by Tami Dane
“We don’t know that yet.”
“We can pretty much rule out the doctors—” I cut myself off as the man I presumed to be Dr. Patel came strolling in. I stood. So did JT.
After exchanging pleasantries and introductions, we all three sat down.
“How can I help you?” the doctor asked with a mild accent.
“We’d like to talk to you about one of your patients,” JT explained. “Katherine Jewett.”
His expression remained unreadable. “You realize her medical files are protected.”
“We’re not interested in accessing any private medical information,” JT told him.
The doctor leaned back in his chair. “Then what kind of information are you looking for?”
“First, I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Jewett is dead,” JT said. “Murdered.”
The doctor’s reaction was expected. He looked surprised and saddened. “This is very unfortunate news. Surprising too.”
“Yes, it is.” JT gave the doctor a moment before continuing. “We’re working with local police to profile her killer. To do that, we need to gather as much information about both the killer and the victim as possible. Which leads us to why we’re here. Mrs. Jewett is the second victim in a series of recent killings. All three women were pregnant and within weeks of delivery. We’re trying to find a common thread among them. They weren’t all your patients, but I’m wondering if you employ personnel who might work in multiple locations?”
The doctor’s eyes widened. “You think the killer may be one of my employees?”
“Or perhaps an employee contracted by another company to provide some kind of service?” I offered.
“Hmm. Let me think. There’s the ultrasound technician. She travels from office to office and would be the only one who might have contact with my patients. There’s also the cleaning crew—we contract an outside company for that. And some administration tasks, such as billing.”
“That’s excellent,” JT said. “Is there any way you could provide a list of the companies you contract, along with contact information?”
“Absolutely. Anything I can do to help. Agents, should I be warning my other patients about the danger?”
JT leaned toward the doctor, resting an elbow on the desk between them. “We’d like to ask you to please keep this information to yourself for the time being. We wouldn’t want to cause a panic. And at this point, we don’t know if there is any connection between your practice and the crime.”
“We will keep you posted, however, and if we get something more substantial, we’ll let you know,” I added, hoping to ease his worries somewhat.
The doctor stood. Extended a hand. “Thank you. I hope you catch whoever did it.”
“We’re doing our best,” I said, shaking his hand.
The doctor gave a short nod and headed toward the door. “Please wait here. I’ll get the information you need.”
Almost three hours later, we were back at the PBAU. We’d visited the third doctor and made a second trip back to the first. JT was lurking around my cubicle. I was reading—or rather trying to read—the handwritten notes the doctors had given us.
“I thought my handwriting was bad. What they say about doctors’ handwriting is definitely true. I can’t make out a word of this chicken scratch.”
“I’ll take a look, if you like.”
“Be my guest.” I pointed at the scribbles. “I think we may have something here. If I’m reading this right, all three use the same ultrasound company. At least an ultrasound technician would have some medical training. More than someone doing billing.”
“Or running a vacuum,” JT finished. “I’ll call all three practices to confirm the company’s name. You can call the company itself and get a list of technicians. Bonus points if you can get the locations each one travels to.”
“I’ll do my best.”
A plan of attack in place, we wasted no time. JT dashed back to his cubicle. I did a quick Google search for the ultrasound company, to make sure I had read the phone number correctly. Then I placed the call. After speaking to three people, including two managers, I came to the conclusion that I wouldn’t get the information we needed without paying them a visit in person.
I headed back to JT’s cubicle to tell him. He wasn’t there. I checked a few places, including Chief Peyton’s office and the conference room. Not there either.
Deciding I’d head over to the ultrasound company on my own, I tossed my computer back in its case and zipped it shut.
“Where are you going?” Gabe asked as he strolled through the unit’s main entry.
“I need to visit a company that provides ultrasound services to OB doctors in the area.”
“Cool. Want some company?”
“Sure.” I glanced around. Still no sign of JT.
My cell phone rang as we were heading out to my car. Mom. I considered ignoring it but decided that would only make things worse. I answered.
“You have exactly two hours to get over here,” Mom said.
“Hi, Mom. It’s good to talk to you too! How have you been? I’ve been busy. We’re working an important case—”
“I don’t want to hear about your case. I don’t want to hear about stupid queens or assassination plots or anything else.” Then she broke down and sobbed in my ear.
“What’s wrong?” I started to slide into the driver’s seat, but Gabe nudged me away, mouthing I should ride shotgun so I could talk to my mother. I didn’t put up a fight.
“Your father is driving me nuts. He’s been gone for three days. Three! Fricking! Days! I haven’t heard a word. Not one.”
“Mom, I’m sure he’s okay.”
“I hate him right now.”
“Of course, you do. I would too.”
She cried in my ear for ten more minutes while I tried to console her. It wasn’t working. If anything, I think she was getting more worked up. Finally I said, “Mom, I’ll come over as soon as I can. Can you hang on for a little while?”
“I.” Sob. “Don’t.” Sniffle. “Know.” Snort.
