by Dana Mentink
“Let’s talk tomorrow. We can figure out what to do next.”
He shook his head. “You’ve got Marco here. He’ll know exactly how to proceed with the investigation about your father, I’m sure.”
Her stomach dropped. “We’re still a team until it’s finished. Aren’t we?”
His glance drifted to the door. “Your team is in there, Donna.”
No, she wanted to say. I want you by my side, and not just to dig out answers, she realized. But that wasn’t how he was seeing things. They were working partners only. And now he’d been replaced. Investigators who were no longer on the case together. Why had she allowed herself to feel anything else? So much for good sense. So much for the lessons learned from Nate.
“Will you be okay?”
His smile was forced. “Of course. Take care of Radar for me, will you? Until I can figure something out?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
He gave her a last long look and drove away.
SEVENTEEN
Brent reported for his medical checkup Monday morning as required. He’d taken Sunday to stew. He’d run five miles before dawn and practically worn a path pacing the dock, and nothing soothed the current of worry that was fluxing into outright fear.
Fear. He detested the feeling. It brought him back to the violent shock of the plane hitting the water, the jerk of the rescuer pulling him clear, Carrie’s last cry before they struck the ocean. The darkness filled him until it pushed the prayer from his lips.
Help me.
It tempered the horror. He did not understand why, but just saying it, offering it to God, relieved the tension. He wished he could ask Donna about it, but she was better off without him. If Marco was right, Ridley would have the truth out of Kinsey soon enough and the Gallaghers’ case would be closed. Would Kinsey also reveal what he’d done to his sister? Nothing would ever be resolved in his life until he knew what had happened to Pauline.
Help me.
The prayer still circulated inside him, but being back on the base renewed the fire he always felt. Now it seemed even more intense. Do the job. So others may live. While he was on duty, he’d have to trust Ridley to find Pauline. As much as it grated on his nerves, for the moment, it was his only choice.
“You’re cleared as far as your physical condition,” the doctor said.
“What does that mean?”
The doctor hesitated. “The situation with your sister. Very difficult.”
“It won’t interfere with my doing my duties, Doc.”
“How could it not?”
“Because when we’re called up, I’m 100 percent there and you know it. Ask my crew—they’ll vouch for me.”
“I have no doubt.” He cocked his head. “But I’m concerned you’ve got a huge mental strain right now.”
“Fair enough,” Brent said, pulling on his shirt. “Be concerned, but don’t ground me.”
There was an endless moment. Brent gritted his teeth, stood ramrod straight and waited.
“All right,” the doctor said. “You’re cleared for your shift tomorrow.”
Brent held himself to a professional nod, though he felt like letting out a whoop. One aspect of his life, his reason for getting through each day, had been given back to him. Tomorrow he would report for his twenty-four-hour shift. His body itched for action, but even if there wasn’t a search-and-rescue call, he’d be back with his crew where he belonged. It was the only thing he had to hold on to, since he’d walked away from Donna.
Back on his bike, he thought of her, the laughter they had shared the night before, the ease with which he could talk to her. She’d come closer to him than any woman ever had besides Carrie, until Kinsey’s arrest changed everything.
He knew Ridley wouldn’t tell him much until the interrogations were complete, and Marco would be in the office with the Gallagher sisters, working on tying up the case as best they could.
But what about Darius? And Fran? Brent could not get the feeling out of his gut that there was some truth in Kinsey’s accusation. The image of those pink roses intruded on his thoughts no matter how he resisted. All the evidence pointed to Jeff Kinsey, just as Marco said. What would it hurt to snoop around? He had a whole day to kill, anyway, and at least it made him feel as if he was still doing something for Pauline.
He was about to head for Darius’s shop in Mission Bay when his phone trilled.
It was a call from Donna. She sounded breathless. His nerves jangled.
“I heard from Ridley this morning. The doctors say Kinsey’s got pneumonia and he’s been admitted at the hospital. He’s too weak to talk right now.”
He groaned. Another delay.
Donna went on, her voice an excited whisper. “I’m here now checking in to visit Sarah, and guess who just showed up.”
“Darius?”
“Fran. She’s got a bunch of flowers with her. She asked what room Jeff Kinsey was in, but the desk clerk wouldn’t tell her. Odd, right? She’s on her phone right now, texting.”
“Yeah, odd.” The skin along his neck tingled. “Keep an eye on her if you can. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
As he drove, he tried to figure out what Fran’s interest in Jeff Kinsey might possibly be.
Could be she’d struck up a friendship with him when he worked for Darius.
A friendship? With a guy whom her fiancé would happily murder?
Right, he thought as he increased speed.
* * *
The lobby was a swarm of activity as a group of carolers wearing Santa hats arrived. As they arranged themselves and sang with gusto, Donna lost track of Fran in the milling crowd. Ten minutes later she spotted the woman stepping off the elevator, which was on its way down. Donna lingered in the lobby, keeping to the side of the tinsel-covered Christmas tree to prevent Fran from seeing her.
