Deadly Secrets

by Ann Christopher

  Something about those gleaming eyes caused a prickle of unease to run up the back of Kerry’s neck, but that was stupid. Hadn’t they just established, to everyone’s satisfaction, that Kareem was a good and hardworking guy? What was the worst-case scenario? That Kerry would have some college debt? What pre-med student didn’t?

  At least Kareem wouldn’t charge him interest like Uncle Sam would.

  “Damn, man.” Kerry laughed because he hadn’t known he had a fairy godfather, and certainly not one this prompt and generous. Just like that, Kerry was the king of the world again, and the possibilities were endless. “I owe you.”

  Kareem grinned with unmistakable satisfaction, then pulled Kerry in for another hug and kiss.

  Just like that, Kerry sold his soul to the devil.

  Don’t do it, man. Don’t you fucking sell your future like that.

  Kerry jerked his arms. Moved his feet. Tried to grab his stupid younger self and shake some sense into him, but the scene shifted into something unfamiliar.

  “Dr. Randolph?” asked a strange woman. “You’re awake, aren’t you? Let’s go ahead and extubate you. Can you cough for me?”

  Kerry tried to bat her away and return to his younger self—to shout the warning—but something weighed down his arm and there was something in his mouth.

  “Cough for me, Dr. Randolph.”

  Kerry coughed.

  The woman pulled the tube out of his throat, which was good because the words were about to choke him.

  “Don’t do it, man!” He surged forward, trying to get up, and that was when he discovered he was in a bed with rails. A hospital bed. “Don’t do it!”

  The woman—a nurse?—held him down and shouted over her shoulder.

  “I need some help in here!”

  12

  Jayne put down her hospital cafeteria tuna sandwich. The smell was threatening to make her retch, for one thing, and it had way too many points, for another.

  She shouldn’t have bought it in the first place, but she’d thought she’d be starving by now. Instead, her stomach was a seething pouch of acid, and eating anything would make her barf. That would be bad. Since she’d already had enough bad today, thanks, she focused on her tea.

  The morning’s upside? The discovery of the one thing in the universe stressful enough to kill her appetite. Studying for the bar exam hadn’t done it. Trying multiple high-profile and high-stakes criminal cases hadn’t done it.

  Seeing a stabbed man almost die in front of her?

  That did it.

  Propping her elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her hands and tried not to remember too many of the details. Like the quiet despair and resignation in Randolph’s eyes, or exactly how much of his blood had pooled on that plastic tarp.

  But closing her eyes was a mistake, because everything flooded back to her, including the way the tinny smell of blood had mingled with the stale grease of the burger and fries. The way he’d unexpectedly made her laugh. The way he’d coded when she turned her back, just for those few seconds. The way the EMTs had brought him back, probably with Randolph kicking and screaming.

  And the way he might still die—hell, he might be dead on the table this very second, for all she knew—before anyone could tell him that Kareem Gregory was, finally and beyond all doubt, dead.

  Her stomach squirmed again.

  Stupid, smelly tuna. She put it back in its bag and headed for the door of her tiny private waiting room just as Brady’s face appeared in the window. They’d been texting each other updates on their respective situations for hours. He’d promised to drop by when he could, but she hadn’t expected him so soon.

  She almost collapsed with relief.

  “Hey.” He hurried inside and shut the door. “He’s in surgery?”

  She nodded.

  “How’re you doing?”

  Jayne tried to say fine. Out came an embarrassing hiccup-sob combo that would be tough to live down. Ducking her head, she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Come here,” Brady said, hauling her in for a hug.

  Brady, it turned out, was a powerful hugger. He gave her a big and reassuring squeeze, kissed her cheek and turned her loose. Then they sat on the love seat.

  “I’m good.” She sniffled and blinked back tears. “Really.”

  “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  “Well, almost seeing someone die will do that to you.”

