Jim caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Maria Perez running along the aisle, dodging pews and stone columns. She was calling to Luis, “Ven, Luis. Ven a mamá.” She gestured for Luis to come to her.
Luis was struggling in the man’s grip. As Jim watched, Ginny turned from Father Ignacio and lunged at the interloper. There was a collision. Maria flung herself toward her son and, in the same moment, Jim saw Perez straighten up and raise his right hand. The bullet hit Maria in the abdomen and she jerked backwards. Jim was out of hiding and running toward her before she hit the ground.
* * *
Ginny saw Maria pelting down the aisle toward Luis and responded without thinking. Law or no law, the desperate mother of that terrified child should have the right to hold her son. Ginny lunged, slamming into Señor Perez and knocking him into the pew. It threw him enough off balance that he loosened his grip on Luis.
“Let go of that boy.” Her voice came out calmer than she had expected.
“I’ll do as I please with my son.”
“If he’s yours, let him go to his mother.”
“She, too, is mine, to do with as I please.” He was on his feet again, the struggling Luis in one hand, the other drawing a weapon out of his pocket. He aimed the gun at Maria, and pulled the trigger.
“No!” Father Ignacio started toward Perez.
Perez turned the gun on the priest. “I don’t wish to kill you, Padre, but I will if I have to.”
“Put the weapon down, my son. This is a house of God. It is sacrilege to threaten a priest.”
The corner of Perez’ mouth turned up in a sneer. “A man of God? Is that what you call yourself?” He pulled the trigger.
The exchange gave Ginny the chance she needed. She dropped her shoulder and rammed Perez, who staggered, losing his grip on the boy.
“Luis! Run!”
There was more gunfire erupting, the sounds echoing eerily in the vault above her head. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Jim kneeling over Maria and Angus scooping up Luis and heading for cover. Men were appearing from the woodwork, but she didn’t have time to sort them out. Perez was turning his weapon on her.
She was too close. There was no way he could miss at this range. She stepped in, grabbed the front of Perez’s jacket and brought her knee up as hard as she could between his legs, then grabbed his gun hand and twisted the weapon against his thumb, forcing him to let go. She heard the pistol clatter to the floor. He howled, then swore, wrenching his hand loose and reaching for something she couldn’t see.
She let go and turned, intending to run, but he grabbed her hair, forcing her head back, a knife coming around from behind her and settling under her left ear. She knew enough to fall backward, against him, so that he landed on his tailbone on the edge of the pew, the knife sliding across the front of her neck as he did so. She felt blood running warm down her front, but ducked under his arm, and attacked again, intent on forcing him to drop the knife. The agents were closing in. All she had to do was keep the man occupied until they got here.
Perez regained his feet and came at her, swearing in Spanish. She caught his knife arm in both hands, deflecting the blow, but knowing he was stronger and she wouldn’t be able to control him for long.
They were in the main aisle, with Ginny’s back to the pews. Perez hauled his arm free and raised it, aiming the knife at her chest. She braced her hands on the wood behind her and kicked out at his leg, then lunged sideways, seeing his right knee buckle. He fell forward, hands scrambling to break his fall and landed, neck first, on the heavy wooden edge of the pew. Narrow, solid, impassive. There was an odd, choking sound, then he slid to the floor.
“Down! Get down!”
Ginny couldn’t tell who was shouting, but the sound of a bullet smacking into the pew behind her made her turn. There was a man with a gun standing in the transept, pointing his weapon at her. As she watched, he fell to the floor, but there was another behind him. She dropped and rolled under the pew.
She lay on the floor, eye to eye with Señor Perez. He appeared to be having trouble breathing. He had his hands up, trying to pull his collar open, his eyes bulging.
Ginny swore to herself. She’d seen that look before. She rolled out from under the pew and knelt beside her attacker. A quick assessment told her he’d hit his Adam’s apple when he fell. His airway was swelling and, without an emergency tracheotomy, he wouldn’t last ten minutes.
