by W. L. Dyson
Rafe nodded, staring at the floor as if he might find some helpful words down there. She knew he wouldn't find them. No one had.
“How much does Nick know?” she asked.
“I haven't told him yet. Right now, it's just between me and Conner.”
“Why not? Tell Nick, I mean?”
He leaned one shoulder against the door and looked at the floor again for a moment before lifting his face. “Because I haven't had a chance for one thing. But, honestly, I don't think it's my place to tell him the whole truth. You need to do that.” He turned and reached for the door handle, then paused, not turning back to look at her. “How much time do you have?”
She swallowed hard, not wanting to answer, not wanting to put it out there in the air where it would become tangible and real. She closed her eyes and admitted, “Weeks. Months, maybe.”
“Never give up, Annie.”
She heard the door click and opened her eyes. She was alone.
11
Thursday, 3:20 a.m.
Old tire factory complex near Jiffy's Bar, Garrison Blvd., Baltimore
Zeena?” Charlie poked at her with two fingers, but she didn't move or respond. Not good, not good, not good. He stared at her for a few seconds and finally saw a slight movement in her chest. She was alive. Barely.
Charlie could feel the panic, the confusion. Call the medic chopper? No. Call. Call. Someone. Who was he supposed to call? Wait. No phone.
“Zeena! You have to wake up.”
But Zeena didn't move. Charlie shook his hands as if trying to get water off them while a million thoughts bombarded his mind. Do something. Do something. Don't let her die. Too many have died. Too many will never go home. One more flag-draped coffin.
No. Not a soldier. Zeena. It's Zeena. Have to help her.
Charlie reached down and scooped Zeena into his arms. She felt as weightless as a bird. Holding her tight against his chest, he left the building and started walking down the street. From time to time, someone would eye him warily, but no one bothered him. No one stopped him. No one offered to help.
He finally reached the door to the emergency room. He stood there for a moment, wondering if he could go in. No. They would blame him for Zeena's condition.
Gently, he lowered Zeena to the ground. “They'll take care of you, Zeena. I promise.”
Sirens rang in the distance. With one final pat on Zeena's cheek, he scurried off into the night.
Thursday, 4:00 a.m.
Sinai Hospital, Baltimore
Tracie Pinto, an ER nurse, grabbed a gurney and headed for the ER doors. The ambulance with the car accident victim would be pulling up in a matter of minutes, and she had to be out there and waiting.
“Two minutes out,” another nurse told her as she ran up and grabbed the other end of the gurney.
Tracie nodded and stopped in her tracks when she stepped through the hospital's automatic doors. A gaunt, sweaty woman lay sprawled on the ground. Tracie knelt beside the woman, feeling for a pulse. Then she recognized her face.
“Call Dr. Burdine,” she said to a nearby orderly who was smoking. “Tell him that Ann McNamara is here and she's unconscious. And tell Ben to get out here and bring a gurney.”
The orderly rushed off.
Tracie picked up Zeena's hand. “Hold on, Annie. Just hold on.”
A small boy walked down a dirt road, kicking at every stone and rock he came across. Trees, tall and green, towered around him as a cerulean sky shimmered overhead. When he saw a curious-looking black bird, he began to follow it as it moved from tree to tree. Then he saw the man in the distance, walking along, swinging a walking stick as he moved, his feet barely touching the ground. Positive it was his father, the boy began to run, screaming out, “Daddy! Daddy!”
But either the man couldn't hear him or he was ignoring him. The boy ran harder, faster, desperate now to reach his father. No matter how hard he ran or how fast, he couldn't seem to close the distance. As he continued to scream out for his dad, he began to cry. Still, the man never turned around. Never acknowledged him.
The man could feel the boy's anguish. His desperation. His fear of being left alone and abandoned. His breathing became as labored as the boy's. His heart pounded just as hard. Clenching his fists, he fought to run as the boy ran, urging the boy to run faster, yell louder, to not give up. Keep going!
