“What about the tracking device under my car?” Ginny asked.
“We’d like to leave it where it is.” DeSoto frowned. “Frankly, it has us puzzled. Once they knew about Dr. Mackenzie, it would be easy enough to follow him and see what car he was using, but we can’t figure out what they thought they could learn by tracking you.”
“Where to find Clara Carpenter?” Ginny suggested.
DeSoto nodded. “It’s possible, but—according to my sources—she’s not associated with fake drugs, just clamping down on incompetent nurses. The only thing she and the drugs have in common is Mexico and we’re not even sure about that. I don’t see a connection.”
He sighed. “We searched the house of the woman in the wreck, the one who was carrying the fake drugs, but found nothing. Someone got there ahead of us. Those fentanyl patches you found on the boy are the only solid evidence we have at this point.”
Jim looked over at Ginny, then back at DeSoto. “So what do you recommend we do?”
“Act normal. Go to work. Go Christmas shopping. Do whatever you would usually do.”
“And wait for something to happen.” Jim found his throat tight.
DeSoto nodded. He tapped the table with his fingertip. “We’ll be watching, though. You shouldn’t see any of our agents, but they’ll be there. This is the best lead we’ve got and we won’t let it—or you—slip through our fingers.”
* * *
Chapter 23
Day 10 – Sunday afternoon
Jumpin’ J Ranch
The Hillcrest Regional Medical Center ER/ICU Christmas party was usually held on the grounds of the Jumping J ranch, east of Dallas. It was the family home of Devlin Jones and still boasted enough acreage for horseback riding, skeet shooting, a bonfire, outdoor barbeque, indoor buffet, two-story tall Christmas tree, and a build-your-own bar. The doors opened at noon and closed only when there were no more guests on the grounds.
Jim wandered through the main part of the ranch house, nodding to some, speaking to others, thinking his colleagues ran to type. There was far too much booze in the blood flowing through the physicians’ veins.
They had all learned to drink in medical school. It was a prerequisite for surviving some of the shifts they’d had to put in, some of the horrors they’d had to face. The nursing schools had added the seamier element to those parties, a handful of the attendees earning the reputation (perpetuated by the Hallowe’en costume industry) that all nurses were loose women. Jim hadn’t met anyone he’d want to take home to his parents at any of those parties.
He turned a corner and spotted Lisa. She was marginally clothed in what appeared to be a Christmas elf costume, with few details left to the imagination. He turned back, but it was too late. She’d seen him.
“Jim!” She hurried across the room, went up on tip toe, and tried to kiss him. Jim put his hands on her arms and pushed her away.
“I haven’t had a chance to thank you for Friday night.” She had raised her voice, a smirk on her lips.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the ceilidh.” He also raised his voice, to make sure anyone who heard her also heard him.
She tipped her head sideways and wiggled her shoulders. “They seem very nice, your people.”
He looked down at her, making eye contact and not smiling. “They are nice.”
She pouted, her lips plump and stained with both lipstick and Bloody Mary mix. Her tongue came out and licked the drink off, slowly, keeping her eyes on his.
“You looked very handsome in your kilt.” She tipped her chin up. “I love a man in a kilt.”
Jim tried hard not to frown. He crossed his arms on his chest and took a half step back. She followed, reaching out and laying the hand that wasn’t holding her drink on his bicep.
“It made you look, oh, more virile, somehow.” She simpered.
Jim pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t think of a crushing response to that because he agreed with her, as did the entire female population of the Homestead.
Lisa batted her eyelashes at him. “So does your vest.”
He froze, then dropped his voice. “What vest?”
“The bulletproof vest, of course. There’s something so macho about wearing one, about being willing to go into danger like that.”
He grabbed her arm, not gently, and dragged her away from the crowd, hissing at her. “Shut up!”
She looked startled. “Why?”
He was close enough to smell the alcohol on her breath and see the flush caused by inebriation. He put his mouth next to her ear and whispered. “Because people may die if someone finds out about that. You don’t want to kill anyone, do you?”
He watched the color drain from her cheeks and almost felt sorry for her.
She shook her head.
“Then be a good little girl and go home. Sleep it off and don’t mention those vests to anyone ever again.”
She nodded, meekly, he thought, then tipped up her glass, finishing it in one gulp and gaining courage from it.
“I’ll go when I like.” She looked around the room. “I’m bored anyway.” She looked back at Jim, defiance in her eyes, and raised her voice again. “See you later, darling.”
Jim watched her cross the room, pick up her purse and head for the front door, downing another drink on the way.
“Dr. Mackenzie?”
Jim turned to find the woman he knew as Ginny’s boss addressing him.
“Is there a problem?”
The ICU Head Nurse had not been included in the group of people who had a need to know about the sting operation. ICU nurses floated to the ER when there was a hole in the schedule and that had explained Lisa’s presence three shifts in a row last week, but none of the ICU people had been included in the briefing sessions so none had been warned about the secrecy.
It was an oversight. DeSoto should have seen that coming. Hell, Jim should have. He was the one with experience.
“No.”
Ms. Hawkins looked at the closed door, then back at Jim.
“I’m responsible for my nurses.”
