She winked at him, then said in a breathy whisper, “I’m a friend of Cayla’s.”
Will was trying to summon up one of Bill Black’s grunts when Faith finally appeared.
“What the hell’s going on?” She directed her anger at the cop. “I know Chief Gray taught you better than this. Did you check this guy out?”
Raleigh hesitated. He clearly had a healthy fear of his chief. “The guy’s got an ID.”
“You can get those at Kinko’s.” Faith nodded toward the doors. “Go downstairs and check with HR.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Had Raleigh been a few years older, he would’ve told Faith where to stick her order, but he was new enough to jump when she snapped her fingers.
Ruth looked up at the ceiling, all business as she asked Will, “What do you think, Bud?”
Will looked up, too. “I think something’s leaking.”
Faith suggested, “Maybe we can move Mr. Long to a different room?”
Ruth shook her head. “It’s just me up here for the next hour and I can’t move him by myself.” Faith offered, “I can help.”
“We’re not really allowed to—”
Will interrupted, “I’ll need the room cleared anyway.” He pushed up the ceiling tile and used the flashlight on his belt to look inside the drop ceiling. Will had been looking into ceilings in the hospital almost every day of the last ten. He knew that his chances of finding at least one suspicious-looking pipe were good, but the nest of lines crisscrossing the ICU still surprised him.
He pushed the tile aside so everyone could see as he tried to sound authoritative. “That’ll be oxygen, the condense line for the AC, PVC pipe, some old polybute. I’m gonna need a schematic so—”
“I get it,” Ruth stopped him. “Let me call my supervisor and see if I can get her up here.”
She left, Faith on her heels. Will kept his flashlight pointed toward the ceiling, but his eyes were on Jared Long.
The young man’s face had blown up like a balloon. There were tubes sticking out of everything. His eyes were taped shut. Dried blood was caked around his nostrils. The flesh on his hands was a waxy, yellow color. No cop wanted to see another cop in a hospital bed. Will wasn’t normally superstitious, but he had to suppress the shiver working its way up his spine.
Then again, Jared Long wasn’t the only cautionary tale in the room.
Slowly, like she didn’t want to break anything, Lena uncurled herself from the chair.
Will asked, “You holding up?”
“No.” She stood on the other side of the bed with her arms wrapped around her waist. “Sara doesn’t know you’re doing this, does she?”
Lena had always been an astute observer, but Will wasn’t going to talk to her about Sara. He glanced over his shoulder, checking Ruth. The nurse was talking on the phone. Faith was practically glued to her side.
Lena said, “I won’t tell her. I haven’t told anybody.” She rubbed her lips together. They were cracked and dry. “You’ll find out eventually. I’m good at keeping my mouth shut. I’ve learned to do the right thing.”
Will asked, “What happened last night?”
“They shot him.” Lena stopped the story there, dismissing her involvement in a wholly predictable way. Still, Will could tell she was reeling from the aftershock. Her eyes were bloodshot. The bruise under her eye mottled the skin. She couldn’t seem to keep her balance. Her pupils were wide open, though he didn’t know if that was from the dark room or some kind of medication.
He said, “Tell me what brought this on.”
Her head moved slowly side to side.
“Was it the raid last week?” He paused. “Two cops were hurt. Were you part of that? Were you on the team?”
She paused before answering, “I’m not allowed to talk about the raid.”
“You and I both know you don’t play by the rules.”
“Ask Branson.”
“I’m asking you.”
Her head started shaking again. She looked down at Jared. Her voice was barely a whisper when she told her husband, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Will said, “Lena, something happened to set this off.”
She didn’t respond.
He tried to be diplomatic. “Did Jared pull somebody over who might want to hurt him?”
She gave Will a confused look, as if it never occurred to her that a motorcycle cop working part of a drug corridor that ran up the Eastern Seaboard might find himself in a dangerous situation.
She asked, “You think he got in the way of some traffickers?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
She seemed to think about it. “They would’ve shot him then and there.”
Will knew she was right, but he still asked, “Jared didn’t mention anything?”
“We weren’t really talking.”
Will let her words settle. He wasn’t surprised there was marital discord. The first thing he’d seen when he walked through the front door of their house was a pillow and sheet on the couch.
Will asked, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
Will checked on Ruth again. Faith made a motion with her hand, indicating that there wasn’t much time.
He tried to keep his patience as he told Lena, “Whatever brought this on—I know you didn’t mean to do it. You’re not a bad person. But you did something, and it got us here, and you need to tell me what that thing is so I can stop whoever did this.”
There was still a small shake to Lena’s head. Her hand was resting on the guardrail. She flexed open her fingers, letting the tips graze the sheet covering Jared’s body.
Will said, “You know you can trust me. There’s a reason I’m here.”
She didn’t acknowledge his plea. “Your partner. You work with her long?”
“Faith.” Will tasted blood on his tongue. Without thinking, he’d chewed at the cut in his cheek. “A while.”
“She any good?”
“Yes.” Will tried another tack. “Who’s Big Whitey?” That snapped her out of it. He saw a flash of anger as the old Lena started to surface. “What did Branson say?”