  “Ain’t that the—”

  With zero warning, Brady’s face warped into a dry sob and Jayne feared he’d start crying.

  Oh, shit.

  He dropped his head and took a minute, swiping his nose with the back of his hand while his entire body heaved once or twice.

  After a panicked moment of indecision, Jayne squeezed his shoulder. “Kira’s okay, Brady. And she’s really free now.”

  “She told me he wasn’t dead,” he said, his voice raw as he geared up to give himself a major ass whipping. “Her instincts were right on. I should have never—”

  “Yeah, okay, knock it off.” Exasperated, she wondered what it was with her and guilt-ridden men lately. She didn’t have the patience or temperament to be an armchair shrink. “It’s over. You and most of the rest of the world thought Kareem died in his house explosion. His dental records said he was dead. Give yourself a break. It’s not like you had a crystal ball that would’ve told you he was alive.”

  Brady, who’d been rubbing his face, gave her a sidelong glance.

  “You did the best you could at the time. You were wrong, but you were in good company. It happens. Move on.”

  “I almost didn’t get to her in time,” Brady said.

  “Well, you suck. Clearly.” Jayne rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she’ll be kicking you out of her bed for this.”

  He ejected a startled snort. “Actually…she didn’t need me anyway in the end. Took him out with the butt of her gun, if you can believe that.”

  “And let that be a lesson to you,” she deadpanned. “Don’t fuck with Kira.”

  This time she got a full smile. Maybe even the beginnings of a laugh.

  “Thanks,” he said quietly.

  She waved a hand. “Anytime. I’m surprised you left her side.”

  He scowled. “I didn’t want to, but she’s out of surgery and wanted me to check on Kerry. And she’s at the hospital where she works, so I could barely get near her anyway with all her coworkers hovering around and checking on her ankle.”

  They settled into a shell-shocked silence. Jayne had heard the whole story of Kareem’s death at the hands of his estranged wife by now, but she still couldn’t believe it.

  She laughed shakily. “I don’t know how anyone as small and princess-y as Kira could take out the biggest kingpin in the area. Which, by the way, is something that my office, your agency, the IRS and the locals could never do.”

  “I know,” Brady said.

  “I always did like Kira,” Jayne said.

  That earned her a surprised bark of laughter from Brady. “Sure you did. That’s why you were going to arm me with a cross and wooden stake when you saw me with her the other day.”

  “Well, she’s got my eternal gratitude now, that’s for sure.”

  Brady gave her a measured look, then nodded with unmistakable satisfaction. “Good. You should give her another chance. People can surprise you.”

  Jayne’s mind immediately shifted back to Randolph.

  “Yes, people can,” she said, frowning.

  “You okay?”

  She shrugged.

  Brady’s brows went up. “O-kay. How’s Randolph?”

  Jayne tried not to sound too bleak. “I don’t know. They spent a lot of time trying to get him stabilized before they even took him in. Because of the blood loss and all.”

  “But they’re optimistic?”

  Jayne cleared her throat, determined not to cry. “He made himself a tourniquet. With his belt. So they’re giving him a fighting chance.”
/>
  Brady, bless him, gave her a minute to get her wobbling chin under control.

  “How bad was it?” he asked quietly.

  “It was bad,” she said, shuddering. “Like the cartel paid him a visit. There was so much blood…”

  Brady eyeballed her scrubs, which one of the nurses had given her. “Is that why you’re impersonating a doctor?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you should go on home and get some rest,” he said briskly. “He’ll probably be in surgery for a while.”

  It was a sensible idea, but a violent No! rose up inside her. She didn’t quite understand it, because Randolph wasn’t even kinda her responsibility, nor was she his biggest fan, even if she had realized that he was a real human being rather than a cardboard cutout villain like the Joker. She was tired. A shower and nap sounded like a big chunk of heaven to her at the moment. Plus, she still had the hour’s drive back to Cincinnati to think about.

