by Liz Johnson
“Really? How so?”
“I’m not sure. He just said there’s a guy there I should see. The last time I talked to Tony was right after you were poisoned in the hospital.”
“You think it’s connected?”
“It’s worth checking out. Where do you live? I’m coming to get you.”
“But I was just—” She stopped herself. She was the one who had asked him for help. Just because her eyelids drooped and her brain called for a rest, didn’t mean she had to give in to them. “I live off of Fifth.” She quickly gave him directions to her town house.
“I’m not far. I’ll be there in about five minutes.”
She looked down at her jeans, one leg split to the top of the gray brace, and faded blue T-shirt. She wasn’t sure she could muster the energy required to change clothes, so she looked around for a sweater or something to pull over the old shirt. Finally she grabbed her crutches from where they rested against the head of the couch. Pulling herself carefully to one foot, she moved slowly across the room to her bedroom. A black pullover sweater lay on the foot of the bed, and she leaned against the mattress to pull it on.
Just as she finished adjusting it, loud thuds landed on her front door.
“Coming.” Heather’s voice sounded on the other side of the door as Jeremy tapped his foot on the cement step. There were only a handful of steps, but he wondered how she had managed to make it up them. Moreover, how was she going to make it back down?
For about the hundredth time, he questioned his decision to bring her in on the investigation. Yes, he sympathized with her loss, with her sense of helpless-ness—sympathized more than she knew—but was she really up for this.
“You okay in there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she yelped, as she swung the door open. Her blue eyes eclipsed her pale face, and wild, yellow curls broke loose from her ponytail, framing her cheeks. Then she turned and looked at the kitchen counter on the other side of the living room. “I forgot my keys.” She made a move to go for them, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Let me.” He crossed the room, snatched the small key ring from the counter and handed them to her as he stepped back outside. “Ready?”
She followed him out the door, then turned to lock it. He watched as she took the first clattering step, analyzing her movements. Given the way her arms maneuvered the metal supports, he’d bet that normally she was pretty graceful, but the enormous brace and crutches made every motion awkward. It was entertaining to see her mulish determination to master the steps…but on the other hand, they were on a tight schedule.
Glancing down at his watch, he said, “The morgue closes in thirty minutes.”
“I’m hurrying.”
He chuckled to himself before jogging back up the steps, tucking his arm around her waist and swinging her crutches over his forearm. “Hang on,” he said, as he scooped her up. Her arm immediately wrapped around his neck, like she was trying to choke him. “Maybe not quite so tight.”
She blushed, moving her arm to his shoulder, as he maneuvered them back to the street and the cruiser parked at the curb.
“Be glad all you got was an arm around the neck.” Her tone was only half joking, and he took the hint. He wasn’t going to be able to push her around.
Her body stayed rigid until he set her gently on one foot as he opened the back door. “I think you’ll have to sit in the back. I doubt your leg will fit in the front seat.”
“You’re probably right.” She sighed, as he helped her scoot across the seat, keeping her injured leg elevated.
As he pulled out into traffic, he glanced in his rearview mirror. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine, I guess.” She slumped against the back of the seat with her shoulder, and her nose crinkled in distaste. “It smells bad back here.”
“Sorry about that. I guess I’ve had some unruly guys back there lately.”
“Is that what you normally do? Lock up the bad guys in the back of your car?”
He laughed loudly, resting one arm on the center console. “I am a sheriff’s deputy. It pretty much comes with the job.”
She seemed content to ignore his last comment and stared out the window as they moved from residential neighborhoods to a more commercial area. She crossed her arms over her chest, and he could almost see the barrier she pulled around herself. He knew that pose, that need to put up a shield so no one else could see the pain. He’d been there. Pulled his own shields so close he’d nearly cut everyone else out of his life.
He hadn’t lost his sister, but he knew what it was like to lose a loved one—a fiancée. Only in his case, it had been his own fault.
As he pulled past the police station and into the parking lot reserved for cops, he shot up a quick prayer for the woman in the backseat. Heavenly Father, would You please comfort Heather? I don’t know how much help I can be, but if there’s something I should say, give me the words.
He turned off the car and jumped out from behind the wheel. When he swung the back door open, he leaned one arm on the roof and ducked his head into the car. “You ready for this?”
She wiggled along the seat, always keeping her leg carefully protected. “Of course.”
She reached the edge of the seat before he remembered that he’d picked up a present for her. “I almost forgot! Sit tight.” He jogged to the trunk of the car and popped it open.
“What is it?” she called.
He put the wheels on the ground, closed the trunk and ran back to stand in front of her. “Your chariot, madam.” He offered an awful British accent and some silly hand flourishes to present the old wheelchair that he’d borrowed from the sheriff’s office.
He wasn’t sure if it was the chair or his strange behavior that made her smile, but he took an uncanny joy in watching her face change and her lips curve upward. Her eyes softened, and she held out one hand. He clasped her wrist and pulled her to her feet, helping her spin on one foot and settle into the creaking leather seat.