Ten minutes. It didn’t take her nearly that long to consider rolling back under the pew and slipping out the other side, leaving him to his fate. But there were those stained-glass saints watching. If she didn’t even try to save this wretched man’s life, which side of the battle would that put her on?
Perez had dropped the knife in his fight to breathe. Ginny slithered over and picked it up. She knew the theory of an emergency tracheotomy—make a hole so air can get in—but she’d never done one. This was Jim’s department. She looked around, but couldn’t see him. She handled artificial airways at work though, and knew where to look for an undamaged portion of the trachea.
She brought the knife up and saw her patient’s eyes grow huge. He caught her wrist and tried to fight, but hypoxia was robbing him of his strength. She pushed the knife down, then through the flesh, then between the cartilage rings. There was an unpleasant spurt of blood accompanied by gurgling sounds and red froth, which meant she’d accomplished her goal, however inexpertly, but what was she going to use to hold that artificial airway open? In a fit of (probably) divine inspiration, she pulled the clip out of her hair and stuck it in the hole she had made. It was an ornamental twist of plastic with decorative pierce work. Perfect for letting oxygen molecules slip through.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Ginny looked up to find Jim dropping down beside her. “He fractured his larynx when he fell. He needed a trach.” She sat back and watched as Jim assessed the situation. He looked up and their eyes met.
“Not bad, but I think you should let me take responsibility for this.”
“No one is going to believe you could make such a mess of an emergency tracheotomy.”
He shrugged. “No tools, just a killer’s knife and a quick-thinking nurse with a handy hair clip.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that his blood or yours?”
“A little of both, I should think.” Her hands were covered in gore and there was blood on her clothing.
Jim moved over and took a look at where the blade had left its mark on her neck. “He did this?” He was frowning.
Ginny nodded. “How’s Maria?”
“She took a bullet in her gut. We’ll know more when they get her into surgery.”
“And Luis?”
“He’s fine, just upset.”
“Poor thing.”
“Father Ignacio is being looked after by the DEA. I don’t think he appreciated being shot in the chest, even with a bulletproof vest on. The lawyer fellow is being detained by the FBI.” Jim’s mouth twitched. “DeSoto is going to have fun sorting this out.”
Ginny was suddenly aware that Perez was making unhealthy noises. She frowned, not wanting to have anything further to do with the man, but her training got the better of her.
“Help me roll him on his side and watch his hands.”
She was still making sure her patient was breathing when she became aware of an army boot that stopped beside her. She looked up into the face of the gallóglaigh. He went down on one knee, leaning on his weapon, his eyes on hers.
“I could see you from the gallery, but there was no clear shot. You were moving too fast.” He gestured toward the man on the floor. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”
The corner of Ginny’s mouth curved up. “I have a brother.”
“And he’s still alive?”
Ginny laughed. “Yes.”
“I don’t see many people with that kind of courage,” he said. “If you ever need a wing man, I’m at your service.” He touched his cap. “Ma’am
.”
Ginny reached out a hand to stop him. “Wait! You haven’t told me who you are, yet.”
He smiled. “I was named for my maternal grandfather, Gavan Uisdean.”
“Why ‘Fergus’ then?”
“My initials were G-U-S. The lads tried to call me Gus, but after I knocked them down a few times, we settled on Fergus, because of Fergus mac Ross.”
Ginny smiled up at him. She knew the legend. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Stay here until I get back.”
By this time, the EMTs had arrived. Jim raided the trauma box, then put a hand behind her neck and applied gauze to the knife wound on her throat.
“I think you may need a stitch or two,” he said.
She nodded, then watched his mouth curve into a smile.
“You and Alex? Really?”
“They were mock battles, just pretend.”
“But this was the real thing.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Ginny looked from Jim to the man who had tried to slit her throat, now being loaded onto a stretcher for transport to the hospital, and shook her head. “Neither did I.”
