“Four reporters,” Jill said, trying not to sound too gloomy. “All you need is one and it’s all over the ‘Net and trending forever and damn, why can’t we be just an ordinary family?” She’d fallen back to fretting, squeezing Jesse a bit too hard, struggling to hide her nerves.
No dice. Jesse pulled back and peered at her. “Mammy scawee?”
They reassured him, but he still looked doubtful when they got him into his crib and under the covers.
Then they visited Beth.
To their surprise she was up again, just starting to walk the hall, exercise on her own. “Hey,” she greeted them, holding up both hands. “Look doc, no nurse!”
“Rule breaker.” David allowed himself a small grin as Jill hugged her.
“Yeah, I’m a fighter.” Beth reached for the handrail near her and steadied herself. “Exercise makes you stronger faster. I so hate being out of shape.”
They walked her back to her room and she talked about Ricky, already asleep, happily tired after his day in the playroom. “So he had fun independently, then came running back and was only a little clingy. That’s progress, right?”
“Definitely,” Jill said, helping Beth back into bed, then hoisting herself up and sitting near Beth’s knees. The room was dimly lit.
David glanced at Ricky sleeping in his cot. “And still no thumb sucking,” he said. “Looks like he’s stopped.”
Beth shifted and looked down at her child. “Yes, thank God, but I still worry about him,” she said softly. Then looked from David to Jill and added, “Not what you think. It’s…there’s been muscular dystrophy in my family history. My grandfather suffered terribly from it. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.”
She leaned thoughtfully back on her pillow.
“The nurses have been talking about that symposium tomorrow morning,” she said quietly. “About Jesse and that crazy dead genius Doctor Whatsisname…”
“Clifford Arnett,” David supplied. “Started out with noble intent from the sound of it. Wanted to help embryos have healthier lives, resist disease, then went off the ethical rails and started experimenting in secret.”
“The nurses said he removed inherited disease from Jesse’s embryo.”
“Claimed to remove,” Jill said uneasily; and David looked down at Ricky again. “Nobody’s yet proved Jesse’s anything other than a regular kid,” he said “A regular, smart kid, but that happens with kids born from regular pregnancies, too.”
“Still,” Beth said intently, and it was clear she’d been thinking about this. “My lost pregnancy was IVF, and if checking for inherited disease and removing it from an embryo is even remotely possible….” She looked emotionally from Jill to David. “I’d so like to see that symposium. Would it be possible?”
David nodded and grinned. “Don’t see why not. Hey, we’re going to be six at a table for eight. Sit with us.”
“Awesome.” Jill touched Beth’s blanketed knee, really tickled at the idea of her being with them. “Morning rounds sometimes take longer. If David and I wind up going down separately, I’ll stop by for you. We can ask a nurse to take Ricky down again for play.”
Beth was thrilled, waving both her hands. “OhmyGod, thank you, thank you. I don’t believe this, I’m really going to see it! What time does it start?”
“Nine o’clock,” Jill said. “Kind of a late breakfast thing with Q and A afterwards. Will probably run til noon. Hey, I’m so glad you thought of this.”
She squeezed Beth’s hand. Beth squeezed back hard, happy, and David leaned to pat her cheek. “Sleep well,” he said. “No nightmares, hear?”
“Copy that.” Another big smile.
Later, walking the hall, Jill said abruptly, “I feel better.”
“Mmph?” David was finally starting to get sleepy.
“Talking to Beth about tomorrow felt good. I mean, describing researchers and a nine to twelve brunch? Those aren’t Haven’s hours. So I feel less nervous.”
“Just less?”
Jill shrugged and breathed in. “Well, one year is a milestone for Jesse and us, maybe that’s the thing. Plus the huge hoopla surrounding it – who’d want that? Plus I’m always a little nervous. That’s what mothers are supposed to be, right? Worriers?”
In their on call room, David dimmed the light and Jill flopped onto their mattresses.
After love, she was more exhausted than she realized and fell right to sleep.
