“Okay.”
“I know you’re a doctor, so you probably don’t need to hear me go through this whole spiel, but it’s my job, so just pretend you’ve never heard such fascinating info.”
“You got it.”
“Okay, so you’ll be going back home today?”
“Yeah, well, it’s my cousin’s home. I’ve been staying there.”
Jayne, who’d been doing something with her phone, looked up and frowned. “Hang on. Did the police clear the house?”
“Clear it?” he asked.
“It’s a crime scene,” she reminded him. “Did they tell you that you could go back?”
“Uh,” he said, not liking where this was going.
“And even if you can go back,” Jayne said, now sounding like the voice of doom, “it’s got to be cleaned up. Is Ernie back in town? Can he clean it up before you get there?”
The women stared at him, waiting.
Kerry scrunched up his face and rubbed his temple with the heel of his hand, resisting the urge to groan only with great difficulty. See? This was what narcotics did to you. They turned your brain as fluffy and useless as cotton candy and made you overlook important details, like your living arrangements.
“Ernie’s in Wyoming. But I can clean the place up if the police give the okay. There was plastic on the floor, so—”
The look on Jayne’s face, as though he’d suggested cleaning up Chernobyl with a toothbrush and a bottle of dish liquid, shut him up.
“Kerry, there was blood everywhere,” she said gently. “On the carpet and the walls…you and Ernie will probably have to hire a professional restoration service.”
“Yeah, and you can’t do any manual labor or heavy lifting for a while, there, champ,” Alma chimed in.
Pain, nausea and an unwelcome newcomer, dizziness, all conspired to make him irritable and impatient. He didn’t know where this whole discussion was headed, but the one thing he wouldn’t do was stick around here for another night of being poked and prodded awake every thirteen seconds. No fucking way.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I can just go to a hotel for a couple nights.”
“Great,” Alma said, looking relieved as she made a note on her paperwork. “And will you be staying with him, Jayne?”
“Excuse me?” Jayne said blankly.
But Kerry, who’d belatedly recognized another King Kong-sized problem, cursed.
“What am I missing?” Jayne said, her gaze swinging between Kerry and Alma.
“Tell you what.” Kerry’s pain had reached an agonizing crescendo in the last ten seconds, and the last thing he needed was a protracted discussion about sleeping arrangements. “Can I have some ibuprofen? Eight hundred milligrams would be a good start.” Another flare had him gritting his teeth. “Make that a thousand.”
Alma hurried over to check his pump, then glanced around at him, looking puzzled. “You still have plenty of—”
“No,” Kerry said.
“This is no time to be a hero, Kerry” Alma said. “I can lower the dose—”
“I don’t want you to lower the dose. I want you to get me some ibuprofen,” Kerry snarled.
“But—”
Jayne stood and hurried over, and there was a lot less sunshine in her and a lot more pit bull. “He doesn’t want the morphine, Alma,” she said, and she managed to keep her voice perfectly pleasant while also looking and sounding as though she’d rip Alma’s throat out if she dared to mention the goddamn morphine drip again. “Why don’t you get the doctor and see what else we can do for him? And could you hurry, please?”
“Sure,” Alma said, hurrying out, but not before shooting them both a y’all are crazy glance. “I’ll be right back.”
Jayne turned on him the second she was gone, marching over to stand in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Seriously, Randolph—”
Clammy sweat trickled down his forehead, but being pissed off gave him something other than the pain to think about, so he latched on to it eagerly. “Don’t call me Randolph.”
“—don’t try to be a hero. Not today. Just use the pump.”
“I said no,” he roared.
“You can yell at me all you want, Randolph,” she said placidly. “Do you think you win just because your voice is louder than mine? Well, you don’t. You’re being stupid.”
That stung. Coming from Jayne, it stung. He didn’t know why, but it did. Nor did he know why he felt the sudden and compelling need for her to understand him a little better and retract her declaration of stupidity, but he did.
So he reached out his free hand—the one that wasn’t pressing against his side in a futile attempt to stop the agony—and pulled her in. She squatted in front of his chair, resting her hands on the arms for balance, and waited with what looked like infinite patience while he gathered his thoughts and his breath.
“My father was an alcoholic.” There it was. His second biggest shame, right behind being a drug kingpin’s money-laundering lieutenant. “I’ve been drinking way too much the last six months. I do not need narcotics. Okay?”
She smiled with all the understanding in the world, and the sun was out again, warming him up even though he was cold and shaky and likely to vomit soon. “Well, why didn’t you just say so, Randolph?”
Despite everything, he felt that tug on the corners of his mouth, as though the muscle memory was still there and he might eventually smile again even if today wasn’t the day.
“Don’t call me Randolph. I wasn’t being a criminal or an asshole.”
She leaned closer, bringing the scent of fruit and flowers with her. “Here’s a little secret: too much pride makes you an asshole. Kerry.”
“I’ll have to work on that.”
“See that you do.”
Jayne stood just as Alma hurried back in with an announcement. “The doctor’s on his way.”
“Really on his way, or are we looking at two more hours, Alma?” Jayne asked, taking the words out of Kerry’s mouth. “Give it to us straight.”
