by Shawn Wilson
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
BEEP … beep … beep …
The smoke detector was just out of Brick’s reach. Still, he tried one more time stretching as far as his arm could go, but it seemed the device had climbed up the wall a couple of inches. Brick opened the closet door and rooted around until he found his baseball bat. The one signed by Hank Aaron. He ran his fingers over the wood before gripping it firmly in both hands. He faced the detector like an incoming fastball and swung hard, making contact. Pieces of shattered plastic rained down on the faded linoleum floor.
Beep … beep … beep. They were getting louder and each one was like a nail being driven into his brain. Make it stop, Brick pleaded even though he was sure no one was listening.
“Brian …”
Had someone called his name or was he imagining things? Was he awake or asleep? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything except for the excruciating pain inside his head. But at least feeling pain must mean he was alive.
“Brian …”
Who was calling him Brian? He needed to open his eyes, but despite a couple of attempts, it seemed like an impossible task. Finally, he felt his eyelids flutter. Seconds passed as he struggled, but his Herculean effort paid off. He looked up and saw a distorted face staring back.
“Brian, can you hear me?”
He tried to respond but his mouth was so dry he could barely swallow, and when he did, he regretted it. His throat felt as if it had been scraped raw. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and go back to sleep but he managed a slight nod.
“Stay with me, okay?”
He didn’t know where he was or who was speaking, but her voice sounded kind. He wanted to obey, but every blink was a challenge, and the incessant beeps continued nonstop. And now there were more sounds—footsteps and a husky male voice. A white-coated figure bent over him and flashed a light in his eyes. Brick wanted to slap the hand away from his face, but when he tried to raise his arm, he realized it was tied down. The other one, too. Where was he and why was he being restrained? His head filled with crazy thoughts of torture and alien abductions.
“Brian?”
If his captors knew his name, what else did they know? Who are these people? Brick felt his heart rate accelerate, each beat strong enough to send his heart knocking against his ribs. And the beeps were keeping pace.
“I’m Dr. O’Keefe. I’m the attending physician. You’re in the hospital because you took a nasty blow to the head, but you’re going to be okay. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Before Brick could respond to the white-coated guy who looked awfully young to be a doctor, he took a sip of water offered to him by a woman holding a straw to his parched lips. It tasted better than Dom Perignon, but sucking on the straw sapped his energy. All he could manage was a whispered “yes.”
Dr. O’Keefe patted Brick on the shoulder. “Right now, you need to rest. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep.”
Brick started to panic. He didn’t want to sleep; he wanted to move his hands. “Can’t … can’t move my hands.”
“Don’t worry, it’s okay. We had to restrain you in the emergency room. You probably don’t remember, but you put up a fight worthy of Mike Tyson. If you promise not to throw any more punches, we’ll free your right arm. The left has an I.V. so we’ll leave it taped to the board.” The doctor motioned to the nurse and she removed the restraint.
With his newly freed hand, Brick reached up and scratched his nose before drifting back to sleep.
* * *
“Looks like Sleeping Beauty is waking up.”
Despite the foggy haze dulling his senses, Brick recognized Ron’s voice. But was it real or a figment of his imagination? He gazed across the room to where he thought his former partner sat. Brick tried not to blink fearing if he did, the image would disappear.
“What are you doing here?” Brick asked.
“Making rounds. Checking on you, checking on Jasmine and the babies, checking on you again.” Ron got up and moved closer to the head of Brick’s bed. “Need some water?”
“Yeah.”
“Better get you sitting up.” Ron pressed the button on the remote to raise the level of Brick’s bed. He poured some water into a cup. “Here you go, small sips.” He handed the cup to Brick and waited while he drank. “You’re looking better, man. How do you feel?”
“Like my head’s going to explode.” Brick handed the empty cup to Ron. “How’d you know I’m here?”
“Ran into one of the ER nurses in the cafeteria last night; she told me. And just so you know, a couple of Third District guys are working your case. I know one of them, he’s good.”