After propping her foot on the leg rest, he pushed her toward the small building next to the police department and held the door open for her as she rolled into the office. Flashing his badge at the man behind the front desk, he said, “Deputy Latham with the sheriff’s office. The medical examiner is expecting us.”
The bald man nodded toward a clipboard on the counter, waited until Jeremy signed it and turned back to his computer without a word.
Jeremy returned to Heather, pushing the wheelchair down a long hallway. They stopped at a large set of double silver doors, and Jeremy pushed one open, poking his head in.
“Rob?” He stepped farther into the bright room that broke every stereotype for a morgue. “You in here?”
“In the back. I’ll be right there.” The voice came from the other side of a mostly closed door, which probably led to a storage closet. Sure enough, just as he wheeled Heather through the door, Dr. Robertson walked into the room carrying several boxes. His white eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead when his eyes landed on Heather, but he didn’t say anything.
Jeremy offered quick introductions. “Heather this is Dr. Robertson, M. E.—Rob, this is FBI Special Agent Heather Sloan.”
Heather shot Jeremy an annoyed glance, but offered Rob a gentle smile as she held out her hand. “Rob Robertson?”
“Nope.” He offered a Cheshire cat grin as he tucked his thumbs beneath his ever-present suspenders.
“No one knows his first name,” Jeremy filled in at Heather’s wrinkled forehead and pursed lips.
“A man of mystery. I like it.” Then her smile dazzled, white teeth flashing in the bright lights. “So, Dr. Rob. Jeremy tells me that you have something that might be of interest.”
“Well, Special Agent Sloan—”
“Oh, no,” she cut him off. “There’s no need to be so formal. Call me Heather.”
Rob smiled like he’d never been in the presence of anyone so charming before, and Jeremy had to hand it to the woman.
She had brought them right where she wanted to be without having to answer any questions about her leg or why the FBI might have an interest in the man on the slab.
“All right, Heather.” Rob cleared his throat and tipped his head toward a gurney behind him. “That guy was brought in four days ago. He was classified as a John Doe, and the city requires that I determine a probable cause of death for any unidentified bodies.
“I ran a tox screen and came up with a concoction of street drugs that I’ve never seen in almost twenty years with the city.”
Reminding them that he wasn’t invisible, Jeremy asked, “What made you tip us off?”
Rob did indeed look surprised when his gaze jumped back to Jeremy. “I ran the drug mix by the boys in the lab upstairs. They said your friend Tony Bianchi had dropped off an identical sample just the day before.”
Jeremy glanced at Heather out of the corner of his eye, instantly catching her sideways peek. She nodded at him, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. They didn’t even have to look under the sheet to identify the dead man.
“Where’d you get that sample you gave to Tony?” Rob asked.
Jeremy shrugged in response, but it was Heather who took control of the conversation again. “I think we should see if we recognize him.”
Rob immediately turned his attention to Heather, apparently forgetting the question that he’d just asked. “Are you sure? He’s been dead awhile, and he was on the street at least overnight.”
Holding out her hand to the doctor, she said, “I’m sure. Will you help me up?”
Jeremy flipped the brake on the old chair and offered her his arm as well. She placed her left hand on his forearm and held fast. When Rob pulled the sheet back to uncover the pale face and ragged features of an old man with long, matted silver hair, Heather’s grip intensified for a moment, but her face never flickered. She squeezed again, as if confirming that she knew this man.
The old man’s face wasn’t familiar to Jeremy, but that wasn’t surprising. He’d only seen the back of the homeless man’s head that day in the hospital.
“You know him?” Rob asked them both.
“I think so,” Heather responded. “When did he die?”
“It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, as he was in the elements for at least one night. But as close as I can tell, five days.”
“And where was he found?” Jeremy offered this question, hoping Rob would answer it even if it didn’t come from Heather, his new favorite person.
“About two blocks east of Immanuel Lutheran.”
FOUR
“I know what you’re thinking.” Heather stared at Jeremy through the reflection in the rearview mirror. “Just say it.” He shook his head before letting off the brake and easing through the four-way stop.
Well, if he wouldn’t verbalize it, she would.
“Whoever hired that John Doe to kill me, killed him to keep him quiet.”
Not meeting her eyes again, Jeremy nodded. “Why would someone be after you?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. Leaning back, she tried to relieve some of the pressure in her head by rubbing slow circles in front of her ears.
“Are you sure this is all related to Kit’s drug case? Were you working on any cases that this could be linked to?”
“No. I’ve been on desk duty for months. I had hip surgery, and I’d just been given the go-ahead to return to regular duty when I took a couple days off to spend some time with my si-ister.”
She hated that her voice broke. Hated that tears threatened every time she even thought about Kit. The ache in her heart felt like it would never subside, never even dim.
He cleared his throat, keeping his head facing forward, as he turned on to her street. “Which hip?”
“Hmm?”
“Which hip? The same one as your knee?”
She let a soft sigh escape. “Thankfully not.”
