Hearts of the Missing

by Carol Potenza

  “Chief Stone, I don’t care who you are. If you take one more step, I will not hesitate to bring you to the ground and cuff you, sir.” At the intensity of Frank’s voice, Dax blinked.

  Janet twisted back to Nicky. “This is all your fault,” she shrieked. “If you hadn’t contacted him, hadn’t wanted him back, this never would’ve happened. Why can’t you just leave my husband alone?”

  The adrenaline pumping through Nicky exploded into anger. Her hand tightened on Janet’s arm, two seconds from shaking her teeth out. She took a long steady breath.

  “Dammit, Janet. I want nothing to do with him.”

  “You lie! I saw the pictures. I saw them.” Janet disintegrated into sobs, her slight body shuddering with them. “I saw them.”

  “Nicky, please. Let her go. I’ll take her home, okay? Just let her go,” Dax begged. “Janet, sweetheart, it’ll be okay.”

  “Montoya, Gallegos,” Frank barked, “take the detainee to Command Post One. Make sure you read her her rights. She’s being charged with assault on an officer.” He looked at Aguilar and Valentine. “Go with them. I’m taking Sergeant Matthews to first aid.”

  Manny Valentine swiveled sharply. Nicky met his gaze and his face paled as he stared. He and the other officers escorted Janet down the street. She resisted at first, but soon fell into step.

  Dax motioned for his two bodyguards to follow. The crowd of tourists and Indians started to disperse.

  “Frank, I need to go with them,” Nicky said urgently. “None of those officers have jurisdiction for non-Indian on non-Indian crime because they’re tribal. I’m federal. I’m the only one who can make the arrest.”

  “You will, but after we have you checked out.” The fingers of Frank’s hands were warm on her cheek as he tilted her head to one side. He grimaced. “She clawed you good.” His gaze dropped. “How’s your hand?”

  She flexed her stinging fingers. Fluid-filled blisters had already formed. It would hurt like the devil once her adrenaline rush subsided.

  “Nicky. Please. Let her go.” Dax touched her arm and she shrugged him off. “She didn’t mean it. She’s still … sick. She still needs help.”

  Frank threw him a glance, his lips turned down in a scowl.

  “And you’re the only one who can help her. Rescue her from herself.” Nicky glared into his eyes. “Why did you have those two goons with you today, Dax? Were you expecting trouble? And why was that photographer following you Friday night? Did Janet hire him?” Realization hit her like a fist. “Or did you?”

  Dax stood as if cast in stone. He dropped his gaze. She pivoted away, disgusted by the whole situation, and headed toward the first-aid station. Frank fell in beside her.

  Nicky called over her shoulder, “Must be nice to be Janet’s champion. How grateful will she be if you save her from the evil other woman? Grateful enough to stop talking about divorce?” Her voice wobbled at the end and she clamped her lips closed.

  They walked in silence through the crowd, Nicky cradling her hand.

  “It’s my own fault,” she finally admitted.

  Frank raised his brows, but didn’t say anything.

  “I knew Dax was a snake, and I just made the mistake of getting bitten. Again.”

  * * *

  A man dressed in the same black polo and khaki cargo pants as the EMTs met them at the door of the first-aid trailer.

  “Hello, Sergeant. I’m Dr. Laughton. I heard you had an encounter with a cup of hot coffee out there on the mean streets of Salida. Let’s get you out of this jacket.”

  Nicky shrugged out of her dirty, coffee-stained jacket and handed it to Frank.

  The man gently grasped the unburned skin of her arm and stared at the blisters on her hand. “Tip your chin up. Thank you. Okay. Burns on your chest and neck, and some nasty scratches on your face. Let’s head inside so we can get them cleaned up.”

  Laughton shot her a smile and stepped between her and Frank, who hovered behind her. Frank rocked back on his heels and scowled.

  Nicky gritted her teeth and nodded in assent. She barely registered the doctor other than to note he was tall and blond. Her numbing spike of adrenaline had worn off and her burns felt like they were on fire. Though she tried to suppress it, her whole body shook with reaction. The doctor helped her up the retractable metal step of the mobile medical unit.