“Okay. Give me a minute. I’ll call Katie and see if she can go over to your place until I can get there.”
“No.” Sob. Sniffle. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay. I’m going to hang up now. So I can call Katie. Okay?”
“Okay,” she blubbered.
I hung up.
I sighed.
“What’s going on?” Gabe asked.
I gave him an index finger response and dialed Katie’s number. “Just a little domestic situation,” I told him. “Nothing big.”
Katie answered on the fifth ring. “Hello?”
“Are you busy right now?” I asked.
“Um. Kinda. Why? Jesse’s here. We’re not watching a movie this time.”
“Oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Mom’s a wreck, and I’m in the middle of something. I can’t get to her for a while... .”
“You want me to go over and calm her down?” Katie asked.
“If you don’t mind?”
“Sure.”
“You’re the best.”
“Just remember that the next time I do something annoying,” she said, her voice bubbly with laughter.
“Like fill our apartment with toxic fumes?”
“Yeah, like that.”
We hung up. I looked at Gabe.
“Problems at home?” he asked.
“What’s new, right?” I grumbled. He seemed to be suppressing a grin. “Go ahead, laugh.”
“I wouldn’t laugh. That would be rude. And immature.”
“A few weeks ago you would’ve laughed.”
“That was before.”
I didn’t touch that comment. To do so would be like waltzing into an emotional minefield. Lately, Gabe was going out of his way to remind me that we’d once dated. This was in stark contrast to how he’d treated me the last few years. He’d been an ass. I’d hated him.
He’d appeared to hate me. It was all so simple then. Who would’ve thought I’d miss it?
At least our mutual hating had been comfortable. Predictable. This new ... whatever it was called was far from comfortable or predictable.
I could tell he was trying his hardest to make me see him as a new-and-improved Gabe Wagner. And, of course, he was also doing his damnedest to make me see JT as a jerkwad. The former was working to a point; the latter ... well, I couldn’t see JT as a jerkwad, as much as I wished I could.
“Want to talk about it?” Gabe asked as he maneuvered the car into a tight spot between a Hummer and a semi-truck, both traveling at least eighty miles per hour.
“What?”
“The problem. At home.”
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
“I’d rather talk about the case,” I said. “There are three dead women in the morgue and three missing infants out there somewhere. That’s what we need to focus on.”
“Of course.”
“Did you get anywhere today?”
Eyes focused on the road, where they should be, Gabe shook his head. “Not really. I can tell you what the victims’ favorite foods were, their routines, their relationships with their husbands, neighbors, and friends. But nothing’s connecting. Nothing’s making sense. We’re missing something. Something big.”
“I’m hoping we’re onto that ‘something’ here.”
“I hope you’re right. Because at the rate this guy’s killing, we’re soon going to have dozens of dead women in the morgue.”
Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young. The greatest thing in life is to keep your mind young.
—Henry Ford
8
Sano Health Services was housed in an attached brick structure, flanked on either side by two light-industrial companies—a package delivery service and a medical sales office. Gabe pulled the car into the packed lot around the side and we walked in together.
A young woman with a cheery smile greeted us as soon as we stepped inside. The reception desk was neat and orderly, but not new. And not fancy. I was guessing they didn’t get a lot of walk-in traffic. “Hello. How may I help you?”
Gabe and I flashed our IDs—the ones that provided access to the military base upon which the PBAU’s office was located. They didn’t say FBI, but it was the best we had.
“We work for an FBI unit that investigates local violent crimes. We need to talk to someone about getting a list of employees who have provided ultrasound services at a few local OB-GYN practices,” I explained.
“Hmm.” The woman held up an index finger. “One moment, please, if you don’t mind waiting over there.” She pointed to a couple of well-used metal-framed chairs positioned along one wall.
“Sure,” I said.
We sat.
The young woman disappeared behind one of the three doors that exited off the small lobby area.
“I hope I don’t have to call in JT,” I mumbled.
Gabe didn’t look worried. “We’ll get what we need.”
The woman returned. “Do you have any identification that specifies you’re with the FBI?”
“No, we don’t,” I said. “We’re ... interns. Hired for the summer.”
The woman scowled. “I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.”
“We can provide the name and phone number of our superior,” I offered as I pulled one of Chief Peyton’s cards out of my pocket.
She took the card and disappeared again.
This time, she didn’t return for a while. I was sure we would be leaving empty-handed. If only the FBI would provide their interns with some kind of official-looking ID, but I could appreciate why that might be a bad idea. In our case, however, because we were doing more than making lunch and coffee runs, some kind of ID would have come in handy. Thus, we were usually paired with an agent. And that agent, in my case, was almost always JT.
Finally she returned. “I’m sorry, but the information you requested is private. We can’t give it to you.”
Damn.
“However,” the woman said, “we’ve spoken to your superior, Agent Peyton. She’s coming in to pick up the list in an hour.”
“Okay. I guess that’s the best we can do. Thank you.”
Feeling defeated, and slightly irritated, I headed out to the car.
