by Alana Terry
The paramedic took a step toward Carl. “You’re welcome to follow us to the hospital, but we’re ready to roll out, so I’ll need you to hop down.”
Carl folded his arms across his chest and stared at the man. “She is not going out of my sight.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry. We only transport immediate family. And I, uh … well, you, um … You’re not actually related, are you?” He glanced nervously from Kennedy with her pale-white skin to Carl. If she hadn’t just been shot in the arm, Kennedy might have enjoyed watching his discomfort.
Carl took a step forward, puffing out his chest to hint at the kind of beast he must have been in his football days. “You don’t think I could be her father?”
The paramedic eyed Kennedy once more. “He’s your dad?”
Kennedy just wanted to get to the hospital. She didn’t care if Carl came with her or followed in his car. None of that mattered. She just wanted to get her injury taken care of, and then she wanted to sleep for a very long time.
“Sir?” The policewoman came up and addressed Carl. “We still have a few more questions, and then you’ll be on your way.”
“She’s not going out of my sight,” Carl repeated.
The officer took a breath, glanced at Carl’s hard-set face, and sighed. “We’ll caravan, then. You follow the ambulance. We’ll be right behind you.”
Carl nodded. “Good. Because she’s not going into that hospital without an armed escort. Whoever wanted her dead might guess she was shot. Hospital would be the first place they’d look for her.”
“Wait a minute,” Kennedy inserted. Had she heard them right? Was the exhaustion making her brain fuzzy? Or perhaps it was the blood loss. She hadn’t thought she had been wounded that seriously. “You said you had Gino in custody.”
The policewoman frowned at Carl and then turned to Kennedy with a sigh. “We caught the driver. Unfortunately, he didn’t fit the description of the suspect we’re looking for.”
Carl put his hand on Kennedy’s stretcher. “They’ve got patrols out looking for Gino right now. He’s probably on foot. Trust me. He’s not gonna get far.”
Blood drained from Kennedy’s face and mingled with the bile in her gut. She wasn’t going to dwell on Gino right now. What was it about positive thinking having healing powers? Hadn’t she read an article like that in her psychology class? Or was it something her roommate had said? It sounded like something Willow would dream up.
Carl held Kennedy’s gaze. “I’ll be right behind you guys. You all right with that?” he asked.
Kennedy nodded even though she was too tired to try to smile. “That sounds fine.”
After he hopped down, the paramedic swung the two doors shut. He glanced at Kennedy once and then back at his own hands after he buckled himself in. “So, wait, he’s not really your dad, then, is he?”
Kennedy shook her head. “No. He’s my pastor.”
The young man’s cheeks flushed red, and the ambulance sped off to the whining of its own sirens.
CHAPTER 19
Kennedy wished the doctors and nurses believed her when she told them she was all right. She wasn’t even bleeding anymore. Why couldn’t they just clean her up, tape on a massive Band-Aid, knock her up with painkillers, and let her go to sleep?
A team of a dozen or more nurses met her as soon as the paramedics wheeled her into the back doors of the ER. One shoved a stethoscope to her chest. Another clipped a plastic clamp to her pointer finger. People were shouting, running. She felt like she was on an old episode of one of those medical dramas her mom watched.
She tried to look back to see if Carl was there, but a nurse reached down and pinned her on the stretcher.
They sped her to a little room separated from the main hall by a hanging curtain. A doctor in full gear snapped on his second blue glove when they wheeled her in.
“All right.” He gestured at one of the nurses. “Let’s cut that coat off her.”
“What?” Kennedy tried to sit up, but the same nurse held her down once more.
Another nurse reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of scissors with a little metal ball at the end.
“Not sure how these will work.” She held up Kennedy’s sleeve.
“You can’t cut my coat,” Kennedy insisted. “It was from my dad.”
“You know it’s ruined already, right?”
Kennedy bit her lip while the nurse sliced away at her early Christmas present. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She just wanted to get this whole ER visit over with.
“Oh, look at that.”
She didn’t understand the nurse’s tone. Why did she say it that way?
“That’s all?” another asked.
“Probably could have saved the coat.”
Hadn’t Kennedy tried to tell them?
The doctor gave a few orders, and everyone left except for the nurse with the scissors.
Just doing her job, Kennedy repeated to herself over and over.
“Well, looks fine to me.” The doctor also stood up. “Dolores here will clean you up, and then when the police are done with whatever questions they’ve got, I have no reason to keep you here.”
He left without any sort of good-bye. Kennedy didn’t even get the chance to thank him.
Dolores set to work, spraying her wound with a big can of saline and spreading a large blob of antibiotic ointment. The area burned hot, but the pain was bearable. Nothing like when she was in the hospital last fall.
“So, you a student around here?” Dolores asked.
“Yeah.” Kennedy didn’t necessarily like telling people she went to Harvard. That kind of confession automatically made certain people assume she was a preppy rich kid.
Dolores kept her eyes on the wound and opened a package of sterile gauze. “Whatcha studying?”
“I’m pre-med.” It sounded silly to mention here. Right now, Kennedy didn’t even have the know-how to clean a wound like hers.