After parking the car and walking around to her door, he cocked his head to the side, as if asking permission to assist her. She lifted her hand to wave him off, but thought better of it and offered him a quick nod.
As his broad arms wrapped around her waist to help her out of the car, she braced her hands on his shoulders, admitting that once upon a time being this close to a handsome man might have sent her heart racing. But it kept a steady rhythm, just another indication of its brokenness.
He handed her the crutches and walked behind her as they made their way toward her home. She unlocked the door and shuffled through, making a beeline for the couch, immediately propping her throbbing leg on the pillow.
Jeremy followed her in, closing the door behind him and perching on the edge of the overstuffed chair near the foot of the couch.
“Listen, Heather. I’m worried about you.” He rubbed his hands over his face, ruffling the short curls at his forehead.
“I can take care of myself.”
He shook his head. “I know you can. I saw you in there with Dr. Rob.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She tried to keep the pleasure out of her voice. He might have meant to chide her, but she took it as a compliment to be recognized for controlling the conversation as she had.
He let out a soft laugh, meeting her eyes with humor. “Let’s just say, I think I could learn a few things from you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But that doesn’t change the fact that someone is after you, and you’re not…shall we say, moving at your normal speed?”
She crossed her arms in front of her and glared at him. “I can get around just fine.”
“Is that with or without the wheelchair?”
Her lip curled, and she glared at him, wishing he would go. Wishing he were wrong. He didn’t say anything, just held her gaze with a look of assurance. “Fine. All right. Maybe I’m not at normal speed. But I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Against someone who’s sending people to kill you? And then killing the would-be assassins?”
She groaned, covering her face with her hands and shaking her hair over her shoulders. “Let’s just say I conceded the point. What can we do about it?”
“You need someone with you twenty-four seven.”
“Like a bodyguard?” She shook her head.
His head rocked side to side, lips pursed to the left. “More like a deputy protector.”
“Nope. No way.” She shook her head violently, lowering her hands to look into his brown eyes. “You’re out of your mind. We already agreed that you’d take me along to investigate the crash, so I’ll already be with you most of the time.”
“Yes. But this way, I’ll tag along wherever you’re going outside of the investigation, too.”
Was he serious? “What on earth do you think you can do that I can’t?”
“This very moment? Run. Walk normally. Drive a car.”
She harrumphed and tried to seriously injure him with her eyes, but his annoying smirk stayed in place. Why did he have to make so much sense? She wanted to do this on her own. As much as she could while recovering from major surgery and without the aide of her Bureau connections. Having to count on him to help figure out why the chopper went down was bad enough. Letting him tag along on every errand? Unacceptable.
“If I say no?”
“I’ll take care of the investigation on my own.”
“But we had a deal.”
“The rules changed.” He rubbed his palms over his knees. “I’m not saying that watching you try to maneuver those crutches isn’t painful even for me, but I don’t want to see you killed, either. What if your sister had more info than we know now? I might need some help getting ahold of that. I need you around.” His mouth quirked into half a smile, and she knew he was teasing her.
She punched the pillow supporting her back. “Can’t we just agree that I won’t leave my home without telling you?”
Jeremy lifted his hands in what she quickly realized was a faux surr
ender. “Sure. We’ll just leave a note for the perp that you’ll be home alone from eleven to eight every night.” He rested his hands on his knees and leaned toward her. “He knew where to find you at the hospital. I’m not willing to bet that he doesn’t know where you live.”
A chill ran across her shoulders, and despite the scowl she gave Jeremy, she knew he was right. She might need more protection than she could give herself at the moment. And no matter what, she couldn’t risk Jeremy backing out of their agreement to let her help with the investigation.
Resigning herself to the inevitable, she grumbled, “All right.”
He smiled. “Great. When should I move my stuff in?”
She nearly choked on a simple inhaled breath, coughing making her double over in pain. Jeremy leaned in and patted her back. She sucked air into her lungs between gasps, never taking her eyes off his impish grin.
When she could finally speak, she muttered, “What do you mean move your stuff in? You can’t stay here.”
“Of course I can.” His tone turned firm, less jovial. “You need someone with you all day every day. I happen to be available.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do with your evenings other than babysitting me? Friends you want to spend time with? Family? Girlfriend?”
Pain flashed across his expression for a moment, instantly making her feel guilty. Clearly she’d hit a raw nerve. “I…I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off. He was kind enough to ignore the half-hearted apology.
“Listen, Heather,” he said, all humor gone from his face. “I know this is tough for you, but I’m not going to let you stay alone.”
“But I barely know you!”
“Ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know. So you pretty much have two options. Me…” He pointed his thumb at his chest and quirked one eyebrow. “Or someone from the Bureau. Your call. But I’m not about to leave you on your own to face who knows what’s out there.”
“Ugh.” She turned, crossed her arms and looked away from Jeremy as he leaned back into the chair, already too much at home. He knew she couldn’t go to her office for help without revealing what she was up to.
