Still, she couldn’t complain. The ceiling would need to be repainted, and probably the walls, but the house hadn’t burned down and no one had died.
Funny how the things she was thankful for had shifted in the past week. Everything had taken on new levels of intensity.
She glanced over her shoulder into the now empty room. She’d been thinking about painting it a new color anyway. Maybe she’d even experiment and paint the ceiling something other than white—assuming she lived long enough to do it.
That was the other funny thing. Somehow over the past week, she’d realized how much she wanted to live. Not that she hadn’t wanted to before. She’d never been suicidal, not even in the darkest times when Barry was coming after her. But it hadn’t felt like she had much to live for.
But now?
The sharp rap on the door sent butterflies skittering through her stomach.
Yes, she had a few new things to live for. Things she wanted to at least explore and see where they led.
She opened the door and smiled at Ryan. “Come in.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you hungry? I fixed supper,” she said.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m always hungry,” he said.
She’d noticed.
He followed her into the kitchen, all the way to the stove. “You didn’t,” he said with a hand pressed to his heart. “Chicken and dumplings?”
“You like them, right?”
“Love them,” he said. “Rebecca makes them every now and then. She even tried to teach me how once. It was a disaster.”
“Oh, come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Trust me,” Ryan said. “I don’t know how it happened, but the pot bubbled over and the whole thing got scorched. We had to order takeout. She hasn’t offered to let me try again.”
Leigh couldn’t stop herself from laughing at his bewildered expression. “I’ll be sure to remember that,” she said. “Although I have to wonder if it wasn’t a ploy to avoid having to learn how to do it yourself.”
He widened his eyes at her in feigned innocence. “Me? Never.”
She loaded two deep bowls with the chicken and dumplings and poured two glasses of tea. They sat at the kitchen island as they had almost every night for the past week.
Ryan asked the blessing on their meal and they dove in, chatting about the weather, the flood of tourists that would soon descend on Lake Porter, the boat she had in storage and wanted to get in the water, Kirk’s latest update from Germany, and the cute things Ryan’s niece and nephew had done recently.
Their conversation was so normal she was surprised to find herself blinking back a few tears. This was what life was supposed to be like. Good food shared with good people, talking about kids and boats and the happenings around town.
This was wonderful, but she couldn’t help but think the entire conversation was all a big cover-up for the real things they should be talking about.
Like the attempts on her life.
Three of them if you counted the exploding balloons—which she did. But she wasn’t ready to bring up any of that yet. She tried to stay in the moment and enjoy Ryan’s company.
But the real world couldn’t be pushed away forever. They finished their meal and she packed a thermos with the still-hot leftovers. “Have you checked on Pete? Is he still recovering okay?”
“Apparently he’s like you. Doesn’t have the good sense to stay home when he can. He’s back at work and pestering the captain to get off desk duty this week.”
Leigh sighed. “I want to do something nice for him, but I don’t want to be anywhere near him. I’d hate to put him at risk again.”
Ryan leaned against the kitchen counter. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m more worried about you wandering around town than about you putting Pete at risk. I can pass along your best wishes, and I’ll include the fact that we’ve recommended you stay away from him for right now.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” Leigh said.
“We got a possible lead on something today,” he said. “It isn’t much, but we work with a professor from the forensics department at the university from time to time, and she found a suspicious shadow on some parking garage footage.”
Leigh turned to him. “The parking garage?”
“We’ve been thinking whoever did this has to have a solid understanding of how the hospital system works and might be an employee—or at the very least a frequent visitor. We were checking some of the security camera footage, but as you can imagine, there are a lot of cameras at the hospital and it took a while.”
This was all very interesting, but she didn’t care too much about the methods he used. “What did you find?”
“The professor thinks we are looking for someone between five-eight and five-eleven.”
This was a lead? Leigh put the now empty pot in the sink. What had she been expecting? Maybe something like gender, ethnicity, eye color, what they were wearing?
And what did they have? A three-inch height range?
“I know,” Ryan said from right behind her. She didn’t dare turn around or she’d be staring straight into his chest. “It doesn’t seem like much, but it could be huge. That range eliminates a lot of people, and every time we can eliminate someone from the suspect pool, it helps us get closer to finding the culprit.”
She couldn’t let him see how terrified she was.
A week had passed and all they had was a shadow on a security camera and a height range?
She’d be dead by summer.
“Leigh.”
Had he stepped even closer?
“I promise I’m doing everything I can. The professor—she’s amazing. Really talented. She’s got a team running the video footage through some new software. If she finds anything, she’ll let us know.”
“That sounds great,” she said. The words came out too high and too fast to be believable.
The warmth of his hand on her elbow confirmed that she hadn’t fooled him.
“I, uh, I need to get ready for work.” She left the pot soaking in the sink and slid past him. He made no effort to stop her. Thank goodness. She ran up the stairs to her room and closed the door.
