She marched toward the door, expecting him to back off and take the easy way out, because he’d never been one for personal confrontations. When it came to professional arguments he was a pit bull, but on a personal level he’d always preferred to ignore the issues until they packed their bags and left.
Well, she was packed, and she was leaving.
He didn’t budge from the doorway, though.
“Wait,” he said quietly, as if him blocking the damn door wasn’t enough to prevent her from going. There was a thread of unexpected sadness in his voice when he said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“My emotions, my problem.” She dredged up a rueful smile. “Besides, I have a few things to thank you for, too. Like the fact that I’m alive. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t think I would’ve made it through the past few days.”
But at the same time, the danger had forced her to put a few things in better perspective. It was time to start living the life she wanted to live, and that didn’t just include career goals.
She wanted a partner damn it, and a family. She was done wishing for something Parker couldn’t give her.
So when he just stood there, looking as though he wanted to explain something to her that he couldn’t even explain to himself, she shook her head. “Don’t stress about it, boss. Let’s just let things go back to the way they were. The hospital part of the investigation is over. I’ll stay on my toes until Stankowski closes the case, and then we’ll just…go back to normal, I guess.”
He looked at her strangely. “You’re not going to leave Boston General?”
A crooked smile touched her lips. “I’m a big girl. I can take disappointment without turning tail and running.” She would do it, too, partly to get the fellowship and partly to prove to herself, once and for all, that she was over him. And if that thought brought an all-encompassing ache to the region of her heart, she was the only one who needed to know about it.
She stepped forward, forcing him to give way unless he was willing to physically bar her from leaving.
He retreated, but followed her down the stairs, making her feel as though he was escorting her to the door. “I’d feel better if you stayed here until Durst’s killer is in custody.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She grabbed her jacket from the rack just inside the door. “I’ll take a cab straight to Boston General. It’ll be fine, really.” She forced a smile. “I have some serious work to catch up on, and you know how my boss can be about productivity.”
As she reached for the doorknob, she realized that part of her was waiting for him to stop her. Stay here, she wanted him to say. Don’t leave me.
But of course he didn’t say that. He never would.
Instead he said, “Give me five minutes. I’ll call a cab and get dressed.”
They rode in to Boston General together, sitting in strained silence. Just inside the E.R. doors, they paused awkwardly, already the targets of curious glances from the front desk staffers and a couple of paramedics on their way out for another ambulance run.
Mandy gestured toward the desk, and the staff lounge beyond. “I guess I’ll go change, sign in and get started on the day.”
“Yeah.” Parker stuffed his hands in his pockets and scowled. He started to say something, but broke off with a curse, finally saying, “I’ll let you know if Stank has anything to report.”
Then he strode off without a backward glance, headed for his office.
Mandy stifled a sigh at the thought that they were going back to business as usual. She’d avoid him, he’d ignore her, and never the twain shall meet. Or something like that.
Frustration dogged her steps as she passed the front desk, even though she reminded herself she was supposed to be rejoicing. She was alive, damn it. She had time to figure out the rest of it.
“Dr. Sparks?” Aimee called as she passed. When Mandy turned back, the hugely pregnant staffer said, “There’s a patient waiting for you in Exam Three. He said he was referred by a detective or something?” There was a definite question in the woman’s voice, inviting an explanation.
Mandy ignored her and hurried to the lounge. “Let me change and I’ll be right there.”
She thought about calling Parker, but vetoed the thought. She needed the space and suspected he did, too. Besides, for all she knew, Stankowski had given out her name because she was the only one he knew in the E.R., save for Parker, who rarely saw patients anymore.
Once she’d shucked off her jacket and changed into scrubs and the white coat she kept all her ID badges and little accessories in, she headed for Exam Three, pushing open the door with the reassuring smile she used with all her patients. “Good morning, I’m Dr. Sparks. What can I—”
She broke off and stopped dead when she saw that the narrow bed was empty, but she was too late to turn and run. The “patient,” who had been standing behind the door when it opened, clamped a gloved hand across her mouth and banded a heavy arm across her torso just below her throat.
Panicked, Mandy screamed and thrashed, but the sound was muffled by the man’s hand and her struggles were ineffective. He barely reacted at all, merely hauled her off her feet and held her just off the floor. Then he leaned his face close to hers and said into her ear, “We can do this the hard way or the easy way, Amanda. You pick it.”
She bit down on his hand.
He cursed and shook her, then said, “Okay, the hard way it is.”
Pain flared in her arm, followed by a numb fizz as she slid into the darkness.
PARKER LASTED thirty minutes in his office, pretending to do busywork, before he decided to call Stankowkski.
It was either that or head down to the E.R. and try to pick up where he and Mandy had left off that morning—and that was a recipe for disaster, because he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say to her anymore. He’d thought he’d known the right answer the night before, when he’d decided to let her sleep alone, but then she’d come down the stairs and crooked her finger at him, and he’d been lost, only to have reality return in the light of day.