And then the man stopped and cocked his head, as if listening for something. Once again, the boy screamed out, “Daddy! I'm here! Daddy!”
Slowly, the man turned and waited as the boy covered the distance between them. Finally, the boy collapsed at the man's feet, lifting his face to look up at the man through his tears. “Daddy?”
The man looked sad as he gently shook his head. “Alas, I never knew you.”
Thursday, 6:10 a.m.
Towson, Maryland
Nick woke with a start, sweat streaming down his face. Or were those tears? Swallowing hard, his heart still pounding, Nick waited while the fear and confusion of his dream lifted. Then he became aware of the pain. It racked his chest. Every breath felt like someone stepping on his lungs. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
His bedroom. His bed. His home.
It slowly came to him. He'd been shot. And Zeena had gotten away.
“Nick?”
He turned his head and looked at Conner. “Hey,” he said softly and then licked his dry lips.
“I've got coffee brewing.”
Nick nodded as best he could, and then forced his body to obey as he sat up. “Why are you still here?”
“Because if there's one thing I'm intimately familiar with, it's pain. And the day after is always the worst.” He nodded toward the night-stand next to the bed. “There's juice and Motrin for you. And if that doesn't help, I have some heavy-duty painkillers in my truck that will help. I'll go grab your coffee.” Conner walked out of the room.
Nick eased his feet to the floor and closed his eyes. Images flashed through his mind. Running across the street. Jumping toward Annie. A bullet striking him. A sharp, burning pain. An old building. A shadow moving. His ribs cracking, stealing his breath. Running and running and running, stealing his breath.
I never knew you.
I never knew you.
I never knew you.
He opened his eyes. It was just a dream. Didn't mean anything. Just a nightmare.
Still, something about it bothered him. He tried to pinpoint what his dream meant, to understand it. But the more he tried to reach it, the farther away it seemed to be.
Just like God.
How long had he tried to be faithful to God? How long had he been praying for the business? His marriage? His family? And where had God been? Far away, it would seem. He'd been raised to believe that as long as he honored God's laws, as long as he lived the best life he could, as long as he paid his tithes and belonged to a church, he'd be okay. It might have worked for his father, but it wasn't working for him. He may have seemed strong and together to everyone else, but he was nowhere near okay.
So what was the point? The harder he tried to make everything work, the worse things seemed to get. When his father asked him to leave the police department and come to work with him at Prodigal, he'd honored his father's wishes and quit the force. And then what happened? His father dropped dead. He'd taken care of his mom, and what happened? She got Alzheimer's and had to go into a nursing home. He tried to provide for his family, and what happened? His wife wanted a divorce. He tried to take care of the business, and what happened? Bankruptcy loomed. He took a fugitive into custody…and Lisa and her friend were killed.
And when he tried to do the right thing and save a girl's life, he ended up getting shot. Yeah, this God stuff was working out real well.
Thursday, 6:15 a.m.
Sinai Hospital, Baltimore
“Well, you're not Annie McNamara, so I'm going to assume you're the sister she's been looking for. Hello, Barbara. I'm Dr. Burdine, and you're at Sinai. Someone brought you in, but the
y didn't stick around to tell anyone who you really were.”
Zeena blinked against the bright light that the doctor was shining into her eyes. “What happened?”
“You're a lucky woman. Another hour or so and we'd be planning your funeral.”
Zeena tried to remember how she got to a hospital. The last thing she remembered was partying with Iris. “How do you know my sister?”
“I'm her doctor. When you were brought in, the nurses thought you were Annie and called me. The problem is, Annie doesn't smoke cocaine, shoot up heroin, or have a rose tattoo.”
“No, she was always the good girl.” Zeena shifted in the bed and licked her lips. “Look, I've done a lot of drugs in my time, but I've never felt like th—”
“Thirsty?” the doctor asked.
“Yes.”