David lay with his arm over her, suddenly wide awake. Something was bothering him. Something someone had said in the clamor of this long, intensely awful day…
Unbidden, he thought of their old cell phones, lying next to their new ones two feet away.
Funny, their old ones hadn’t rung. Mitch Haven had been way too quiet. David remembered Jill commenting about that: “What do you s’pose he’s planning next?”
And that was earlier.
Nighttime was Haven’s time to call – and he hadn’t. Not yet. No bragging about having eluded the cops at Beth’s; no taunting about how they’d never find him, he was always a step ahead.
How unlike him. The bastard needed attention. Craved attention. And the thrill of feeling fury - there’d been no more You Betrayed Me calls either.
David reached to check his old phone. It was on and charged. Had never been off. He slid the phone closer and lay, waiting, frowning at the ceiling.
Nothing. An hour passed. And then another.
At one o’clock it finally came to him, the thing that was nagging. He knew what he was going to do tomorrow, and finally slept.
37
There was blood in the sink, which should have warned her, especially with the bubbles turning from blue to red this time. She finished scrubbing out, grabbed Jesse from the sink next to her and brought him out to the conference room where they all wore smiling masks. Photographers told her to pose holding Jesse, but the cameras turned out to be mortars and they all blazed at once. “A new kind of couple!” someone shouted as she fell, torn apart, losing Jesse - and then she woke, crying and shaking, on the empty mattress on the floor.
Her chest heaved and her heart beat wildly. She heard David’s voice vaguely through the still-whirring dream. Her frightened, tearful gaze met his and he told the phone, “I’ll call you back.”
He came, still in his scrub bottoms, to kneel and hold her. “Bad dream?” he whispered.
“Awful. What time is it?”
“Six-thirty. I just spoke with Ted Connor. They’ve all been up most of the night.”
Jill was still seeing the dream. “Wha…?”
“Something Brand said last night.” A whispered rush. “We were in the childcare and it was noisy - noisy at his end too, hard to hear. Remember I said Mitch Haven used Beth’s computer to apply for waiter jobs?”
She nodded, jolting awake.
“Something just registered. Alex said he applied to one event planner and six restaurants. Focus seemed on restaurants so it barely sunk in about the event planner. Just now I asked Connor its name.”
Jill looked at him.
“It’s Banford. Fancy outfit, hospital’s used it a lot; Simpson reassured me about them yesterday. I still wanted to see if any Brad Fuller applied to them. That’s Haven’s new fake name, remember?”
“Fuller, right.”
“The cops checked the restaurants, spent the night sifting through resumes but had a problem. Tried to check Banford too but their office was closed for the night, and they had no warrant. The judge yelled at them, called it a hunch, a fishing expedition.”
“My mother used to get warrants at three in the morning.”
“Yeah, when it’s clear urgent probable cause.” David stood up, looking back at his phone. “A warrant probably wouldn’t even be needed by day. Banford would be cooperative, but they don’t open till 9:00.”
Jill got herself into a sitting position and dropped her head to her knees. This was too much to take in while she was still seeing mortars blasting the conf
erence room. “But the hospital’s used Banford before, right?” Her voice was strained.
“Yes. Things you’ve been to, probably didn’t realize. The parties greeting new interns, yours and this year’s, for starters.”
“Oh well then.”
David pulled her up to shower, and they were in new scrubs in minutes. He kneeled and started strapping on his Glock in its ankle holster.
“David,” Jill said firmly, watching him. “I am going to learn about guns. Get one and become a good, careful shooter.”
“Yes, yes. Agreed.”
“As soon as this damned thing is over.”
“Right. Len says he already has an instructor picked for you. We talked about it last night when you were doing that delivery after the conference room.”
As soon as this damned thing is over drummed in Jill’s brain. She clenched her fists, wishing that it already was over, that it was tomorrow already with life slowed back down to its normal, familiar frenzy.
By seven they were at the nurses’ desk greeting the morning rounds group. Bigger today than usual: interns, residents including Sam, Woody, Tricia and Holloway, plus a bunch of third and fourth year med students on clinical rotation.
