Tumbledown

by Cari Hunter

  “Yeah.” Alex guided her hand back to the bed. “Will it look rakish? I don’t mind if it’ll look rakish.”

  Even though Sarah felt sick and too hot and uncomfortable just about everywhere, the silly grin Alex gave her was enough to make her smile. “Very dashing,” she confirmed. “It’ll go beautifully with the one on your forehead.”

  Alex’s expression sobered at that reminder. They would both bear the scars from two generations of the Deakin family. “I think yours might outdo mine,” she said.

  “Mm, probably.” With both arms snared up by IV tubing, Sarah couldn’t do much for herself, and her attempts to investigate her own wounds were largely unsuccessful. Frustrated, she forgot all about keeping still and thumped her head back on the pillow. “What the hell have they got clamped onto my leg?”

  Alex lifted the sheets, despite her obvious reluctance, and Sarah squinted at the convoluted contraption.

  “Damn, those were two of the only bones I didn’t have metal in,” she said. Bracing herself, she wiggled her toes, just to be sure that she could. In all honesty, she was surprised to find she still had toes there to wiggle, and the look on Alex’s face suggested she had shared the same fears. It would be a long time before Sarah could start jogging again, but the outcome could certainly have been worse.

  She closed her good eye as a chill ran through her. Then she snapped it open again, acutely afraid of the dark. “Is he dead?” she said.

  “No. He coded in the warehouse, but they brought him here for surgery and transferred him out to UMass Memorial for specialist care as soon as he was stable enough.”

  Sarah couldn’t cope with thinking through the ramifications of that right then. “Leah?” she asked instead.

  “She’s fine. The baby’s fine. Castillo left to interview her a few hours ago.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” She bit nervously at the tattered skin on her bottom lip. “And you’re really okay, aren’t you? I heard shots and I didn’t know…I couldn’t see anything.” Her words tumbled over each other, out of synch with her efforts to breathe.

  “I know, sweetheart. I really am okay, honest.” Alex cast a glance at the monitor as its figures flashed red.

  “I heard two shots,” Sarah insisted. Two shots that had set her ears ringing, and then Leah’s voice, not Alex’s. “What happened?”

  Alex sighed. “I was wearing a vest. The bullet broke three of my ribs.”

  “Jesus bloody Christ.”

  “Yeah.” Alex left her chair and sat carefully on the side of the bed. She placed her hand over Sarah’s heart, her firm touch reassuring them both. “Jesus bloody Christ.” Her brow furrowed as she closed her eyes.

  It took Sarah a moment to figure out what she was doing. “Are you counting?”

  “Might be.” Alex used the monitor to confirm her calculation. “Your pulse is a bit quick. I think you’re due a shot of morphine.”

  Sarah shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want to go back to sleep,” she said, and then, knowing Alex would understand better than anyone, “I’ve been having nightmares.”

  “What if I wake you as soon as you get twitchy?”

  A yawn caught Sarah unawares. “You never told me I get twitchy,” she mumbled.

  “Where’d you think all those bruises on my legs come from?”

  “Thought you were just a clumsy bugger.” She heard Alex chuckle and she covered the hand still resting on her chest with her own fingers.

  “That’s good,” Alex told her, apparently back to counting. “Much slower.”

  For a minute, it was so quiet in the room that Sarah could hear drops of blood falling into her transfusion. She closed her eyes but still couldn’t rest.

  “Alex?”

  “What?”

  “Will you leave the lights on?”

  “Of course I will, and I’m staying right here,” Alex said, the absolute certainty of her reply giving Sarah the assurance she craved. “I promise I won’t let you wake up in the dark.”