“Oh.” Brick thought about that for a minute. “Wait, did you say last night—what time is it?”
Ron checked his watch. “Ten minutes to ten.”
“Sunday morning?”
“No, man, it’s Sunday night. You pretty much lost a day.”
Brick closed his eyes and tried to sort out the jumble of thoughts inside his head. “But I was going to the ballet.”
“They must be pumping some strong drugs into that IV.” Ron whistled through the gap separating his two front teeth.
“It was for Lily.”
“Lily … Lily Nguyen?” Ron asked.
“Yeah. And I had Nats tickets, but I promised her, and she was all upset because Cruz killed himself.”
“Whoa, Brick, you’re talking crazy, man. Cruz is in jail. Last I heard, Lily was trying to get his guilty plea revoked.”
Brick shifted trying to find a more comfortable position. “I know what I’m saying. Cruz is dead. I was waiting to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because of the babies. Didn’t want to bother you.”
“So this happened on Friday?”
Brick thought for a moment, mentally going back in time to things he remembered. “Yeah, Friday.” With his right hand, Brick patted the bed around him. “Where’s my phone?” He started to panic. “I need to talk to Lily.”
“Take it easy, man. I’ll look for it.” Ron opened the drawer of the tray table that had been pushed to the foot of the bed. “It’s here along with your wallet and watch.” He handed the phone to Brick.
Brick pressed the home button and stared at the phone, waiting for the apps to appear. Once they did, he tried to find the message icon but he couldn’t distinguish one blurry icon from another. He blinked a couple of times and again tried to focus but to no avail.
“Here.” Brick handed his phone to Ron. “Check for text messages. There’s got to be one from Lily.”
The phone all but disappeared in Ron’s big hand. With his forefinger, he tapped the screen. “Okay, found it. My office—fifteen minutes.” Ron glanced up at Brick then looked back at the phone. “Wait, that was from Friday at 1:03 p.m.”
“There’s got to be more.”
“Afraid not.”
“Check voicemail.”
Again, Ron’s finger tapped the screen. “Nothing.”
“That’s weird. Why didn’t she call … even to give me hell for being late?”
“Don’t know, man, but it’s not like you just stood her up. I’d say you’ve got a valid excuse. Even Jasmine would probably agree.” Ron looked at the phone again. “There is a message here from Rory. Actually, not a message, it’s a photo.” Ron studied it for a moment. “Looks like batting practice at Nats Park.”
Bit by bit, events from Saturday were starting to come back to Brick. Vaguely he remembered being at Boland’s Mill. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain in his head as he struggled to concentrate. “The taser.”
“What?” Ron said.
“The taser. I found a taser in Eamonn’s desk and Rory—”
“Hey, there’s another text from him.”
“Read it to me.”
“U missed great game. So did Eric. WTF.” Ron set the phone down on the tray table. “Hope he paid you what that ticket was worth.”
“No, I gave … oh my God … what was the time stamp on Rory’s picture?”
Ron picked up the phone. “6:14 pm … so?”
Brick’s eyes darted around the room. “I … I got to get out of here.”
“C’mon, man, you’re not going anywhere.” Ron looked up at the monitor tracking Brick’s vitals. “You need to relax. Your blood pressure just jumped twenty points.”
“Where are my clothes? I need my pants.”
“That suit’s history, man. Just relax, I’ll go to your place and get you some clothes when you need them.”
“That’ll be too late.” With his free hand, Brick grabbed the IV needle and ripped it from his left arm. He pulled off the tape securing his arm to the board. A wave of nausea washed over him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. He grabbed Ron’s arm. “You got to help me.”
“Okay, man, I will, but you need to get back in bed.”
“No! Only Rory and Eric knew where I was going. It wasn’t Rory, it was Eric.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was Eric—he attacked me and now he’s got Lily.”
Ron shook his head. “C’mon, Brick, get back in bed. You’re talking crazy. There’s no reason why Eric would attack you.”
