“Send him away! He’ll listen to you. Send him somewhere safe until this is over.”
The Laird shook his head. “I canna do tha’, lass.”
“You heard what DeSoto said. The DEA is hoping the cartel will attack one or both of us, so they can catch them in the act. He’s your heir. We can’t afford to lose him.”
Again the Laird shook his head. “Do ye think Jim would feel he was a true man if I sent him awa’ and left ye tae face th’ cartel alone?”
Ginny tried to imagine Jim’s face. “No.”
The Laird sighed, his eyes on her. “Yer faither died and there was naught tae be done, tae undo it. How did ye cope?”
Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and held on. “I closed my mind and tried not to see the body on the ground or the tree falling or his ruined face.”
“And in th’ days since?”
She thought for a long moment, then answered. “I look in the mirror and tell myself that being dead is easy. The dead aren’t in pain. They’re not frightened any more. They don’t have the weight of the world on their shoulders.” She sucked in a breath. “Being dead isn’t something to fear. Being left behind is.”
The Laird sighed, his expression softening. “Tis part o’ life, tae be left behind when the generation ahead of ye moves on.”
“I know, but Jim’s my generation. He’s not supposed to die yet.”
The Laird smiled and nodded. “I tak’ yer point, but I still canna send him awa’. Sae let’s examine th’ problem. What are ye afraid o’, Ginny?”
She stood up abruptly and walked over to the sink, then turned back, leaning against it, facing him.
“Other than being murdered? Getting Jim—or someone else—killed because of what I did, or couldn’t do, and having to live with that on my conscience.”
“Because o’ what happened wi’ young Williams.”
She nodded. “I’m afraid of making a mistake and that makes me afraid to make a decision. I never used to doubt myself like this, but I’ve proved how stupid I can be, and I’m terrified of doing it again.”
“Ye trusted a man wha proved untrustworthy. Tha’ can happen tae anyone. Ye must forgive yerself fer being human and go on.”
Ginny screwed up her face. “If it were just me, it wouldn’t be so bad, but it’s not, it’s everyone around me.”
“Aye, I ken. Ye’ve a conscience tha’ works o’ertime. ’Tis what makes ye wha ye are. But ye mustn’t let it cripple ye, lass. Dinna let what that man did rob ye o’ yer proper place in life.”
Ginny knew her proper place—back in the trenches, saving lives at work; ferreting out details for the police; accepting that people die, and living takes guts, and nothing comes with a guarantee.
“Sae what does yer conscience tell ye tae do?”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Stiffen my spine and face the danger.”
The Laird nodded.
“But,” Ginny continued, “there’s a problem. Jim doesn’t want me to.”
“He seemed happy enough tae face the risks yesterday.”
“For himself, yes, but he wants to protect me. As long as he’s focused on that, he can’t focus on his own safety. If you won’t send him away, send me.”
The Laird shook his head. “He needs tae face his ain fear and tha’ includes losing you. Forbye, young folk need tae work oot how they’re tae be wi’ one anither and I’ll no interfere wi’ that.”
She met the Laird’s eye. “So, how do I get past this?”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at her. “What are th’ possible outcomes?”
Ginny shrugged. “I live, I die.”
“If yer deid, th’ mess ye leave behind is someone else’s problem, aye?”
The corner of Ginny’s mouth twitched. “True.”
“Sae ’tis only a problem if ye live. If ye live, what are th’ possible outcomes?”
Ginny’s brow furrowed. “It all comes out right in the end, or it all goes to hell in a handbag.”
“If’t all comes out richt, ye’ve nothing tae fear. Sae we only ha’e tae worry aboot it all going tae hell.”
“Okay.”
“What are th’ odds?”
“Of it all going to hell? I have no idea.”
“Who are ye fightin’?”
“The drug cartel.”
“Who are ye fightin’ with, yer allies?”
Ginny blinked. “The police, the DEA.”
“And Jim and th’ Hillcrest staff and the Homestead, all o’ which ha’e yer back.”
Ginny nodded slowly. She had the entire federal law enforcement system on her side, as well as the local authorities, and the massed strength of the clan.
“If ye mak’ a mistake, if ye fall, ane o’ them will tak’ o’er fer ye. Ye dinna ha’e tae do it alone and ye dinna ha’e tae be perfect. Being Scots means being willin’ tae try, even though ye may fail. And bein’ prepared cuts th’ chance o’ that.” He caught her eye and held it. “I’ve an assignment fer ye, lass. Go inta my office and fetch a pad and a pen.”
Ginny did as told.
“Sit, lass, yer goin’ tae write.”
An hour later Ginny looked down at the action plan they had created and felt that she might, just might, be able to pull this off. The ideas they had come up with were specific, realistic steps toward an as-yet-unreachable (but a whole lot closer) goal. She rose and let Himself escort her to his door.
“I’ll expect ye tae report back tae me on yer progress.”
“Aye, Mackenzie.” Ginny turned to face him, curtsied, then, throwing protocol to the wind, reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug. “Yer welcome, lass.”
