Beneath the Surface

by Lynn H. Blackburn

  She was almost smiling.

  “You’re a real smart aleck, aren’t you?”

  “Can be.”

  “I remember.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. “I take it he didn’t go quietly?”

  “Oh no. He yelled at me through the door while I waited for his daughter. Yelled at his poor daughter when she came to get him. I thought that would be the end of it. Didn’t hear anything else from him for a few weeks, and then weird things started happening. Flowers delivered to the hospital. To the house. Notes saying I would be his forever. That he loved me and couldn’t live without me. Some of them would have been sweet if they hadn’t been so out of left field, but some of them were graphic and disturbing.”

  Megyn came in with a can of Coke and a cup with fresh ice. “Here you go. I’ve ordered a meal tray for you. Should be here soon.”

  “Thanks,” Leigh said.

  As soon as Megyn left, she groaned.

  “Are you hurting?”

  “No.” She opened the Coke and poured some over the ice. “Have you seen the stuff we give people after surgery? Bleh. Gelatin and unsalted broth. You have to get me out of here or I’ll starve.”

  As soon as he was done talking to Leigh, he’d ask Dr. Price if he could get her something more palatable. He’d get her anything she wanted, but he didn’t want to make her sick. Of course, she was the nurse. She should know what she could and couldn’t handle.

  Leigh took a sip and blew out a breath. “Anyway, it went from bad to worse to bizarre. He showed up at my church and caused a nasty scene in the middle of a service. He showed up at a friend’s birthday party. I never did find out how he knew where I was, unless he’d been following me.”

  “He was still driving?” Surely the guy should have had his license revoked.

  “Not legally,” she said. “Finances were tight. The family was doing the best they could, but they hadn’t taken the step of getting a full-time caregiver yet. And they couldn’t afford a nursing home.”

  She traced the edge of her cup with her finger.

  He didn’t rush her.

  “Then one morning he was in the parking garage at the hospital. With a gun. Told me I was coming with him.”

  She looked at Ryan. “You have to understand, he wasn’t much of a physical threat. By this point, he probably only weighed a hundred pounds. He was frail and weak. I could have outrun him easily. But I really was afraid he was going to shoot me that day.”

  “How did it end?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, it was a big mess. It was shift change. The garage was full of people. Didn’t take long before the security guards were on-site, the police were on their way, and there were about fifty doctors and nurses standing around us, many of whom knew the situation. I was able to talk him into giving the gun to one of the residents he knew. Then the security guards grabbed him. They held him until the police came. That was the last time I saw him.”

  She blew out a long breath. “He died a couple of months ago. And he was completely bedridden for at least a month before that. He hasn’t been a threat to me in a long time. He didn’t do this.”

  Her points seemed valid. It did seem unlikely that her stalker was responsible for the current situation. Not that he didn’t intend to pull death records and confirm all this for himself.

  But if it wasn’t Leigh’s stalker, then who did it?

  “Can you think of anyone else who would even consider harming you? Any patients you’ve treated in the ED who might have an axe to grind?”

  She leaned her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. “I can’t think of anyone,” she said, weariness lacing her words. “I work nights. We get everything from babies with croup to grown men who need stitches from a bar fight. We get overdoses and car accidents and domestic violence cases. But that’s part of why I chose emergency medicine when I moved home. I wanted a break from being so involved in my patients’ lives. They come in. They leave. I’m the one they see when the baby has a high fever and the mom panics or when the elderly dad has trouble breathing during the night and the kids bring him in. I don’t do a lot of trauma unless we get swamped. Other than the frequent flyers, I never see them again.”

  Ryan tried not to let his frustration show.

  How could he find out who did this with no clues and no motive?

  And how could he have two cases in the space of twenty-four hours with absolutely nothing to go on?

  While he’d been waiting for Leigh to get out of recovery, he’d spent some time in the ED. Everyone he’d talked to said the same thing. “Leigh Weston is a dream to work with. She’s fabulous with her patients. Gets along great with the doctors. All the nurses want her to be on their shift. She’s good with kids, the elderly, and everyone in between.”

  How could someone who everyone liked have someone so determined to kill her? And what were the odds that it would happen twice in one year?

  “I need to ask you one more question,” he said. “Then I promise I’ll leave you alone.” For a little while. “Were the police one hundred percent certain the flowers and cards and notes were from the patient you treated?”

  Leigh’s face crinkled in confusion. “I’m not following you.”

  “You had physical encounters with your patient in Durham. He showed up at your door. He called. He confronted you in public places. Those were obviously him. But what about the other stuff? The gifts and flowers and notes. Did anyone ever confirm he sent them?”

  “Who else would have sent them?”

  “Did he deny sending them?”

  “Yes, but he also denied coming to my house at two in the morning. He wasn’t mentally stable at that point.”

  Ryan jotted a quick note in his phone.

  “Do you think there was someone else?”

  “I don’t have any idea. But I’d like to see some proof that this guy was the one who sent the stuff. Some credit card receipts, security footage of him delivering them, something. Because without that, and in light of this recent development, I have to wonder if it’s possible you had not one stalker, but two. One of whom is still very much alive.”