“Yes, there is.” Brick felt his knees start to buckle. He grabbed the railing on the side of his bed. “I’m not crazy and I’m telling you, Lily’s in danger.”
Ron opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped. He paced back and forth in front of Brick’s bed before pulling out his cellphone. “I’m probably going to regret this, but I’ll call over to Third District and have them send someone to Lily’s apartment to check on her.”
“I need to be there.”
“Really? How far do you think you’re going to get with your ass hanging out of a hospital gown? If you want to make sure Lily’s safe, this is what we’re going to do.”
Reluctantly, Brick climbed back into bed just as the evening nurse entered the room. She gave Ron a suspicious look as she approached Brick’s bed.
“What happened to your IV? What’s going on in here?” Her tone was a mixture of confusion and anger tinged with fear.
“I’m ready to go home,” Brick said.
“Dr. O’Keefe will make that determination.”
“Then you need to call him.”
Without any further discussion, the nurse turned and left.
Brick lay back against his pillow but didn’t shut his eyes. He tried to read Ron’s expression as he talked on the phone, but his blurred vision made it impossible to focus. Instead, he concentrated on what he could hear of Ron’s one-sided conversation. A few “okays” didn’t tell him anything.
“Holy shit! What’s the address?” Silently, Ron stared at Brick. “Okay, thanks.” Ron put down the phone. “That was the Deputy Watch Commander. He confirmed there’s a possible hostage situation. SWAT, I mean the Emergency Response Team, is on its way.”
Brick felt like he had been punched in the gut. Another wave of nausea hit him. He swallowed hard, forcing bile back down his throat. There was absolutely no satisfaction in being right.
“Find me some clothes.”
Ron didn’t argue. He left and returned a few minutes later carrying a set of blue scrubs. He helped Brick step into the pants then pulled the shirt over his head.
“Here’s your shoes; they were in the locker.” Ron slid Brick’s bare feet into the loafers. He grabbed Brick’s wallet and cellphone out of the tray table drawer. “You’ll need these.”
Brick patted the sides of his pants. “I don’t have any pockets. Hang onto them for me.”
“Will do.” Ron slipped the wallet and cellphone into his jacket pocket and zipped it shut. “Ready, partner?” he asked.
“Where’s the nurses’ station?”
“Opposite end of the hall from the elevators.”
“Let’s go.” Brick felt dizzy but figured if he could make it to the elevator, he could make it to the street. He staggered slightly, but sheer determination propelled him to put one foot in front of the other.
What would have taken a couple of minutes under normal circumstances took longer. Brick stopped to rest, but eventually they made it to the street outside the hospital’s emergency room entrance. A light rain was falling. While Ron tried to hail a cab, Brick steadied himself by holding on to a streetlight. Several occupied cabs passed by coming from the direction of the Kennedy Center, the very place Brick had intended to be just over twenty-four hours ago. It was raining harder now and the chances of getting a cab diminished. Suddenly, Ron frantically waved his arms as a police car rounded Washington Circle. The car stopped and the officer riding shotgun rolled down the window.
“What’s the problem?”
Brick watched as Ron flashed his badge. He couldn’t hear the answer, but it didn’t matter. They had a ride.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
THE WAIL OF the siren intensified the pain in Brick’s head, but he wasn’t about to complain. He covered his ears with his hands as the police car sped east on K Street. At the intersection with Connecticut Avenue, the officer suddenly swerved to avoid colliding with a Lincoln Town Car turning illegally from the left lane. Brick dropped his hands as he banged against the side of the car. His shoulder slammed into the window, and for a moment, he forgot about the pain in his head.
“Fucking diplomats.” Ron echoed the comment from the two uniformed officers before looking in Brick’s direction. “You okay, partner?”
“Yeah.”
Two blocks north of Dupont Circle, eastbound traffic was being rerouted, but police and emergency vehicles were waved into a Thai restaurant parking lot. The driver pulled next to an unmarked car and stopped. Both she and the other officer got out and opened the back doors freeing Brick and Ron.
