The Asian nurse finally returned with her sheaf of papers and a dreamy smile.
“Your husband will be here shortly. He was so concerned. And so sweet.”
“That’s nice,” I mumbled, taking the clipboard from her and searching for the appropriate signature lines.
“And he’s so sorry. He just couldn’t stop saying it. He was so sorry.”
“Sorry?” Uh-oh.
“He said it was all his fault. He never should have pushed you that way.”
“Pushed me?” I was having trouble keeping up.
“Into having children right away. It’s only because he wants such a big family. Not many men want six kids.”
“Six?” Apparently Russ had started the lying without me.
“You don’t mind that he told me, do you?” she asked, an anxious expression on her face.
“Told you what, exactly?” I tried to sound unconcerned, deliberately returning my attention to the forms in my hands.
“About your fight.”
“Our fight?”
“On your anniversary, too.”
“A fight on our anniversary.” She was starstruck, glowing with inside information about her hero. I stared.
“He wanted everything to be perfect. That’s why he hired the musicians. And why he flew the lobster in from Boston. He knew it was too much money, but it’s your very favorite. He wanted your anniversary to be unbelievably romantic. That’s exactly how he said it, ‘unbelievably romantic.’ ”
“And unbelievable it was.” Russ was allergic to lobster. It was generous of him to sacrifice himself that way. “What else did he say?” I was numbed by Russ’s attention to detail.
“Just that he pushed you. He said that things were getting really intense and then he told you he wanted to make a baby on your anniversary. As a gift to each other.”
“Just blurted that right out, did he?” I was going to get the big bottle of acetaminophen.
“Oh, please don’t be mad at him for that.” The nurse focused on me as she pleaded his case. “I know it’s very personal. But he couldn’t help himself. He was just so upset. You’d stormed out, and he didn’t know where you were or if you would go back to that old boyfriend who’s been calling. Or if you’d been in an accident in the new Jaguar he bought you for your last birthday. Or even if you’d gone to your mother’s.”
That would be tough, considering my mother died when I was seventeen.
“You know she’s never liked him,” the nurse stated emphatically.
The man was a menace. Of course, he had no way of knowing I wasn’t up to being in on a lie of this magnitude. What was the deal with this woman? She was smart enough to get through nursing school, but a stranger could convince her white was black. You’d think she would’ve needed a bullshit meter before now. Instead, she’d swallowed everything Russ had said without question. There was no way I wanted her in charge of my medical care.
“Darling. Forgive me. Please. I was an unfeeling cad.” Russ practically flowed into the room, gushing remorse.
Cad? Who used words like cad? And why was this woman still buying it? He was so over-the-top he had come back around the other side.
“Mr. Smith. I mean Russ.” She blushed. “I’m Nurse Chang. Martha Chang. We talked on the phone.”
“Of course, Martha. I would know you anywhere.” Russ took the woman’s hand, holding just the fingers as if he meant to raise them to his lips.
It was like watching an accident happen. I couldn’t look away. The nurse practically vibrated with excitement, her face wreathed in smiles and her blush deepening. Russ’s eyes remained locked with hers, his most charming smile firmly in place. For him, the gray linen slacks and matching loose-fitting jacket over a black T-shirt were casual clothes. They were slightly rumpled from his shift at the radio station, but Nurse Chang didn’t seem to notice. She continued to act as if she were in the presence of royalty. He was good.
“Ahem.”
The nurse jumped at my intrusion, glancing toward me with unmistakable hostility before her professional mask dropped back into place.
“Darling.” Russ dropped the nurse’s hand and took two steps closer to me before crouching at my feet and taking the forms, placing them on the floor beside my chair. He reached for my hands. “I was so worried. Are you all right?”
I squeezed his hands hard, eliciting an almost imperceptible wince.
“I’m fine. Can we go?” I asked the nurse, who was subtly assessing Russ’s backside, her head tilted to one side. Well, she was a medical professional. She abruptly straightened.
“I just need to check with administration. I’ll get your paperwork,” she said to me, her eyes never leaving Russ. He offered the discarded pages with his megawatt smile in place. She took them, deliberately moving so their hands touched. I wanted to gag.
“We’d appreciate that so much,” Russ purred.
“Anything for you, Mr. Smith.”
“Please call me Russ.” He winked at her, standing up.
“Russ,” she breathed before spinning and leaving the room.
“There oughta be a law.” I rested my elbows on my knees and used my hands to prop my head up.
He struck like a snake. “What the hell were you doing?” Wow, that was really too loud.
“I told you. I was on a case,” I whispered.
“You said”—he loudly stressed the verb—“you were leaving. You said”—again with the stress—“you were right behind me.”
“And you listened to me? I am completely unreliable. Which you should know, since I learned it from you.”
That took the wind out of his sails. His mouth opened, then closed. Quietly, thank goodness.
“I’m only forgiving you because you’re not dead.”
“Fair enough.”
“And because it’s our anniversary.”
I started to laugh and stopped, holding my head. Laughing was not good. “I can’t believe you sold that story.”
“Can I help it if I am irresistible?” He took a couple of steps and lounged against the table.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
“Now, sweetheart, is that any way to speak to your beloved husband?”
