by Quinn, Fiona
“His name is…” And I stopped. I didn’t know his name. He was like a father to me, but the only name I’ve ever associated with him was his call name, Spyder — or as Iniquus baptized him “Spyderman” since Striker and Spyder sound the same over the airwaves. I had no idea what his legal name was. I searched out Striker’s eyes, and he shrugged.
“His name is Mr. McGraw. He’s just back in the country. I don’t know where he traveled in from. He’ll be living with me.” I gave Chuck my contact information.
“Are you following us to the hospital?” Chuck placed a kit between Spyder’s legs on the gurney. His partner attached the IV bag of dextrose and saline onto a support arm.
“Yes,” I said from my place on the floor.
“Okay, he’s packaged for transport, so we’re going to head on. We’re taking him to Suburban; dispatch says they have a pathologist on call this morning. I’ll catch up with you at Emergency. It’s good to see you again, Lexi. Sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
I slowly gathered the contents of my purse back together. Striker helped me to my feet and held me steady until I caught my balance.
“You’re sticky.” He moved his hands out and away so as not to spread the goop any farther.
“Yeah, let’s wash up, and then we can go,” I said.
The shock my body was processing pushed me beyond exhaustion. I shambled into the ladies’ room and stood in front of the mirror. Not girly. Not pretty. Not even approachable. I was one big fat mess. Red slime in my hair, on my dress, up and down my arms. My mascara had run with the tears down my cheeks, leaving black rivulets. I did my best to wash off, took a deep breath, and headed back to the car with Striker. He opened the passenger-side door for me. I sat down, but couldn’t swing my legs in. I stopped for a minute.
“You okay?” Striker crouched beside me.
“Ha! My legs are shaking from that workout. Spyder fought like a madman.”
Striker put his warm hands on my thighs and slowly massaged them up and down. I reached out and grabbed his wrists, his hands caught under my skirt. I swirled with emotions - too many feelings in one big rush; they made my head spin. “Please don’t.” The last wayward tear slid past my lashes and got stuck beside my nose.
“Lynx, I was trying to help - I wasn’t thinking.” Striker said earnestly.
“Not your fault. I’m just - it’s too much. My emotions have been doing cart-wheels since the party.”
“It’s been a hell of a morning for you.” Striker looked deeply into my eyes. His calm confidence steadied me. “Okay, Chica?”
I nodded.
Striker slowly brushed a stray lock of hair back, kissed the tear from beside my lips, and walked around to the driver’s side.
I hauled the door shut with the last of my energy. “I’m exhausted.”
Striker slid under the wheel. “It was a hell of a fight for first thing in the morning.”
“What I want to know is why Spyder would chance travelling in that condition. You spoke to him — he said nothing about his being on death’s door-step?”
“All he said was, ‘I’m coming in for Christmas, gear up, I need help beheading the Hydra.”
“Wow!”
“My thought, exactly.” Striker warmed me with a smile, pulled his belt across his chest, and steered down the early morning streets with his normal calm – which, as usual, drove me absolutely crazy.
Two
At Suburban, Striker hadn’t even shifted into park before I jumped out the door and sprinted across the parking deck. I thundered down the stairs, not waiting for the elevator, and ran full out to the emergency department entrance. Frozen slush splashed up my hose, leaving mud sprays on my legs. I clattered down the hall, arriving just as they raced Spyder’s gurney through the automatic doors and out of my reach.
Chuck handed his paperwork to the intake nurse at the desk and headed over to where I stood, open-mouthed and bewildered, outside the locked corridor.
“They aren’t going to let you in. Immediate family only until he can say otherwise.”
An exasperated huff escaped my lungs as I spun in place. “This sucks. Can you tell me anything?”
“You know it’s against HIPAA to talk to friends about his status, but I think I can get away with discussing the case as one attending EMS member to another.” Chuck maneuvered me to an alcove. “Lexi, your friend is in bad shape. He should never have been on that plane.”
“How bad?” I gnawed at my lower lip.