  6

  Is that why you put a cop outside my door? You think someone’s after me?” Fuzzy pieces of her memory started to fall into place. The police officer in the recovery room wasn’t there to arrest her. He was there to protect her. But from whom?

  Ryan’s skin flushed. “I didn’t order it. The sheriff ordered it. Right after he got the call from Mr. Cook.”

  “Mr. Cook?” He’d kept her company after the accident. His voice hadn’t given away that he was worried about anything other than her.

  “He noticed the brake line was cut while he was talking to you. I’ve already been assigned your case, and you will have an increased police presence around you until we get to the bottom of this.”

  She owed Mr. Cook a plate of cookies. And a long hug. But why would Ryan be assigned to something like this? She couldn’t pull him away from the murder he was already working.

  “You work homicide, Ryan. Seems like this wouldn’t fall to you. Besides, you’re in the middle of a big case.”

  He dropped his head and his voice was low but steady. “I work attempted homicides too.”

  The weight of his words forced the air out of her lungs.

  Attempted homicide. Is that what the police were calling this?

  Really, God? Are you determined that I die some horrible death? Barry didn’t get me, so you’ve found someone else to torment me?

  Ryan paced the room. “If you want me to have someone else assigned, I can try to do that.”

  What was he talking about? Why was his face all red?

  “But I am the investigator on call,” he said, “so it would have fallen to me regardless. And the captain thought it would be easier for you. Since we know each other.”

  Leigh gave up trying to make sense of his rambling. “Did I miss something?”

  “What?”

&nb
sp; “I’m not following you. Did I say something to make you think I don’t want you to work the case?” It was possible. Between the anesthesia and pain medicine, her eyelids were begging to close.

  “You said that thing about me working the other homicide. I thought you meant I wouldn’t have time to work this case too.”

  Leigh still didn’t get it. “I did. I mean, aren’t you super busy on that? Seems like that would be more important than getting stuck babysitting me and stalker number two.”

  Ryan stopped pacing. “Wait a minute. You don’t mind me working the case?”

  Was he going to make her say it again? “Ryan, I can’t think of anyone else I would rather have on my side, but I assumed the dead body in the lake was more important. I don’t want to be the annoying little sister you’re having to put up with as she tags along while you do your real job.”

  Memories of their trip to Six Flags flashed into her mind. Her parents had been older when they’d adopted her and they had a bit of an overprotective streak. The morning the youth group left in the church buses, Leigh’s parents made Kirk and Ryan promise to stay close to her and her friend Shelly. Kirk had been so mad. Although now that she thought about it, Ryan hadn’t seemed to mind.

  He put his hands on the low footboard of her bed. “Leigh Weston. You have never been an annoying little sister.”

  Whoa. Not the response she’d been expecting.

  She stared at him. He stared back.

  Wait. Did he mean what she thought he meant?

  His phone buzzed. He closed his eyes slowly and pulled in a deep breath through his nose. When he opened his eyes, he gave her a forced smile. “I need to take this.”

  “Sure,” she said. She tried to sound nonchalant, but the word came out hoarse and rough.

  “Parker,” he said as he stepped into the hall.

  Then she was alone.

  What had just happened?

  Had he—? No. That couldn’t have been it. He must have meant she hadn’t been annoying. She was reading way more into it than she should. She needed to get a grip. She could probably blame it all on the accident. Too bad they said she didn’t have a concussion.

  The door opened and she plastered on a cheery smile . . . for a tall, middle-aged woman and a big baby-faced cop who looked like he’d be right at home in a football uniform.

  The officer nodded at her and stayed near the door. The woman had her hands full.

  “Here’s your tray.”

  Leigh studied her. She looked familiar, but her name tag was flipped around and Leigh couldn’t see it.

  She put the tray on the bedside table and then positioned the table across the bed. “I can’t say much for the broth, but the gelatin is actually pretty tasty.” Her face was full of sympathy.

  “Will you rat me out if I order a pizza?” Leigh asked, only half joking.

  “Only if you don’t share it with me,” she said with a wink. “But don’t worry, you’ve got a great nurse tonight. She won’t give you any grief.”

  “Good to know. Any particular nurse I need to look out for?” Leigh asked.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “If you get Tiffany, you’re in for it. She’s going through a nasty divorce and thinks every patient is a drug-seeking addict as opposed to a postoperative patient who just might actually be in pain. But everyone else is okay.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” Leigh said.

  “You’re welcome. Enjoy your meal,” she said as she left. The officer nodded again and followed the woman out.

  Leigh looked at the pitiful offerings on the tray. A cup of tea she knew would be sweet enough to attract every honeybee in the state. A mug of broth. A plastic container of neon yellow gelatin.

  Nope. She couldn’t do it. She shoved the tray aside.

  Her stomach growled in reaction. Maybe she could get Ryan to run over to the Pancake Hut and get her some scrambled eggs and toast.

  Ryan.

  Her stomach reacted in a completely different way at the thought of him. She rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. She had problems. Real problems. Worrying about him was a waste of time and energy.