“Who is he?”
“No one.” She seemed genuinely afraid now. “He doesn’t exist.
He’s a lie.”
“Lena—”
“Stop.” Her voice took on a pleading tone. “Listen to me, Will. If you love Sara, you’ll stay away from this.” She gripped the bed rail, desperate. “I mean it. Stay away.”
Will looked back at the nurse again. She was obviously finishing up her phone call.
He told Lena, “Talk to me. Let me help you.”
Lena shook her head. Tears started to flow. “We’re supposed to protect people. We’re supposed to keep them safe.”
“The best way to keep Jared safe is—”
“How do you decide?” She swallowed hard. The sound was louder than the hum of the machines. “How do you decide whose life is more important?” Her hand went to her stomach. The palm was flat, fingers splayed. “He would want this,” she whispered. “This is what Jared would want me to do.”
Faith cleared her throat loud enough to announce her return.
Ruth was behind her. She asked Will, “How bad is the leak? I mean, are we talking the whole ceiling’s gonna come down?”
Will took his time, clicking off the flashlight, dropping it back into the loop on his belt. Finally, he shook his head and shrugged at the same time. “I won’t know until I get up there.”
Ruth sighed. “It’s gonna be an hour before my boss can help move him. Can you come back?”
Bill Black took over. “You’re gonna have to put in another request.”
Ruth sighed again, but she was obviously used to dealing with the hospital bureaucracy. “All right, Buddy. Thanks for coming, anyway.” She went to Jared and started checking the machines. Lena watched her like a hawk. It was unnerving the way she just stood there. Except for stretching her fingers, she didn’t
reach out to him. She barely looked at his face.
Ruth must’ve felt it, too. She told Lena, “It’s okay to touch him, hon. He’s not gonna break.” As if to prove this, she put her hand to Jared’s cheek. And then she kept it there. Her brow furrowed.
Something was wrong.
Ruth’s hand went to Jared’s forehead. Then his neck. Then his wrist. She looked at her watch, checking his pulse against the flashing number on the monitor. Will could see the thumping heart was beating faster than usual. The blood pressure was low.
“What is it?” Faith asked.
“He’s just a little clammy.” Ruth grabbed the control and raised the foot of the bed. The floor vibrated beneath Will’s feet. The nurse put some false cheer in her tone. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but let me get the doctor, all right?” She left the room at a brisk pace. Faith followed her, though Will doubted Lena would tell him anything else.
He picked up his toolbox. He tried one last time. “Lena, I know you think you’ve got all of this under control, but you don’t.”
She didn’t look up as she said, “I’ve never been able to control anything in my life.”
Will waited, giving her another chance to come clean. She ignored him. She just stood there staring down at Jared. Her hand was still pressed flat to her stomach. Her mouth moved soundlessly, as if in prayer.
All Will could do was leave the room. Ruth was on the phone by her desk. She barely registered his presence, which Will took as a bad sign. Jared’s condition was obviously a more serious matter than she’d let on.
He walked down the hallway toward Faith. She was reading her emails. Or pretending to. Will could see the screen was dark.
He stopped a few feet away from her and opened his toolbox.
Faith kept her voice low. “Well?”
Will found his clipboard and pen. He looked at Ruth again. She had her back to him, the phone pressed to her ear.
Still, he kept his voice down. “She’s protecting someone.”
“She’s protecting herself.”
Will wasn’t so sure about that. He checked some boxes on his form. “I think she was at the raid on the shooting gallery. She told me she wasn’t allowed to talk about it.”
“Of course she was at the raid. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was leading it.”
“She warned me off Big Whitey.”
Faith looked up from her BlackBerry.
Will kept checking boxes. He was giving himself time to decide whether or not to tell Faith the rest. In the end, he knew he didn’t have a choice. “She told me if I love Sara, I’ll drop the case.”
Faith looked back at her phone. Her thumb scrolled across the black screen. She seldom registered any emotion beyond irritation, but Will could tell Lena’s words had hit home.
She asked, “Why do I get the feeling that, five years ago, she told Jeffrey Tolliver the same thing?”
7.
THE DAY BEFORE THE RAID
Lena sat at her desk staring at her computer monitor. Fireworks filled the screen. She knew if she tapped one of the keys, the desktop would appear. She also knew what the files would be—open cases, closed cases, court documents, witness statements, suspect statements—endless bytes of data that summed up the lives of thousands of people.
There was only one life on the computer that she cared about.
Not that there was life anymore.
Lena closed her eyes. Let the grief have its way.
She had been electrocuted once. Not electrocuted like on death row, but shocked by an electric current. Lena was fifteen when it happened. She’d been helping Sibyl with her hair. They were both standing in front of the mirror. The glass was steamed over from a recent shower. The smell of mold was in the air.
The house they grew up in had been wired by their uncle Hank, so they were used to smoking outlets and popping lightbulbs. He’d also built the bookcases that had no shelves, and removed a load-bearing wall, which resulted in the roof settling into a camel-back sway. Just walking through the front door, you knew you were taking your life into your own hands.