  *

  The peppermint tea was sweet, with an unusual taste that lingered after every sip. Honey, Leah realized belatedly; someone had put a spoonful of honey in it for her. She cradled the mug with both hands, the heat turning her fingers pink and plump, healthy-looking. The doctor who had examined her the previous night had warned her that she was too thin, that her baby was small for sixteen weeks. She had made polite noises of acquiescence, but it had been hard to listen to his dietary advice as she gazed at the tiny but perfect form on the ultrasound screen. The FBI agent at her side had obviously paid attention, though, because breakfast that morning had been the best meal she had eaten in months. Earlier, that same agent had come down to her cell and woken her from a deep, dreamless sleep, and when he told her the time she had been astounded by how late it was; she had expected them to come for her after only an hour or two, but instead they had allowed her to sleep through the night.

  At the sound of voices outside the interview room, she smoothed her fingers nervously through her hair. The agent who had brought her the tea came in first, nodded at her, and then stood to one side so another man could enter the room. Leah remembered seeing this second man at the mill. He had been one of the first to come through the door, and had left his colleagues and the medics to arrange Caleb’s extrication while he headed straight into the next room, to Alex and Sarah.

  “I’m Agent Castillo,” he said, sinking into a chair. His eyes were red-rimmed and there was a tatty growth of stubble covering his chin. She guessed he had come directly from the hospital.

  “Is Sarah okay?” she asked.

  The smile he gave her was tired but genuine. “She came through the surgery and Alex is with her. The doctors are hopeful.”

  “Thank God,” she whispered, a small spark of her faith rekindling for an instant.

  “Leah?” He said her name quietly and ensured she made eye contact before he continued. “Caleb came through his surgery as well.”

  She licked her lips, certain that she should say something but unable to speak. Caleb had stopped breathing; she had heard the medics shouting that, had seen them performing CPR. He should have died. Why hadn’t they just let him die?

  Castillo’s face became unfocused around the edges as tears blurred her vision, and she raised a hand to dash them from her eyes. She had woken up feeling safe, contented. Now she felt as if someone were wrapping their fingers around her neck and choking the life from her. She pulled at the top buttons on her shirt to loosen it, her nails scratching at the skin on her throat, but still she couldn’t breathe.

  “Leah, look at me.” Castillo didn’t raise his voice, but pitched his request to cut neatly through her panic. “We can protect you,” he told her. “We can keep you and your baby safe.”

  She stared at him, incredulous. “I’m going to prison. You think he won’t be able to get to me there?”

  “I think there are options we should discuss. Your lawyer called to let me know he’s caught up in traffic. I’m going to grab a coffee. Can I get you more tea?”

  “What options?” She spoke quickly to stop him from leaving. It didn’t matter to her whether she had a lawyer present; she knew there was no defense for what she had done.

  Castillo looked at the other agent, who shrugged in implicit consent.

  “You can tell us everything that happened and agree to testify against Caleb,” Castillo said.

  She nodded, thinking it over. She had thought Caleb was dead, so the prospect of testifying had never entered her head. No one else had been there when he murdered the paramedic. She was the only witness, the only one who could piece everything together for the FBI. No matter how irrefutable the evidence, Caleb wouldn’t plead guilty to that murder; he would expect her to provide him with an alibi, and he could afford to hire the best legal advice.

  “If I testify, will that help Sarah?”

  Clearly startled by her question, Castillo stared at her as if trying to work out what her angle might be
. “Yes, I think that’ll help Sarah a great deal.”

  She smiled and drew in a huge breath. She had told Sarah that she had never been brave. Now seemed as good a time as any to rectify that.

  *

  Always quite adept at multitasking, Alex was fielding texts from Ash and Tess while keeping a close eye on what the nurse was doing to Sarah. The beep of the thermometer made Sarah’s nose furrow, but she showed no other signs of waking, which was hardly surprising given the amount of morphine being pumped into her. The nurse flashed Alex a quick okay sign as he recorded Sarah’s vitals on her chart. Then he gathered an empty IV and headed to the door, but as he was about to push it open, he paused and turned back.

  “Think you might have visitors. Lady with a sour face, and a handsome-looking cop. They were talking to the officers outside. I asked them to wait there. Should I send them in?”

  “If Agent Somers has approved them, then yes, go ahead.” Alex had a good idea who the visitors might be.

  “That woman a friend of yours?”

  “Not even close.”