“Can we get into the symposium?” bleated one of the med students. Other eyes pleaded the same.
“There’ll be printed reports,” David said, giving the loaded chart rack a shove, and off they went…to more patients than usual.
“Busy night,” Sam said wearily, walking alongside David. Woody on his other side added, as if sleepwalking, “But no one getting born at the moment. Oh joy, an hour of freedom maybe.”
Tricia, behind them and trudging alongside Jill, yawned and wondered why babies insisted on getting born at night. Jill made a face. “It just seems that way.”
In her head, she was arguing with herself. Rationalizing and re-rationalizing. Be nervous? Not nervous? Turn into a neurotic for life? Yeah, that would be great parenting for Jesse. And this THING was just the hospital’s regular, trusted Banford and a bunch of bespectacled researchers… That’s ALL. Cool it. Jeez!
After the fifth patient David, in the hall stepping away from the rounds group, called Security.
“We’re already down here,” a male voice told him. “The waiters are due at 8:00.”
It was 7:48.
He asked Sam to lead the last of the rounds. Sam said fine and took the charts.
To Jill David said, “I’m going down.”
“Down where?”
“The conference room.”
They were off to the side, by a fire extinguisher. “Why now?” Jill’s brow creased. “We’ve got an hour-”
“I just want to check faces.”
“Check…?”
His expression told her why. She felt terrible.
“Oh, I’ve gotten us both all nutty,” she groaned. “Haven doesn’t do brunches.”
“Right, I just want to look around.”
“Then I’m coming too.”
“You promised to bring Beth and you’ve gotta get Jesse.”
Jill’s hand clapped her brow. “Okay, now I’m worried. My brains are fried. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Finish rounds, then bring them both down before it gets busy.”
“Okay. See you there.”
38
The head waiter and two others were already there, setting up. None of them looked like Haven, and another waiter just arriving was female. That made four, present and accounted for.
“Eight tables, six waiters including me,” the head waiter said as he showed David the list of names. His name was Dan DeMayo.
David read the list. There was no Brad Fuller. “There’s only five names here,” he said, holding the printout.
Dan made a frustrated gesture. “Banford’s been swamped.” He was middle-aged, tall and serious, with a long face and stressed dark eyes. “Last minute Park Avenue surprise party” – he rolled his eyes – “can’t say no to them. And a Welcome Home Soldier party over at Fordham, can’t say no to them either, they just got word about one of their students.” He shook his head. “This unexpected stuff happens a lot. They had to hire ten extra people in, like, a day.”
His eyes swept the room, past the tables and two bored-looking security guards near the entrance. “Just wait staff with the best references of course,” he said reassuringly, looking back to David, then raising his hands. “So where are the two new ones?”
Mitch Haven used Beth’s computer to apply for waiter jobs.
“Two?” David asked. “Which of them is on the list?”
Dan took the printout back and scrutinized it. “Zac Baker,” he said and pointed. “Wonder why the other name isn’t there. Well, like I said, they were crazy stressed yesterday. Could he have been sent to Park or Fordham by mistake?”
He glanced at a waiter hurriedly laying down silverware. It was 8:15. A vein throbbed on his brow. “Hell, four more tables to set, coffee not started, scones and quiche to heat in the kitchen, salmon and eggs still-”
“I’ll help,” David said without thinking. A bad feeling surged through him, like hitting a live wire.
Dan looked back at him.
“Till those two show up,” David said. “I’m free and you’re two waiters short.”
Dan’s face lit. “Hey, if you’re offering...”
“I’ve waited in my day.” The heart was suddenly thudding and David was going on instinct. Another thought came. “Do you have extra waiter outfits by any chance?”
Surprised: “Yeah, my own. In case of spills, tears… I’m obsessive compulsive like that. Kevin is too, right Kevin?”
A different waiter nearby looked up and smiled hurriedly. “Yeah, I always bring my extra. You’re welcome to it.”