She watched through the sliding doors as Fran exited the hospital. After she sniffed the bouquet of carnations, touching her cheek to the satin petals, she dumped it into the trash, got into her car and left.
Donna had no idea what to make of it. As she waited for Brent, she dialed the office. Candace answered. “Marco’s on the other line. What’s up?”
“Can you have Marco use his connections to find out anything he can about Fran Mercer?”
“I thought we’d decided that wasn’t the right trail to follow.”
“There’s something going on, Candace. Trust me on this, okay?”
There was a pause. She imagined her sister’s thoughts. You’re not an investigator. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re grasping at straws because you have feelings for Brent. She clenched the phone.
“Okay,” she said. “But promise me you aren’t going to do anything dangerous.”
“I promise,” she agreed with a sigh of relief.
They said goodbye. For a moment after the disconnection, she savored the feeling. She and her sister had endured their share of hostility, anger and out-and-out fighting, but Candace trusted her and it buoyed her spirits. She was grateful to God that He had softened both their hearts with forgiveness. Sisters are with you cradle to grave, her grandmother used to say. What finer blessing could there be?
With renewed fire, she determined to head back up to the second and third floors and check things out for herself. She’d made it to the elevator when Brent caught up. He moved with the grace of a tiger, big strides eating up the ground.
He squeezed through the doors before they closed.
“We’ve got to stop meeting in elevators,” he said.
“You look happier than when I last saw you.”
“Got the all clear to return to duty tomorrow.”
“Oh. I’m happy for you.” And she was, mostly, though heaviness tugged at
her insides. His life, his purpose. Without her.
He smiled and urged her to fill him in.
“I’ve only seen a woman throw away flowers once,” he said once she was finished.
She raised an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”
He flushed. “Uh, no, but suffice it to say, I had it coming. Fran’s up to something. Those flowers were just a prop. I figured I’d do a little sleuthing, start at the third floor and work my way down.”
They stepped out on the third floor.
“There’s Kinsey’s room,” Brent said. A Coronado cop was stationed outside his door, thumbs hooked through his belt loops. “Glad Ridley’s not taking any chances.”
Donna felt better. Certainly Fran had not been admitted to see Kinsey.
“I’m going to see if I can charm my way past the cop,” Brent said.
Donna watched as Brent put on an easy smile and approached the officer. He was ordered to stop before he got halfway there.
“No visitors, sir. Turn around and go back, please.”
Brent held up his palms. “I understand. I just wanted to check on Kinsey’s condition. He’s involved in my sister’s disappearance—I’m sure Officer Ridley has told you.”
“Yes, sir. He told me under no circumstances is anyone other than medical personnel to pass through this door, especially an individual named Brent Mitchell or anyone with the last name of Gallagher.”
Donna almost smiled.
Brent grudgingly thanked the officer and turned around.
“That went well,” she said.
“Should have had you try it. You’re way better-looking.”
She laughed. “At least we know Fran didn’t get in to see him, either.”
A swell of noise announced the arrival of the Christmas carolers, Santa hats and grins in place. They started in on the singing. Nurses and visitors stepped out into the hallway to listen and the space was soon crammed with people. Donna made her way to the far end of the floor.
“Sarah,” Donna said, knocking softly to wake her sister.
Sarah opened one eye. “What is that racket?”
“It’s caroling,” she said. “Do you want to get in the wheelchair and go listen?”
“No,” she said, closing her eyes.
Donna did not miss the pain that rippled across her sister’s face. Not the physical kind, but the reminder that the season was filled with anguish where there used to be joy, anguish for which Sarah blamed herself.
She pressed a kiss to her sister’s temple and walked back out into the hallway and over to the far end. Brent leaned against the wall, alert, as the carolers swarmed around him. Donna noticed the door to the stairwell open. A man with overalls and a cap pulled down over his eyes stepped out. He carried a metal bucket. Brent stiffened. The singing rose in volume, loud in the narrow hallway.
The cop stood in the doorway, not budging from his post.
Donna lost sight of the man in overalls for a moment as the Santa hats filled the corridor. Then, as if in slow motion, she saw him take something from the bucket and lob it into the air. It exploded with a deafening boom and a brilliant flash of light.
* * *
Brent scrambled toward the explosion, his body clumsy from the disabling noise, blinded by the flash. When his vision cleared after a long five seconds of furious blinking, he saw that the cop had been knocked backward into the wall and lay unmoving on the floor. Brent plunged toward him, but he could not make progress against the screaming carolers.
“Fire!” a voice to his left shouted.
The smell of smoke burned his nose. Flames erupted as a cart full of paper products caught fire.
A nurse picked herself up from the floor and leaped into action, activating a fire alarm and assisting those nearest her who had fallen. Brent batted the burning towels away from the others before they could catch flame. Donna appeared with a fire extinguisher she’d taken from the wall, but the panicked carolers prevented her from getting through.
“Catch,” she called, tossing him the extinguisher. He snagged it.