  To divert herself from the pain, she studied the little room. Brightly lit, cool, and smelling of antiseptic, it had been modeled into a small clinic with an examination table and instrumentation, including a scale, a blood-pressure cuff hooked to the wall, and a sitting area under a large, curtained window. There was even a sterilizer next to the sink. All of the cupboards were labeled with their contents, and a compact refrigerator tagged with a NO FOOD OR DRINK sign was tucked along one side of the room. A short Native American woman, her black hair rolled into a bun, stood quietly. Scissors, gauze, a tube of salve, and a plastic cup of ice were on the counter next to her. Nicky recognized her as a CMA from the Fire-Sky Clinic, and gave her a quick hello.

  “So, there was a wrestling match, too?” Dr. Laughton smiled, straight white teeth flashing briefly. “Wish I could have seen that. Mary, rinse off her hand with half-and-half Betadine and sterile saline. Officer, you can have a seat over there.” He directed a flat, hard look at Frank, and gestured to the chairs. Frank crossed his arms and didn’t move, his face a mask.

  Laughton gave him a faint sneer, and turned his back to him. “As far as you know, this was only coffee, right? There was nothing else added?”

  Nicky sucked in a breath as Mary cleaned the grit embedded in the blisters of her hand. “I don’t know. Cream and sugar?”

  “I had one of the officers on scene collect the cup for testing,” Frank said. Laughton glanced at him.

  Nicky blinked and caught Frank’s gaze. “What? I didn’t see—it was just coffee, right?”

  “You were busy with Chief Stone at the time. And people throw a lot of bad things at cops. It was just a precaution,” he said.

  “Yes. He wouldn’t be doing his duty if he didn’t protect you after the fact, would you, Agent Martin?” Laughton said.

  Eyes narrowed, Nicky looked back and forth between the men. “What’s going on? Do you two know each other?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

  “Nope,” Frank said.

  “Not at all.” The doctor turned his back to Frank again. “I need to examine the rest of these burns. To do that, I’m going to have to remove your shirt.” He grabbed the scissors.

  “Wait, Doc. I can pull the shirt over my head—”

  The trailer door burst open. Ryan and Savannah practically tumbled inside.

  “We heard what happened,” Ryan said.

  “Are you okay?” Eyes wide, Savannah clutched a folded black polo against her chest. “I brought this for you to wear. Oh, Nicky. Your hand,” she whispered.

  “I’m fine, right, Doctor? He’s going to bandage me up, and then I’m back out on patrol,” Nicky reassured her.

  “Well…” Laughton frowned. “I think it would be best if you went home, Sergeant. Your left hand will be almost worthless for a day or two. I’ll write you a medical leave excuse.”

  “No. I still have an arrest to make, and…” She scrambled for a reason to stay. “And I can’t leave my partner. He’s new and this is part of his training. Right, Agent Martin?”

  “Nicky, please do what the doctor says. Frank won’t care.” Savannah turned and placed a hand on his arm. “Right, Frank?”

  Frank frowned and nodded slowly.

  Nicky blew out a long breath. She was meeting with Julie Knuteson at OMI tomorrow night about the Sandra Deering autopsy. A day at home would allow her to review the files one more time, see what she had and what was still missing.

  “All right. Wrap me up good, Doc. After I’m done today, I’ll head home, and take tomorrow, too. But I want to work Tuesday. The war chiefs are doing their Blessing Ceremony, and I have a feeling I’m going to
need all the help I can get moving forward.”

  She smiled around the room, trying to lighten the tension. Savannah visibly relaxed, Ryan nodded his head, and Frank’s mouth curved in a half smile.

  “Okay. And since you have a clean shirt to wear, I’m gonna cut you out of this one and get you patched up. But without an audience. Everyone out,” Dr. Laughton ordered.

  Nicky promised to text Savannah and Ryan, and they filed out of the trailer.

  Frank didn’t budge. “I’m staying with my partner.”

  Nicky’s gaze flew up to his.

  Laughton was cutting through the sleeve of her shirt but paused to say coldly, “I gave you an order, Officer. You are dismissed.”

  Frank widened his stance and looped his thumbs in his belt. The room bristled with tension.