  He left the door and crouched by her side, lowering his voice in exaggerated confidentiality. “She gives you any shit, press the call button. I’ll accidentally empty Sarah’s drain all over her nasty Louboutin slingbacks.”

  Alex could barely reply for laughing. “I would pay to see you do that.”

  He shook the hand she held out. “Deal. I love my job, but the money’s terrible.”

  As soon as he opened the door, Linda Kryger strode into view.

  “Remember, press the buzzer,” he hissed to Alex over his shoulder, and then stepped aside to allow the ADA to enter the room.

  Alex tried to stand, certain that Kryger was there to enforce the official protocol for hospitalized prisoners and determined to keep her away from Sarah. The murder charge against Sarah hadn’t yet been dismissed and, up until now, only Castillo’s intervention had prevented the prison officers on sentry duty outside the room from handcuffing Sarah to the bed.

  Alex made it to the edge of the chair before the pain in her ribs bent her double. “Fuck.”

  The clack of heels on the tiles stopped abruptly, but a softer tread continued to approach.

  “Easy, Alex. You okay there?” Scott Emerson rested his hand on her shoulder and she sagged back, relief draining all the fight from her.

  “Yeah, I am now.” She looked up at him and shook her head. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Likewise.” He smiled, oblivious to Kryger’s peevish expression. “How’s Sarah doing?”

  “Good. Well, better. They have her on some heavy-duty pain meds, so she’s mostly sleeping.”

  “Best thing for her. You should probably try it yourself. No offense, but you look like crap.”

  Slightly self-conscious in a pair of purloined scrubs, Alex ran her hands through her hair. The gesture didn’t seem to achieve much; she could still feel the wayward tufts sticking out, just in a different permutation. She sighed and gave up.

  “What can I say? It’s been a crappy week.”

  Emerson opened his mouth to respond, but Kryger cut him off by clearing her throat pointedly. The brusque interruption made Alex place a protective hand on Sarah’s wrist. She ran a finger over the bandages swathed around it.

  Catching her stricken expression, Emerson seemed to realize what she was anticipating. “No, damn it, Alex, that’s not why we’re here.” He motioned to Kryger, urging her to speak.

  Taking her time, she came just close enough to pass Alex a sheaf of paperwork from the file in her hand. “Late this afternoon, we received the forensic results from the samples collected at the cottage,” she said. “The blood on the knife handle and on the items of clothing retrieved from the fire belonged to Lyssa Mardell. Hair and semen samples from the cottage interior were matched to Caleb Deakin, and a partial thumbprint on the knife handle was also identified as his.” With a contemptuous flick of her hand, she indicated the paperwork. “Leah Deakin has provided a witness statement that accuses Caleb Deakin of Mardell’s murder, and she is willing to testify to that fact, should the case go to trial. Accordingly, the charges against Sarah have been dismissed.”

  Alex blinked. She looked at the carefully tabulated mass of information in front of her, and then back at Kryger. “What am I supposed to do? Thank you?”

  Her voice was barely raised above a whisper, but the derision in it made Kryger retreat a couple of steps. She snapped the file closed and straightened her shoulders. “You’ll both be subpoenaed to testify against Deakin,” she said, as if determined to have the last word.

  “You think we don’t know that?” This time Alex did raise her voice. “We’ll worry about the trial once we find out whether Sarah will be able to walk again.” She turned to Emerson. “Get her the fuck out of here.”

  Kryger raised a hand to ward off any potential action by Emerson. “I was doing my job,” she said. “I’m not going to apologize for that.”

  “No,” Alex said. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  Kryger opened her mouth to reply, but then seemed to reconsider, and left the room without another word.

  Emerson caught the door as it began to close. “Agent Castillo wanted to speak to you as well,” he said. “I’ll go find him.”

  Alex nodded and waited for him to leave before she laid the report flat on the bedside table, intent only on resuming her vigil and trying to calm down. Closing her eyes, she made an effort to breathe through her nose.

  “You done yelling?”

