“I told you two of the suspects were dead last night. What I didn’t tell you was that your jewelry, at least a quarter million dollars’ worth, was recovered. The only items unaccounted for were your wedding rings. On the 911 tape, we heard the man who cut your finger off say he’d been told to retrieve it for its owner.”
Nikki reached for the framed wedding picture on the bedside table. She’d found it in the drawer earlier. She stared at the ring on her finger. She made a face. “Recover it for its owner? Are you telling me this ring was stolen mob property?” The look on his face answered the question. “You think Sam himself stole it from the mob. Why on earth would he do that?”
“I don’t know, but we believe Sam Hart wasn’t the man we thought he was.”
She shook her head. “This is like the soap opera from hell, with me in the starring role. I keep hoping it’s all a horrible dream and I’ll wake up in my own bed, but I can’t even remember what my bed looks like. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make light of it, but if I take this all seriously right now, I’ll burst into tears, and I may never stop crying.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. The gesture was reassuring, and she relaxed.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, but the danger is real, and I’m going to protect you and Mandy, but you have to trust me. I’m not going to let The Butcher have a second chance at either of you. If you’re agreeable, I want to move you away from here tonight, as soon as it gets dark. We’ve come up with a plan I think will work. I have to iron out the logistics, but the decision is yours. It’s only fair to tell you that your father disagrees with us on this. He feels he can protect you better than the FBI can . . ." His phone buzzed, interrupting him. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the display.
“Damn. I’m sorry. I have to take this. Finish your breakfast. I’ll be right back.” He moved quickly to the door, and the blonde returned to sit where she’d been earlier.
“You don’t have to sit with me, Angie. I’m perfectly safe in my own room.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Hart, but I really do. You’re not to be left alone under any circumstances.”
Nikki made a face. “I feel like a prisoner,” she grumbled.
“Everyone feels that way at first.” She chuckled. “Agent Spark wants you safe, and it’s our job to follow his orders and keep you that way.”
Nikki took a bite of her poached egg. She liked eggs, but not cooked this way. These were slimy.
“How long have you worked with Agent Spark?” Maybe she could learn more about him from this woman and decide where he fit in the scheme of things.
“First time.”
Damn, that’s no help.
“My boss speaks highly of him, and that’s good enough for me.”
Before she could ask another question, the door opened and Jason reentered the room. Whatever news he’d learned on the phone hadn’t pleased him. He nodded to the agent and she stood and left.
“You don’t look happy.”
“I’m not. We think we’ve identified your husband, or rather who he wasn’t. The FBI computer whiz was able to access all of the government databases looking for information on Dr. Samuel J. Hart, and found something interesting in the restricted army files. Samuel J. Hart, the J stands for Jameson, not James as your husband’s ID indicates, was born April 9, 1956, in Lobelville, Tennessee. His parents were killed in a car accident when he was twelve, and he and his younger sister went into the system. He graduated Harvard Medical School 1982, and died in Saudi Arabia in 1990.”
She gasped. “That’s impossible. We were married nine years ago—the dates on the photograph.”
“You married that man nine years ago. We’re just not sure who he is. According to Pentagon sources, Dr. Sam Hart was stationed at a MASH unit destroyed in an assault. He’s buried at Arlington.”
She frowned, the vestiges of a headache making her head pound. “So, if my husband wasn’t Sam Hart, who was he?”
“There’s a slight possibility he is Sam Hart. Dying’s a great way to elude creditors and make a fresh start, but usually when you disappear that way on purpose, you choose a new name for yourself. We think your husband appropriated Sam Hart’s identity.”
“How could he have done that?”
“It’s a lot easier than people think. With the right information you can get whatever documentation you need. He had a name and a place of birth. All of your husband’s credentials were clever forgeries. Nothing about him prior to his arrival in San Francisco checks out. According to his CV, after acquiring his degree in thoracic surgery, he joined the MSF, Doctors Without Borders. The organization originated in France, so the fact he’d gone from working for them to working in a major hospital in Marseilles wouldn’t raise any red flags. San Francisco General was in desperate need of a thoracic surgeon ten years ago, and he was perfect for the job. The board made a few calls to numbers your husband supplied and they were so happy to get him, they didn’t dig too deeply into his past. Neither did I. He was the victim, but even if I had, he’d have checked out.” He held up his cell phone.