A few minutes shy of an hour later, I was standing on the front porch of the new house my father had just purchased for my mom. She’d moved in a few days ago. I hadn’t been inside yet. She took me on a drive-by the day before they’d closed.
This ... mansion ... was beyond words. It was huge. It was grand. It was everything Mom’s old apartment wasn’t. And Mom deserved every last square foot. That was because “dear old Dad” pulled a fast one on her twenty-something years ago, faked his death, and then disappeared. Mom was devastated. I grew up believing he was dead, until a week ago when he just reappeared, gave us a half-assed explanation about why he’d stayed away so long, and bought Mom this house as an apology.
Even before he’d bought the house, Mom had decided to forgive him. Me, I’m on the fence. I don’t buy his nonexcuse. And I don’t trust him.
After this call about him pulling another disappearing act, I had even more reason to distrust him.
A strange man answered the door. He was beautiful. Face. Eyes. Perfect hair. And even though he was fully clothed, I could tell his body was lean but overly muscled, perfectly proportioned for some woman’s fantasy inspiration. But not mine. Maybe it was the cocky leer that killed it for me.
I forced a smile. “Hi, I’m Sloan.”
“I’m Sergio. Your mother’s expecting you. She’s on the back patio.”
“Thanks.” I paused in the foyer. There was a waterfall on the wall. A waterfall. Insane. I looked toward Sergio for some help finding the back patio.
He obliged, leading me through the main floor of the house, past furnishings that had to cost more money than I would probably earn in a lifetime, to a set of French doors. I stepped out onto a brick patio covered with a wood pagoda. Directly in front of me was an inground swimming pool. I located my mother, lounging on a chaise watching the flat-screen TV that was mounted on a brick wall.
A television outside. More insanity.
“Mom?”
“Sloan.” Mom motioned to the lounge next to hers. “Come sit with me.”
“Where’s Katie?”
“She had to go.” Staring at the huge color screen in front of us, Mom channel surfed.
“Are you okay?” I plopped my butt on the chaise.
“I’m fine.”
“But—”
“Your father called. It was another emergency with Her Majesty.” Mom rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you, the woman is a drama queen. No doubt it was another false alarm.” Her eyes sparkled. “Ooh. House Hunters International is on. I’m thinking about buying a house in southern France. Or maybe Spain... .”
“France?” I echoed, standing.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I’m hungry. And tired. I haven’t had any dinner yet. I’ve been on the run all day—”
“Why don’t you eat with me? We can order anything you like.”
“Well ...”
Finally Mom looked at me. She gave me one of her trademark pleading pouts. “Your father won’t be home until sometime tomorrow. I’m lonely. We can have a nice dinner out here by the pool. And then we can work on my wedding registry at Neiman Marcus.”
Neiman Marcus. Mom was really enjoying the being-rich thing. But after spending over twenty years struggling to pay her rent, I could hardly blame her. She deserved to enjoy a little indulgence.
“Fine.”
Mom’s face lit up. “Oh, Sloany, thank you.” She grabbed her cell phone and dialed. “What would you like for dinner?”
“I don’t care. Surprise me.”
Mom called in an order for some kind of vegetarian-
whole-grain-organic something. Hung up. Then she turned her attention back to the couple on television who were touring a two-hundred-year-old stone farmhouse in Aveyron. “Oh, just look at that view! I would love to wake up to that.”
“I think I’ll go out to my car and grab my computer,” I said to her profile.
“Okay.” She waved me off.
I headed back inside, slightly sunblind from the outside glare. Blinking, I backtracked through the house, heading to the front door. I caught Sergio coming out of a room not far from the foyer.
He shut the room’s door behind him, gave me a smile that would make a lesser girl swoon, and asked, “Are you leaving already?”
“No. I need something in my car.”
“Good.” Looking pleased, he nodded, then accompanied me to the front door. “Do you need any help carrying it in?”
“Oh, no. It’s not big or heavy. It’s just a laptop.”
“Okay.” He moved to let me pass, holding the door open for me. As I walked across the front porch toward the stairs, I sensed that he was watching me. Unable to stop myself, I glanced over my shoulder to check.
He was.
My face probably turned ten shades of red as I rounded the corner toward my car. While I grabbed my laptop case, I found myself doing a quick mirror check. I smiled to make sure there was nothing in my teeth. Then I fiddled with my hair a little. As I strolled back toward the house, I reminded myself why I didn’t need to encourage any attention from my mother’s household staff members. Particularly ones who had inflated muscles and an ego to match. Men who looked that good were trouble. Always. I had two in my life already. I didn’t need a third.
Sergio was waiting for me at the door. Before I’d made it to the top of the steps, he had it open and, with a stunning smile, was inviting me inside.
I thanked him politely and headed back to the patio.
Mom was right where I’d left her.
I spent the next half hour or so talking to the side of her head while she watched her television shows, and Sergio cleaned the pool—shirtless. He reached. He flexed. He skimmed. He flexed some more.
The ego was really getting to me. Not impressed. Nope.