Which is why Lena should’ve known better than to plug in the hair dryer without first unplugging the box fan. The shock had streaked up her arm, down her spine, then legs, and into the tips of her toes, which happened to be touching standing water from the shower. There was some sort of delay. Lena didn’t feel the brunt of the electrocution until she saw the water. She thought, This is dangerous. The lights zapped out. Her body seized. Then, the next thing she knew, she was lying on the bathroom floor and Sibyl was screaming for Hank to call an ambulance.
That’s what Lena felt like now—shocked. Almost electrocuted. Laid flat on her back. Her body tensed. Her nerves on fire. Only this time, there was no one around to help her. This time, she was completely alone.
Lena watched the colorful bursts of light explode across the computer screen. She rested her hand on the mouse. She gently pressed down. The desktop came up. She moved the arrow to the file that contained the ultrasound. Lena had torn up the photo, but the video remained. Her hand froze on the mouse. She didn’t need to open the file. She didn’t need to see the picture. The image was forever seared into her retinas. She felt weak as rain every time she saw it.
Little black bubble. White folds and ridges. The tiny flutter of a beating heart that was no bigger than a drop of rain.
How could she love something so much when she couldn’t even see it with her naked eye? How could she feel that heart beat inside of her when it took a machine just to let her know it was there?
How could she have lost it so easily?
How could one horrible moment erase weeks of happiness, destroy a prospective lifetime that had made Lena’s heart feel weightless with anticipation?
The arrow hovered over the file. There was a slight shake to the image.
Her cell phone rang. Lena moved her hand off the mouse and picked up the phone. “Detective Adams.”
“Oh.” The woman seemed surprised that Lena had answered.
“Yes?” Lena asked. She touched her hand to the mouse. She didn’t need to see the file again. She should get rid of it. Throw it in the computer’s trash.
“Ma’am?” the woman said. “Hello?”
“Yes.” Lena turned away from the computer. She made herself listen to the call.
The woman was saying, “… from Dr. Benedict’s office? You saw me yesterday?”
Lena couldn’t stand people who raised their voices at the end of every sentence. “Are you calling about the bill? We haven’t gotten it yet.”
“Oh, no, of course not.” She sounded offended. “I just wanted to check on you? Your husband said you were back at work?”
Lena rubbed her eyes with her fingers. Jared had slept on the couch last night. He was gone this morning when Lena woke up. She’d checked the duty roster when she got in. He’d changed shifts so he didn’t have to see her.
“Ma’am?”
Lena dropped her hand. “Is there something you wanted?”
“Dr. Benedict asked me to check on you, see if the cramping’s subsided?”
Lena put her hand to her stomach. “It’s better,” she said, not knowing whether or not this was the truth. Every time she thought about it, she could feel it happening all over again. The excruciating pain that woke her from a deep sleep. The panic as she tried to dress herself. The fear as they raced to the hospital. The agony as they heard the doctor’s words. The screaming argument she’d gotten into with Jared when they got home.
He wouldn’t let Lena throw away the bloody sheets. He said she was trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. That she was unfeeling. Incapable of grieving. That throwing away the sheets was her way of getting rid of the evidence.
As if Lena needed a visual reminder to understand what she had lost.
They had lost.
“Ma’am?”
Lena shook her head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. “Yes?”
“I asked, no exces
sive bleeding?”
Lena didn’t know what “excessive” meant. She had no point of reference.
“Mrs. Long?” The woman’s voice filled with a warmth that was ten times worse than her stupid interrogatory tone. “I can have Dr. Benedict write you a note for work. You shouldn’t be back so soon. Most women take a few weeks, sometimes a month or even two if they can get off that long.”
“Well, I can’t do that,” Lena said. Yesterday was bad enough. They’d gotten home from the hospital around ten in the morning. Lena had slept away the afternoon, then stayed up arguing with Jared well into the night. The thought of being trapped at home again with nothing to do but wait for Jared to walk through the door was unbearable. Besides, no one at work even knew she was pregnant.
Had been pregnant.
Lena told the woman, “I have work to do.”
“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Long, but people will understand. What you lost—”
“I’m fine,” Lena interrupted. She wanted to correct her, to tell the woman that her last name was Adams, that Jared had told her to keep it because Lena Long sounded like something you’d buy off an infomercial.
Instead, Lena said, “I don’t need a note. Thank you.”
“Oh, darlin’, please don’t hang up.” She was obviously concerned. “You should go home. Be with your husband. Trust me, he might not be showing it, but he’s hurting just as much as you.”
Lena pressed her fingers into her eyes again. Jared was showing it. Lena was the problem. According to her husband, she was some kind of machine. She wasn’t the woman he’d married. He wasn’t sure she was the woman he wanted to stay married to.
Lena looked at the clock. She had a briefing in five minutes. Her team was waiting for her. She should end the call. She should shut up. But the words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I wondered—”
Instead of pushing Lena, or making an inane statement with her voice raised at the end, the woman was silent. The trick was a good one. Lena used it in interrogations. People naturally wanted to fill silences, especially when they felt guilty about something.
Lena said, “I had an abortion.”
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