“This is a picture of Captain Samuel J. Hart, taken twenty-four years ago. We’ve got experts comparing this picture to one of your husband. The coroner verified he’d had plastic surgery done, and I put it down to an older man’s vanity. Cosmetic surgery rarely alters bone structure enough to fool the computers. Whoever your husband was, one thing is certain. He was a damn fine surgeon. No one questioned his qualifications or abilities. He had enough money to rub elbows with San Francisco’s elite.”
“Can you identify him?”
“At the moment, it’s easier to prove who he isn’t. We’ve located the real Sam Hart’s sister in Tacoma, Washington. We have an agent collecting a DNA sample, which we’ll match against Sam’s. If they match, he was Sam Hart who somehow gave the army the slip. If they don’t match, then we’ll start combing the databases for doctors, aged fifty to sixty who’ve died or disappeared in the last twenty-five years.”
She shook her head. “I should feel something beyond incredulity, but I’m stunned. I’ve looked at this picture for hours, and I can’t imagine ever being in love with this man. There’s something cold and calculating about him.”
“Maybe your parents can tell you more about your relationship.”
The door opened. Cassie entered the room followed by Angie. “Sorry, Agent Spark, but I have to tend to my patient.”
“That’s okay, Cassie. I’m done here.” He turned to Nikki. “Will you let me and the bureau move you someplace safer?”
His eyes begged her to say yes, but she was too full of uncertainty to commit.
“Do I have to answer you now? My father will be here shortly. I’d like to discuss the situation with him.” She didn’t really. She’d make up her own mind, but she wanted more time to decide. She saw his crestfallen look, thought he was going to argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled and held out his hand.
“I’ve given Cassie my card. She’ll contact me as soon as you make your decision.” He turned and left the room.
Chapter Nine
Nikki was nervous. It wasn’t every day you met a daughter you didn’t know and a father you disliked, knowing there was a crazed maniac after you who wanted you dead. Irene lowered the earpieces of her stethoscope. The few tubes and machines still hooked up to her this morning had been disconnected and stood sentinel-like against the wall should they be needed again. Cassie, with some assistance from Angie, had redressed her in a pair of dark green lounge pajamas. She’d fluffed her hair, and added a little gloss to her chapped lips, too. Looking in the mirror, Nikki had been satisfied with the nurse’s efforts. She was still deathly pale, a few red scars vivid against the waxy skin, and the bags under her eyes testified to her weariness, but it would have to do.
“Your blood pressure and heart rate are up, but that’s to be expected. Everything else looks fine.” Dr. Marion smiled. “Your family’s in my office waiting to see you. Do yo
u want them all to come in together, or would you rather see your daughter first?”
“I think I’d like a few minutes alone with Mandy.” She sighed deeply, not sure she was ready to meet her daughter, but desperately wanting to.
“That’s an excellent idea. She’s anxious to see her mommy again.”
Irene left the room, and Nikki prayed she was making the right choice by staying here. She might not remember her daughter from the pictures, but somehow her maternal instincts to protect Mandy were strong. If Agent Spark were right, she couldn’t let anything happen to her. She wished she could remember her son. His life had been so short and his death so undeserved.
The door opened slightly, and a pig-tailed blonde dressed in an orange turtleneck and brown corduroy jumper stuck her head in the crack.
“Mommy? Cassie says I can come in. Can I? I’ve waited a long, long time.”
“Of course,” she answered, her throat clogged with tears. The word Mommy struck a chord. Her brain might not remember, but her heart did, and that was a start.
Cassie opened the door wider and followed the child into the room. Mandy was tall for her age, all arms and legs. Her pigtails stuck out from each side of her head and were decorated with brown satin bows. She wore white knee socks and black leather shoes with satin rosettes on the toe. In her ears, she wore small gold studs. She carried a cloth bag with a felt pumpkin glued to it.
