Code of Justice

by Liz Johnson

  The way Nate had rested his hand on Nora’s back mirrored the familiar actions of Clay Kramer, Kit’s fiancé. Except now he wasn’t engaged to her anymore. Because she was—

  Heather closed her eyes, willing the image of Clay and Kit laughing together the night before the crash to vanish. It faded slightly, leaving only an imagined likeness of the pain Clay was enduring, his handsome face twisted in agony. How could he survive with the love of his life gone? How could she ever think of having a happy life with her sister gone?

  Beyond questions of her own happiness lay more sinister inquiries that were painful just to ponder. Had someone really wanted to hurt Kit? Why would they want to kill someone everyone loved? Was it possible that Heather’s own life could be in jeopardy, too?

  These questions haunted her as she fell into a fitful sleep.

  Heather heard the rattle and click of the turning door handle before she was consciously awake. Her brain still foggy from sleep and the pain medication, she struggled to open her eyes, wondering if she was having another visitor. Her parents had been by earlier, but she’d insisted they go back to the hotel. She could see how drained they were after the funeral.

  At the same moment that the door opened, her eyelids raised enough that she could see through her lashes.

  A short, round man ducked into the room, looking over his shoulder as though confirming that he wasn’t being followed, before silently closing the door behind him. When he turned to face her, she could make out only his ratty, gray jacket and violently shaking hands. She’d never seen anyone’s hands shaking that badly—except drug addicts going through withdrawal.

  But what was an addict doing in her hospital room?

  He spun around slowly before shuffling toward her bed. She flexed her hand, feeling around for her gun. Which Nate still had. Maybe she could reach the call button on the side of the bed without tipping him off that she was alert—if somewhat groggy. Before scaring him off, she needed to know what he wanted.

  A wave of body odor nearly sent her to the floor gagging, and she quickly adjusted to breathing through her mouth.

  “Put the tube in the line,” the man mumbled. “Put the tube in the line. Then get the fix.”

  What tube? What line?

  The fix was easy enough to understand.

  Suddenly he grabbed the IV line attached to the back of her hand, almost tugging it out. She forced her eyes to open all the way, looking into the face of a man with glassy eyes, long white hair and several days of patchy beard growth.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, carefully keeping her tone soft, if scratchy.

  He didn’t look at her, just continuing his chant. “Need to put the tube in the line. Then I get a fix.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked again, putting more force behind her words as she reached for the call button, praying it would bring help right away. Her words made him glance at her, but it didn’t make him pause, as he pulled a small medical vial from his pocket and tried to connect it to her IV. “Stop! Don’t do that!”

  Even with the tremors in his hands, he moved quickly, slipping the vial into place to feed whatever was in it into the line. She tried to roll to the side to stop him, but the sudden burning in the back of her hand was excruciating.

  The man shuffled a step toward the door, as she clawed at her hand, trying to pull the tubing out.

  “What is this?” she cried as the fire raced up her arm.

  It took her another moment to realize that the blood-curdling scream filling the room came from her own throat.

  TWO

  Even after Jeremy Latham flashed his Sheriff’s Deputy badge at the pretty blonde nurse at the station next to the elevator, she wouldn’t tell him the exact condition of the survivor of the helicopter crash that had claimed two lives. Something about confidential patient records. No matter. If she was conscious, he would get Heather Sloan’s statement and piece together the events leading up to the crash. But as he approached the door he’d been directed to, a scream sent him running toward the very room the nurse had indicated. As he neared it, a woman shouted again.

  Hoping the door was unlocked, he crashed into the solid wood. It flew open as he twisted the handle, sending him to his knees on the slick floor.

  A pair of very old shoes and an unpleasant odor shuffled past him as he scrambled to his feet. He caught only a glimpse of the back of the man’s head before screams from the bed grabbed his attention.

  “Get it out. Get it out! It burns!”

  The cries from the woman on the bed made it clear what took priority. She needed help. Now. Jeremy ignored the other man as he scrambled to her side.

  Putting one hand on her forearm, Jeremy said, “Where does it burn?”

  “Right arm,” she managed between gritted teeth, her eyes rolling back in her head.

  This was no time to pretend he had the kind of medical training needed to help. He pounded the call button over and over, following it up with shouts of his own. “Nurse! Nurse! I need help in 411!”

  The young woman screamed when he picked up her arm, but he had to get a closer look at the crimson stripes making their way toward her elbow. She must have pulled the dangling tube from the back of her hand, but the redness definitely started beneath the tape still holding an IV needle in place.

  The red lines were nearly to the crook in her arm when he realized that he had to stop whatever was causing them from getting any farther. Yanking the IV cord from its bag he wrapped it around her biceps and jerked it into a crude knot. The slick plastic didn’t want to stay in place, so he held it there, calling again for help. “Nurse!”

  The woman whimpered, and he put his hand back on her forehead.

  “It’s going to be okay. You’re all right.”

  Just then, the same blonde nurse who had told him Heather was in room 411 entered at a run, and her presence made Jeremy breathe a little easier, despite her curt tone. “What happened in here?”