Dolores’s frowned and muttered, “That’ll pay the bills.”
Kennedy didn’t say anything. This wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned money when they found out she planned to become a doctor. She wasn’t sure how much she believed the common perception that every MD was filthy rich. With all the student loans she was accumulating, she wondered if she’d have enough disposable income to buy her own white coat once she finally graduated med school.
Dolores was wrapping some brown stretchy cloth around the gauze when someone pulled back the curtain.
“Here she is.”
She immediately recognized Carl’s voice. She had been wondering if they would let him back here. Behind him was Detective Drisklay with his salt and pepper beard and coarse mustache.
“So, I guess our ten o’clock meeting got moved up a few hours.” He took a drink from a steaming Styrofoam cup, and Kennedy recognized the scent of coffee that followed him wherever he went. She wasn’t sure if he was in a good mood or not. She had never seen him either happy or sad and wondered if he even had an emotional life to speak of. “Well, since we’re both here, I’ve got a few questions for you.” He sat down on the doctor’s swivel chair and whipped out a notepad.
Dolores finished her work and excused herself with a promise to come back with painkillers and Kennedy’s discharge papers. Carl crossed his arms impassively by the curtain, reminding Kennedy of her childhood pet schnauzer when he tried to act territorial. Tonight might turn into an amusing memory when she looked back on it, but right now all she hoped was to stay awake to answer whatever questions Drisklay had for her.
“So, they tell me the wound was pretty superficial.”
Kennedy nodded. “Just a graze.”
He frowned. “You’re lucky, then.”
She wondered what history lay behind his hardened gaze.
“How long have you known Gino?”
“I just met him tonight. I mean, I never met him. He was just there chasing us. Oh, and before that he was on the subway.”
Kennedy decided to order her thoughts more logically. “I didn’t know who he was until tonight. I didn’t even know there was another partner involved. I saw the news before I went to bed, and then I realized I had seen him on the T earlier. Green Line.”
“Which branch?”
Kennedy had a hard time keeping all the different lines straight. “Whichever one goes to the Opera House.”
Detective Drisklay frowned. “That would be E.”
She nodded. “E, then.”
“Inbound or outbound?”
“We were headed back to campus.”
“Inbound.” He scribbled a little more. “And you hadn’t seen him before then?”
Kennedy stopped herself from shaking her head too soon. Hadn’t the man looked familiar on the T? Or was that just her memory playing tricks on her? How did witnesses in crime novels keep such great track of faces and details?
“I think he looked a little familiar, but I can’t be sure.”
Detective Drisklay kept his pen poised over his notebook. “So you’ve had previous encounters with him? Did you see him working with Vinny?”
As hard as she tried to forget everything that happened to her last fall, she couldn’t get Vinny’s face out of her mind. She sometimes replayed whole segments of her captivity at a time, as if a big projector screen took over her brain and went over every minute detail. She was certain she hadn’t seen Gino with them.
“No, he wasn’t there.” She frowned. Where had she seen his face? Maybe her memories were jumbled. Maybe she really hadn’t recognized him on the T. None of it made sense.
“He had a scar.” Detective Drisklay rolled back his sleeve and drew an imaginary line from his thumb down past his wrist. “Here on the right hand. Ring any bells?”
Kennedy frowned. Maybe if she had more sleep …
“Well, if you remember, we’ll come back to it.” Drisklay flipped a page in his notebook.
If Drisklay was anything, he was thorough. Eventually Dolores poked her head in, handed Kennedy a huge pill and a miniature Dixie cup of water, and sneaked back out. Carl even left his station at the curtain to sit down in one of the hard plastic chairs lining the wall. He didn’t exactly doze, but every once in a while, Kennedy caught his eyes glossing over right before he shook his head and jerked himself back to attention.
Drisklay picked Kennedy’s brain completely clean of every detail from the past twenty-four hours. Finally, he took the last long swig of coffee, which must have been room temperature by now, and stood up. “I appreciate you taking the time to see me.”
It wasn’t as though Kennedy had much of a choice, but she returned what she hoped was a polite smile. Where was Dolores? She was ready for those discharge papers so she could leave.
Drisklay pulled on a pair of black winter gloves. “By the way, we’ve got men out looking for Gino now, but we’re making provisions for your security after your discharge.”
Carl leaned forward in his seat. “What exactly does that mean?”
“I understand Miss Stern will be sleeping at your house.”
Carl nodded. “That’s right.”
“We’re going to send out a car, maybe two, to keep watch at your place tonight.”
Carl let out a sigh. “Well, then, I’ll give you my address.”
The detective patted his pocket. “Already got it. The men are on their way there now making everything secure.”
Carl’s whole upper body tensed. “I got my wife at home.”
Drisklay gave a respectful nod. “They don’t need to go in or wake her up or bother your wife at all. They’ll just walk around the premises, make sure any entrances are secure.”
Carl glanced nervously at his watch. “Maybe I should call her.” He stood up and excused himself.
Drisklay turned his attention back to Kennedy. “As for you, I imagine you’ll want to sleep in tomorrow instead of coming downtown like we planned.”
Kennedy was too tired to do anything but nod.
“That’s fine. I’ll call you around noon.”
