by Darla Jones
“Good morning,” she answered cheerfully.
“Good morning to you, sweetheart. I was worried about you last night.”
“No need, I was fine,” she assured him. His deep baritone voice had a way of keeping her grounded and somehow made her feel safe. She ignored his sweetheart part.
“Good. I’ll have someone get in touch with you later about a new computer. The man builds them exactly the way you want them.”
“Really, Jeff, eventually I’ll get my own computer.” She tried to decline his offer.
But he insisted. “The guy’s a real geek and you won’t be sorry.”
“All right.” She gave in, deciding it would be much easier to refuse the computer expert than him. She had too much pride to tell him there was no way she could afford a computer right now.
“Have a good day, sweetheart. I’ll call you this evening.”
Still smiling, she hung up the phone. Despite the robbery of the previous evening, this was going to be a good day.
But the day did not turn out as well as she’d hoped; in fact it was horrible. Once at Dr. Dan Wilson’s office she performed her usual tasks: checking in patients, faxing prescriptions, and giving injections. Her day was busy, as usual. At four PM, Dr. Wilson was called to the emergency room at St. Luke’s and as he headed for the door, he called to her. “I won’t be back for the rest of the day.”
She was left to apologize to the waiting patients, and Paulette, the receptionist, had to reschedule their appointments.
After the patients were gone, LynAnn took advantage of her extra time. She had to go through the drug cabinets and refrigerator and reorder medications. She worked carefully because most medications were expensive and she knew from past experience Dan Wilson would be upset if she overstocked and some of the meds had to be discarded because they expired. She started in the refrigerator and worked her way to the cabinets. She was surprised when Paulette came looking for her.
“It’s five o’clock, LynAnn. Time to split. I promised my son I would pick him up from band practice in twenty minutes.” Attractive with her chestnut-brown hair in a short pageboy, the receptionist had one vice, and it drove everyone crazy. She loved to chew gum and snap it in her mouth.
She only had a few more meds to check. “You go on, Paulette. I’ll be done here in about five more minutes.”
Paulette gave her a worried frown. “I don’t like leaving you here by yourself.” Snap, her gum cracked.
“I’ll be fine. Lock the door behind you. I’ll arm the security system when I leave.”
“Okay.” The receptionist hesitantly agreed, and she was left to finish with her order.
Minutes later, she finalized her list and then paused abruptly when she heard a scraping sound in the waiting area. Her body went rigid. She was probably edgy after the robbery at her house. “Is that you, Paulette?” she called out but there was no reply. Get a grip, woman, she berated herself. She locked the drug cabinet and slipped the key in its usual spot under a ceramic flower pot sitting on a window ledge.
Suddenly, from behind, a gloved hand clamped tightly over her mouth and then a strong arm clutched her waist. Panic flooded her brain. She tried to open her mouth to bite, but it was held closed, and the odor of the leather gloves permeated her nose. The gloves nearly covered her nostrils, and she struggled to breathe. Her body was hurled to the floor before she could comprehend what was happening. A sharp pain stabbed through her brain and turned her vision into black darkness as the back of her head struck a cabinet base and she lost consciousness. She didn’t know how long it lasted, but when she roused, her vision had cleared, and a large man towered over her. He stood tall with broad shoulders. Dressed completely in black, a ski mask covered his face. His dark eyes glared at her and the crow’s feet at their edges crinkled as if he jeered at her.
“Get up,” he commanded in a raspy voice.
Trying to obey, LynAnn slowly rolled onto her side, then propped her hand on the floor for support. Gray and brown spiderwebs floated across her line of vision. She expelled a low moan and attempted to pull herself up. Apparently, her movement wasn’t fast enough for her attacker, and he grabbed her upper arm with an iron grip, forcing another moan from her, and threw her against the metal cabinet, her head jerking back. His eyes swept over her face and trailed down to her breasts. Her stomach knotted. Oh, God. Did he plan to rape her?
“Where is it?” He growled like an angry wild dog.
He wanted drugs, she decided quickly. He was high. Breathless and in pain, she managed to whisper to him, “Under the flower pot.”