  “It’s okay, Doctor. He has to view my injuries for the arrest report,” she said. “And he can hold my necklace.” She reached her hands up to unlatch it, but Frank stepped behind her.

  “Let me do that,” he murmured. His fingers were gentle as he removed the Spirit’s Heart pendant from around her neck. Mary handed him a cup of water from the tap. He dropped it in to rinse off the coffee.

  Laughton finished with her shirt, then quickly detached the Velcro straps holding her light body armor in place. He snipped off her thin tank top, leaving her black crossover sports bra in place.

  The cool air of the room hit her coffee-damp skin and magnified the pain of her burns. Mary stepped forward and cleaned them with ice-and-saline solution. Dr. Laughton coated the top of her hand in Silvadene and applied gauze and tape.

  Tears welled in Nicky’s eyes, in part because of the pain, but also because of the whole stupid situation with Dax and Janet. Ugly gossip would fly around the police department because of this incident. Maybe she should ask for the whole week off and let it die down.

  She raised her uninjured hand to dash away the wetness around her eyes, when Frank pressed a tissue into her fingers.

  “Thanks.” Her voice was husky, strained.

  He shrugged, his expression unreadable. But when she grunted as Laughton dabbed salve onto her neck and face, Frank picked up her uninjured hand and held it. He let her squeeze as hard as she needed.

  Mary and Laughton were maneuvering the clean black shirt over her head when there was a sharp knock on the door.

  Laughton nodded to Mary to open the door when the shirt was in place.

  Cyrus Aguilar climbed up the steps. He wouldn’t meet Nicky’s eyes.

  She slid off the table to her feet. Her burns throbbed with each beat of her heart. “Officer Aguilar. Please report.”

  “Sergeant Matthews.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat and started again. “Sergeant Matthews. Lieutenant Pinkett said to inform you the captain has released Mrs. Stone from custody, and—and that he has determined the incident was no more than an unfortunate accident. There will be no arrest. The injury report will reflect the coffee spill and your resulting burns were unintentional. You are also ordered off duty tomorrow and are to leave the feast immediately.” His glance flickered to her face, then away. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

  Nicky didn’t say a word. She wasn’t sure she could. Mary held a plastic bag containing her shredded clothing, vest, and jacket. Instructions and salve were on top. She reached for her gear, but Frank put a hand out to stop her.

  “Are you okay to drive? I can take you home.”

  “I’m fine. And I need my unit,” she said in a low voice.

  Nicky took the bag of clothes and, with as much dignity as she could muster, walked out of the trailer and headed to her vehicle. Frank and Officer Aguilar flanked her.

  When she slid into her truck, Frank handed her the Spirit’s Heart necklace. She’d forgotten it. Nodding her thanks, she wrapped the delicate chain around her uninjured hand, and lifted the pendant up to stare at it as it twirled and dangled. The black, empty slot caught and held her attention. This was her talisman, she thought fiercely. An Indian rosary, to remind her of her purpose on the pueblo. All else was distraction.

  She shifted the truck into gear and pulled out onto the narrow street. In the bright sunshine behind her, people streamed from booth to booth, or headed to the plaza by the church to see the chanted prayers and dances.

  Before she turned onto the main road, Nicky glanced in the rearview to see Frank and Cyrus. They stood side by side as if in vigil, and watched her leave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Nicky pushed open the doors of the New Mexico Scientific Laboratories in Albuquerque and walked into the soaring lobby. The curved glass wall in front of her extended up multiple stories. Huge abstract landscapes decorated the large open space. In contrast to the cold, clean lines of the modern architecture, the temperature was surprisingly warm. The position of the blue-tinted glass, which faced southwest and captured the heat of the afternoon sun, probably had something to do with that.

  She produced her Fire-Sky police ID and signed in to the visitors’ log at the security desk. Julie had asked her to come late, after much of the day staff had left work. The guard gave her a visitor’s pass and buzzed her into the OMI reception area.

  Dr. Julie Knuteson was waiting for her. Nicky gave her a quick hug in greeting.

  “What happened to you?” Julie asked.

  Nicky made a face and held out a lightly bandaged hand. “A run-in with a cup of hot coffee. I lost,” she quipped. “But it’s a lot better today. How are you doing?”