He picked up a cup of ice chips and spooned a few into her mouth. “Well, this is what happens when you overdose on insulin instead of heroin.”
“Insulin? No. No way. Iris and me—” She paused, trying to remember if she actually saw Iris shoot up. “That would mean that…Iris tried to kill me?” She shook her head. “No. She's my friend. Maybe. I don't know. She gives me drugs.”
“Well, I can't speak to whether it was intentional or not. All I can tell you is that you were lying unconscious outside the hospital doors about three hours ago and that you were in insulin shock.”
“Doesn't make sense. I don't do insulin.”
Dr. Burdine spooned another spoonful of ice into her mouth. “Well, I'm glad to hear you didn't intend to shoot insulin. I'm not glad that you meant to shoot heroin. You could have died, Barbara. Either way, it's no good for Annie.”
“No. For sure, I didn't mean to shoot insulin.” But before she could wonder why Iris would try to kill her, she realized the doctor had mentioned her sister. “Wait. What's going on with my sister?”
“We were hoping you'd be able to help her.”
Zeena cracked a piece of ice, letting the rest melt and slide down her hot throat. “Help her how?”
“She's dying. Her only chance is a bone marrow transplant. She thought you could be a match, but I didn't realize you were a drug addict. Unfortunately, you're not going to be able to help her, after all.”
The shock that she had unknowingly shot insulin was bad enough. But this was much worse. She hadn't been close to her sister in years, but to think of little Annie dying was unbearable. As long as Annie was out there—healthy and successful—it was as if some part of Zeena was out there as well. “Annie? Is dying?”
Dr. Burdine pulled up a chair and sat down. “Yes. I gather you haven't spoken to her.”
Zeena shook her head. “No. We were supposed to meet. Things got complicated.” She had seen Carver's men and split. She didn't know how they knew she'd be there, but it didn't matter. They were there, and she couldn't stick around to talk to her sister.
“Well, I'll have my nurse call Annie and let her know that you can't help her.”
The doctor's words stung. “What about someone else in the family? Can't they help?”
He slipped his glasses off and used the corner of his lab coat to wipe them. “Everyone else has been tested. No one is a match. You being her twin was her last hope.”
Annie. Dying. It just didn't seem possible. “Why is she dying? Why does she need a bone marrow transplant?”
“Annie had cancer. She went through chemo. Sometimes, in rare cases, it causes a condition called aplastic anemia. Annie is one of those rare cases, I'm sorry to say.”
She didn't know. Her sister had been going through hell and she didn't know. Why had she thought that time had been frozen with her parents and Annie? That things were exactly the same as the last time she had seen them? Nothing at home was ever supposed to change. No one grew older. No one developed cancer. No one became one of those rare cases. No one died.
“How long does she have?”
“Not long. A month. Maybe a couple of weeks.”
A month. A couple of weeks. While she was out hiding from her pain, her sister was facing hers and worse. It was time to step up for the first time in a very long time. It was time to do something she hadn't done since she and Annie were just innocent kids with their whole lives in front of them. It was time to help Annie again. One last time.
“Excuse me, Doctor? Could you make a call for me?”
“I can do that. Who would you like me to call?” He pulled out a pen and a small notepad.
“Their names are Paul and Marian Lansing.”
“Okay. And who are these people?”
“They're the couple raising my son.”
12
Thursday, 6:30 a.m.
1428 Larkspur Drive, Timonium, Maryland
Steven glanced over at the closed guest room door where his sister had spent the night. They'd stayed up late talking; much later than either of them had expected. He wanted to know more about her life, but she refused to answer, which only made the questions multiply in his mind. But he knew that Marti would reveal only what she wanted and in her own good time. Still, he'd enjoyed the time and had to force himself to let her off the hook and go to bed.
Running his hands through his still-wet hair, he made his way into the kitchen.
“Coffee's made.”