  She tried to shove him from her thoughts.

  But it was his image that floated before her closed eyes as she drifted off to sleep.

  It was his voice—rough and whispering that pulled her back to consciousness.

  “I won’t. I won’t,” he said. “I know.”

  She lay still and kept her eyes closed.

  “I’ll see you later . . . yeah . . . okay . . . I love you too.”

  The words pierced her. Wow, she was an idiot. Of course he had someone in his life. Why wouldn’t he?

  She was the only one who couldn’t have that.

  She made a show of stretching.

  “Hey,” he said. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  “Hmm?” she said. Was it lying if she didn’t actually answer? Probably.

  He was standing so close. “You didn’t touch the food on your tray.”

  She didn’t see any need to justify that comment with a response.

  “Yeah, I don’t blame you. But you need to eat.” He waved his phone in the air. “Rebecca is convinced I’ll starve to death at some point. I promised her I’d eat. Is there anything I can get for you?”

  His sister?

  Somehow everything in the room looked brighter. Why was she relieved? Must be because she was hungry. And she did want something decent to eat.

  “I talked to Dr. Price,” he said. “Told him you didn’t want this stuff. He said you could eat whatever you felt you could handle. He suggested soup. Or eggs. Or egg drop soup. Or rice. I don’t know.” His face crinkled in frustration. “He wasn’t super helpful.”

  “Getting his permission is helpful enough. I think I’d like to start with some crackers. Then maybe some scrambled eggs and toast. There’s a Pancake Hut around the corner—”

  “I love that place,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “I get the Kitchen Sink every time.”

  “Seriously?” The Kitchen Sink was three pancakes, two eggs, bacon, and grits. The pancakes were the size of a small flying saucer.

  “Of course. What else would I order? What do you get? Please tell me it isn’t an egg white omelet. Or oatmeal. Please, not oatmeal.”

  She tried to stifle her laughter at his tragic expression. “What do you have against oatmeal?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “But you don’t go to the Pancake Hut for oatmeal. You can eat oatmeal at home. If you tell me you usually order oatmeal, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.”

  She grinned. “Well, when I’m not ordering the oatmeal . . .”

  Ryan’s face registered mock despair.

  “I order the Produce Drawer.”

  Ryan threw back his head and laughed. That was the laugh she remembered.

  “The Produce Drawer. Nice.”

  The Produce Drawer was a massive omelet filled with every imaginable vegetable and served with a pancake on the side. He regarded her with obvious approval. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get you some scrambled eggs, grits, and toast for tonight. As soon as you feel up to it, I’ll take you to get a Produce Drawer.”

  Had he—? No. He was just being nice. She needed to remember he was looking out for her like a brother. “You make it sound chivalrous, but somehow I think you’re just offering so you can get a Kitchen Sink.” She held up two fingers. “Twice.”

  He hung his head. “Busted. You would make a great cop.”

  “Ha,” she said. “I can assure you, that is not the case. I would make a lousy cop. I’m too much of a wimp.” Sadly, that part was completely true. One patient literally loses his mind and she falls apart. Can’t handle it. Has to leave town and start over.

  No. She would make a horrible cop.

  “Earth to Leigh.” Ryan stood at the foot of her bed, waving a hand in her direction. Had she fallen asleep? Or zoned out?

  “So
rry,” she said.

  “No worries. I asked if you wanted anything to drink besides this sugar water they brought you.” He pointed at her tray.

  “Another Coke.”

  “Coke it is. Be right back.”

  “Wait,” she said. “I, um—” Where was her stuff? Her purse, her wallet?

  “What’s wrong?” He rushed back to her bed, worry lining his features.

  “I don’t have any money,” she said, heat flushing her skin.

  He quirked one eyebrow. “You can pay me back later. In cake.”

  There was an awful lot of “later” in his conversation today. “Fine.”

  He winked at her and headed for the door.

  She rested her head again. Closed her eyes. This day. What was going on? Someone had cut her brakes? Why? She could have been killed. Or could have killed someone else, which would have been so much worse.

  It didn’t make sense. None of it. At least with Barry, as bizarre as the situation was, it did make sense. She’d been the nurse practitioner he saw almost every time he came in the office. She’d been the one to talk to him and his daughter about treatments and pain medicines and where to sign up for services offered by their incredible cancer society. She’d been there when they got the scans back. She’d shed more than a few tears with the oncologist as they reviewed the results, and then more tears with Barry as he processed the news.

  They had a connection, and when his brain betrayed him it was understandable she would be someone it focused on.

  But now? There was no one. Her patients came and went. They had a few regulars in the ED, but no one who would do something like this. She didn’t have enemies.

  She barely had any friends.

  That wasn’t true. She had friends. Good ones. Great ones. In-between ones. But she’d kept a pretty solid wall up for months. Very few had been able to breach it.

  All she had to do was shoot out a message on social media or send a text or two and her social calendar would be full.

  But she didn’t want to.

  And now? Now she didn’t dare do that. Anyone who was with her could be at risk. Could Ryan be right? Could she have had a second stalker the whole time?