She leaned against it and fought to catch her breath. Her stomach roiled and she ran into her bathroom and leaned over the sink. Every inhale came in short, rough gasps as she fought to regain her composure and keep her dinner down.
It took several minutes before she was fairly certain she wouldn’t be sick. She pulled her scrubs on and slid into her favorite shoes. Every muscle in her body twitched from the tension. She sat on the edge of her bed for a few moments.
Lord, are you there? Are you listening? Am I going to die? Now? Now that Ryan Parker is interested? Now that I’ve found a new direction for my career that I might love? Now that things are starting to fall into place?
She had no idea if the Lord was listening, but even if he heard her, he didn’t seem to feel like answering. She returned to her bathroom and brushed her hair with a trembling hand.
Get a grip. She had work to do. Patients who needed her. Coworkers who counted on her.
She checked her reflection. Stared into her own eyes. She couldn’t see the fear that had overwhelmed her earlier. She was as ready as she was going to be.
She opened the door and found Ryan standing a few feet away, his eyes full of an emotion she couldn’t identify.
“Are you okay?”
She tried to give him a genuine smile. “No. Not really, but I’m okay enough for tonight.”
14
At 2 a.m., Leigh adjusted her ponytail and rolled her head in slow circles. Wow, her neck was tight. Tomorrow she was making time to get through her favorite yoga routine. She’d missed her usual yoga class while she was recovering, and now she didn’t dare go. She liked the women who came to her class, and she’d never be able to live with herself if any of them were hurt on her account.
She laced her fingers behind
her back and stretched her shoulders and chest.
“You okay?” Keri asked from a station a few doors down.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Oh? You’re going with that? The ‘no one has tried to kill me in the past twenty-four hours equals a good day’ approach to life?”
“It’s as good as any.”
“No, it isn’t,” Keri muttered. “Your investigator have any leads yet?”
She couldn’t say why, but she had a strong sensation that she shouldn’t share what Ryan had told her, even if it made him look bad for now. She resisted the urge to defend him to her friend and instead gave a noncommittal shrug. “They’re working on it.”
Keri cut her eyes over in her direction. “Working on it? Wow. That’s . . . encouraging.”
Leigh ignored the snide remark. When this was over she’d explain to Keri, but not now. Who knew who might be listening? Or who might overhear Keri talking about it with someone else. Better for Keri to have the wrong idea about things. She’d forgive her later.
If there was a later.
“Hey, did you see I put your jacket with your bag?” Keri asked.
“What jacket?”
“The one I borrowed last night when I got cold.”
Typical Keri. “Okay. I hadn’t noticed,” Leigh said.
“Yeah, you don’t seem to notice much of anything when Ryan Parker shows up.” Keri pretended to swoon.
“Whatever,” Leigh said with a chuckle.
“Are you officially dating him or not?”
A flurry of activity distracted Keri and ended her interrogation. “Looks like we’ve got one on the way in,” Keri said. “You okay to take it? I need to check this little guy’s vitals again. I’m hoping he’ll get to go home soon.”
Keri’s patient was an adorable boy who’d had a rough night and had to come in for a breathing treatment. They’d all been smitten by his dimples and curls. The cuteness made it even harder to hear him gasping for air.
“Yes,” Leigh said. “Get him out of here.”
She walked down the hall and joined the others waiting for the ambulance. Zeke, a registered nurse, and Bill, one of her favorite security guards. “What do we have?”
“Drunk and disorderly is what they said. Probably needs some stitches and a chance to dry out,” Bill said.
She smiled at him. No matter how crazy things got, he kept his cool.
Zeke yawned. “How long you been doing this, Bill?”
“Longer than you young whippersnappers have been alive,” Bill said with a wink.
Ten minutes later, Bill’s prediction proved half accurate. The young man from the ambulance needed stitches, but if he was drunk, she couldn’t smell any alcohol on his breath. Maybe he’d been on some sort of high when he got in the fight that resulted in the stab wound?
She tried to talk to him as she and Zeke worked. His blood would be checked for drugs and alcohol, but it would be much easier if he would tell them what he’d been doing. “Mr. Smith.” She had serious doubts that this man’s name was John Smith, but it was what he’d told them. “Do you know who did this to you?”
He looked at the wall.
“Have you been drinking tonight?”
He looked at the floor.
“Doing drugs?”
He kept looking at the floor.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m not the police. I don’t care what you’ve been doing, but it helps us to know so we can treat you accurately.”
Still nothing.
“All right, then. We’ll get you stitched up in a few minutes.”
Behind Mr. Smith’s head, Zeke pointed to himself and gave her a quizzical look. One she interpreted to mean, “Maybe he’ll talk to you but not with me in here.”
He might be right. Sometimes male patients were more willing to open up when there weren’t other men around. It was worth a shot. “Zeke, can you see if Dr. Sloan is ready? I’ll keep pressure on this.”
“Sure thing,” Zeke said.
She looked at the patient and lowered her voice. “Mr. Smith, are you sure there isn’t something you’d like to tell me about your activities tonight?”