The man became enraged. First, she heard a low rumble coming from his chest and then a roar so long and loud it vibrated in her eardrums. The last thing she remembered was his big, clenched fist flying at her face.
****
At six thirty the same evening, Jean Harrington received a call from the Alphabet Daycare. “Do you know where LynAnn is?” the caregiver inquired. “Her kids are getting anxious, and she always calls if she’s going to be late.”
“Perhaps she stopped at the grocery store and lost track of the time,” Jean replied. LynAnn knew her children watched the clock at the daycare and she always picked them up by five thirty. “I’ll try her cell.”
“I already have and there’s no answer,” the sitter informed her. “The children insisted I call you.”
“Perhaps there’s an emergency at work.” Jean came up with her next explanation. Maybe LynAnn was too occupied with an emergency to answer the phone. “I’ll try Dr. Wilson’s office and if there’s no answer, I’ll pick up the kids.”
Jean disconnected her call with the daycare and immediately dialed Dan Wilson’s office. She got the usual medical office recording: If this is an emergency, please dial 911… Next she tried LynAnn’s cell again, and it went to voice mail. She grabbed her purse and hurried to the door. Twice more she tried LynAnn’s cell from her car on her way to the daycare. Finally she phoned Stu. “LynAnn is an hour late getting the kids from daycare, and she doesn’t answer her phone.”
Like a cat who had his tail stepped on, Stu screeched at her. “Gees, you don’t think she’d be stupid enough to go somewhere with Jeff and not tell anyone?”
“No. No way,” Jean growled back at him. “She’s a responsible woman and her kids come first. What’s wrong with you, Stu?”
****
Jeff was nearly home when he got the call from Stu. “Do you have any idea where LynAnn is?” His voice was gruff.
He was taken back. “No, of course not. I haven’t seen her since last evening. What’s going on?”
“Probably nothing,” Stu replied, his tone back to normal. “The daycare is waiting for her to pick up the kids, and she hasn’t gotten there yet. Jean’s on her way to get them.”
Jeff felt a sharp sting rip through his gut. Something was very wrong. Tires squealing, he turned his car around. “I’ll go to the medical complex. Let me know if she shows up.” He stepped on the accelerator. First, her apartment was torn apart and now she’s missing. He had to find her and soon. All his instincts screamed something terrible had happened, and he had to find her.
The parking lot at the medical complex was almost deserted, and her car was in the parking lot when he arrived. He breathed a sigh of relief. She was still working. A sign told him the number of the doctor’s office, and he parked beside LynAnn’s Suzuki and went inside.
The main door to the office was unlocked and the faint aroma of antiseptic whiffed at his nose. He’d expected to find someone at the reception desk, but it was empty. There was no sound. His mind and body geared into full alert mode. “LynAnn. LynAnn, are you here?” He called out but got no reply. He hurried back the hall and his heart began to pound like a sprinter who had ran a marathon. All the numbered doors of the exam room were closed, but when he saw an opened door, he rushed inside. He found her. Sprawled on the floor in a tangled heap. A pool of blood matted in her hair and seeped onto the floor and a huge, swo
llen purple bruise covered her left cheek. For an instant, the metallic odor of the blood forced his mind to flash back to the bomb-torn people he saw in Afghanistan. He quickly shook his head to erase the image and turned his attention to LynAnn. At first glance, he thought she was dead, and an overpowering pain ripped through his heart. “LynAnn. LynAnn,” he softly called her name. Kneeling beside her, he touched her neck and found a weak pulse. He held her hand, and it felt warm. Then her chest rose with a shallow respiration. She was alive, but barely.
He pulled out his phone and dialed 911.
“What is your emer…”
He wouldn’t allow the woman to complete her sentence. “Send an ambulance and the police to the Oakhearst Medical Complex, Dr. Wilson’s office. A woman’s unconscious and she’s bleeding.”
“Sir, is she breathing and is she still bleeding?
“She’s breathing.” He jumped to his feet and sped to the paper towel dispenser by the sink and grabbed a fistful. Moving back to LynAnn, he knelt again and pressed the towels to her head. “I have a compress on her head. I think the bleeding has stopped.”