Marti was sitting on the kitchen counter, dressed in a pair of his sweats that were way too big for her, her bare feet swinging, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug.
“You're up early.”
“I usually don't sleep more than two or three hours,” she said and then sipped some of her coffee.
“You still have dark circles under your eyes.” Steven opened the back door. “Go on, Killer. Do your thing and hurry back for some breakfast.” He opened the door for Killer, then looked toward Marti. “Hungry?”
She shook her head. “Don't usually eat first thing. My stomach never could seem to handle it.”
“Oh yeah. How could I forget the million and one battles between you and Mom—her insisting that breakfast was important and you only nibbling on a piece of toast.”
“A memory I've tried to forget. So, tell me about this case that got Nick shot.”
He filled the dog's food and water bowls. “We don't have all the details yet, but rumor has it that a street girl named Zeena—a skip we're after—was involved with a guy named Danny, who made the mistake of ticking off the wrong people. And somehow Zeena is in the middle of it. Now they're looking for her and they don't appreciate that we're in the middle of their hunt.”
“So you need to find this girl before they do.”
Steven nodded and headed for the fridge. Just because Marti didn't want food didn't mean he had to starve. He pulled out some eggs. “Big detail though—we somehow missed the fact that Zeena has a twin sister. Nick almost hauled her in by mistake.”
Marti flinched. “Bet that didn't go over well.”
Steven chuckled as he found the cheese and then reached for the milk. “To say the least. So the girl is looking for her sister, Zeena, and insists that Nick help her—threatening that if he doesn't she will sue for breaking and entering or some nonsense. Then she sets up a meeting with Zeena, so by the time he finds out and arrives on scene, he steps into a hornet's nest and gets shot.”
“So did he get Zeena?”
Steven cracked some eggs into a bowl, added some grated cheese and milk, and set a frying pan on the stove to heat up. “Nope. She got away.”
Killer scratched at the back door, and when Steven didn't appear, he started barking. Steven laughed as he reached over and opened the door. “Impatient little fella, isn't he?”
Marti just offered up a vacant smile as Killer headed for the food bowl. “So now what?”
“We have to find this Zeena.”
“Talk to me, Steven.”
Steven shrugged. “I'm not very good at working the streets the way the other guys are. I do better on the computer, researching people, tracking down families and friends and that sort
of thing.”
Marti fell quiet while Steven cooked his omelet. When he finally set it on a plate and grabbed a fork, she reached over and picked up the coffeepot. “I think you're selling yourself short. But then, you always did.”
“It doesn't matter. I'll do whatever I have to do. Krystal's life is at risk.”
Marti set the pot down hard. “What?”
“The main reason we're trying so hard to find Zeena is that she is closely linked to a man named Richie Carver. Richie and his brother, Jon, are infamous around town, and every enforcement agency in Baltimore's been trying to bring them in for tons of suspected crimes. But they've flown under the radar every time.
“About four days ago, Richie escaped from prison. And he's promised to kill Krystal. We know that if we find Zeena, Richie will follow, and we'll kill two birds with one stone.”
“Richie is threatening Krys because Nick put him away?”
“You got it.”
“And now that's he on the run, you guys think he'll stop and take time to go after her?”
Steven set his juice glass next to his plate. “He called within hours of breaking out and reminded Nick of his promise. Then he sent a letter to Nick's house just in case Nick didn't take him seriously the first time.”
Marti sat there, shaking her head in tiny, quick movements. “Well, he's not going to touch my niece, that's for sure.” She leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. “I want to help, Steven. But you can't tell anyone about it.”
“Tell me how that's supposed to work exactly.”
“I know the streets, Steven. I am the streets. I can go undercover and search for her in ways that you or Nick or any of the team can't. It'll be simple. I find her. I call you. You come pick her up. No one has to know I was ever involved. Nick sees you as a hero and gets off your back. And don't deny he's giving you a hard time for not being the devoted bounty hunter he is. I know him too well for that.”