“I got to ride in a police car. They used the siren and everything. Lily went in her dad’s police car, but he said he couldn’t use the sirens. Then, we went in a hepacopter and flew over the mountains all the way here. It was fun.”
She stopped at the foot of the bed and stared.
Nikki held her breath. Would the child be able to accept her, or would she be disappointed, the way Nadia had been?
Mandy moved her head up and down as she scrutinized Nikki’s face, taking in all the details. Finally, she smiled, and Nikki felt a huge weight lift from her chest.
“I like your new face, Mommy.” She frowned and looked at the bed. “Why are you in a crib? Are they afraid you’ll fall out?”
The child’s logic made Nikki smile.
“I think I can fix that.” Cassie moved to the end of the bed and lowered it to regular bed level. “While your mommy was really sick, it was easier for me to take care of her up there.”
“Can you put the side down?”
“Sure can.”
Cassie lowered the rail, and the child immediately climbed up on the bed and nestled into Nikki’s right side.
“I missed you, Mommy.” Mandy cuddled closer. “When can we go home?”
“I don’t know, sweetie.” Nikki sighed. It was the truth. She had no idea how long it would take to catch The Butcher. “But we’re going to stay together from now on,” she stated with conviction. They could set up a cot in here for her until Nikki could leave the hospital, but she wouldn’t let anyone separate them.
The child clapped her hands. “You mean I don’t have to go back to the ranch?”
Nikki nodded.
“Yes! It’s nice there, but I’d rather stay with you. Will I be going back to school?”
“Not right away. Maybe I can teach you until you can go back.”
“That would be awesome. I really like making pictures like we used to do.” The child stared at the cast on her left hand. “Can you still draw?”
“I can. My drawing hand isn’t hurt, and the one in the cast is getting better all the time. Seeing you every day is exactly the kind of medicine I need to help me get better.” The child felt right cuddled against her, the heat of her small body familiar. She waited for Mandy to comment on her slower than normal speech, but she didn’t.
“Aunt Mitch said you almost went to Heaven. I’m glad you stayed with me even if you do have to have a different face ‘cause the other one got broken. I like your curly hair.” She moved away slightly and ran her hands through Nikki’s curls. She giggled. “Can we cut mine short like yours? I’ll bet it’ll be curly, too. You’ve been asleep such a long time. I was afraid you’d miss Halloween. Do you know I can write my name all by myself now? I’m bigger! I made this for you.”
She held up the pumpkin bag.
Nikki swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled through the tears she couldn’t completely suppress. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
The girl’s face grew sad. “But I’m not a little sister anymore, and I won’t be a big sister. They put Kylie with Danny so he could take care of her, and she wouldn’t be afraid.”
Nikki hugged her daughter to her. The thought that her two dead children were together was strangely comforting.
“Mandy, did your Aunt Mitch tell you that Mommy might have trouble remembering things? That I might not remember things about you, about our family?”
“Yup. She said your brain was hurt, too. She helped me make a list of all the things a mommy should know about her kid. The first thing is that I don’t like cooked cabbage. It’s stinky.”
Nikki laughed and kissed her daughter on the head, the gesture natural and comforting. “I don’t like it much either,” she confided and wondered if it were true. “What else is on that list?”
“Lots of stuff.” Mandy pulled a sheet of paper out of the pumpkin bag. “You’ll have to read it.”
“Let’s read it together.”
Some of the items brought back wisps of memories that quickly vanished before they could fully form. But it was obvious they’d been devoted to one another. What was most telling was the fact that, although Mandy mentioned Danny several times, she said very little about her father. Weren’t daddies and little girls supposed to be close? Although based on her childhood pictures, it didn’t appear as if Nikki had been close to her dad, either.
“Number twenty,” Nikki read. “Before you got sick and Daddy went to Heaven with Danny and Kylie, you promised me a new puppy. Joey’s parents probably gave my puppy to someone else. When you’re better we have to go pick out a new one.”