  Peeking through one eye, she saw Sarah smiling at her. “Yeah, think so. How much of that did you hear?”

  Sarah tried to shuffle up a little but stopped almost immediately, wincing. “Something about us both having supper, and then you said ‘fuck.’”

  “Subpoenaed, not supper.”

  “Oh. Supper sounded much nicer.”

  Using the remote control, Alex raised the head of the bed. “How’s that?”

  “Lovely. So who were you swearing at?”

  “ADA Kryger. She just dropped by to let you know you were a free woman.”

  Sarah’s good eye widened. “Bloody hell.”

  “They waited for the DNA results and Leah’s statement.”

  “Well, I suppose being kidnapped and tortured doesn’t automatically make me innocent.” Sarah sounded so reasonable that it made Alex wonder exactly how much morphine she was being given. “Surprised they didn’t cuff me to the bed,” she continued.

  “They would’ve, had Kryger gotten her way.”

  “Oh. Castillo?”

  “Yeah, I think we owe him. Again.”

  “No time like the present.” Sarah pointed to the large shadow lurking outside the door. Castillo knocked, and she called out for him to come in.

  “Well, look at you.” He grinned at Sarah from the doorway before coming over to give her a hug. Emerson stood on the threshold, and Alex beckoned him forward as well.

  “I’d offer you guys a beer, but we’re all out, and Sarah’s keeping all the really good drugs for herself,” she said. “But I’m guessing this isn’t a social visit.”

  “No, it’s not.” Castillo pulled up a chair. “I just wanted to let you both know that Leah Deakin has been taken into protective custody. After the trial—assuming that there is one, that Deakin doesn’t plead guilty or die in the meantime—she’ll be given a new identity and relocated.”

  “Is she being charged with anything?” Sarah asked.

  “No. That was the crux of her deal. Are you okay with that?”

  She nodded vigorously. “Yes, definitely.”

  “We’ll need statements from both of you as soon as you’re feeling up to it,” Emerson said. “And Kryger was right about needing you to testify.”

  Alex waited for Sarah’s response, but all she did was nod, the news apparently not coming as a bombshell.

  “She won’t be involved in your interviews,” he assured them. “I’ve asked the DA’s office for a
different representative and they’ve agreed to assign one.”

  Something in his tone and his phrasing provided Alex with the clue she had been missing. “What happened to Quinn?” she asked.

  “He resigned this morning,” Emerson said. “I’m assuming his role, temporarily.”

  The revelation took her aback, but she found it difficult to feel any real emotion—neither guilt nor sadness, elation nor satisfaction. Quinn hadn’t acted maliciously, just with poor judgment, and he had gotten off lightly compared to Sarah.

  “Chief Emerson,” she said, and smiled as he blushed to the tips of his ears. “I think that has a real nice ring to it.”

  *

  For Sarah, it was easy to divide her time in the hospital into good days and bad days. On the good days, the pain was manageable and she made progress in physical therapy. Alex might sneak burgers and shakes into the ward, or take her outside for a walk with Tilly. On the bad days, she saw Caleb Deakin in the face of everyone she met, her room felt so claustrophobic that she had to prop the door open, and nothing made the pain stop.

  It was only six a.m., but today was already shaping up to be a bad day.

  She had woken when she attempted to throw herself out of bed. Running: she was always running in her nightmares, and it was always pitch-black, and she could never scream. Her leg, now in a fiberglass cast, had worked as an anchor of sorts, keeping her on the bed, but the abrupt movement and the resultant bolt of pain had torn her from sleep.

  Moving carefully so as not to disturb Alex, who as usual had stayed too late and crashed out on a foldaway bed, she managed to get into her wheelchair and roll it over to the window. Rain was splattering against the glass, the sky outside alive with storm clouds. It was warm in the room, but fear had left her T-shirt soaked and her teeth were beginning to chatter. She tried to pull one of the thin blankets from her bed, and the swish of material broke the stillness; she held her breath as she heard Alex turn over. There was silence for a minute, then another creak of the bed’s flimsy frame.