Heart Stop

by Radclyffe

  Olivia.

  The woman she wanted to impress for a whole lot of reasons, most of which had more to do with the persistent tug of desire every time she looked at her than any professional goal, and none of which she should be thinking about right now in the middle of her presentation. She was acquainted with almost everyone else in the room, at least by name, now. Olivia had taken her on a midmorning tour of the facilities to complete her orientation and, at the conclusion, had shown her to the lounge where the investigators and fellows fielded incoming calls and divvied up new cases.

  Adjacent to the pit, as one of the techs called the place that looked a lot like an OR lounge, was a little warren of cubicles loosely considered offices. Olivia told her to claim any empty cubbyhole for her own. After Olivia left her with an entirely appropriate and impersonal good-bye, Jay had spent the next few hours preparing the case presentation Olivia had assigned her. Most of the time she’d actually been able to concentrate. She only thought about Olivia every ten minutes or so.

  Olivia asked another question.

  Jay wasn’t sweating. She never sweated under pressure. Fortunately, the stage lights were low enough that any discomfort was pretty well hidden in the shadows. Not that she was uncomfortable. Hell, no. This was nothing compared to the two days of grilling she’d weathered when she’d taken her general surgery boards. She might be a newbie here, but she was far from being green and unseasoned. She walked everyone through the specifics of the scene, reviewing the photographs of the deceased and her field report along with Bobbi and Darrell’s. She finished with a summary of the post, which was pretty much negative.

  “Toxicology is pending, as is the identification of the deceased,” she said as she cut off the slides.

  Greenly cleared his throat somewhat impatiently. “So this appears to be an overdose and will be signed out as accidental.” He glanced at his watch. “What else do we have on the list?”

  Jay glanced at Olivia while waiting for a question or comment or something from someone. Olivia raised a brow a fraction of an inch—or it might just have been a trick of the dim auditorium lighting. No one said anything.

  Okay then. Game time. Jay rested her forearms on the podium and lightly gripped the raised edge. Her right hand had an annoying habit of trembling when she wasn’t using it, which might appear to others as nerves. And she wasn’t nervous. Greenly was a poseur.

  “Actually, Dr. Greenly,” Jay said, letting her voice carry but keeping it nice and cool and even, “that remains to be seen. The position of the body relative to the pattern of lividity, as I noted earlier in the field scenes, indicates her body was moved at least once after death. The reason for that remains unknown, as does the identity of whoever moved her, so we cannot say at this time the manner of death is accidental.”

  “Are you suggesting this could be a homicide?” He sounded as if she’d just proposed the girl had died from Ebola.

  “I’m not suggesting anything,” Jay said. “But I am pointing out that presently the evidence is incomplete and the final COD remains in question.”

  “Let’s not forget the old aphorism about zebras,” Dr. Greenly said, sounding as officious as he appeared.

  “Absolutely not,” Jay said amiably. “In this case, however, the hoofbeats are certainly related to some kind of horse. I’m just not willing to speculate which kind. I’d rather let the facts determine if we’ve got a Thoroughbred or a plow horse.”

  Several people laughed, including some staff members. Out of the corner of her eye, Jay saw Olivia smile.

  “Thank you, Dr. Reynolds,” Olivia said. “You can update us when the toxicology and the police examinations are compete. Dr. Inouye—I believe you’re next.”

  Jay collected her notes, slipped to the back of the stage, and stepped carefully down to floor level, annoyed she still needed her cane, but since remaining upright was preferable to toppling over, she used it. She settled into the third row and glanced over at Olivia. Olivia’s attention was on the stage, and when the presentations were finally over, she disappeared before Jay had a chance to speak with her. She tried to come up with some reason to drop around Olivia’s office and couldn’t fabricate anything that wouldn’t look like she was stalking her. Which she wasn’t. She was just healthily obsessed with a beautiful, smart, sexy woman, a welcome state after feeling more than half dead for months.