* * *
Chapter 25
Day 11 – Monday midmorning
Hillcrest Medical Center
Ginny pulled into the hospital parking lot and headed for the elevators. She went first to the office of the ICU Head Nurse, Ms. Hawkins, explaining that she’d been interrupted during the last day of the conference, but that the organizer, Becky Peel, had made arrangements for her to watch a recording of the last session and get her certificate, and that she was sure she had learned a lot and could use the knowledge to help train new preceptors and she was very grateful for the opportunity, etc., etc., etc.
Marge Hawkins seemed preoccupied and a bit short-tempered, so Ginny beat a hasty retreat and headed for her next stop. She was standing at the elevator when the doors opened and Lisa got out. They both started.
Ginny hesitated for a moment, then smiled at her co-worker. “What are you doing here in the middle of the day?”
“What’s it to you?”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “If you’re headed for Marjorie Hawkins’ office, I suggest you be careful. She’s not in a good mood.”
Lisa mumbled something unintelligible, pushed past Ginny, and took off down the hall.
Ginny shrugged, rode the elevator down to the Emergency Department, let herself in using her ID badge, and made her way to the nurses’ desk. Item one on her action plan.
“I’m looking for Agent DeSoto.”
“Room Three.”
Ginny stopped in front of Exam Room Three. The door was cracked and she could see movement, but there were rules in hospitals about poking your nose in where you had no business. She was saved from having to make a decision by the door opening and DeSoto emerging, in the company of one of the ER techs. He looked at her, then turned to the tech.
“I’ll catch up with you.” He smiled at Ginny. “How may I help you this morning?”
“I have an early Christmas present for you.”
He gestured for her to enter. “Step into my office.”
Once they were inside, he closed the door. “I’ve appropriated this room so I’ll have a safe place to talk. The cameras are disconnected, it’s been swept for bugs, and it has a signal scrambler in place.”
“Sounds cozy.” Ginny handed o
ver the manila envelope with Luis’ envelope inside. DeSoto opened it, his eyebrows rising.
“Where did you find this and have you touched it?”
“Only with tweezers and shoved into the back of a supply cabinet at the Homestead Children’s Shelter.”
DeSoto nodded, his eyes on the contents of the manila envelope. “Good job!” He set the envelope down and eyed Ginny. “How are you holding up?”
“Well—” She hesitated. “Should I assume my phone calls are being intercepted?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think they realize you’re involved. You haven’t worked the ER since the sting operation began and you didn’t have any contact with Dr. Wingate in Austin.” He crossed his arms on his chest. “However, you are linked to Jim Mackenzie.”
“And Luis and his missing mother, who was receiving fake fentanyl patches from someone.”
He nodded. “Was there something you wanted to tell me over the phone?”
“Something came up at the office Christmas party.” Number two on her action plan.
“Go on.”
“Devlin Jones has a son, Corey, who uses drugs and who knew Phyllis. He was shot in the knee yesterday by his pusher and is currently a patient here at Hillcrest. I’m on my way to talk to him now.”
DeSoto considered this for a moment. “Maybe I should come with you. Do you know him? Will he talk more freely if you’re alone?”
Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
DeSoto crossed the room, opened one of the drawers, pulled a tiny audio recorder out, turned it on, then spoke into the microphone, stating his name, location, and the date and time. He looked at Ginny. “This is legal if one half of the conversation knows it’s happening. Do you consent to being recorded?”
Ginny nodded.
“Out loud, please.”
“I consent to this interview between Ginny Forbes and Corey Jones being recorded by DEA Agent DeSoto.”
He grinned at her, tucking the device into her pocket and arranging the microphone among the folds of her shirt. “Thank you. Let’s go.”
* * *
Monday midmorning
Hillcrest Medical Center
The young man in the bed looked uncomfortable and Ginny had seen enough pain to recognize the twin effects of a gunshot wound to a joint and the controlled withdrawal from a narcotic.
“Corey? We met yesterday, at the party. Do you remember?”
“Yeah, I do. Who’s the dude?”
“Agent DeSoto and I are looking into the death of Phyllis Kyle.”
“What about it?”
“You said something yesterday that made me think you might know her. Do you?”
“Yeah. She’s my cousin.”
“First cousin?”
“Yeah. My aunt was her mother.”
Ginny nodded. “First, please let me say how sorry I am for your loss.”
He shrugged.
“Phyllis and I were in nursing school together, and I worked with her. I’m an ICU nurse here at Hillcrest.”
That got his attention. “Oh, yeah? Were you—uh—”
“I found her body.”
His eyes widened. “Oh.”
Ginny watched his brow wrinkle as he shifted restlessly on the bed. “She was okay.” He looked up and met Ginny’s eyes. “Just a nuisance, you know. Always trying to fix things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Me, for one.”
“You mean about the drugs?”
“Yeah.”
Ginny waited, but he didn’t elaborate. “What did you mean yesterday?”
“What?”
“You said you should have listened to Phyllis. What did you mean by that?”
Corey looked from her to DeSoto, then back. “She told me he was bad news.”
Again, Ginny waited, watching Corey squirm.
“She told me I couldn’t trust him.” He threw out his arm. “It was only one hit, man. He could have waited.”
“For his money?”
“Yeah. I was good for it. Well, Dad was.”