  Julie shook her head, her smile tight. The smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks stood out against a pale, pinched face. She was a couple of inches taller than Nicky, and larger. She’d been an athlete in high school and college, but her muscles had melted into softer padding from long hours in a demanding, sedentary career. She wore blue slacks, a slim belt resting on curved hips, and a cream blouse.

  Nicky touched her arm and searched Julie’s gray-blue eyes. The skin between her brows was pulled into furrows. “That bad?” she asked.

  “You have no idea,” Julie replied with a sigh. She brushed light brown hair from her forehead, but her fingers stayed to massage her temple. “Let’s get out of here,” Julie muttered. “I don’t want to say anything until we’re in a secure area.”

  A lump formed in Nicky’s gut.

  Julie led her to the OMI portal, holding her ID card to the metal lock until it clicked. She pushed it open and headed down a labyrinthine series of apricot-painted corridors. A few people, laden with briefcases, bags, and purses, called good night as they passed. But other than polite replies, Julie was quiet, the soft tap of their shoes on tile the only sound other than the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

  They pushed through doors into the stairwell and descended into another, narrow corridor. As they approached the region of the building that housed the morgue, the smell of the air changed subtly. Julie once told her a state-of-the-art exhaust system had been installed when the labs were built, but it didn’t matter. The dead always marked those around them.

  Julie stopped abruptly. She rubbed her palms together and sucked in a breath.

  “Before we go any farther, you have to know…” She exhaled. “I know you told me to keep anything I found to myself, but … but I brought someone else in. Don’t worry. I’ve sworn him to secrecy.”

  Nicky curled her fingers. “Who?”

  “He won’t say anything, I promise, and he has the expertise to evaluate—”

  A door closed and keys jangled as another person stepped into the hall. “G’night, ladies.”

  Julie’s lips pressed in a tight smile and she waited until the man was gone.

  “He has the expertise needed for what I found. And I trust him. Remember I told you I was seeing someone new? This is the guy.” Her tone brightened. “I’ve worked with him for a couple of years now, ever since he moved to New Mexico, but it wasn’t until after my breakup with Brian-the-rat that he asked me out. Said he’d admired me for a long time and
thought he’d never get his chance.” Julie’s eyes glowed, her speech animated and fast. “He’s part of the state’s transplant recovery team, so he’s always at OMI, harvesting tissue. And he’s on this amazing research fellowship studying modifications in UW—”

  “Wait.” Nicky tried to slow her down. “What’s UW?”

  “UW solution. It’s an organ preservation compound developed by the University of Wisconsin—UW—that limits ischemic damage from prolonged storage of harvested organs before transplant. It also improves myocardial function in early post-transplant, but Lio believes the modifications he’s made with a specific type of adenosine to maintain high ATP levels, and the radical oxygen scavenging components he’s added, plus hydrogen—”

  “Wait. Leo?” Nicky felt like Alice down the rabbit hole.

  “Sorry. It’s just so exciting. He’s working on prolonging the number of hours an organ can be stored before transplant. It will save countless lives because timing is so critical for successful outcomes—”

  “Julie. You lost me again. Organ storage?”

  Julie laughed. “Okay, I’ll stop. And it’s Emilio. He’s a great guy, but he has a few, um, idiosyncrasies. Still, he’s been a huge help with your case. He’s waiting in his lab.” Julie paused and leaned in close. “Did you know physicians are sometimes referred to as little-g gods because they can hold the lives of their patients in their hands? Well, transplant surgeons are known as big-G Gods, because they hold your soul in theirs.”

  She bustled the rest of the way down the corridor and stopped at a door near the end. Nicky pressed her lips together and followed more slowly. What was so bad that Julie needed to bring an expert in for Sandra Deering’s case?

  * * *

  Julie led her to a small, cramped laboratory. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She disappeared down the hall.

  Nicky looked around. Long metal counters topped with tall shelves ran the perimeter of the room. On the shelves sat dozens of mismatched glass and amber bottles, all jumbled together, their contents identified with handwritten labels. Although lights gleamed white and blue from under the shelves, the windowless walls and darkened ceiling created a cavelike atmosphere.