* * *
Chapter 46
Day 20 – Wednesday morning, Fourth Day of Christmas
Brochaber
Ginny ran a finger along the gauze dressing around her throat. It felt stiff-ish and alien.
“Leave that alone.” Jim, seated next to her at the table, took her hand, inspected the torn knuckles she had acquired during yesterday’s skirmish, then nestled her hand in his, smiling. He had reason to smile. The knife hadn’t gotten to any of the large vessels in her neck, just little ones. Little ones that kind of hurt. A small reminder that she was still alive.
DeSoto was reporting, informally, to Himself.
“Maria and Luis are both in protective custody. She’s expected to recover, but we’ve got someone with her, recording everything she says. Javier Perez is in the prison hospital and can’t talk, but that hasn’t kept him from singing like a canary. He’s hoping for protection from his former employer, in exchange for cooperation.”
Himself sputtered. “He tried tae murder Maria and Ginny and Father Ignacio!”
“And has killed others. He’ll end up in prison, one way or another. In the meantime, he’s being very helpful. We have an entire alphabet soup of agencies working on the information he’s giving us.”
“Can ye bring doon th’ cartel?”
DeSoto hesitated. “We’ve already begun shutting down the money laundering side of the business—the IRS, Homeland Security, and Immigration agents are swarming the long-term care facilities.”
“Where will th’ auld folk go, then?”
“All of the patients are being re-evaluated and transferred. They’ll be taken care of.”
“And the nurses?” Ginny asked.
DeSoto looked at her. “We’re handling them on a case-by-case basis.”
“What about the drugs?” Jim asked.
“The Dallas police get the job—and the credit—for cleaning up the streets. They’re out there now. But we believe the cartel was handling the importation and distribution, so that falls to the DEA. We’ve arrested seven of the mid-level managers.”
DeSoto sighed. “We’d rather have caught the big fish, of course, but we may still get a break.”
“Did you ever find out about the fentanyl?”
DeSoto nodded. “There was a new drug lord in town, willing to kill to drive the regular suppliers out of business.”
“Where was he getting the pure drug?”
“Maria tells us she was switching the counterfeits for the real thing. All the nurses were.”
“That explains why they needed fakes.”
“Yes, but it’s more complicated than that. The amount of pure drug the Pipeline nurses collected doesn’t begin to cover the expenses involved in getting them up here. By forcing them to steal narcotics, the cartel had a way to keep them in line. They told Maria if she talked she would go to prison and Luis back to Mexico. She believed them, so she cooperated.”
Ginny shook her head. “What a dirty trick to pull on someone who just wanted a better life for her son.”
DeSoto nodded. “The stolen narcotics were deposited in the BINGO box, and collected by the guy who ran the BINGO games. It’s my theory he got tempted and decided to go into business for himself.”
“So, what happens now?” Ginny asked.
“We’ve got weeks, maybe months of rounding up bad guys, then the lawyers will move in and that will take years. In the meantime, we keep on fighting.”
“I meant, are Jim and I still in danger?”
DeSoto met her eye. “We don’t think so. The small fry will be looking for new jobs. Any remaining mid-level managers will need to go underground or take a chance on being caught and prosecuted. Whoever is top dog in north Texas has just lost a major source of income, and his credibility. We think they’ll all be too busy to care what happens to you.”
He rose. “I’ll need signatures on your statements so you’ll be seeing me again.”
Himself escorted the DEA agent to the front door, then came back and sat looking at Ginny.
“What?” she asked.
“’Tis progress, lass. Why do ye no look happy?”
“I’m happy,” she protested.
Jim snorted.
“I am! We’re alive, aren’t we? Luis is back with his mom, and the bad guys are going to jail.”
“But, ’tis no enough?”
Ginny sighed heavily. “Can everyone read my mind?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No yer mind, lass. Just yer face. Sae wha’s th’ problem?”
Ginny squirmed. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but there are still so many unanswered questions.”