Chuck put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I can’t say. His vitals went south. We bagged him most of the way. I’m not sure we got him here in time. I’m sorry.”
My eyes felt wild in my head. My eyebrows stretched to my hair line, my lids unblinking. I couldn’t wrap my brain around his words.
Chuck took my elbows. “Lexi are you going to pass out? Do you need to puke?”
I glanced down to find my fingers entwined in Chuck’s sleeves and forced myself to unclench my grip. I shook my head to line up my thoughts. “It’s important that I know – did he say anything to you on the ride in?”
Chuck glanced over his shoulder, waited for a couple to pass, and dropped his voice. “Does ‘Sylanos’ mean anything to you?”
“Yes, Sylanos.”
“He came around briefly and said, “Sylanos became a Hydra, tell Alex.’ Then he took his nose dive. Do you know an Alex?”
“Yes, I’ll pass the message. Think again. Anything else? Anything at all?”
“Um. He said Alex…and Hydra…I guess he muttered some other stuff but it sounded like a foreign language.”
Chuck didn’t have anything more for me, so I thanked him for his kindness and said good-bye. Disbelief blanketed me as he and his teammate went out through the double glass doors. I turned my focus to where Striker leaned against the wall across from me with his arms folded over his chest.
Striker pushed off and walked over. “And?”
“Chuck doesn’t think things look good for Spyder.” I sucked in a gulp of air like I had been underwater for way too long.
Striker pulled me into a hug and kissed the top of my head. “I’m so sorry.”
Standing in Striker’s arms grounded me like nothing else ever has. It was like being able to slam a door shut on all of the bad things raging on the other side. I rested for a minute before I leaned my head back to see his eyes. “Spyder said Sylanos is the Hydra.”
“No shit?” He pulled out his phone. “Command is going to be interested to hear that.”
“Who are you calling? It’s Christmas morning.”
“Iniquus. They should have someone from human resources who can come in. Fill out Spyderman’s paperwork, handle the insurance.”
“Even today?” I asked.
“I hope so. Someone’s usually available when an operative’s unconscious.” Striker pressed a button and held the phone to his ear.
“This happens often enough that they assign someone?” I pinched at the skin on my neck.
“Precaution. We’re all required to leave a directive so the doctors can talk to someone, otherwise. . .”
“HIPAA – got it. We’re in the dark.”
Striker held up a finger and turned his body while he spoke to Headquarters.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I checked the screen. Dave Murphy, my across-the-street neighbor.
“Lexi, you’re not at home.”
“Nope, I had a friend rushed to Suburban, I’m just getting here myself.”
“You’re at Suburban now? Good. Hey, tell Mrs. Nelson Cathy’s going to come up to the hospital later this morning and bring her communion, and ask what else she needs.”
“Okay.” I put a finger in my ear and turned toward the wall as a noisy group moved passed. “You didn’t call me about Mrs. Nelson, though.” I raised my voice over the din.
“The boys want to show you what Santa brought. I let them go over and ring your bell. They heard the dogs bark, your car’
s parked outside, but you didn’t answer. I thought I’d check in and make sure everything’s all right.”
“Thanks. Let the them know I’ll stop by later. Okay?”
“Yeah, hey did you know we’re getting new neighbors?” Dave asked.
As he said the word “neighbors,” a thought leaped through my mind like a white leopard. I reached out to grasp the tail so I could pull her back and understand the meaning, but she slipped silkily through my fingers and slinked under the brush, too quick for me grab hold. A shiver tingled down my spine.
“I spotted the SOLD sign up. So Detective Dave, what’s the skinny?” I asked.
“No idea. I haven’t noticed anyone hanging around. Hey, Cathy’s calling me. Gotta go.”
“Merry Christmas.”
Striker raised a questioning brow as I dropped my phone back in my purse.
“Dave called. The little old lady on the other side of my duplex had a stroke a couple of days ago. She’s here, too.”
“Is her family with her?”
