Playing Dead pb-3

by Allison Brennan

  The nurse handed him a stack of papers. “Fill this out while I get her ready for the doctor. You can do it in triage.” She wheeled the gurney around a corner, then pulled a curtain around Claire.

  “No wonder you’re so cold, sweetie,” the nurse said. “Your clothes are soaking wet.”

  Mitch scrawled the information he knew-Claire’s name, address, birth date, employer. . he skipped what he didn’t know.

  “There’s a patient here about to go to surgery. It’s her dad. They need to talk before he goes on the table.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything,” she said. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, wherever they prep someone for surgery.”

  “Name.”

  “Thomas O’Brien.”

  “I’ll check.”

  The nurse had put Claire in a gown, and wrapped her in blankets from a warmer. “I’ll be back.”

  Mitch sat next to Claire. “Do you remember what happened before you went into the river?”

  “River?” she mumbled through the oxygen mask. She squinted, then pulled the mask off.

  “You should-”

  “I can breathe.” She was still shaking, her skin ghostly. “Everything is too bright.” She kept her eyes squeezed shut.

  “You’re in the hospital.”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath. “It was strange. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t even panic. It was like I was out of my body. That sounds so stupid.”

  “Did anyone have the opportunity to drug your drink?”

  “Drink? I wasn’t drinking. I didn’t even have half the beer-” She stared at him and it was as if her memory returned and she remembered who he was and that he’d lied to her. Her entire expression changed, from worried and confused to guarded.

  She averted her eyes. “I want to go home.”

  “The nurse is getting the doctor. We need to find out who drugged you and why. Why’d you go to Isleton in the first place?”

  “You think I’m going to tell you?”

  “We’re on the same side.”

  “Are we?”

  Sitting next to her, Mitch spoke softly. “I told you my father was a prosecutor. I had tried to please him, never did. And then-” Mitch took a deep breath. “When he died, I went home to help my mom clear out his office. I went through his private files. Found information that he knowingly prosecuted three innocent men.” He remembered that weekend. Everything he’d believed about his father, a man of honor and truth and justice, vanished. He’d been trying his entire life to understand why he and his father were constantly at odds, feeling guilty that he didn’t want to follow his dad into law. The arguments they used to have about everything!

  “I got two of the men out of prison by turning over the information to the new D.A. But one of the men was already dead. He’d spent ten years in Corcoran for a murder he didn’t commit, because, according to my father, ‘I knew he was guilty of other felonies, but we didn’t have the evidence.’ ” All the lectures about the Constitution and the rights of individuals and government, all destroyed after Mitch read that.

  “I think your father is innocent. I don’t know how, but everything doesn’t add up. I think you have more information than we do. Why’d you go to Isleton today?”

  “I was trying to find out what got Frank Lowe and Taverton killed. I thought that would lead to their killer. Did you talk to Professor Collier?”

  “We have agents working all airports, monitoring his passport and credit cards. We’ll find him.”

  “Unless he’s dead. I found out something else about Collier. He worked for the same law firm that represented my father fifteen years ago. Then, while doing pro bono work for the Western Innocence Project, he reviewed the case files and determined that the Project shouldn’t get involved.”

  “That sounds like a conflict of interest.”

  “Not legally, but ethically, yes. Thing is, Randolph Sizemore didn’t believe me at first. He said Collier would have recused himself.”

  Claire rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes. “Oh, God, my head hurts.”

  “I’ll get the nurse-”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  She still looked like death warmed over, her hair damp around her face, but she was no longer shaking.

  “I talked to the cop who arrested Lowe back then,” Claire said. “I planned on talking to the judge who arraigned him, because Abrahamson thought he’d be most likely to have been privy to a plea agreement with the D.A.’s office. But the biggest puzzle so far is the missing coroner’s reports.”

  “What missing coroner’s reports?”