She needed more than he could give. It was as simple as that, and as complicated.
So instead of picking another fight neither of them would win, he called Stank. “Any luck?” he said without preamble the moment the detective answered his cell phone.
“Yes and no. We don’t have the partner’s name yet, but we’re getting closer. One of the guys on my team is into local politics, and he figured out that all of the muggings took place in the areas covered under a new crime prevention bill that’s slated for review in the next few weeks.”
Parker frowned. “You think someone planned the attacks to push the bill through? That’s…”
“Creepy. I know.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘not the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,’ but ‘creepy’ works, too.” Ignoring the beep of another incoming call, Parker paused for a moment. “You have a handle on which politicos and companies are going to benefit most if the bill goes through? Any ties to UniVax?” He still couldn’t get past the idea that Arabella Cuthbert was involved somehow.
“I’ve got a team headed over to UniVax now,” Stank replied with grim satisfaction. “I don’t have anything new, but it never hurts to rattle the trees and see what falls out. I have a feeling we’re closing in on this thing. With any luck, it’ll be wrapped up in the next day or so and you can get back to business as usual.” He paused. “Or, as I should say after seeing you and Dr. Sparks together over the past few days, business not-quite-as-usual?”
“No, you were right the first time. I’ll catch you later.” Parker hung up with a shade more force than absolutely necessary, then told himself to chill. He was doing the right thing, damn it.
And if he told himself that a few hundred more times he might even believe it, he thought, rubbing his chest, where an ache had gathered in the vicinity of his heart.
Remembering the call that had beeped in while he’d been on the phone with
Stank, he hit the playback button on his voice mail, and clicked it to speaker.
A buzz and a hiss sounded in his office, followed by a mechanized, mechanically altered voice. “There’s a package for you at the front desk,” the voice said. “Open it in private and don’t tell anyone—especially your cop friends—about this call, or she’s dead.”
There was a pause, and Mandy’s voice came on the line. “Parker? I’m sorry. I—”
The message cut off abruptly, leaving Parker sitting frozen in shock with his fingers hovering over the handset.
Then he exploded from his chair and bolted out the door toward the E.R. His heart drummed Mandy’s name in his ears as he ran down the short hospital corridor and skidded around a corner, nearly wiping out an oncoming gurney-strapped patient and the medical team surrounding him. There was a flurry of activity and apologies and he was off again, pounding toward the front desk. He was aware of the curious looks he was getting, not because a doctor running was an unusual sight in the E.R., but because that doctor was The Boss.
He skidded to a halt at the front desk and snapped. “A man left something for me.”
Aimee went wide-eyed and handed over a flat envelope. “Is everything okay, Dr. Radcliff?”
“No.” He grabbed the envelope and lunged past the desk, into the lounge, which was thankfully deserted.
The moment he had the envelope open, the disposable phone inside began to ring. He looked around wildly, trying to figure out how the bastard knew he’d gotten it, where he was watching from, even as he flipped the thing open and snarled, “If you’ve hurt her—”
“Shut up and listen,” a voice interrupted. It was a man’s voice now, not the flat, mechanized version of before. “Your girlfriend is being smart, and she’s decided to cooperate. If you’re equally smart, you can have her back unharmed.”
Parker’s fingers dug into the cheap plastic of the phone, making the unit creak in protest. “What do you want me to do?”
“She says the cop has the minidisk. You’re going to get it back without telling him a damn thing. Once you have it, go back to your place alone. I’ll contact you with further instructions.” The man paused. “Do I need to spell out what will happen if you fail to follow instructions, or if you clue in your cop friends?”
“No,” Parker gritted. “I get it.”
“Good.”
Sensing that the other man was about to cut the connection, Parker said, “Wait!”
At first he thought he’d been too late, but then the voice said, “What.” It wasn’t really a question.
“Let me talk to her, or there’s no deal.”
“You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands.” But there was a shuffle and a rustle on the other end of the line.
Then Mandy’s voice, sounding shaky and tear-filled, said, “Parker? Don’t—”
“Hush,” he said quickly, his heart squeezing in his chest. “And hang on. I’ll be there soon. I—”
The line went dead, leaving him standing in the staff lounge with his free hand clenched into a fist. He wanted to hit something, wanted to rip the man on the other end of the phone to shreds with his bare hands. He felt the situation spinning away from him, out of control.
Someone else was calling the shots now, and he couldn’t handle that. Problem was, he was going to have to deal, or risk Mandy’s safety. To hell with forgetting about people the moment they were out the door; he’d been deluding himself if he ever for one moment thought that he’d forgotten about her. She’d been lodged inside him, waiting for him to grow up enough to admit it.
And if that meant that he was finally growing up, then so be it.
Under any other circumstance, with any other person, he would’ve gone to Stankowski and turned over the phone and his voice mail recording, and washed his hands of the situation. Since it was Mandy, he yanked off his white coat, grabbed his jacket and bolted for the main entrance, planning on following her captor’s instructions to the letter, hoping against hope that he would play fair.
