagger, tie the cord in two places and cut between it," Cassie told him, her attention focused on the baby who had yet to take her first breath.
"What's wrong?" Athena gasped, tears filling her voice. "Why's she so quiet?"
Cassie was too busy trying to check Baby Jane’s heart rate to answer. Eighty. C'mon, Jane. She mercilessly flicked the baby's feet and rubbed her back, while bending over, blowing in her face.
"She's beautiful," Tagger whispered in a reverent tone.
Only if you liked a dusky shade of purple. Cassie was about to start mouth to mouth on the limp baby when Jane's eyes popped open and she gurgled in a deep breath, followed by a lusty cry that brought tears to Cassie's eyes. "Good girl."
Once Jane's color was a healthy pink, Cassie bundled the baby in the blanket and placed her in Athena's arms. The loud squeals of a good set of healthy lungs echoed through the room.
Thank you, God, Cassie thought.
Now what about those gang-bangers hanging outside the door?
Suddenly light spilled in from the direction of the stairway accompanied by the sound of heavy, running footsteps.
Cassie sucked in her breath, desperately scanned the area for a weapon. Her fingers closed on a length of rebar and
she held it at the ready, standing between the three children and the intruder.
CHAPTER 8
"Someone call for a taxi?" Tony Spanos' voice boomed through the narrow room.
"In here," Cassie called. The knot twisting her stomach finally relaxed. Athena cooed to her baby; both mother and child seemed out of danger. They could deliver the placenta at Three Rivers, get Athena antibiotics and pitocin. Not to mention evaluate her other injuries.
"What did you do with the Rippers?" Cassie asked as Tony crouched down beside her. She stripped the bloody gloves from her hands and shoved everything back into her pack.
"After they scared the medics away, I knocked a few of them senseless and the rest went scrambling. The cops are on the way, but the Rippers will be back soon, so we'd best hurry."
She heartily agreed. She had no desire to spend another second down here in this dark hellhole. "You carry Athena. I'll take the baby."
Athena clutched Jane to her chest as if frightened she'd never see her daughter again. Cassie gently disengaged the girl's hands and cradled the baby herself. "It's all right, Athena. It's only until we get to the hospital."
Tony effortlessly scooped Athena's thin frame into his arms. "Good thing I heard that baby crying, I never would have found yunz."
Tagger stood to one side, staring at the door with apprehension. "Maybe I'd best go out the way I came in."
"No." Athena reached for his hand.
"She's right, Tagger. You'll be safest with us." Cassie handed the flashlight to the boy, hoping having a weapon, however small, might give him some courage. He nodded and followed Tony out. Cassie hesitated then gripped the rebar. She was more than happy to be leaving the dark confines of the Stackhouse behind.
"Are you ever going to have a story to tell when you get older," she whispered to Baby Jane as she scrambled up the steps.
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Drake fled from Burns' bedroom. Call him a coward, but he was tired of Pamela ambushing him from every direction. He was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. Now.