  She’d have to settle for seeing Olivia when they had cases together or during the thrice-weekly seminars. Her orientation period was over, and she’d been relegated to the pit. She’d gotten spoiled working directly with Olivia, and her frustration at not seeing her until tomorrow, if then, left her edgy and distracted. Since nothing was required of her for the rest of the day and she was too keyed up to read anything, she called the operators, gave them her cell number, and left. A little fresh air would help clear her head.

  The sun was just going down at a little after five, and it wasn’t dark yet. She couldn’t remember ever finishing up before seven, and often didn’t leave the hospital even when she wasn’t on call until ten or later. Walking home in the dark and going to work in the dark was so routine, the fading daylight was foreign and disorienting. The night stretched out ahead of her in a long line of interminable, monotonous hours.

  “Hey, Jay!” A familiar-looking guy about her age in khakis and a pullover with a sports logo on the chest stepped up beside her. “Nice comeback with Greenly this afternoon.”

  “You’re Archie, right?” Jay hoped she fit the right name to the face. He’d been passing through the pit when she’d been there earlier. “I couldn’t tell if Greenly was baiting me or not, but what the hell. I didn’t see any point in looking stupid.”

  “Good call. Archie Cohen, by the way.” The short, faintly balding guy with horn-rim glasses grinned. “I’m finishing up in a couple months.”

  “What then?”

  “I’ve got a job lined up at KSU. My wife’s from there and is doing another year in GYN ONC, so it worked out great.”

  Kansas State University. A medical school appointment. Nice. “That sounds terrific. Congrats.”

  “One of the best things about being here,” he said with obvious enthusiasm, “is we can pretty much get whatever job we want.”

  “Uh, yeah. That is…terrific.” Jay hadn’t thought past the next day and wasn’t even close to imagining a job as a pathologist. Where, doing what, exactly? She tried to make the picture with herself in the center, the way she’d done since she was twenty, seeing herself standing in the middle of the trauma unit, waiting for the paramedics to bring in the patient, eager, ready, charged up for battle. Everything in this new picture seemed too quiet, too controlled, too calm.

  “So listen,” Archie said, “my wife’s on call tonight. And I don’t cook. You want to grab a burger at Smokes?”

  Smokey Joe’s, the residents’ preferred after-hours place for a brew and a burger and maybe a little flirtation that might lead to a night’s company. She hadn’t been there since before the accident. She’d run into some of the surgery residents there, for sure, if she went tonight. Hell, any night. Maybe even a couple who’d been on call the night they brought her in. Not that she remembered any of that, but quite a few people, including Ali, had seen her at her most vulnerable and helpless. They’d saved her life but she still felt exposed, even a little embarrassed. Made no sense, but there it was. No was on the tip of her tongue, and then she thought about her empty refrigerator, her empty apartment. Archie was offering her a few hours with someone who didn’t know her and with whom she could leave the past behind, at least until she got home again.

  “Sure. Let’s do it,” Jay said.

  “My car’s around back. We can drive over—”

  “Thanks, but I can walk. Actually”—she tapped her calf with her cane—“it’s good for me since I’ve sort of been skipping out on physical therapy. As long as you don’t mind going a little bit slow.”

  “Hey, no problem.”

  They�
��d just started walking when a woman called out, “Hey, Archie? You going to Smokes?”

  Jay and Archie paused to let a petite African American in jeans, a dark gold V-neck sweater, and a short dusty-gray leather jacket catch up.

  “Yep,” Archie said. “You coming?”

  “I’m on call, so it’s Coke for me, but I’m starving.” She smiled at Jay and held out her hand. “Tasha Clark. I’m the other fellow.”

  “Jay Reynolds. I’m the new guy.”

  Archie and Tasha laughed, and a layer of loneliness Jay hadn’t realized she’d been wearing like a second coat slid away. She didn’t know them, or they her, but they all knew each other on a certain level—what it took to get where they were, what it took to survive, what it said about each of them.