“Like what?” Jim asked.
She turned to face him. “Like how do we prove Marjorie Hawkins killed Phyllis? How does Clara Carpenter fit into this story? Who was the brain-dead nurse in Austin? What about Isaac? He’s supposed to have blackmail files on all of us. Where are they, and what do they say? Why did Javier Perez decide to come claim his son after all this time? Who’s the head of the drug cartel in Dallas? Was I the target of that assassin’s bullet, or was it Marjorie? How long do I have to wear this infernal collar? And I’m pretty sure I can come up with more questions, if I think hard enough.”
“Whew!” Jim laughed. “Well, let’s see if we can answer some of them. Javier Perez told DeSoto the cartel’s plan was to use Luis as leverage, to draw his mother out.”
“Which is what we did.”
“Yes, and when they saw the Amber Alert, they tossed Perez on a plane to see if they could beat us to the punch. Detective Tran told us she’s planning to interview Isaac. We’ll see where that leads. The brain-dead nurse in Austin held the same position down there that Marjorie Hawkins did up here. She was in charge of the Pipeline Nurses and handled the fakes they had to switch for the real drugs. The dressing can come off as soon as the wounds are closed, about forty-eight hours. As for the rest of your questions, we may find out, in time.” Jim stretched, yawning widely.
“You have to work tonight, don’t you?” she asked.
He nodded. “Unlike some privileged characters who get taken off the schedule just because someone tried to shoot them, I have to work.”
The Laird’s mouth twitched. “Ye ken perfectly well, th’ idea is tae keep her oot o’ trouble until we’re sure this is th’ end o’ it. Fergus can keep an e’e on her better if she’s no at work.”
“Where is Fergus?” Ginny asked.
“Up th’ stairs, asleep.” The Laird turned to Jim. “And tha’s no a bad idea fer ye, as weel. Ye look beat.”
“This week is catching up with me.”
Ginny made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go take a nap. Don’t forget we’ve got a big weekend coming up.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” He climbed to his feet, then bowed to her. “May
I escort you to the ball my lady, and claim the first dance?”
She nodded, smiling. “I would be honored, kind sir.”
“I thank you! See you later.”
When he’d gone, she turned to Angus. “We’re down two ICU staff nurses and an ICU administrator. I really should be at work.”
“And will be, lass. Just gi’e it a few more days. I’ve got th’ shifts covered an’ advertisements oot fer replacements. In th’ meantime, rest, or see if ye can figure what the professionals canno’. And ye go nowhere wi’ oot Fergus, ye ken?”
As if on cue, Fergus himself appeared, looking refreshed and calm and ready for anything. Ginny looked at him.
“He’s likely to be very bored.”
“I can stand it,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow in his direction, then addressed Himself. “All right, if you insist.”
“Aye, I do.”
Ginny rose and started toward the door. “Come, Cousin,” she said. “You can watch me sleep.”
Fergus stepped in front of her, blocking her exit, and Ginny found herself looking up into a pair of hazel eyes that seemed to ignite at her jibe.
“I’d like that.” He smiled.
Ginny caught her breath. “Just kidding!” She ducked under his arm and fled.
* * *
Wednesday morning
Forbes residence
Once safely in her own room, Ginny stood for a moment, examining her reflection in the mirror. It was true, she didn’t look happy. Well, of course not. She hated loose ends. She frowned, then moved into the office.
Had she given everything she had to Detective Tran? Or had something fallen through the cracks when the cartel started to make a serious effort to kill her? And what was it Jim had said that set off an alarm bell in her head just now? Something about work. Something about her being taken off the schedule.
The schedule! She dove at her computer, pulling up her work e-mail and digging through the files. Yes, there it was, the Hillcrest Medical ICU shift schedule for January. No Phyllis.
Ginny whistled silently, then turned to the box of papers John Kyle had given to her, looking for Phyllis’ day planner.
The Swick and the Dead Page 30