  But doing any of that would mean leaving Randolph by himself, without a soul to watch over him as he walked through the valley of the shadow of death, and she wasn’t about to leave.

  “I think I’ll stick around.”

  He looked around in surprise. “What for?”

  She aimed for casual nonchalance rather than stark fear. “There’s no one here for him.”

  Brady eyeballed her as if she’d started speaking Afrikaans. “So? If he’s pitiful and alone, that’s what he’s earned with his life’s work. When you launder money as part of an empire that distributes controlled substances, you tend to lose fans.”

  This was exactly the kind of platitude she would have spouted as recently as this morning, so she didn’t get why it pissed her off so much, but it did.

  She flared way the hell up.

  “You know what, Brady? I don’t know how long Randolph lay there all by himself, in fear and agonizing pain with all his blood leaking out of his body, but it was at least overnight. Okay? And he did drop a dime on Kareem. At great risk to his own life. Twice. And if he hadn’t given your girl the heads-up about Kareem still being alive, I’m pretty sure she’d be dead right now.”

  All the color leached out of Brady’s face.

  “So if I want to show a little human compassion and stick around long enough to see whether he lives or dies, then that’s what I’m going to do. And I don’t owe you any explanations.”

  The ringing echo of her words seemed to reverberate off the walls as Brady stared at her. Something came over his expression, and it looked an awful lot like slow comprehension.

  “Sorry,” she said swiftly, smoothing her hair with a fidgety hand, thinking she might have gone too far. “I’m just…It’s been a long day already, and I haven’t eaten anything, so…”

  She was just starting to think, Whoa, that sounded pretty defensive, when Brady heaved a pained sigh, looked to the ceiling and shook his head.

  “Jayne…” he said wearily.

  There was a terrible note of sympathy in his voice. She felt a sudden, urgent need to make him understand that she wasn’t insane or foolish.

  “He wanted to die, Brady. I think he was pissed off that I’d called for help.” She hesitated, struggling to analyze what had happened. “You said he called Kira to warn her that Kareem was alive and might be coming after her. Why didn’t he call 9-1-1 for himself?”

  Brady looked troubled.

  “And I’ve been sitting here wondering…”

  “Wondering what?”

  “Why Randolph did what he did. I mean, he was smart enough to get into college and med school, right? Smart enough to practice orthopedic medicine for a while. I know he and Kareem grew up together, but…”

  “Why’d he go over to the Dark Side?” Brady asked dryly.

  “Well…yeah.”

  “He worked with your office for months, Jayne. I thought you’d have debriefed all that with him.”

  “Randolph never really opened up about that. And I was way more interested in his recent history with Kareem and the mechanics of the money laundering.”

  Brady shrugged, an irritated and impatient twitch of his shoulders. “I don’t know any of his whys and wherefores, Jayne. I don’t want to know. And you don’t need to be worried about them either.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jayne demanded, revving up for another round.

  “It means you need to be careful.”

  “About what?”

  Brady stared her in the face. “You seem awfully interested in Kerry Randolph.”

  The sentence hung in the air for a second.

  Then it detonated inside her brain like an atom bomb.

  Her pulse thudded. Her throat tightened up. Her cheeks went hot with embarrassment.

  And she had no idea why.

  Because Randolph meant nothing to her—never had, never would, never could. This whole topic was, therefore, a waste of everyone’s valuable time.

  Even so, she couldn’t quite rein in her agitation or her shrill voice.

  “Excuse me, but I don’t know what the hell you think you’re talking about, Brady. And I’m a grown woman, so I don’t need whatever little warning you think you’re giving me.”

  He gave her a kindly smile that was worse than the note of sympathy she’d heard in his tone before. “Why don’t I just remind you what you told me the other day?”

  “That’s completely unnecessary—”

  “There are conflicts here. I don’t need to tell you that. You’re an assistant U.S. attorney. He was your confidential informant. Your career could be adversely affected if anything happens with you and Randolph.”