Nikki put down the list and pulled the child closer to her, dropping another light kiss on her head.
“I’m sorry about that, honey. I promise as soon as we are back in our own home, we’ll get a dog. I like dogs.” And she did.
“If you like dogs, Mommy, why wouldn’t Daddy let us have one?” Mandy’s voice was filled with regret as well as curiosity.
Nikki shook her head. Her husband didn’t sound like much of a dad. What man in his right mind could refuse this beautiful child something as simple as a puppy?
Mandy turned her face up to look at her. “Where are we going to live, Mommy? I liked our house. I miss Lily. She was my bestest friend.”
“If you want to go back to our house, that’s okay with me.”
She vaguely remembered Larosa was situated near a manmade lake. She concentrated on the idea of living near the water and realized she’d enjoy that. Agent Spark had mentioned his brother was the sheriff there, but she wasn’t sure whether that would be a problem or not. It wasn’t as if the agent lived there, too.
“But we can’t go back to our old house,” Mandy wailed, drawing Nikki’s attention back to her. “Grandpa is selling it. He said we can’t go back there, ever, but I want to.” Her bottom lip stuck out and trembled slightly.
What right did her father have selling her home without discussing it with her? What had happened there had been a terrible episode in their lives, but so far she didn’t remember any of it, and Agent Spark had assured her Mandy hadn’t seen a thing. Going back to the house, back to what were sure to be familiar items, might trigger her memory. It was worth a try. A chill went through her as she tried to imagine what her last few minutes in the house might have been like.
She didn’t want to remember her beating or probably her husband, but she’d like to regain her memories of Danny. The few things Mandy had said pointed to a shy, sensitive boy. Mandy had mentioned Daddy was always angry with Danny for one reason or another. Why hadn’t Nikki stood
up for her son? Had she been a wimp? An emotionally abused wife? Well, if she had been, she wasn’t anybody’s pawn anymore.
The door opened to admit Dr. Marion, Nadia, and a tall, bald man she realized was her father. He was older than he was in the photograph. She disliked him just as much in person, more so now that she knew he was riding roughshod over her life.
“I see you and Mandy are getting along well. Are you ready for the rest of your family?” Irene asked.
She wasn’t and would have preferred more time with Mandy, but she knew she’d have to face the man sooner or later. Putting it off for an extra fifteen or twenty minutes wouldn’t help, and she wanted to talk to him about the house. Nikki nodded.
Her mother, dressed in a deep blue shantung suit that surely was tailor-made for her, was strangely subdued; in fact, judging by the glazed look in her eyes, Nikki could swear she was sedated. A momentary pang of guilt rose in her, but what could she do? Saying, hello, nice to see you again, but unfortunately I don’t remember you at all, wouldn’t help the situation much.
She supposed Thomas Lincoln was a handsome man for his age, which she guessed to be in the late sixties. He was a large man with broad shoulders and a slight potbelly. His bald head glowed as if it had been spit-polished. His furrowed eyebrows were thick and dark. He wore wire-framed glasses over cold, watery blue eyes. His classic aquiline nose dominated his face. He was clean-shaven, with a Kirk Douglas dimple in his chin, but his lips were thin, and fury radiated from him. Agent Spark had mentioned her father was opposed to his plan to relocate her, and no doubt that’s what annoyed him.
Thomas had dressed in a black shirt, gray pants, and black loafers. He wore a large, oval, gold signet ring on his right hand and an intricately carved wedding band on his left. He exuded power and confidence. He was the type of person who issued orders, not requests. Whatever father-daughter relationship had existed between them was gone. She could no more accept dictatorial orders from a man like him than she could remember her past, even though she was certain this interview wasn’t going to please him one bit. The angry look on his face bothered her most. Shouldn’t a father seeing his daughter awake for the first time in weeks be happy about it? A shiver coursed down her spine. She imagined a man similar to this had ordered their deaths.
On His Watch Page 11