  “I’ll stand you to the first round of brews,” Jay said.

  “You’re on,” Tasha replied.

  Archie led the way. “Let’s go before the surgeons take all the booths.”

  The pain was a little less this time as Jay said, “Good idea.”

  *

  Rebecca hung her topcoat on the wooden clothes tree just inside the front door of the town house. She removed her weapon and locked it in the antique sideboard in the foyer before walking down the center hall toward the kitchen and something that smelled amazing. The kitchen took up the entire width of the rear of the house and was lit by several frosted amber globes suspended from brushed bronze ceiling fixtures that captured the historic feel of the Victorian twin so popular in the neighborhood surrounding the medical center. Catherine, in soft earth-toned cotton pants, a dark umber boatneck sweater, and a loose red-striped apron, worked at a double stove, sautéing something in a big cast-iron frying pan. The table was set for two, and a candle in a pewter holder resembling a frog, one of Catherine’s favorite animals, flickered in the center.

  Rebecca’s stomach clenched, a response she never experienced even when facing a perp with a gun. “I forgot something important, didn’t I. Whatever it is, I’m sorry and I love you very much.”

  Catherine glanced over her shoulder, the warmth in her green eyes all the welcome home Rebecca needed. “You’re safe this time, Detective. My last patient canceled, so I decided to cook. Tell me you don’t have anything going on that you have to go back out for right away.”

  Rebecca held up both hands. “I’m all yours.”

  “I like hearing that. Are you hungry?”

  Rebecca slid an arm around Catherine’s waist and kissed her before leaning over to survey the stir-fry. “Starving.”

  “Good. Would you open a bottle of wine for me?”

  “What’s your pleasure, red or white?”

  “I think the spices in this can handle a red. There’s a Merlot over there somewhere, I think.”

  Rebecca found the bottle, opened it, and poured a glass, setting the wine by Catherine’s plate. She opened a bottle of sparkling water for herself and set it by her plate. After Catherine dished out their dinner, they sat beside each other at the oak plank table. Rebecca leaned over and kissed Catherine again. “Thank you for dinner. I love you.”

  Catherine brushed Rebecca’s jaw with the tips of her fingers. “I love you too.”

  “This is great,” Rebecca said after a minute. “I have to say I’m very glad you got home early.”

  Catherine sipped her wine. “You’re home early too. Is it quiet out there?”

  Rebecca winced. “Yes and no. It feels like something’s brewing, but we can’t zero in on it.”

  “That always worries me. Your instincts are usually very accurate.” Catherine set her glass down and leaned back. “Is it Zamora?”

  “Maybe. I hope so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Catherine, one of the department’s psych consultants, had profiled for Rebecca’s unit in the past, often adding valuable insight into the criminals Rebecca’s team hunted. She was also a great sounding board. “Zamora knows we’re trying to build a RICO case against him. The feds have been trying for a decade and getting nowhere, but we’re halfway there with the links to human trafficking we uncovered in his organization. We just can’t link them to him directly yet, and he’s been very careful pulling in his net.”

  “Mmm, so you can’t get close to him unless someone slips up somewhere.”

  “Exactly.” Rebecca stabbed a piece of chicken and, reminding herself to enjoy the meal and the company, set her frustration aside. “But we maybe have a break with something over the wire—a homicide that might be the first move into Zamora’s territory.”

  “One of his people got killed?” Catherine got up to add the rest of the food to Rebecca’s plate. “Finish that—I know what you usually eat.”

  Rebecca smiled. Catherine was the only person she’d ever let take care of her, and it always felt good. “We’re not sure of anything right now. Dell couldn’t turn up much when she checked with homicide today.”

  “So what next?”

  “We keep watching for someone to make the next move,” Rebecca said. “If there is a move on his territory, the people will begin to talk. Discipline breaks down. People make mistakes.”

  “Who’s behind it?”