“She doesn’t have family. She just has us neighbors. What did Headquarters say?” I asked.
“You’re listed as next-of-kin. They’re on their way with the papers.”
“They can’t fax them over?”
“Protocol. The information is classified.”
I exhaled my frustration at the rules and hurdles standing between me and Spyder.
Striker reached for my hand. “Let’s get you something warm to drink and some food. The doctors are doing their work. Iniquus is on the way to get the papers straight. Then we’ll make a plan.”
I wiggled frozen toes in my sopping wet shoes. How could Striker run through a freaking winter storm and stay immaculate, and I looked more like something a dog chewed on? Dogs. I slapped my hand to my forehead and glanced down at my watch. “This is a little complicated because of Christmas.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Striker used his body to shield me from another big family group moving through with presents and “It’s a Boy!” balloons.
“Right now I’m thinking about Beetle and Bella. They need to be fed and walked. They’re probably pacing at the door.”
“Gater’s on duty at Iniquus this morning. He can go to your place if you want. I’m sure he’d jump at a chance to eat the party leftovers.” Striker stooped to pick up a little girl’s bunny she had dropped and handed it off to someone else in her family.
Gater was one of seven men on our team at Iniquus lead by Striker. Last fall they were assigned to safeguard me after Travis Wilson’s attack had me rushed to this very hospital. I stared up the hall with tightly sealed lips. Bad memories. The doctors here glued and bandaged me back together, then the Iniquus team slipped me out in the middle of the night to hide me in a safe house, and protect me while they hunted for Wilson.
Six women. Six. All with husbands or fathers in law enforcement — all killed. I was supposed to be number seven. My survival turned out to be a skin-of-the-teeth miracle. I lived because Spyder had trained me well. God, please make this okay. Make Spyder better. I needed to thank him. And I needed to ask him…No one could figure out how I got caught in Wilson’s crosshairs. When they were alive, my dad had been a mechanic, and my husband had been a Ranger over in Afghanistan – not in law enforcement.
While tucked away at the safe house, I explained how I actually had a long-standing relationship with Iniquus through Spyder. We had guessed that it was this association — well, my connection to Spyder more specifically — that made me Wilson’s last target. Now that Wilson was dead, Spyder was probably the only one with an answer to the puzzle of why I was stalked and attacked.
Well, the silver lining to this mess was that the puzzling skills I demonstrated at the safe house caught the attention of Iniquus Command; I was offered a job here. And voila! Mostly I loved my job; I certainly loved my team — especially Gater Aid.
I took off my coat, tucking it over my arm. “I thought Gater was with Amy.”
“Amy wanted Gater to go home to North Carolina to meet her family and spend a couple of days visiting. In Gater’s book spending Christmas with a girlfriend’s family is just shy of getting engaged. Gater isn’t as committed to the relationship as Amy’s feeling. He asked for duty, so he’d have an excuse to stay put and not rock the boat.”
“Maybe Gater should be clear with her about his commitment level.” And maybe you should be clear with me, Striker Rheas.
“Gater tried. He’s told her, on more than one occasion, he’s married to the job and not interested in a serious relationship right now.”
“And, Amy said what?”
“He’d change his mind because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”
“Huh. So what do you think Gater’s doing?”
“He’s probably still hunkered down at the barracks on-call. Iniquus only runs a light crew on Christmas. Though if there was an emergency, we’d all get pulled in, no matter where we were, or what we were doing.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Did I sign up for that part of the Iniquus pledge?”
“Nope. You’re special. You get your own set of rules.”
That made me smile. “I like having my own set of rules.”
“I thought you would.” Striker put his hand on the small of my back and steered me toward the doors.
“Wait, I need to call Gater before we go in.”
Three
It wasn’t quite seven o’clock when we joined the blurry eyed nurses and doctors in the cafeteria breakfast line. I certainly won the prize for fanciest dress. The cashier stood open mouthed, his eyes directed down my cleavage. Striker cracked his knuckles. The guy refocused and rang up our trays.