  “Taverton and my mom. They’re gone. No hard copies, no electronic copies. They were replaced by blank pages. And the tech who headed up the autopsy left right after the trial for another jurisdiction. I have a friend at Rogan-Caruso tracking him down.”

  “He’s not going to confront him-”

  “No. She isn’t a PI or a cop. She’s going to call me, and then-”

  “You’re not-”

  Claire interrupted. “I’m giving you this information because I know my father’s innocent, and if you’re actually telling me the truth, and you also believe he’s innocent, then you can help prove it. But don’t tell me what I can or can’t do, and don’t pretend that you care.”

  His chest tightened. “Claire, you need to listen to me. Believe me. Befriending you started out as a job, but it became more than that. You know it. The way I feel-”

  “I don’t care how you feel, Mitch. You lied to me. I don’t love you. I loved who I thought you were.”

  The nurse came in with a doctor. “Agent Bianchi, you’ll have to leave for a while,” the doctor said. “I need to examine my patient.”

  “I’m not staying here all night,” Claire stated emphatically.

  “Let’s see what we have here before we decide that.”

  “You can’t keep me against my will,” she said. “I’m feeling much better.”

  Mitch reluctantly left. He leaned against the corridor wall and rubbed his eyes.

  “Well, that was interesting,” a familiar female voice said only feet away from him.

  He looked at Meg. It was rare for him to see her like this, silky blond hair hanging loose down her back, devoid of makeup, looking young and beautiful and like the woman he’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

  “You heard.”

  “Oh boy, I heard.”

  Mitch didn’t even try to explain. “Can you fire me tomorrow? I’m really beat tonight.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement. It’s hard to fire someone whose instincts are dead-on ninety-nine percent of the time. Still, even you surprised me this time. Unless. .”

  “Just say it.” He really was tired. Physically and emotionally. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

  “You really did fall for her.”

  Mitch didn’t answer. What could he say? He wasn’t going to talk to his ex-wife about the woman he’d fallen in love with.

  “Where’s O’Brien?”

  “Getting prepped for surgery. As soon as the doctor clears Claire, I’m bringing her up to see him.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Pretty much everything you told me. He also filled us in on what the fugitives were doing after the earthquake, how they evaded authorities. He could teach a master’s class on stupid law enforcement stunts, particularly in the twenty-four hours after the disaster.”

  “What do you think?”

  “About?”

  “His innocence.”

  “I don’t think anything right now. Matt’s trying to figure out what Taverton had been working on. He’s on his way to meet Steve at headquarters to interview Frank Lowe. You think he drugged Claire?”

  “He denied it. I honestly don’t know. He sounded sincere, and he’s not hiding the fact that he knows exactly why Taverton was killed. He just refuses to tal
k about it until he has something from us in writing.”

  “Why don’t you head to headquarters and sit in?”

  Mitch glanced at Claire’s closed door. “What about a guard on Claire? Someone tried to kill her tonight.”

  “I’ll call someone in.”

  “Until then-Steve and Matt are perfectly capable of handling Lowe.”

  The doctor opened the door. “I’m running tests to confirm, but I think I know what Ms. O’Brien was drugged with. Rohypnol.”

  Steve realized he had a tail as soon as he exited the Capital City Freeway at Auburn. He was less than two miles from headquarters.

  “What’s wrong?” Lowe asked from the back.

  “Sit tight.”

  Steve floored the gas as he merged onto the bypass exit ramp, but it was too late. The tail swerved into the breakdown lane and drew parallel with them.

  “Down!” Steve yelled at the same time as he saw the gun in the driver’s hand.

  The killer didn’t hesitate, fired three shots into the back of Steve’s car. Heart racing, Steve slammed on the brakes while turning the wheel. The killer fired at him through the windshield.

  Steve ducked before the blast, but a bullet hit him in the upper shoulder. He overcompensated and went into a tailspin, stalling the car on the opposite side of the road.

  “Frank!”