  “That we do know—or at least, we have a pretty good idea.” Rebecca blew out a breath and drank half a glass of water. “The Salvadorans. MS-13.”

  Catherine nodded. “It seems like they’re becoming a force everywhere. DC, New York, here.”

  “The problem is the organization is decentralized with fairly autonomous local factions. It’s tough to identify who’s at the top. They’re almost impossible to infiltrate, and even with our excellent street sources, we’re mostly chasing shadows.”

  “Dell’s contacts, you mean?”

  “And Sandy’s.”

  “Your team isn’t frontline, though, is it,” Catherine said carefully. “That would be organized crime? Or the gang squad?”

  Rebecca took Catherine’s hand. Catherine was very good at hiding her worry. Once upon a time, she would have tried to soften the truth to spare her the fear, but not now. Catherine deserved more than that from her. “The HPCU can cross departmental lines whenever we need to. We coordinate as best as we can, but whatever impacts our investigation is fair game for us.”

  “Of course. I knew that.” Catherine smiled softly. “Which is why you love it.”

  “It gives me the freedom to run my investigations pretty much as I see fit.”

  “And that’s what makes you so very good too.”

  “Something will break soon.” Rebecca kissed Catherine’s palm. “But for now, let’s not talk about work for the rest of the night.”

  Catherine slipped her fingers through Rebecca’s. “I was thinking we wouldn’t do too much talking at all.”

  Rebecca grinned. “Since you cooked, let me clear the dishes, and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

  Catherine tugged Rebecca’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “The dishes can wait.”

  *

  Olivia stared at the image on her computer of the Go board her opponent had sent her late in the afternoon. She studied the new position of the black stone with a mixture of surprise, admiration, and irritation. She hadn’t expected that particular move, and she should have. Worse, she couldn’t conjure a response. She couldn’t even mentally visualize the next two or three moves, and usually she had no problem planning the next half dozen. But every time she postulated a potential response and tried to anticipate her opponent’s countermove, her mind went blank.

  Not blank, exactly.

  She kept coming back to her conversation with Jay over coffee. As soon as she pictured Jay with her windblown hair and just this side of too-good-looking-for-her-own-good grin, heard her playful, teasing words and the way she offered up an apple fritter like it was a bouquet of roses, her mind flooded with more images and thoughts and sensations than she could keep track of. She couldn’t recall any one particular exchange that had sent her off in this unanticipated and unexpectedly uncomfo
rtable direction, which only confused her more. She would have liked to blame her confusion on Jay, but she couldn’t. She knew the problem, which probably explained her unsettled state. Jay’s intensity hadn’t made her uncomfortable.

  She was uncomfortable with the way Jay made her feel.

  Jay made her feel a good many things she’d felt before and had learned through painful experience to distrust—excitement, anticipation, sexual interest. Jay awakened her senses and her sensual curiosity. Marcos had done that too, and she’d been willing to cast aside her better judgment and her pride to keep the feelings alive. Jay was even more dangerous, all the more compelling, because she’d been so certain she’d never experience the same things again. Even worse, she welcomed them. She welcomed the rush of heat and pleasure and the eager anticipation of seeing Jay again.

  Fortunately, she recognized what was happening. This time, she could keep things from going any further. This time, she was in control. Firmly in control.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Olivia told herself she was staying late in the office waiting for her Go opponent to send his next move, even though she knew he wouldn’t until after midnight. She knew very well she was working late to occupy her mind and avoid thinking about Jay. When she found herself actually considering calling Jay under the pretense of reviewing her perfectly acceptable case presentation from earlier that day, she packed up her belongings and went home. At least she wouldn’t be tempted to do anything foolish there. She even managed to stop thinking about what Jay might be doing right then and wondering if Jay even gave their exchange a second thought. She’d been replaying every word like an endless loop of YouTube video. Unlike her. For heaven’s sake, she could be inflating the whole encounter in her own overheated imagination. Jay likely hadn’t even noticed the turn their conversation had taken into the personal.