  “I don’t know. I was in the hallway, and I heard someone screaming. There was another man in here. I think he put something in her IV. She said that it was burning her. I tried to stop it from going any farther up her arm.” He raised his hands to show her the makeshift tourniquet.

  The patient groaned, her eyes still clamped shut. And the nurse immediately took control. “Keep holding that,” she said, pointing to the tubes in his hand. “I will be right back. Heather, hang in there.” She raced out the door and in an instant her voice came over the hospital’s PA system, calling for help in Heather’s room. It finally sank in for Jeremy that this was the woman he’d come to see—the survivor of the helicopter crash who had, it seemed, been attacked near fatally again. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Heather Sloan?

  In a flash the blonde nurse was back, followed by two other nurses in pale green scrubs. One of the new nurses glared at Jeremy for a moment, before taking the IV tubing out of his hands and holding it in place. The other nurse poked buttons on the machine on the other side of Heather’s bed.

  He opened his mouth to ask what he could do before realizing he was useless in a hospital. But he did know what needed to be done. With the victim secured, it was time to go after the attacker. Sprinting for the door, the voice of the other nurse stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just leave. The police will have questions for you.”

  “I’ll have questions for them, too. As soon as I get back.”

  Spinning out the door, he raced toward the stairs. Someone like the man who had been in Heather’s room would be noticed riding in a crowded elevator or strolling through the crowded halls of the hospital. He’d look for a deserted escape route.

  Following the path Jeremy assumed the other man had taken and trying to keep his shoes from sliding on the freshly buffed floors, he skidded into the stairwell. As he raced down the steps, he tried to remember any distinguishing factors about the other man. He had been on the floor when the attacker passed, so his observations
were limited, but based on the condition of the black boots he’d worn and the terrible stench that followed him around, Jeremy’s best guess was that he was homeless. And his hair was silver and matted. That was a pretty slim description.

  Now he could kick himself in the pants for not getting a better look at the would-be…killer? But was he really trying to kill Heather? Why else would he have put something into her IV line?

  But what could their connection possibly be?

  Could it be related to a case she had been working?

  Four flights later he ended up in a storage room piled with stacks of clean laundry. Metal shelves lined the walls, and additional rows filled most of the floor-space, so he dropped to the ground, peering through the six-inch gap below the bottom of each shelf. Palms flat on the cold floor, he craned his neck in search of those black boots.

  Satisfied that he was alone, Jeremy jumped back up and hurried to the door, which led him into a hallway next to the E. R. Straight ahead was the ambulance entrance. Stopping quickly at the nurses’ station, he flashed his badge and asked, “Did you see a homeless man go past here a couple minutes ago?”

  The young man behind the desk nodded. “Sure. White hair and gray jacket?” He pointed toward the glass doors. “He looked like he was in a hurry.”

  “Thanks.” Jeremy followed the old man’s path, hoping he wasn’t too late.

  The sun hid behind a cloud as he stepped into the fresh air, looking around the parking lot. A woman with a broken leg rolled her wheelchair past him, and a flashy black Mercedes peeled out of the visitor’s parking lot. No sign of the old man.

  Jeremy’s shoulders sagged as he headed back into the hospital, opting this time to take the elevator instead of the stairs. Glancing at his watch, he wondered how long his useless chase had lasted. Had he missed out on clues in the hospital room that could have helped him?

  As he approached Heather’s room, the frantic sounds of saving a life continued. A deep voice had been added to the mix, but its tone was just as concerning as the others.

  Turning away, he walked toward a small, deserted waiting room on the floor, images of Heather writhing in pain still flashing behind his closed eyelids. It was too familiar, knowing a woman was in pain and being completely helpless.

  Pushing memories of the other woman out of his mind and focusing on the one he could still help, he slumped into a seat and pulled out his cell phone. Dialing an old friend, who he’d worked with on two unrelated drug cases when he started with the sheriff’s department years before, he said, “Hey, Tony.”

  “Latham. How’s everything in the sheriff’s office?”

  He shrugged out of habit. “Good. We’re keeping busy.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that chopper crash. You working it?”

  “Always.” His experience as an FAA agent supposedly made him an asset in situations like this, but the end of his time there had made it clear that he didn’t bring nearly as much to the table as the sheriff thought.

  “So what can I do for you?” The tone of Tony’s voice relayed that he remembered that he and the PD owed Jeremy a favor for a tip on a case two months before.

  “There was a situation at Immanuel Lutheran Hospital today.”

  “You mean the one about five minutes ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know about it? I’m not even sure that our guys have made it down there yet.”

  Jeremy ran his free hand through his wavy brown hair in desperate need of a trim. “I know. I’m here now. I was coming to talk to the crash survivor. An old guy—I think maybe homeless from the smell of him—was in her room and put something into her IV. The doctor is still working with her. I’m not sure what he dosed her with or what’s really going on, but the guy got away.” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice.

  “Whoa.”

  “I know. So listen, I need you to do me a favor and keep your eye out at the jail just in case someone brings in a homeless guy with white hair, a gray jacket and black boots.”