  There was no answer from the backseat. Steve spared a glance in the rearview mirror. There was a lot of blood against the rear passenger side window.

  “Shit, shit, shit!”

  The killer did a 180 at the T-intersection and passed Steve as he escaped back onto the freeway.

  Steve leapt from the car, gun out, blood pouring from his wound. Traffic had stopped on the major thorough-fare, and a scream pierced the air. From this angle, he couldn’t see which of three possible directions the killer went.

  The entire hit took seventy seconds.

  Steve could smell gas leaking from his car. He crawled over to the door, opened it. Frank Lowe fell out, blood pouring from his chest and a head wound. Steve unlocked the handcuffs, pulled him away from the car. He stripped off Frank’s shirt, assessed the damage. Two holes, one next to the other, in Frank’s upper chest. The bullet to his head had taken off one ear and a chunk of his scalp.

  “Come on, Frank!”

  Frank was breathing too rapidly, his pulse racing. Steve applied pressure to the wounds, but blood seeped through his fingers. Frank was trying to talk, but couldn’t. Then his body convulsed and he was gone.

  Steve stared at the dead witness. No, no, no!

  A car skidded behind his. Steve held his gun on the driver.

  It was Matt Elliott, the county’s district attorney.

  “Donovan!” Elliott ran to the bloody scene and felt for Frank’s pulse. His lips tightened, and he turned to Steve. “You need to lie down.”

  “He came out of nowhere.”

  “You’ve been shot.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Did you see the shooter?”

  Steve ran through those seconds. “He wore a mask. Ski mask in the middle of May. Late-model Ford Tempo. Black. 5THH. I didn’t catch the numbers. There was an 8, but I don’t know in which spot.”

  “That’s good. We’ll find the car. Lie down.”

  Matt forced Steve to the pavement and applied pressure on his shoulder wound. Steve was fading. The last thing he heard was the D.A. calling for an ambulance and backup.

  The last thing he thought was I fucked up big time. I got a witness killed.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Tom looked at Nelia. “Is she coming?”

  “She said she would be here.”

  He needed to see Claire. He might die tonight, and he wanted to see his little girl one more time.

  “Nelia?”

  “I’m right here.”

  “I love you.”

  “I know. I love you too, Tom. You’re going to be fine.”

  “I don’t know.”

  He’d been in more pain than he’d told her. He hadn’t wanted her to worry, but this morning he couldn’t walk. His right leg was nearly paralyzed. He could feel everything, but he couldn’t move it. She’d been indignant that the FBI had interviewed him while he was being poked and prodded and subjected to X-rays and a multitude of tests. But Tom didn’t mind. They were listening to him. Really listening, and that meant everything. Someone cared about the truth.

  The doctor said the bullet had been lodged in muscle near the spine. It had slowly moved over the past few months until it impinged on the nerves to his right leg. If he didn’t have surgery immediately, he’d be partially paralyzed, and in the coming weeks he’d be dead since, as the bullet shifted, it had moved precariously close to his liver.

  “Tom.”

  He turned to Nelia. She stared down at him with love and compassion and worry.

  “They believed you,” she said.

  A weight lifted off his chest. “You think so?” he whispered.

  She nodded, ran a hand over his forehead as if he were a child. “They know you’re innocent. Be strong in there. I need you.”

  He clasped her hand. “I love you. If-if it doesn’t work, tell Claire I’ve never blamed her for any of this, that I love her.”

  Nelia’s voice cracked. “I will.”

  “Mr. O’Brien?” The doctor came in. “We’re ready.”

  “Five more minutes?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I’ll be here when you’re done,” Nelia said.

  The nurse injected something into his IV, shifted the bed he was on, and started rolling it out of the room, down the hall. .

  “Wait!”

  That sounded like Agent Elliott, whom he’d spoken to for more than an hour earlier.

  The gurney stopped. A moment later, Tom heard, “Daddy.”

  Claire.

  Tom was fading as the drugs began to do their work.