“I’m supposed to fly to my aunt’s at four. Is that going to be a problem?”
Drisklay frowned and buttoned up his coat. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow.”
Kennedy tried to ignore his ominous tone.
A young nurse in Betty Boop scrubs popped in almost as soon as the detective left. “I’ve got your discharge instructions.” Her voice was far too chipper for this time of day. Night. Whatever it was. She gave Kennedy a big grin. “My guess is someone’s ready to go home, huh?”
CHAPTER 20
“How are you holding up, kiddo?” Carl certainly looked different behind the wheel of his Honda when they weren’t getting gunned down by a crazed criminal.
“I’m exhausted.” Kennedy shut her eyes. All the nurse had given her after the horse pill was some directions about changing the bandages.
“Well, the good news is we’ll be home soon. And just so you know, Sandy’s probably still awake,” he warned. “She’ll want to see for herself that you’re well taken care of.”
Kennedy was glad for the warning. If Carl’s wife was awake, it would take ten or twenty minutes at minimum to tell the entire story over tea, but Kennedy could handle that. The Lindgrens were about as close a thing to family as Kennedy had in Cambridge, and Christmas season was a lousy time to be alone. At least Drisklay didn’t need her downtown tomorrow morning so she could sleep in.
Kennedy kept checking the rear-view mirror, and she caught Carl doing the same on more than one occasion.
“You’d think we’re a bunch of loons,” Carl joked when they both glanced up at the same time. “Throwing glances over our shoulders every chance we get.”
It felt good to laugh even about something as dangerous as a murderous stalker. Kennedy kept reminding herself about the officers Drisklay had promised to send to the Lindgrens’ house. Nothing was going to happen tonight.
When they got to Carl and Sandy’s, the police car was already out front. Carl opened the garage door but stopped in the driveway and lowered his window when a tall officer headed over. The man kept one hand on his belt and walked over in that special slow gait Kennedy had previously assumed was just for cops in movies.
“Mr. Lindgren.” He nodded at them both through the window. “Miss Stern.”
“Thanks for being here.” Carl held his hand out.
The officer didn’t make eye contact but kept scanning the whole perimeter while he shook Carl’s hand. “We don’t want to bother you any. We already took a look around. We’ll be the first to know if anyone tries something funny.”
Carl nodded. “I appreciate that. I’ll just pull in the car then.”
“Yup,” the policeman replied. “You just go about your night like normal and try to forget we’re here.”
Carl rolled his window halfway up and paused. “Oh, if we run into problems, do we call you or 911?”
The officer lowered his gaze as well as his voice. “If you run into problems, we’ll know it before you even have a chance to yell.”
The answer wasn’t as reassuring as Kennedy might have hoped. Still, she was thankful to be home, or at least some semblance of it. Anywhere safe with a bed was good enough for her.
Carl pulled the Honda slowly into the garage and then came around to help Kennedy out of the car. She could walk just fine on her own, but she didn’t mind having Carl to lean on. Something about his closeness was reassuring. He escorted her up the garage steps and into the kitchen, where the hot smell of cinnamon and vanilla mingled together and set her mouth watering.
“It’s about time you showed up!” Sandy exclaimed, wiping her floury hands on her apron. “Those men outside were making me nervous.”
“Just remember they’re here to keep us safe.” Carl gave her a peck on the cheek.
“I know.” Sandy waved a spatula in the air. “But it still gives me willies.”
“Kennedy,” she asked, hardly noticing his affections, “do you feel up for some cookies and milk? I have tea, too, if you’d prefer. Oh, and these cinnamon rolls are fresh. I made them this morning.”
A few minutes later, they were all seated at the dining room table with fresh desserts and mugs of hot, steaming tea. Kennedy put an extra spoonful of sugar in hers, figuring she deserved it after a night like this. In the background, the Lindgrens’ radio crooned about a white Christmas, and the wind howled outside.
“Any more problems with the electricity while we were gone?” Carl asked.
Sandy took a sip of tea. “No, thank the Lord. Only that little episode before you left. I unplugged the TV, though, just in case.”
Carl leaned back in his chair, and Kennedy wondered how he could be so calm. Didn’t he remember everything they had gone through? Gino had tried to kill them. They would be dead right now if it hadn’t been for a major dose of luck.
No, not luck, Kennedy had to remind herself. Had she even bothered to thank the Lord for bringing her through a night like this?
Sandy asked Kennedy about her semester and her finals, and Kennedy was grateful she didn’t have to talk about Gino or tonight’s excitement. After a little more small talk and two more cookies, music from The Nutcracker faded in on the Lindgrens’ radio, and Kennedy strained to remember if it had really been tonight she had gone to the ballet with Reuben. She sure would have a lot to tell him when she returned to campus in January.
“Oh, you got Justice’s old spot, didn’t you?” Sandy pointed to the numerous nicks in the wood. “That boy would fidget with his knife the whole meal through. It’s a wonder he ever grew. Boy hardly ate a thing.”
“How many kids do you guys have?” Kennedy asked. When Carl led her parents’ church back in New York, she remembered the Lindgrens having a large family, but she could never keep track of how many there were.