“If you were really my husband you’d ask how I was before trying to seduce the hospital staff.” Although I kept my voice low, the sounds seemed to echo through my aching head. I shifted in the uncomfortable chair, noting my ever-stiffening muscles. Getting hit by a car wouldn’t have hurt this much.
“The nurse at the desk told me you were fine. Just a knock on the head. As I can personally attest to the fact that your head is harder than granite, I’m not worried.” He grinned at me.
“I don’t suppose they mentioned that I got taken down by a knuckle-dragging cop in Pioneer Square while running from a dead guy.”
He laughed. “And you think I’m over-the-top.”
“The truth is stranger than fiction.”
“What are you talking about?” He straightened.
“Ssshh. Keep your voice down.” I put a finger to my lips, looking toward the door and waiting before continuing.
“I’m not kidding. An old-fashioned double feature. A corpse and the missing link.”
“Oh, my God.” He returned to my side, crouching until we were nearly level with each other. “Are you okay, Sara?”
“I’m fine. You should see the other guy.” I shuddered.
“No, thanks.” Russ suddenly sat on the floor at my feet.
“How did he die?”
“Colonel Mustard in the alley with the knife?” I suggested.
“And the cop. You did say cop, didn’t you?”
“Seattle’s finest, on the job.”
“Jeez, they don’t think you had something to do with this, do they?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I was sorry the instant I shrugged. I wondered if I was going to be able to get out of the chair without help.
“You didn’t talk to them, did you,
Sara?” He read my silence and jumped to his feet. “You’re never supposed to talk to the cops without a lawyer present. Don’t you ever watch television? Of course not; you don’t even own a TV. And look where it’s gotten you. A murder suspect. We need to get you a lawyer right away. And no more talking with the police.” His voice rose in agitation. His long legs paced the small area.
“Calm down, Russ. And keep your voice down.” I stood up slowly, my body shrieking in protest. “And stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy.” I reached out and grabbed his arm. “I didn’t do anything. All I said was, ‘Talk to Morris.’ You know I can’t talk about cases.”
“Do you think anybody’s going to buy some lame story about an investigation for a bunch of stuffed shirts? No. Drugs. Gangs. Prostitution.” Russ looked closer. “Okay, not dressed like that. Probably just drugs and gangs.” He took an audible breath, his chest expanding. He held it for a second and then released it slowly. “It’s no big deal. You didn’t have anything to do with this guy’s death, and the cops will figure that out.”
“I don’t even think I’m a suspect.” I tried to wade through the pain in my head to figure out why I thought so.
“Why not?”
“The cop didn’t act like he thought I did it.”
“How did he act?”
“Casual. Fact gathering. You know, easy questions. He didn’t accuse me or anything. And he only read me my rights after I asked.” I shifted a little, trying to stretch some blood back into my limbs.
“That’s a trick, Sara. They always act like that.”
I stared at him.
“Do you have a dark past I don’t know about? Really, you could tell me. I can’t repeat it. Marital privilege.”
He laughed, his entire body relaxing.
“How did I ever get so lucky as to be married to you?” I stepped toward him, leaning my forehead against his chest. He put an arm around me.
“Oh. That’s so sweet,” Nurse Chang cooed from her position at the cubicle’s opening, before moving toward us.
“I am the luckiest man alive to be married to this woman.”
“Uh, your husband’s here,” a voice said loudly from the doorway. The redheaded nurse stood in the opening with a puzzled look. Behind her, grim-faced, stood Connor.
Chapter Seven
I wondered briefly if marriage had a mercy rule. When things got beyond hope—or, in this case, explanation—could we just shake hands and make peace over a hot dog? I looked at Connor. His entire body radiated suppressed energy. Nope.
“Ahem.” Nurse Chang cleared her throat. “Would someone like to explain what is going on here?” She was mad. Fortunately, Russ seemed to be the primary target.
He smiled, slow and easy. As if he hadn’t just been caught telling whoppers to a woman with unlimited access to scalpels, hypodermics, and all manner of pain-inducing devices. The guy had nerves of steel. I could practically see the wheels of his imagination furiously spinning, searching for a story. Twins? Connor’s psychotic break with reality? Alternate religion? I glanced at Connor. When Russ started to speak, I jumped in.
“I’m a pathological liar. He’s a pathological liar.” I pointed an accusatory finger in Russ’s general direction. “We met in a group.” I stood completely still, waiting for my confession to sink in. It wasn’t that far from the truth. Maybe they’d buy it. Even Russ took a minute to digest the new twist.
“How is that head trauma working out?” Russ inquired, a slightly bemused smile on his face. He shook his head gently, rolling his eyes in the direction of the nurse, who glared with blatant suspicion.
“Nurse Chang, perhaps I can clear this up. May I buy you a cup of coffee and we can discuss it? I would hate for you to have the wrong idea about this. Especially since I have literally dozens of follow-up medical questions to ask, and I simply will not be comfortable unless I know that a skilled professional of your caliber is the one to answer them.” He threw in his best toothpaste smile and a gallant wave for her to precede him out the door. She melted like butter in the hot sun. Russ followed her out the door, his hand pressed solicitously to the small of her back.