Problem was, the bastard had already killed one accomplice, which suggested he didn’t plan to leave any witnesses behind.
Chapter Fourteen
“Watch him carefully,” the navy-suited man snapped into a cheap cell phone. “If the cops mobilize once he’s gone, call me on this line and we’ll go to plan B.”
Mandy closed her eyes and tried to wish the scene away. She was gagged and bound to a chair in one corner of a cheap-looking, one-room studio apartment. The shades were drawn, but daylight leaked around the edges and the lights were on, revealing a sofa bed upholstered in nubby brown fabric on one side of the room, with a small TV opposite it, next to her chair. A small table in the eat-in kitchen nook was missing one of its ladder-back chairs, no doubt because she was sitting in it. Two cases of diet soda and a few bags of chips on the kitchen counter were the only signs of habitation, suggesting that the men had rented the place just for this purpose.
For her kidnapping. Mandy still couldn’t believe what had happened, what was still happening.
The three men, the slick guy in the suit and two rougher-looking thug-types in jeans and leather jackets, all three armed with handguns, had talked freely in front of her ever since she’d regained consciousness. That, and the fact that they hadn’t bothered to disguise their faces, made her think that no matter what they told Parker, they weren’t letting her out of there alive.
More importantly—and terrifyingly—she could ID at least one of them; she recognized Blue Suit from the evening news. He was one of the newcomers in the upcoming congressional race, Deighton or Leyton or something. Deighton, she thought, and wished she’d paid better attention to the news instead of channel surfing from one cop drama to another.
Watching him interact with his two underlings before he’d sent them to follow Parker and report his actions, Mandy had seen the coldness in the handsome politician’s face. It was more than the chill control Parker often showed, though. No, Deighton’s lack of warmth was far more unemotional, far more terrifying.
Parker, she had realized, tried very hard not to care. Deighton simply didn’t care in the first place, and that was a big difference.
A potentially deadly one.
When he clicked the phone shut, he glanced at her, eyes hooded. “Your boyfriend better behave.”
Gagged, she couldn’t respond. Besides, what could she have said? They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, weren’t anything except the possibility of what might have been if he’d been different, if he’d cared for her enough to risk loving her.
At the thought, at the sure knowledge that she might never see him again, her eyes filled with tears. One spilled over and tracked down her cheek, then followed the line of duct tape plastered across her mouth.
She’d caught the gist of the situation from overhearing the men’s conversation and could fill in the gaps with educated guesses. Paul Durst, it turned out, might’ve been a scientist who’d gone off the deep end but he wasn’t stupid. He’d clandestinely taped his conversations with Deighton as a form of insurance. He’d also taped his attacks, no doubt as part of his “scientific data.” The pocket unit had gotten banged around during his struggle with Irene Dulbecco, and the disk had come loose. Durst hadn’t been able to find the disk in the alley; figuring it had been thrown out with the latest garbage pickup, he’d returned to business as usual, identifying Mandy as Irene Dulbecco’s doctor and deciding she was just his type—blond and pretty, like Missy Prieta—making her perfect for his next trial run.
Deighton hadn’t realized what was going on until one of his political contacts within the police department mentioned the minidisk.
He’d gotten lucky with the damage to the disk, but couldn’t run the risk that the techs would pull anything useful off it, especially after Durst confessed that it had contained enough information about planted crime waves and dirty dealings to blow Deighton’s campaign—and his career—out of the water.
De
ighton had given the scientist a simple choice: get the disk back or die. Paul Durst, however, was never one to miss an opportunity to advance his version of scientific progress. He decided to dose Mandy with the toxin and offer the antidote in exchange for the minidisk.
After that, Mandy was unclear on the details, but she could guess at them. Paul Durst had failed to transmit the ransom demand, most likely because he’d been unable to find the information he was looking for in his autopsy of Missy Prieta, and was planning on grabbing Mandy when she started showing symptoms. Deighton found out about the betrayal and killed Durst, and then when he realized Mandy had survived, came up with a last ditch plan to get his hands on the minidisk: kidnap and ransom, plain and simple.
Except in this case there was no promise of an antidote, only the lie that he would set her free if Parker brought the disk and didn’t involve the police.
He wouldn’t let her go, though. She knew too much. She’d seen his face.
At the knowledge, the tears broke free just as the phone rang and Deighton answered with a sharp, “Talk to me.” He listened for a moment, expressionless, then said, “Stay on him. If he so much as scratches his nose in a way you don’t like, call me and I’ll take care of the loose end and get out of here.” He glanced over at Mandy, leaving no doubt that she was the loose end.
She shivered at the confirmation that there was very little chance of her getting out of the crummy apartment alive. But if that was the case, why keep her alive this long?
Because he wants Parker, too, she realized with chill certainty. Maybe he intended to use Parker to put pressure on Stankowski, or maybe he thought Parker’s attachment to her was deeper than it really was, and feared that he’d seek retaliation for her death.
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