  “But that could be anybody. How would I even know if it’s your guy?” Tony sounded stumped.

  “Just call me. I’ll come down and check it out.”

  “Okay. You got it, man.”

  Jeremy hung up his phone and walked back toward Heather’s room. The voices inside continued at a slightly less rattled pace, but Heather clearly wasn’t out of danger yet.

  Back pressed against the wall, Jeremy slid to the floor, adrenaline leaving his system like a flood. Resting his forearms against bent knees and his chin against his chest, he sighed. God, please save Heather. He barely knew the girl—hadn’t even had a real conversation with her, but something was going on. And she needed all the help she could get.

  Heather’s eyes refused to open yet again, but for the first time in forever she felt human. The fog had lifted in her brain, and she was able to quickly take account of the situation.

  The beeping monitor to her left and firm pillow beneath her head told her she was still in the hospital. Her leg still ached from the surgery.

  Her shoulder felt significantly more normal than it had the last time she was awake, and a quick rotation provided only a minor twinge.

  And the burning in her arm was gone. It tingled a little bit, but she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just a memory of the pain of whatever had been injected into her arm.

  All seemed normal. Now. But it hadn’t been that way.

  Before.

  How long had she been asleep? When had that homeless man been in her room? What had he done to her? And why had she been his target?

  Why hadn’t she responded better? Years of training had gone down the tubes with a little bit of pain medication that made her feel blurry. She’d been useless. Like she had been during the crash.

  A phone rang, and a hand pulled out of hers. Had someone been holding her hand? She turned her hand over, squeezing it into a loose fist, trying to recall the shape and size of the absent hand.

  From the far corner of the room, came a deep voice. She recognized it, but couldn’t place it.

  “Nate?” she called, while trying to pry her heavy lids apart.

  The voice ended suddenly before resuming by her side. “No. It’s not Nate. It’s Jeremy.”

  Finally her eyes opened, and she looked into a handsome, if only moderately familiar, face. She’d definitely seen him before, but where? Suddenly a wheezing cough racked her body. He reached for a glass and held the straw to her lips, so she could greedily sip at it. When she finally leaned back, he put the cup back on the table and scooted a chair closer to the bed.

  “Jeremy Latham,” he said, reading the confusion in her eyes. “I’m a deputy with the Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Have we met before? You look so familiar.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been here a couple times, but you’ve always been out. Except last time.”

  “When the homeless man was here.” It was a statement, not a question, as the veil covering that memory finally lifted. She nodded slowly, but it was like trying to put a puzzle together with missing pieces. She’d lost hours…maybe even days. “When was that?”

  He bit the corner of his mouth and leaned forward over his knees. “Two days ago.”

  “And I haven’t been awake since then?”

  “No.” His dark curls bounced as his head moved, but his eyes remained steeled against whatever he had to say next. And she was certain there was more to come. As silence reigned, she waited. He didn’t move, only stared at her with that unwavering gaze.

  “So why have you been coming to see me?” A swift glance at the window proved the sun had set long before. “And after visiting hours, I’d guess.” A longer look at the window, and she realized that her neck was free of the annoying brace she’d been wearing since the crash. She tested her strength and mobility with a couple of gentle stretches.

  “Are you stiff?” he asked.

  “Not too bad, actually.” Sh
e glared at him, then looked away, still testing the strength of her neck. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

  He followed her gaze toward the opposite wall, as a frown punctuated his mouth. “I guess it is getting late.”

  “You obviously know who I am, so you must know what I do. What do you want with me?”

  He tugged on the hair at his temples, his forehead wrinkling. His eyes moved back and forth, looking for anything else to focus on. “Well, as I said, I’m with the sheriff’s department.” He pulled out the badge attached to his belt. Probably a force of habit for him like it was for her. “I’m investigating the PNW Tourism helicopter crash.”

  Now it was her turn to avoid the topic at hand. “What did that man put in my IV? It burned.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  His dark brown eyes softened. “I heard you screaming.”

  Heat rose up her neck, and she brought her hand up to her cheek to cover the embarrassing blush. How could she have been so weak? Trying desperately to change the subject, she asked again, “So what was it?”

  “That, I don’t know. The doctors wouldn’t tell me much. As best I can figure, it was a lethal combination of street drugs. The guys in the police lab have already started analyzing the sample, but they don’t have a final report yet. You did good pulling that tube out.” His admiration was genuine, and she felt the redness returning to her cheeks. When had she become such a ninny?

  A yawn cracked her jaw, but for the first time since the crash, she was able to fight off the tiredness. Pressing a button on her bed elevated her head until she felt less likely to doze off in the middle of their conversation. It also added an extra measure of pressure on her leg, and she groaned.

  “Is something wrong?” Jeremy’s eyes filled with concern, and he reached out to touch her arm. The familiar weight of his hand gave her small start.

  “Were you holding my hand?”

  Now it was his turn to look embarrassed. His deep tan kept his cheeks from turning pink, but his gaze bounced around the room. “The nurse said that it’s good to let someone know you’re there, even if they’re asleep. I was just…letting you know I was here.”