“Give it to me,” an orderly commanded, and Brent was happy to oblige.
He struggled to see over the madness and when he did, his breath froze in his lungs. Kinsey, clad in a hospital gown, face blank, was staggering toward the stairwell, an IV tube trailing from his arm.
“Stop,” Brent thundered over the cacophony. Kinsey did not look up, pushing through the stairwell door. The workman with the cap hustled after him, stepping over the prostrate police officer. The workman didn’t look back, just hurried after Kinsey.
Was it Darius? The figure seemed too bulky. Brent hastily helped a woman to her feet, steadied another and reached Donna, who was assisting those nearest to her. His ears still throbbed from the bang, which had probably exceeded 170 decibels.
“What was that?” Donna panted.
“Stun grenade. It’s meant to disorient.”
“It works,” she said, shaking her head. “My senses are scrambled.”
“Kinsey’s getting away. Call Ridley.”
“Sarah’s already done it.”
He made for the stairs, but as much as he wanted to pursue the two men, he could not leave the downed officer. After he did a quick assessment, he shouted to a nearby nurse. “Here.” He pointed to the injured cop. “He’s breathing on his own. Pulse is steady.”
She nodded, immediately taking charge of the victim.
Two hospital security people emerged through the far door and began trying to restore order. An elderly woman with her glasses knocked askew pawed at Brent’s arm. “What should we do? What’s happened?”
Squeezing her hand, he helped her to a chair and waved over a doctor who was jogging toward the confusion. “It’s going to be okay, ma’am. Just sit here for a minute and catch your breath.”
Brent finally extricated himself from the carolers and sprinted for the stairwell. Donna followed.
Throwing the door open, he could hear the escapees. When he risked a quick look over the rail, the man with the cap had grabbed Kinsey by the shoulders, leading him down the stairwell. Kinsey was weak, stumbling. Was he abducting Kinsey or helping him escape? It was impossible to tell, but Brent wasn’t going to let him get away in any case. He increased speed and made it to the final landing just as the two were a couple of steps from the door to the outside.
The workman had now picked Kinsey up and slung him over his shoulder. Brent came close enough to get a good look. It was Mooch, the guy who had tried to run Darius down in the ocean.
“You’re not getting out of here,” Brent shouted. “Give it up.”
“I’m never gonna be caught by you, Boy Wonder.”
Yeah? Just watch. As Brent attacked the final flight of stairs, his foot tangled with Donna’s as she sprinted to catch up. He stumbled, catching himself on the railing. Momentum carried Donna forward before he could stop her. Her hair was tangled, her face resolute; his brain noted how very beautiful she was as his gut tightened in fear.
“Bye, bye, Boy Wonder,” he heard Mooch say.
“Donna, stop,” he yelled.
As he got to his feet again, the stairwell seemed to explode. He watched Donna, framed by an intense ball of light, somersaulting through the air. Then his senses went black.
EIGHTEEN
Donna felt as though she was being smothered by the darkness and silence. She must have landed in the bottom of some cold, dark well where her senses would not cooperate. Then came the noise and the sensation of tumbling.
At the edges of her consciousness there was heat and the beginnings of pain.
In her daze she realized she was being carried, lowered to the ground and rolled until the breath was squeezed out of her.
Stop, she wanted to cry to her
torturer, but her mouth would not cooperate.
Finally, the movement subsided. She realized she was outside, lying on the grass. Through her blurred vision, she made out Brent’s face, lined with terror. His mouth was moving, but she could not hear him. She wanted to reach up, to stroke his troubled brow and reassure him, but her arms were leaden, trapped at her sides.
Her ears began to clear.
“Donna,” he was whispering. “Say something to me. Please.”
“I’m dizzy.”
The two words seemed to break the horror that held him captive. He leaned in and gently pressed his forehead to hers. “Honey, you scared me.” His breath was warm and comforting on her face.
She wanted to tip up her chin the tiniest bit and give him a reassuring kiss, but he was busy scanning her body, feeling her pulse, calling to someone who approached them.
“Kinsey...?”
“He’s gone. Doesn’t matter. Cops will get him. Lie still, okay? Until we have you checked out.”
She struggled to a sitting position in spite of his protests. “It was another of those flash grenades?”
He nodded.
“I hate those things.”
“Me, too. It threw you off your feet and your clothes caught fire.”
She looked down at her blackened pants. “Is that why you were tossing me all over the grass?”
“Yes. I think you may have some burns and you fell hard against the stairwell. They’re going to need to check you for a possible concussion.”
She groaned as she started to feel some pain in her arms. “My father always said I had the hardest head of all the Gallagher daughters, but personally, I think Candace should get that title.”
He smiled, but his gaze drifted over the parking lot. Approaching sirens whined. She caught up his hand, throat thick. “You let them get away, didn’t you, because of me?”
His eyes were dark pools of oil as he looked at the clouded backdrop of the sky. “Ridley will find them. Kinsey’s sick. They can’t get too far.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, grasping his hand. “You should have gone after them and left me.”