Jim sucked in a breath, then looked the Head Nurse directly in the eyes. “Lisa is an excellent nurse. I have no fault to find with her work.”
The Head Nurse’s eyes narrowed slightly, then she smiled and nodded. “You’ll let me know if that changes.”
“I will.”
She turned and walked back into the crowd.
Jim hadn’t seen any of the DEA agents at the party, which didn’t mean they weren’t there, of course. But it meant he would have to catch up with DeSoto at the hospital and explain Lisa’s indiscretion. Hopefully they could contain the damage.
Jim’s eye swept the side rooms as he turned back toward the party, and found Ginny standing in one of the doorways, her eyes on him. He swallowed hard, then walked over and stood looking down at her.
She raised her eyebrows, one dimple showing. “Have you been having fun with Lisa?”
Jim’s eyes narrowed. “How much of that did you see?”
“Most of it, I should think.”
“It’s not what it looks like. That woman has been making a nuisance of herself ever since you left. She even came to the ceilidh on Friday night.”
“I know.”
Jim looked at her sharply. “How do you know?”
“Because Lisa sent me pictures of the two of you dancing together, drinking together, smiling at one another.”
Jim’s eyes widened in dismay. “I wasn’t! I didn’t!”
“They were waiting in my e-mail box when I got home.”
Jim could feel his temper rising. “Show me.”
Ginny pulled out her phone and accessed the e-mail account. She handed it over, the slight smile still in place, her eyes quizzical.
Jim studied the images, then handed the phone back. “These are faked.” He pointed at one where he and Lisa were cheek to cheek. “That never happened, and I have witnesses to prove it. And, she brought her own photographer.” He ex
plained about Mary Jo.
Ginny started laughing. “Poor baby! You have had a hard week! Don’t worry. I’ll deal with Lisa.” She took his arm and steered him back into the party. “Come on. They’re starting the Secret Santa, and I don’t want to miss it. You never know what you might find under the tree.”
* * *
Sunday afternoon
Jumpin’ J Ranch
The party-goers were gathered around the Christmas tree, drinks in hand, watching the Secret Santa packages being opened and laughing with the recipients. A tin bugle went to someone known for blowing his own horn, a book on handwriting analysis to a nurse who frequently complained about the quality of hand-written chart entries.
Ginny was given a junior detective set, complete with fingerprint powder. Jim received a set of maps of the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, none of them accurate and all of them illustrated with suggestive caricatures of physicians enjoying themselves.
One of the men received software for his phone, which he instantly installed and demonstrated. Ginny watched in delight as he changed his voice to cartoon characters, then mechanical life forms, then a sultry female. A sudden movement caught her eye and she glanced up in time to see her boss watching the demonstration with a shocked intensity it didn’t seem to deserve.
When the Secret Santa was over, Ginny went in search of the powder room, which turned out to be located in the west wing of the ranch house. She lingered in the pink and white retreat, freshening her makeup, remembering.
She’d been disoriented, then comforted when she woke that morning in Jim’s arms. He was still asleep and she lay there, careful not to move, breathing in his scent, feeling the rhythm of his chest as it rose and fell, examining the red-gold fuzz around his mouth. It was no surprise women like Lisa found him attractive. He was attractive. She took a last look in the mirror, thinking she looked less so, having suffered from not enough sleep for too many days. She gathered up her purse and opened the door.
“There you are! Come on!” Jim gestured for her to follow him down the corridor and out onto the porch.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Didn’t you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“A gunshot.”
She looked around. There was a small open fire in a stone pit, with abandoned drinks along the edge and evidence of marshmallow toasting, but the S’mores had been eaten and the revelers had moved on.
The BBQ grill was manned by a cook in a Christmas apron, his eyes on his work, his ears covered by red and green fuzzy muffs with battery-operated lights that twinkled. There was a wire stretching from his left ear to the pocket on that side and his movements suggested he had the sound turned up.
The sun hovered just above the horizon, throwing long shadows across the fields. Ginny spotted a cow chewing its cud.
As they got closer to the fence line, she lifted her nose and breathed in the evening. The sky was dotted with pink clouds and there was just a hint of rain in the air. Also, the smell of burning wood from the open fire (oak), and the smoke from the BBQ (mesquite), and hay, and dried leaves, and something else she had no trouble identifying, gunpowder.
She could hear something, too. Cursing and pleas for help, coming from the area beyond the yard.
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know. I heard the shot and turned to follow the sound and found you in my path so I decided to take you with me.”
“You’re such a fun date!”
Ginny could see him now, a young man on the ground, rocking back and forth, holding his left knee in both hands.
Jim dropped to the grass and examined the knee while Ginny tried to see if there were other injuries. The young man grabbed Jim’s arm.
“He shot me! He shot my knee!”
Jim looked up. “Call 9-1-1, and let DJ know where we are, and I could use a first aid kit.”
“Right.” Ginny pulled her phone out as she turned, explained to the 9-1-1 dispatcher, then hurriedly located their host.
“What? What’s that?” Dr. Jones almost knocked her over in his haste.
“A young man. Says he was shot. Near the fence.”
Ginny followed their host out the back door.