“Wait here while I get a handle on what’s going on,” Ron said.
Brick didn’t have the strength to argue. He leaned against the side of the car while one of the officers called in their location to the dispatcher. The other turned to Brick.
“We were about to go off-duty, but I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.” He unwrapped a stick of chewing gum and popped it in his mouth. “I don’t mind, I can use the overtime.”
With Lily’s life possibly hanging in the balance, Brick could have reamed the rookie for his insensitivity, but he understood where the officer was coming from. He’d been there himself when he was in uniform and on the lowest rung of the pay ladder. Overtime was overtime.
Brick had lost track of how much time had passed. He glanced at his wrist to check his watch and realized he’d left it at the hospital. He didn’t care about the watch but hated not knowing how much time had elapsed, and he regretted not accompanying Ron. He considered setting out to find him but dismissed the idea; he barely had enough energy to keep standing. Distant sirens grew louder as more police vehicles arrived. Brick looked up and saw a helicopter hovering over Lily’s building. Police or news chopper, he couldn’t tell, and looking up made him dizzy. He lowered his eyes and saw Ron sprinting in his direction.
“Okay, partner, here’s the deal.” Ron sounded winded as he continued. “Lieutenant Hughes from Three D is in charge. I filled her in as much as I could, but she needs to know what you know.”
“Let’s go.” Brick tapped into energy reserves he didn’t know he had as Ron guided him to the mobile command center van.
Brick had been in mobile command centers many times, and despite his concussion-induced, muddled thinking, he recognized the familiar activity. Positioning the players was like a choreographed dance with one big difference—if you didn’t get it right, people might die. Lieutenant Sonia Hughes introduced herself and directed Brick to a seat. Although he hadn’t met her before, he knew her by reputation. Anyone who paid attention to the local news remembered the way she’d peacefully resolved an eighteen-hour standoff at a kids’ daycare center. Her fifteen minutes of fame cast her in the nati
onal spotlight, but the attention didn’t go to her head. It had, however, landed her a promotion.
“Listen carefully to this 9-1-1 call. Can you identify the caller?”
Brick slipped a pair of headphones over his ears. “Ready.” He strained his ears, listening to the brief, whispered plea for help. “Play it again.” He needed to be absolutely certain. This time he was. “It’s Lily Nguyen.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Brick set the headphones aside.
“Okay. We know the call was picked up by the cellphone tower across the street. What we don’t know is whether she’s still in there, but we’ve got to operate as if she is. Now, according to Detective Hayes, you think she’s being held by—” Hughes glanced down at some notes.
“Eric Monroe,” Brick said.
“And you believe he’s the same guy who assaulted you last night. Is this some kind of domestic situation? A love triangle?”
“No, nothing like that, but it’s complicated.” Brick took a deep breath trying to fill his lungs with as much oxygen as possible. “It’s all circumstantial, but I think Eric is responsible for the Delgado murders.” Brick saw Hughes knit her brow before she glanced in Ron’s direction. His shoulder shrug indicated he couldn’t confirm what Brick just said.
“And Eric’s an ICE agent?”
“Correct.”
“So there’s a possibility he’s armed.”
“Right.” Brick’s earlier adrenaline surge had waned, and he felt exhaustion setting in. “Whether I’m right about the Delgado murders doesn’t matter now. All that matters is Lily.” He was about to continue but was interrupted when an emergency response team officer dressed in camouflage stepped into the van.
“Lieutenant, we’ve evacuated the other occupants in the building. We’ve got a team in the adjacent unit. They’re setting up surveillance equipment through a vent on a shared wall. We’ve got another team on the roof. So far, the blinds are drawn, but we’ve seen a shadow behind the corner window. Do you want us to cut the power?”
Hughes didn’t respond immediately. “No, not yet.”
“What about setting up a landline?”
Hughes turned toward Brick. “Lily must have a cellphone. Right?”