  “Daddy, oh God.”

  “Claire. I’m. Okay.” He reached up, though the lights in the hall were beginning to fade.

  Someone grabbed his hand. He felt moisture. Tears.

  “Claire Beth, don’t cry.”

  “I love you, Daddy. I’m sorry. I love you.”

  He tried to speak but couldn’t. The light faded.

  Claire watched the medical staff wheel her father down the hall and into surgery. “What happened? Why is this an emergency? Is he going to be okay?”

  Nelia spoke. “The bullet shifted. He woke up and couldn’t walk this morning. It was lodged in the muscle near the spinal cord and has disrupted the nerves. I don’t know the medical jargon, but the more it shifts the more dangerous it becomes. There’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll be partially paralyzed, even after the bullet is removed.” Nelia looked both unsure of the situation and worried.

  “You care about him?” Claire asked, tears in her eyes.

  “I love him.”

  Claire reached out and hugged Nelia. The woman wrapped her arms tight around her. “He’s going to be okay,” Claire said, as much for herself as for Nelia.

  “Hello?” From behind Claire, Agent Elliott, Claire’s babysitter, spoke into her cell phone. Claire pulled apart from Nelia, both of them staring at the closed surgery doors.

  Nelia asked Claire, “What happened to you?” She gestured to the hospital gowns Claire wore-one backward so she didn’t expose her ass for all to see.

  “Long story. But I’m okay. Just tired.” The doctor had given her a shot to help counteract the effects of Rohypnol, even though the tests hadn’t come back yet. All Claire wanted to do was go home and sleep the rest of the night in her own bed, but she now had this FBI agent babysitting her.

  “Where?” Agent Elliott sounded angry. Claire turned and watched her. Meg’s jaw was tight and she stared at the wall. “Mercy? Who’s with him?. . Okay. Good. And Lowe?” She closed her eyes and rested her fist against the wall. “Right. I’ll call Grant. I want Lowe’s business and residence g
one over with a fine-tooth comb.” Agent Elliott straightened, all business again. “Talk to everyone who even stepped through that bar. And-really? Get him on a plane ASAP. Protective custody or whatever the U.S. Attorney’s office thinks we can do. Arrest him if we can. He might be the only one who knows what’s going on.”

  “What happened?” Claire asked when Meg Elliott shut her phone.

  Expression hard, she said, “Frank Lowe was killed twenty minutes ago. One of my agents was shot and is in critical condition at Mercy.”

  Claire involuntarily sucked in her breath. “Mitch?” she whispered.

  “Steve Donovan. He’s going into surgery. But the professor you scared away yesterday? We just intercepted him outside La Guardia Airport in New York. We’re transporting him back. He’ll be here in the morning. And that information stays here, got it? I don’t want it leaking out that we have a witness in custody.”

  “Witness to what?”

  Meg said, “Mitch thinks that Collier is the last person-now that Lowe’s dead-who knows exactly what happened fifteen years ago. I want him alive.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Claire hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until urgent voices in the hall woke her. She opened her heavy eyes when the door whooshed open.

  A federal agent stepped in. She didn’t recognize him, but he had his badge and ID clipped to his belt.

  “Ms. O’Brien, I’m Special Agent Cliff Warren. I’ll be stationed outside your door clearing guests until you’re discharged.”

  “That’s not necessary-”

  “Supervisory Special Agent Elliott thinks otherwise,” he said.

  Elliott. Right. The blonde. Claire’s memory was fuzzy. “What time is it?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Oh two hundred hours.”

  It was after midnight. She didn’t want to be here all night!

  She swung her legs over the bed. “I need my clothes.”

  “You’re not supposed to leave until the doctor okays it, then I’ll take you home.”

  “Then call the doctor. I want to leave now.” She felt like shit, her head pounded, but she was thinking clearly. She couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, though thoughts and images popped in and out of her mind. The river. Mitch. Nelia.