“Dad! He shot me!”
“Corey! Goddammit, Corey! What did I tell you—” He broke off. “How bad is it?” he asked Jim.
“Bad enough.” Jim had pulled his shirt off and was using it to slow the bleeding.
Dr. Jones turned to Ginny. “Get hold of Harold. Tell him there’s a trauma kit in the master bath, second cabinet, top shelf.”
Ginny nodded and fled. Harold turned out to be in the kitchen, able to drop everything, and willing to help. They were both in the backyard again within five minutes. The ambulance took longer.
By then they had attracted a crowd of onlookers. Most had sense enough to stay out of the way. Ginny did what she could to help, listening to the young man trying to tell his father what had happened and being shushed repeatedly. When the ambulance arrived and she and Jim were allowed to move back, she caught his arm and pulled him into the house, then into the bathroom to wash.
“Where are you on your vaccines?” she demanded.
“All up to date.” He was smiling down at her as she scrubbed his hands and arms with soap.
“Does any of this hurt?” She was hunting for breaks in his skin.
He let her dry him off, then examined his skin himself. “No obvious wounds, but I think it would be advisable to go get some gamma globulin. Want to come?”
“Yes.”
She followed him to the coat room, then the parking area, then to Hillcrest. It was tedious waiting for him to get checked in as a regular patient, fill out the forms, and be seen by the ER doc on duty, but he took it with good grace and got what he—and she—wanted, a dose of medicine to help fight off any viruses that might have been lurking in Dr. Jones’ son’s blood.
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “So, Dr. Jones has a son who’s an IV drug abuser.”
“You saw the tracks.”
“I did.”
Ginny sighed. “Well, it’s not the first time that’s happened.”
“No, and it’s none of our business.”
“Except for one thing,” Ginny said. “Something he said while you were working on him. I don’t know if you heard him. His father may have. He kept telling him to be quiet.”
“What did he say?”
“He looked up at me and said, ‘I should have listened to Phyllis.’”
* * *
Chapter 24
Day 11 – Monday morning
Loch Lonach Children’s Shelter
Ginny rolled out of bed on Monday morning and stumbled toward the bathroom. She ate breakfast, then headed for the Homestead Children’s Shelter. Over coffee she explained her errand to Rose MacGregor.
“I need to find that blue envelope, the one Luis said he got the drugs out of. Have you seen anything that fits that description?”
“No, but I’ve nae searched all o’ the lad’s things.”
“Is it all right with you if I look?”
“Of course. I’ll help ye.”
The dormitory was set up as small suites, with four rooms sharing a central bathroom. Luis’ room was a cheerful mix of blues and greens, with pastel whales and fish along the borders and at child’s eye-level. There was no closet. All the children used toy chests and alcoves for their possessions. It took Ginny and Rose fifteen minutes to assure themselves there was no blue envelope in Luis’ room.
“Could he have stashed it in someone else’s room?” Ginny asked.
Rose shrugged. “'Tis possible, but the ither children would hae thrown it away, I think.”
“So it’s hidden somewhere. Let’s check the bathroom.”
“Ye do that and I’ll check the ither three rooms.”
The bathroom had cabinets and shelves and cubbyholes for shampoo and soap. Each child had a drawstring bag made of net, hung from hooks, again
at child’s eye-level. They were color-coded to match the towels.
Ginny went through the cabinets first. Nothing at ground level seemed to offer a place to hide an envelope so she worked her way up. The cabinets along the ceiling had padlocks and required keys to open them. Ginny went to find Rose.
“Naething in the ither three rooms. What o’ th’ bathroom?”
“I’d like to look in the locked cabinets.”
“Surely the bairn could nae get into those?”
“No, but he might have stuffed something through the gap.”
Rose obliged with the key and a step stool and watched as Ginny opened each cabinet in turn, making sure to lock them tightly behind her.
“What’s this?” Ginny peered into the darkness of the fourth cabinet, the one that a five-year-old could presumably have reached if he was standing on the counter. “I need a flashlight, a pair of tweezers, and a clean manila envelope, please.”
It took Ginny several tries, but eventually she was able to grasp a torn and badly wrinkled blue envelope and slide it out from between the frame and the side wall of the cabinet. She held it up for Rose to see.
“Looks tae be a blue envelope.”
“And you’re a witness to where it was found.” Ginny held it by the corner, using the tweezers. She turned it this way and that, trying to see if it had a return address on it anywhere.
“This hasn’t been through the mail.”
“Is it the right one, then?”
“It’s addressed to Mrs. Perez.”
“Well, all right, then. Ane blue envelope found.”
Ginny dropped it into the manila envelope, then locked up and handed the keys back. “Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure the authorities get this.” She climbed down, then turned to face Rose MacGregor. “I see no reason to tell Luis about this, do you?”
“Nane at all. He thinks his secret is safe. Let him go on believing so.”
* * *
Monday morning
Brochaber
Ginny had gone straight from the Shelter to the Laird. She now sat in his kitchen with Luis’ blue envelope in its manila prison between them. She had come here as a matter of course, because this was where one came, when one was in trouble.
The Swick and the Dead Page 16