But Kevin was shorter. Dan looked back at David; realized he was looking up to David. “You’re about an inch taller than me.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Faces under hairnets and white caps looked surprised as David raced past them through the conference room kitchen. Fast, in their bathroom, he was out of his scrubs and into the black pants, white shirt, and vest of a waiter.
Leaving his scrubs on the counter, he checked his ankle Glock and hurried back out to help. His eyes flicked around while his hands worked.
“Those two show up yet?” he asked Dan deMayo as he rushed past him.
“No, I just don’t get this,” Dan answered, laying glassware. “Their resumes were the best. What could have happened?”
“Have you called Banford?”
“Been trying, leaving voicemails. They don’t answer yet.”
The time was 8:25.
39
She’d dressed Jesse in a long-sleeved blue cotton shirt under cute red bib overalls with blue whales on them.
“Fith,” Jesse said on the dressing table, raising his knee happily and pointing to one of the whales.
Jill lifted him to her and with a free hand soft-brushed his silky hair. “Actually honey,” she said. “It’s a whale.” She put the brush down and pointed to one of the whales. “Whale,” she repeated.
“Wayy,” Jesse mimicked, looking down where she pointed, delighted at trying a new word.
Jill grinned at her son. “What a smart little kiddo.” He really did calm her, gave her such joy.
“Way! Way!” he chortled, loving the praise as Jill made her way through the childcare tumult.
“Way to go!” called a medical resident, playing with her little girl. “Have a great symposium!”
“Thanks!” Jill wasn’t sure why she was excited: because the moment had finally arrived, or because it was almost over.
Tricia called as they waited for the elevator. “Where are you?”
“Coming down with Jesse. Meet me in Beth’s room.”
Trish was already there when they arrived, half in the closet hanging up Beth’s blue robe. “Dig this brand new woman!” she said, stepping back out and theatrically sweeping her hand.<
br />
Beth was dressed in street clothes, was wearing her maroon sweater, black slacks and running shoes. “I’m psyched,” she grinned, sitting in her wheelchair near her bed. “We’re free for take off. Ricky’s already gone down to the playroom.”
“Holding the nurse’s hand and happy,” Tricia beamed. “Actually tugging at her to walk faster, can you beat it?”
“You look terrific, Beth,” Jill smiled, hefting Jesse as Tricia came to kiss him. He showed her his whales and she clapped her hands, made a fuss.
“Life returns and I feel terrific, thanks to you guys,” Beth said. She looked down over the side of her wheelchair and screwed up her face. “Hey, I so don’t need this, I can walk fine.”
“Hospital rules.” Tricia made a face too. “Spin those wheels, Bethie. Let’s roll.”
They all descended in the elevator.
The time was 8:25.
Zac’s uniform’s a perfect fit, Mitch Haven thought, delighted with himself. Between the uniform, fake upper teeth, and his new hairstyle – lighter, combed forward – he didn’t even recognize himself. He checked in the taxi window reflection and smiled at himself, reassured.
Too bad poor loser Zac had to die, but for a good cause, right? The uniform? He probably never even knew what hit him. Had been sleeping on his stomach. His body lurched just a little when the silenced gun plugged through his back to his heart.
The cab dropped Haven by a side hospital entrance where he’d been told to go. Inside, he took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, where he found the glass-walled hall and the appointed conference room. He showed his plastic-coated, printed-yesterday Banford ID.
“My cab was in an accident,” he told Dan DeMayo. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again if I have to leave an hour earlier.”
DeMayo gave him a look that said You’re not going to get the chance, then directed him to help set up a side table.
It was long, lined the wall, and needed extra silverware, napkins and glassware. “In case people drop stuff,” a stressed waiter working next to him said. “Plus serving pieces, the coffee urn, and oh shit where are the scone servers?” They faced the wall, working, but Haven’s eyes kept darting over his shoulder for his target.
CATCH ME (EMBRYO: A Raney & Levine Thriller, Book 4) Page 17