Time to face the music. Lucky for me, medical help would be close at hand. I was relieved to see the red-haired nurse hadn’t stayed to witness the carnage. Probably no stomach for it. My heartbeat thudded through my aching head. Connor’s tight-lipped expression told me things weren’t going to get better anytime soon.
He didn’t say anything. He just waited. I couldn’t meet his eyes. And he was unnerving the hell out of me. He should yell or something. I looked around the room, fidgeting.
“Did you get a prescription you need filled before we go?”
I thought of the prescription for pain medication the doctor had written and yearned for the reprieve the drugs could offer. It would be so easy to take one and play possum, but I knew it would only delay the inevitable. I shook my head. The sudden shrieking pain mocked my lack of verbal skills.
“No.”
He sighed heavily. “Let’s go home, Sara.” He reached out, offering me his hand. I felt terrible, and it didn’t have anything to do with my brief stint in the World Wrestling Federation. He sounded as tired as I felt, although he still looked crisp. He no longer seemed to be braced for impact. And his face, although not smiling, didn’t look like thunderclouds. Maybe he was just going to roll with this whole thing. Nah. No one was that understanding.
I reached out and took his hand, surprised at the warm wash of security his touch gave me. He led me out to the car and helped me into the passenger seat. I was stiff and sore and would’ve killed for an acetaminophen.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“You must have given the home number to an intake nurse. The phone rang. I answered.”
The paramedics. Damn. Wait a minute. He’d answered my phone? I glanced at him. Might not be the time to point out he’d been overreaching.
“I can explain.” And I would, right after I was appointed pontiff.
“It can wait until we get home,” Connor offered, maneuvering the car out of its slot and heading toward the exit ramp.
“I mean about Russ.” I doubted Connor cared about having Russ explained. For some reason, people never did. He was embellishment and artistic license, forgiven in exchange for entertainment and joie de vivre. I was a bald-faced liar with social problems. No way around it. I leaned against the door, trying to find a position that throbbed a little less. I held upright as we descended “Pill Hill.”
“He got a little carried away.”
“You mean the part about having an alternative approach to marriage or the part where he practically seduced the Asian martinet in front of a roomful of people?” Connor’s voice held a trace of amusement, but the expression his profile offered remained closed, his attention fully fixed on driving.
“I sort of told them he was my husband.”
“Yeah, I’d figured that.”
“It wasn’t anything against you Connor, honestly.” I pulled against the seat belt. “It’s just that the cops were there and my head really hurt and I was all shaken up by the dead guy.”
“The dead guy?”
“Yeah, the one in the alley. Pretty creepy, right?” I shivered, the shudder carrying messages of pain all along my body. I wasn’t all that squeamish, but I’d play the girlie-girl if it got me off the hook. I tried to look pathetic, then realized I didn’t have to try that hard.
“Then the cops had questions. And the one I ran into, the big guy, was acting like I had totaled his car or something instead of giving him a couple of itty-bitty stitches. I was the one knocked flat.”
“Sara?”
“And then in comes Russ, having turned my little white lie into a saga to rival Gone With the Wind, and there was that nurse eating it up with a spoon.”
“Maybe we could talk about this at home?” he suggested.
“And then in you came, and everyone was staring like their next call was going to be t
o The National Enquirer or something.”
“Sara?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s talk about this at home.”
“Okay.”
I rolled down the window of the car, letting in a rush of cool air and the muted hum of late-night traffic. Anything was better than the tomblike silence. In minutes we were pulling into the parking lot behind the apartment. I’d used the reprieve to rack my brain for an explanation of the night’s events that didn’t make me seem like either a raving lunatic or a moron of seismic proportions. Nothing came to mind.
Tight with nerves and exhaustion, I gingerly preceded Connor up the stairs. Entering the apartment, I headed straight for the bathroom, wincing when I flicked on the light. I caught my reflection in the mirror and gasped, the unconscious flinch slamming against my bruises.
“Oh, my God.”
My hair was wild. Don King tall and Bozo the Clown wide, the black curls were coated in dust and held bits of debris. One blue eye was shadowed by a darkening bruise, and I had a streak of something black across my chin. My T-shirt was spotted with dark brown spots that looked like blood. I yanked the shirt over my head, wincing at the sudden movement, and checked myself for wounds. Must be the cop’s blood.
I dropped the T-shirt to the floor and put my hands on the sides of the sink, supporting myself as I moved closer to the mirror, turning my head to check the mottled skin around my eye. I groaned, closing my eyes and resting my forehead against the mirror. I was exhausted. The adrenaline had finally worn off. I sensed Connor behind me an instant before he rested his hand against my back.
“Kinda banged-up back here, too.” He lightly touched one shoulder blade next to my bra strap before sliding his hand up to the back of my neck and rubbing gently. “Bet you’ve got a beaut of a headache.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
He guided me to the toilet, closing the lid and sitting me down. I dropped my elbows to my knees and held my head in my hands. My eyes stung with tears of pain and humiliation, and I swallowed hard to keep from crying. I heard water running and a cabinet closing.
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