“He’ll be right here. And I need to finish with my discharge instructions.” Alma referred to her paperwork again. “Okay, so finish all your antibiotics. You know that. No driving. We need that incision to heal.”
“Got it.”
“So who will be taking you to your hotel? You, Jayne?”
Jayne looked startled, probably by the possibility of losing more of her precious weekend to Kerry and his various issues.
“No,” he said quickly. “I’ll get a cab.”
Alma looked up, her brow wrinkled. “Okay. But you’ll need someone to keep an eye on you overnight. Who will that be?”
The question exploded over his head and ricocheted around the room like a fireworks display on Chinese New Year.
Who would stay with him tonight?
Shit. Damn. Fuck.
So much for being a licensed and board-certified orthopedic surgeon with a degree from Northwestern med. So much for his years of practice before he went full-time Al Capone.
None of that did him a damn bit of good when he couldn’t remember that most basic of rules: that a surgical patient recovering from anesthesia and narcotic use must be monitored.
“I, ah…” he began, trying to problem-solve around his pain-befuddled brain, which was like trying to breathe through glue. Ernie wouldn’t be home for a couple days yet, so he was out. Kerry had just given Kira the kiss-off; not that he’d impose on her and Brady in a million ice ages. The hospital might let him stay another night, but that would raise insurance issues—
Jayne stepped forward.
“I’ll be with him,” she said.
That information pierced right through Kerry’s discomfort. “What?”
“You heard me,” Jayne said, meeting his gaze with grim determination. “You’re staying with me.”
“I’m not doing that,” he said automatically.
“Oh?” Jayne squared her shoulders and stood up straighter, and her derision was shar
p and hurtful, as lethal in its own way as Kareem’s knife. “A better offer’s popped up in the last second?”
“I take care of myself.” It was probably a sign of his drug- and pain-addled state that he could utter such a patently ridiculous phrase with a straight face. “I don’t like to depend on other people.”
She snorted. “Really? Well, if that’s the case, you should probably institute an opposites policy immediately. Just do the opposite of whatever your instincts tell you. Because your faulty instincts are what landed you in this freaking mess in the first place, aren’t they?”
Kerry flinched, and it had nothing to do with the pain.
Another part of him, the secret part that hid unruly feelings, felt a wild swoop of relief that he had a place to go.
“I’ll just wait out in the hallway while you examine him,” Jayne told the nurse as she headed for the door, her yellow dress fluttering around her legs, all sweetness and light again now that she’d delivered her killing blow to Kerry. “I’d like to get on the road soon. I’ve had enough of hospitals to last me for a while, and I’d love to get Kerry settled before dinnertime.”
19
“Kerry? Just put the seat back and take a nap,” Jayne told him once they got on the highway to head back to Cincy. “You’ve got to be exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” he lied. After a quick stop at Target for his prescriptions, a few toiletries, a few groceries and another change of clothes for tomorrow, he’d had it. His eyelids drooped and his head nodded, but he was so glad to be out of the hospital and still alive that he didn’t want to miss a second of anything. Like Jayne’s company. “Plus I have no idea what kind of driver you are.”
She snorted. “I’m an excellent driver. So rest your eyes for a minute. Go on.”
It wouldn’t hurt anything if he rested his head against the window and closed his eyes, he supposed. But sleep was a bad idea right now, especially with Kareem lurking in the shadowy edge of his consciousness, so present that Kerry could almost smell his cologne.
Do not go to sleep, man.
Do not…
“I’m here, man,” Kareem said.
Kerry, who was stuck in a numb haze of disbelief, looked around from his sleeping grandmother. She lay so still with kidney failure that it was like she was already dead. Only the steady beeping of her various machines proved that she wasn’t.
How someone could decline so much since Christmas, he had no idea. Now she had an inch-wide white stripe down the center of her coal-black curls, a sure sign of how poorly she felt if she couldn’t be bothered to dye her roots. She’d lost weight but was also bloated due to her growing heart problems. Seeing her now was like being introduced to the actress who’d been hired to play her in some TV movie. The general effect was right, but it wasn’t the same person at all.
Kerry hadn’t known any of this was going on.
While he’d been living the life of an up-and-coming orthopedic surgeon in Oakland, hooking up with hot women, hanging out with his colleagues and pretending he didn’t know how much his grandmother missed him, she’d been back here, declining.
“Kerry?”
Something inside Kerry broke open and spilled emotion. He felt scared. Guilty. Ashamed. Most of all, he felt overwhelming relief that Kareem was there, and they were still cool even though Kerry had made a new and improved life for himself across the country. Even though Kerry preferred to forget, whenever possible, that the people from his old life missed him.
Kareem had also changed. His fashion sense had gone from a young professional athlete with too much money to burn and no common sense aesthetic (gold chains, a pinky ring and the latest overpriced collector’s edition athletic shoes) to the understated elegance of, say, a rapper turned business mogul (expensive suits with custom shirts, a Cartier watch with only a few diamonds and Italian shoes). His taste in cars had turned away from BMWs (“Everyone has one,” he’d said last year) to the latest and greatest Benz.
He’d said his business was thriving.