I took a sip of coffee and swirled my fork in my scrambled eggs. I couldn’t get my brain to rest on a single subject. My thoughts kaleidoscope-d in my head. Striker watched me over the top of his coffee cup with that quiet assessing look of his, and let me have my mental space to process this turbulent day.
When we went back to Emergency we found that the doctors had moved Spyder into level four isolation until they determined his diagnoses. They had confirmed the recurrence of malaria, but I guess that was only part of the picture. I wrung my hands and listened to the nurse explain that Spyder was still unconscious, and we should just go home for the time being. It might be days before we were allowed any contact with him.
We took the elevator up to the fourth floor to check on Mrs. Nelson. I hobbled like Quasimodo, grimacing with each step. “Darned shoes!”
“Not feeling pretty and girly?”
“Oh yeah, nothing says sexy like spaghetti legs and aching feet. I think between wrestling with Spyder and tottering around on these heels, my legs are ready for a nice, long hot bath.”
Striker’s eyes grew dark and intense when I said that.
“Stop.” I warned, as we stepped out of the elevator.
“I can stop the action, Chica, but I can’t stop the thought behind it.”
I care for Mrs. Nelson, but to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t up for chit-chat. I peeked in her room and was relieved to find her still asleep. I left a message with the nurse and headed home.
When we parked, I found my stairs and walk neatly shoveled. Gater’s black Vibram-soled boots stood at attention on my porch by the door. I headed back toward the kitchen where I heard the microwave beeping.
My dogs lay sopping wet at Gater’s feet on the cool kitchen floor, their chests heaving and their tongues lolling out. They must have gone long and hard on their morning run.
Gater grinned at me from behind a plate piled high with food. Gater was in his early twenties. He had sun-bleached blond hair even in the winter, deep brown eyes and a smattering of freckles across his nose, which seemed at odds with his Iniquus uniform – gray-camo fatigues, and a long sleeved, charcoal-gray compression shirt, showing off his massive arm muscles and washboard stomach. It was a rare thing for Gater to be dressed in anything else, though.
We sat down to eat. Striker filled Gater in on the morning’s happenings.
“You still don’t know how Spyderman’s doing? Or where he come in from?” Gater asked in between bites.
“Right now, it’s all classified, and I’m not privy.” Striker dunked his shrimp into the cocktail sauce. “Later this evening, we’ll call over and find out if the doctors made any progress. Lynx has vamp-shoe-itis and needs to take a bath and a nap.”
“Yeah, I saw her limping in here, but I weren’t gonna say nothing. I know how ladies get all pissy if you point out something like that when they’re all gussied up.” Gater popped an egg roll into his mouth.
Striker focused down at his plate.
“What are you grinning at, Striker? I’d like you to try walking in these heels as long as I have and still be able to stand up. You know what they say about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, don’t you?”
“No, what?” Striker reached for one of Gater’s egg rolls.
“Fred was a good dancer, but Ginger could do the same things he could only in four inch heels and backwards.”
“True,” Striker paused to take a bite of egg roll, “but at night, she couldn’t walk any better than you can, now.”
Gater snorted. I rolled my eyes at them, took my tea, and headed upstairs to the bath.
When I came back down, the kitchen was clean. Striker had his shoes off and was lying on the couch in front of a football game. I hate football, but I stretched out with him, anyway. Striker cuddled me into him, flipped a blanket over both of us, and curled me into his arms. As good as it felt to lay here with Striker, I couldn’t throw off all of my scared-for-Spyder thoughts, all of my holy-shit-Sylanos-became-a-Hydra thoughts. And all the thoughts that had me wondering who the hell was moving in that would make me think of predators?
Four
The phone buzzed near my head – it took me a minute to realize what was making that noise. It sounded like the swarm of mosquitos tormenting me in my dream as I hacked my way through the jungle, searching for Spyder. I put the phone to my ear. The sky shone periwinkle through my window – what time was it?