  “You’re such a hypocrite!”

  “I know there are risks to my career by getting involved with Kira. Believe me, I thought long and hard about it. You warned me; now I’m warning you. I want to make sure you think about it long and hard before something happens with you and Randolph.”

  “Nothing’s happening!”

  He gave her a disbelieving look.

  The quiet knowledge inside his eyes forced her to turn away as though they’d both suddenly become negatively charged magnets.

  “And here’s the most important thing, Jayne.” He waited for her to meet his gaze again, which she did, reluctantly. “Kira has never been suspected of or charged with anything. But Randolph was an admitted criminal for a long time. He’s got a past. He’s probably got secrets. You need to keep your guard up. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  A criminal for a long time.

  Hate to see you get hurt.

  Those two phrases catapulted her back to her darkest moments with her father—and let’s face it, they were almost all dark—and all the Groundhog Day cycles of pretty promises, new beginnings, growing suspicions, crushing disappointments and bitter goodbyes that she’d endured while growing up.

  Only a fool would even think about hooking up with a guy like her father, and Jayne was no fool. She may be fat, cynical and, more than likely, doomed to the single life, but she was not a fool.

  So she worked up a smile and calibrated it for nonchalant and winning. If it hurt her cheeks a little, well, that was a price her pride was more than willing to pay.

  “Thanks for the warning, Brady,” she said. “But I’m good.”

  “Jayne—”

  “And I’m not stupid,” she added firmly. “Are we done here?”

  Brady studied her face for a long beat or two, during which she tried not to squirm. He hadn’t become the special agent in charge of his office by being a dummy, and she didn’t want to reveal her new ambivalence about Randolph.

  “We’re done,” he finally said. “We still cool?”

  “Not if you pull another stunt like that, we’re not. By the way, they’re not going to try to charge Kira with murder or anything, are they?”

  “Nah. It was a clear case of self-defense. I’m a witness, and the crime scene was a disaster area. The police never looked twice at her.”

  “That God for that.”<
br />
  He grinned and stood.

  “I’ll walk you out,” she said, tossing the smelly tuna into the first trash can they passed on the way to the elevator. Brady pressed the button and checked his watch.

  “Text me when Randolph gets out of surgery,” he said.

  “Will do.”

  The car came. He left, leaving Jayne with nothing to do except fret and pace the main waiting area. It’d been over two hours now. Was that long enough? Too long? Was Randolph’s wound relatively superficial, or had Kareem’s knife lacerated six or eight internal organs? She had no idea.

  Hell, she might never find out.

  Despite introducing herself to one of the nurses before they took Randolph into surgery and pleading for an update if and when they got him off the table and into recovery, her hopes weren’t high. Privacy regulations and all.

  Which raised Brady’s question:

  Why the hell was she hanging around?

  Sighing, she rubbed her nape and tried to work some of the kinks out of her neck. She was just about to head back to the cafeteria for a fresh cup of tea when, without warning, one of the doors whooshed open behind her.

  A nurse rushed out.

  Randolph’s nurse, Jayne saw with a start.

  She glanced up and down the hallway, spotted Jayne and all but collapsed with relief.

  “Thank God you’re still here,” the woman said. “Kerry needs your help.”

  13

  “Me?” Jayne asked.

  “Let’s go.”

  The nurse held the door for Jayne and began the kind of rapid-fire conversation and forced march—veering around other people, gurneys and medical equipment—that Jayne had only ever seen on TV shows like The West Wing.

  “He’s having a tough time coming out of the anesthesia.”

  “But he’s alive?” Jayne’s knees weakened with relief. “He made it off the table?”

  “Yes. He’s very lucky he got sliced and not stabbed. There’s no damage to his vital organs. He’s in recovery, but we can’t get him settled. He’s very agitated, and we don’t want him ripping his incisions. And we don’t want to sedate him any further and we don’t want to restrain him.”