“Oakhearst Medical Drive,” as the female operator spoke he heard her tapping on computer keys. “The ambulance and police are on their way. Please stay on the line.”
“Okay. Tell them to hurry.” His gaze never wavered from LynAnn. He laid his phone beside him and held the compress to her head with one hand and with his other held her smaller hand in his. “Oh, LynAnn, please be okay.” He spoke the words softly. He knew he shouldn’t move her, so he hunched on the floor beside her, calling her name at times. Except for her shallow breathing, she didn’t budge.
He only glanced away from her once to scan the room. The little room, which he supposed was where medications and injections were prepared, was trashed like her house had been the previous day. Cupboard doors hung open and vials of medicine and pills were scattered everywhere. A flower pot had been smashed on the floor and dirt fused with pills and broken glass.
It felt like days before the ambulance finally arrived and the police were right behind them. Jeff stepped aside to let them work. “Is she going to be all right?” Twice he asked a paramedic the same question and twice his answer was the same: “We’re doing everything we can. We’ll know more when we get her to the hospital.” The burly man with an insignia patch on the sleeve of his white shirt, spoke without commitment as he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm.
The same young rookie cops who had been at LynAnn’s apartment arrived and watched from the doorway. The one with the acne problem motioned him toward them. “Mr. Kelley, do you know anything about this incident?”
Rising, he moved to the door, his gaze still fixed on LynAnn. “No, I found her like this.” He watched as a paramedic dressed her head wound and then held an ice pack to her cheek.
“By the looks of this room, I’d say the assailant wanted drugs. We’ll dust for prints.”
“It would seem so, but you saw her apartment yesterday. How could two crimes happen to the same woman in such a short time?”
The rookie shook his head. “Why was she here alone? Did you see her today?”
“I don’t know. I spoke with her by phone this morning, and she didn’t mention she’d be working late, and when she hadn’t picked up her kids at daycare her friend called me. Perhaps the doctor who owns this office can tell you more.”
“We’ll contact him.”
Jeff reached in his jacket and handed him his business card. “You can reach me at the DA’s office if you have more questions. I’ll be speaking with your captain.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Kelley. Thank you.” Both subdued men gave him a polite nod.
Eventually, a brace was applied to LynAnn’s neck, and she was placed on a back board. Still unconscious, she was lifted onto a litter and rolled out the door. After they loaded her into the ambulance, Jeff jumped in beside her, and they sped off.
****
When LynAnn woke, she was disoriented. Her head felt like someone bounced a racquetball back and forth inside her skull. A bright light overhead shone in her eyes, and she couldn’t see. “Get that light out of my eyes,” she mumbled. Her mouth was dry, and when she licked her tongue over her lips, it felt like gritty sandpaper. Inhaling a deep breath, the familiar scent of the lemon disinfectant used at the hospital stung at her nose.
A voice sounding like Dr. Wilson, spoke to her. “You’re in the ER. Hold still, LynAnn. I’m putting sutures in your head.”
“Ooh, what happened?” She moaned as she felt the hazy darkness overcome her once more and drifted off again.
The next time she roused, it took a few minutes for her vision to focus before she recognized the hospital room at St. Luke’s, and she was lying flat on her back wearing a generic hospital gown. A dim light emitted a soft glow. Someone, a man, sat beside her. She heard Jean’s voice. Her head still throbbed, and she tried to sit up but quickly dropped her head back on the pillow. Movement made her head throb all the more. Forcing her eyes open, Jean’s face slowly came into view above her. “Who’s with the kids?” she asked.
“They’re with Stu,” Jean told her.
Then a big hand gently gathered up her tiny one. “You really had me petrified.” She recognized Jeff’s deep voice. “Thank God, you’re going to be fine.”
“What happened?” She discovered an IV in her right arm and with her other arm she reached up to touch the sutures on the back of her head and she winced.
Jeff squeezed her hand. “I found you in the doctor’s office. Someone attacked you. The police have some questions for you, but right now you need to rest. Take your time. There’s no hurry.”