He made eye contact with her for the first time. “Your name is Leigh?”
That wasn’t the question she’d been anticipating, but she’d run with it. “Yes, it is. And yours is John?”
He took a deep breath. Good. Maybe he was ready to get something off his che—
Before she could process what was happening, John Smith put both his hands around her neck.
And squeezed.
What was happening? She couldn’t get any air. He was crushing her trachea. She kicked and thrashed, but his grip didn’t slacken.
Part of her brain—a big part—screamed for oxygen. But another part recognized she wouldn’t be able to physically get away from this guy. But people were in the halls. If she could scream . . .
Which she couldn’t.
She continued to thrash. He didn’t let go, but she did manage to make him shift his position. She didn’t have long before she would pass out, but she saw an opportunity. Instead of kicking him, she kicked the tray of instruments she’d set out for the doctor to do the stitches.
Metal clanged and clashed.
Then everything went black.
“Leigh! Leigh Weston! You wake up right now, young lady. I will not tolerate this nonsense.” The deep voice of Dr. Sloan pulled her from wherever she’d been.
What happened?
Where was she?
Why were bright lights burning her eyes?
She blinked a few times.
“There she is,” Zeke said.
Zeke. She’d been with Zeke.
No, Zeke had gone to get Dr. Sloan.
So why was she lying on a bed?
“Wha—” Okay, that was weird. What was on her face? Why did her throat hurt?
Her eyes flew open as the memory of beefy hands wrapped around her throat flooded her mind.
She jerked into a sitting position, but more large hands restrained her. She tried to pull away.
“Whoa,” Zeke said. “Leigh, it’s okay. You’re fine. He’s gone. You’re okay. We’re here to help.”
The hands moved to her back and rubbed in circles. “Leigh.” Zeke said her name in the same tone you would use with a skittish animal. “Look at me, Leigh.”
She looked at him and the room came into focus. She took a deep breath, but the air moving across her throat burned. She tried to remove the mask from her face, but Dr. Sloan, with tenderness she’d never known him to possess, pulled her arm down.
“Don’t try to talk,” he said. “We’re going to get some X-rays.”
She held her hands out to her sides and lifted her shoulders in the universal sign for “What on earth?”
“Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Sloan asked.
She put her hands back to her throat. This time around them. “Yes,” he said. “Your patient was choking you. Zeke pulled him away.”
She signed “Thank you” to Zeke, who was now fighting back tears.
“You scared me, girl,” he said in a choked-up voice.
“Bill grabbed one of the police officers,” Dr. Sloan said. “John Smith—if that’s his real name—is now in custody.”
Dr. Sloan leaned closer. “Leigh, did he do anything else to you? Are you injured in any other way?”
She shook her head no.
“Okay. Zeke?”
Zeke placed a wheelchair by the bed. “Your chariot, m’lady,” he said, still blinking back tears.
She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. He wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. “I’ve never, ever been that scared,” he said in a whisper. He released her and helped her into the wheelchair. Then he grinned in a way much more in line with his usual personality. “Let’s go get that pretty throat of yours checked out so you can tell me how heroic I am.”
&nbs
p; The next hour was a blur of oxygen, a bronchoscope, X-rays, and consultations. When the pulmonologist, Dr. Julia Stallings, gave her permission to speak, nothing came out.
“Try to say your name,” Dr. Stallings said. “You’re doing great.”
“Leigh Weston.” That voice did not belong to her, did it?
“Good. That’s good.” Dr. Stallings seemed pleased.
“How long?”
“It may take a week or so for your trachea to heal. But I don’t see anything that concerns me about any sort of permanent damage. Try to keep the talking to a minimum for the next day or two.”
Dr. Stallings left the room and for a brief moment, Leigh was alone.
She put her head in her hands and tried to forget the pressure of his hands on her throat. Tried not to think about the way her body begged for oxygen.
So of course that’s all she could think about.
The tap at the door made her lift her head. “Leigh?” Keri asked. “Can Ryan come in?”
She nodded. Keri backed up and Ryan entered. Keri closed the door behind him. He stared at her a moment and then dropped to his knees beside her chair. “Oh, Leigh,” he said.
She reached for his hands and squeezed them. “I’m okay,” she said.
The roughness of her voice didn’t exactly prove her point.
“They told me what happened,” he said.
“I should have seen it coming,” she whispered. “Should have let Zeke stay with him. You never know what a person will do when they are drunk or high.”
Ryan shook his head. “Leigh, he wasn’t.”
Wasn’t?
“He was stone cold sober.”
What? Sober? Everything she’d been thinking and feeling toward John Smith twisted on its axis. He had done this intentionally? He wasn’t some poor soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly when he was clean but a man who waited for his chance and then . . .
“This is a Carrington Police case. The officer is a good guy. I told him about the previous attempts on your life. He’s promised to keep me in the loop. If we confirm they are connected, the case will be transferred to me.”
Beneath the Surface Page 16