“Your father’s been paying for your drugs?” Ginny tried not to sound disapproving.
Corey nodded. “He’s been trying to get me back into rehab, but he hasn’t found a place, yet.”
“If he does, will you go?”
Corey met her eyes, but said nothing.
“Is that what Phyllis wanted?”
He nodded, chewing on his lip. “Yeah. She always wanted the best for me. She liked me.” He looked away. “Can’t think why.”
Ginny smiled at him. “I think I know why.”
He looked at her, doubt showing on his face. “Yeah?”
“I think she saw what I see.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone who got in over his head and wants out.”
He looked down, shrugging his shoulder at her.
“We can help you, Corey.”
“Oh, yeah? How?”
“We can take the threat off the street, if you’ll tell us who it is.”
Corey started twitching in earnest at that one. “Christ, no, man! They’d shoot me in the head if they found out.”
“What if we could get you into treatment somewhere they couldn’t find you?” Ginny looked over at DeSoto. He nodded.
“We can do that,” he said.
Corey looked at DeSoto, then at Ginny. “What’d I have to do?”
DeSoto answered. “After you’re safe, we’d want you to tell us who your contacts are, so we can arrest them.”
Corey looked at him, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “You and what army?”
“I have resources I can call on. Starting now. We can put a man in the room with you, to guard you.”
“He’d have to be SWAT, man.”
DeSoto nodded. “Do we have a deal?”
“I gotta think about it.”
DeSoto shrugged. “The cartel already knows you’re here. What’s to stop them from coming in and finishing the job as soon as we leave?”
“Shit. They don’t want to off the paying customers.” His expression changed. “’Cept that’s what’s happening. It’s how I got in trouble.”
Ginny exchanged glances with DeSoto. “Tell us.”
Corey lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his head, his color fading. “Clark died. Some bad shit.” He put both hands behind his head and held on. “Word on the street is there’s one of the dealers pushing death, you know?”
Ginny nodded.
“And he was my regular. So, when I heard that, I disappeared. But he found me. Said I owed him for the last batch, but I didn’t use it so I didn’t owe him, right?”
“You didn’t pay him.”
“No. Didn’t think he’d find me, did I?” Corey’s eyes were darting from side-to-side, his upper lip moist with sweat.
“You went to your father?”
“No. To Phyllis.”
“Why Phyllis?”
“’Cause she told me to.”
“She told you she’d help if you were in trouble.”
He nodded. “We arranged to meet. Not at her house. A place we knew about. But he found me. I lit out of there and hid. Called Dad. He was furious.” Corey rubbed his hands up and down the back of his head. “He said—” He fell silent.
“What did he say?”
But Corey seemed to have hit a wall. His arms came down, crossed on his chest, his eyes on Ginny, his mouth closed.
“What did your father say, Corey?”
“You promised me a guard.”
Ginny glanced over at DeSoto, who nodded, then rose and stepped out of the room.
“Okay, he’s gone to arrange the guard. What did your father say, Corey?”
“He said Phyllis must have let the cat out of the bag.” Corey licked his lips. “Said he was going to have a talk with her, about keeping her mouth shut. Said he was going to make sure she didn’t do anything that stupid again.”
* * *
/>
Ginny stared at Corey. “Did I understand you correctly? Your father told you he was going to shut Phyllis up?”
Corey looked at her, then away, his eyes sliding toward the floor. “He didn’t mean it. He was livid. White-headed boy and all that.”
Ginny sucked in a deep breath, reminding herself that this was all hearsay and a drug addict was not considered a completely reliable witness. “All right. Listen, Corey. We’re going to take care of you and, in exchange, you’re going to rehab and you’re going to make Phyllis proud. Got that?”
He nodded.
The door opened and DeSoto re-entered, an armed police officer in tow.
“This gentleman is going to stay with you while I make our arrangements,” he told Corey. “It would be safer—for you—if you told me the name of the man who shot you, so we can pick him up now, rather than later.”
Corey looked from Ginny to the police officer to DeSoto, then nodded. “Dr. C.—cause of the crack. C for crack.”
“Where can I find him?”
“Under 66, top of Lake Ray Hubbard.”
“Any particular time?”
“Every night, round one a.m.”
Ginny rose, then leaned over and patted Corey’s arm. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here. You stay tough.”
He reached over and grabbed her arm, his reflexes lightning fast. “They’re gonna kill me soon as you leave.”
Ginny shook her head. “No. They’re not. We’re going to take that threat off the streets and put him behind bars, and no one is going to know how we found him. Trust me on this one.”
He studied her face, then nodded, then released her arm.
“If I don’t check back with you,” she said, “it’s because Agent DeSoto has managed to hide you from me as well as everyone else, but I’ll still be working for you, behind the scenes. Do you believe me?”
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
On impulse, Ginny bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s from Phyllis, with love.” He blushed, but nodded.
“Okay. Bye.”
Ginny took her dismissal and left, Agent DeSoto in her wake. She peeled off the recording device and handed it to him.
“Thanks for your help,” he said. “I’ll get right on this.” He took off in the direction of the elevator.
The Swick and the Dead Page 17