Jean stayed for another hour. Jeff stayed at her bedside until way past midnight, and he refused to let go of her hand. She dozed on and off. At some point during her drowsiness, she said, “It all happened so fast. I didn’t have a chance to use my self-defense skills. My instructor wouldn’t be happy with me.”
“It’s over now and you’re okay, sweetheart.” He sighed with relief, and his lips curved upward with a little smile.
She tried to smile back, but it made her cheek hurt. “That’s the third time you called me sweetheart.”
Squeezing her hand, he leaned near, and gave her a wide grin. “I’m going to call you sweetheart so many times you’ll lose count.”
She managed a faint smile.
****
The next morning, before LynAnn had breakfast, Dr. Wilson checked in on her. “I put about twenty sutures in your scalp.” The doctor slid his glasses from the top of his head to his eyes as he examined his work. “Your MRI showed no brain damage and there were no broken bones in your cheek, either.”
It wasn’t a dream Dan was there last evening. “Sounds like I can go home.”
Dan shrugged. “I’m leaving it up to your neurologist.”
Jeff strolled into the room and gave her a dazzling smile. “You look much better this morning, sweetheart.”
LynAnn doubted his assessment of her appearance since she’d already seen herself in the bathroom mirror and her left cheek was swollen twice its size and a deep shade of purple.
She introduced the two men and they shook hands. The grim faced doctor glanced at LynAnn again, then hung his head and spoke to the floor. “I blame myself for all this mess.” He pursed his lips and shook his head.
“It’s not your fault, Dan,” she assured him. “I should have left with Paulette. I don’t understand how he got in though. Paulette told me she’d lock the door.”
“The police said he picked the lock.” Dan’s face registered his guilt. “I’m having a locksmith come in this morning, and the office will be made very secure.”
“Maybe I can come back to work tomorrow.” She glanced at Jeff, and he slapped his hand on his forehead.
Dan raised his eyebrows. “Again, it’s up to your neurologist, but I think it will be a week or two.”
“What,” LynAnn howled. She almost blurted out she co
uldn’t afford one week without pay let alone two, but she held her tongue. She didn’t want Jeff to know she scraped by. If she had nothing else, she still had her pride.
Dr. Wilson excused himself to make rounds and Jeff pulled up a chair beside her bed and reached for her hand. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he spoke softly. “I hope you’re feeling better this morning.”
“I am. Thank you.” Actually, she lied. Every bone and muscle in her body ached, and she felt as if she’d been in hand to hand combat with a Sumo wrestler.
“The police are coming by around noon to talk with you, and I intend to be present.”
“Really, that’s not necessary,” she protested.
He insisted. “I want to be here with you.” He stayed for a time, holding her hand all the while. Drowsy, she nodded off a few times only to awaken and find his deep blue eyes on her. Finally he glanced at his watch. “Sorry, I have to get to work. See you later, sweetheart.” He squeezed her hand and headed out the door.
Later, a huge bouquet of red roses arrived. Of course, they were from Jeff. By noon she was napping when Sgt. Dutchy from the police department arrived with Jeff trailing not far behind.
Sgt. Dutchy, middle aged with his round belly hanging over his low slung belt, pulled a tape recorder out of his pocket. “Do I have permission to tape your statement?” He was all business. She glanced at Jeff before she answered and he nodded.
“Please state your name and the date.”
She did as he requested.
“Okay, Mrs. Johnson, start at the beginning. I understand you were alone in the medical office.”
LynAnn related the entire story. She didn’t look Jeff’s way when she said, “The man slammed me against the floor and then into the cabinet,” but she heard his muffled groan. She described her assailant as best she could. “He wore a black ski mask without an opening in it for his mouth. It looked as though it had been sewn shut. He spoke to me twice, once telling me ‘Get off the floor,’ and then asking, ‘Where is it?’ I assumed he meant the key to the drug cabinet and then he screamed like a wild banshee and punched me in the face.” She did glance at Jeff now, and he had his head down and rubbed his cheek.