He’d certainly tapped into a steady infusion of cash.
Plenty of folks, Kerry included, still wondered what, exactly, Kareem’s career choice was, especially now that he rolled with an entourage that included Hector and Yogi, a couple of their friends from high school.
Did any of that matter in the middle of a crisis?
Nope.
The only thing that mattered was that they were still cool, even though Kerry had refused Kareem’s job offer over Christmas. Which meant that Kerry wasn’t alone in this ordeal.
“K.J.,” he said as he got up, his voice choked.
They hugged. Slapped each other’s backs.
“I should have been here for her,” Kerry said angrily, dropping into one of the chairs and thumping his forehead with his fist. “What was I thinking, moving to the West Coast? Jesus. That’s not an easy day trip, is it? And it’s not like she’s a spring chicken.”
“She needs you here, man.” Kareem pulled up another chair, sat, smoothed the razor’s-edge crease of his pants and crossed his legs. “She needs a kidney. They tested everyone at church.”
“I’m not a match,” Kerry said bitterly.
“I am.”
The reversal of fortune, so sudden and complete, made Kerry’s head spin. One second ago, his grandmother was dying, but now she had every chance in the world. And Kareem looked perfectly matter-of-fact about the whole thing, as though nothing more complicated than borrowing a cup of flour was involved.
“I couldn’t ask you to—”
Kareem shrugged. “I’m volunteering. She’s Grandmama Ruth. Of course she can have my kidney.”
Kerry began to smile…to float…to feel the swelling whoop of joy in his chest—
“I just…” Without warning, Kareem’s face twisted with abject misery. He made a broken sound that was just this side of a sob. “I don’t get it, Kerry. What did I ever do to you, man? Weren’t we tight? Aren’t we brothers?”
Dread settled in Kerry’s gut. “If this is about my student loan, I can try to up the payments to five hundred a month, and then if I get a bonus at Christmas—”
“What?”
“I still owe you forty-five large,” Kerry reminded him.
The original debt, all told, had only been sixty because Denison had reinstated his scholarships pretty quickly once he turned his grades around, and then he’d had scholarships in med school. In the years since, Kerry had scrimped, saved and repaid, forgoing a new car and a house. He’d never missed a payment. Never would. Being in debt made him uneasy.
And being indebted to Kareem…
“It’s not about the money!” Kareem’s voice shook. “I’ve done everything I can to help you, Kerry. You need money? You got it. You need someone to watch over your grandmother while you skip town? Happy to help. You need a kidney to keep her alive? Have mine. Anything for you, Kerry.”
“K.J.—”
“But do you return my phone calls? Do you ever pick up your phone to make sure I’m still alive? Do you stop by when you’re in town, maybe say hi to my mama and make her happy to see your sparkling face, or do you sneak in and out like some CIA operative and hope I don’t find out? Well, guess what, fool? I find out! I always find out!”
“K.J.—”
“And the one time I ask you to do something for me, what do I get? A kick in the teeth.”
“I already have a job, K.J.”
“Then you can be my part-time consultant. But you need to move back here. I need you. Your grandmother needs you.”
If the noose was already around Kerry’s neck (and hadn’t it been around his neck since he accepted Kareem’s loan offer all those years ago?), this was the moment it started tightening.
“You can call it a job,” Kerry said. “You can call me a consultant. That doesn’t mean it’s not money laundering.”
“Excuse me?”
“You want me to use my knowledge about medical offices and medical equipment to help
you set up some bogus operations to help you launder your money. From your auto-detailing business.” Kerry made air quotes. “Isn’t that right? Let’s call a spade a spade.”
Kareem went very still, an indecipherable gleam in his eyes.
“I need your expertise to help me evaluate investment opportunities.” His voice sounded like a rattlesnake in a velvet pouch. “Because my business has been so successful.”
“Your business is selling drugs.”
“No.”
Once again, when Kerry least expected it, Kareem turned on a dime. Those flashing eyes produced two sparkling tears that trailed down Kareem’s sculpted cheeks and highlighted the perfection of his face. The wounded soul. The brokenhearted friend.
Kerry’s certainty wavered.
“Haven’t we covered this already, man?” Kareem said. “Is this what you think of me?”
“Why am I still hearing the rumors? If you’re as pure as the driven snow?”
“Because I’m a successful black man, Kerry! You know that! You think a rumor’s true just because some hater made it up? You think everything they say about you is true just because they say it? You think I believe that you’ll grow up to be drunken loser just because that’s what your daddy did?”
“You leave my father out of this!” Kerry roared.
“Kerry? You okay?”
Kerry frowned. Mumbled something.
Went right back to Kareem, who was always there, always waiting.
“She needs you back here. I need you back here. We can help each other, man.”
Kareem’s voice sounded soothing. Infinitely persuasive.
“I’ll forgive the loan.” Kareem’s voice was closer now, as though he’d had a seat on Kerry’s shoulder, the better to whisper in his ear. “What’s a little money between brothers?”
Don’t do it, whispered another, quieter voice.
“And when you come to work with me,” Kareem continued, “I’ll double your current salary. Think of all the things you could do with that money.”
Deadly Secrets Page 12
