A Raging Dawn
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
A RAGING DAWN
Fatal Insomnia Book #2
CJ Lyons
Praise for New York Times Bestseller CJ Lyons:
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems-except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews-without permission in writing from its publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2015, CJ Lyons
Library of Congress Case # 1-273031561
A RAGING DAWN
Fatal Insomnia, Book #2
CJ Lyons
Welcome to the second in the Fatal Insomnia Medical Thrillers. The adventure starts in FAREWELL TO DREAMS, followed by A RAGING DAWN, and will continue in Book #3, THE SLEEPLESS STARS.
To be the first to hear about the next installment, be sure to sign up for my Thrillers with Heart newsletter. You’ll also receive a FREE copy of the first in the Lucy Guardino FBI Thriller series, SNAKE SKIN.
Happy reading!
CJ
To fear love is to fear life,
and those who fear life
are already three parts dead.
~Bertrand Russell
Chapter 1
LIVING WITH LIES means sleeping with fear. Or in my case, not sleeping and running away like a thief racing the dawn.
The December moonlight eased its way through the sheer curtains of Ryder’s bedroom, as I scanned his dresser. I wanted to make certain I hadn’t left anything behind. It wasn’t as if I could never come back if I forgot something, but I didn’t want to make assumptions. Or promises I couldn’t keep.
Ozzie, the service dog who’d adopted me, looked up from where he lay in front of the door, blocking my escape. A sigh heaved through his body in the way only fat, pampered, well-loved Labs can sigh.
“Hush,” I whispered, mindful of Ryder still asleep in the bed I’d just left. “I have to go.”
He thumped his tail and looked at me with mournful eyes.
“I know you miss her,” I said as I bent to tie my Reeboks. Ozzie’s owner, a ten-year-old girl named Esme, was away at school and had entrusted me with his care. It’s a long, complicated story involving a tragic love affair, a ruthless billionaire, a vicious gang leader, and a serial killer stalking the city.
My life used to be so simple: go to work in the ER, play my fiddle, eat a little humble pie at family meals, repeat. But in the last three weeks, my existence had spiraled from one complicated story into another to the point where it was becoming difficult to remember which were lies and which were secrets.
Not after today. My shoulders slumped as I turned back to the bed one last time. Today was the day the truth would come out and I could walk away from my life. Maybe to Tahiti. Probably to Tahiti. Most certainly alone. I told myself that’s always been the way I wanted it: no strings, no debts, no heartbreak.
Well, maybe this time, a little heartbreak.
My gaze fell on the sleeping man I’d left behind. I wanted…I wished…
The numbers on the nightstand clock blinked. Three twenty-one. I spotted my cell phone beside it. Instead of reaching out to Ryder, sleeping deeply, as any sane person would be this hour, I grabbed my phone. No assumptions, no promises. Not today, when I’d be learning for sure if there’d be any tomorrows for Ryder and me.
He’s a detective, assigned to Good Samaritan’s Advocacy Center where I used to be an ER physician. We met only three weeks ago, but you’d be amazed at how much you can pack into three weeks when you agree to not talk about the past or the future, and one of you is recovering from a minor bullet wound, while the other is hiding from a death sentence.
A tremor shook my free hand, and I clenched it into a fist, smothering it inside the pocket of my hoodie. At least I had Tahiti…
Tahiti wasn’t me giving up. I was going to fight for every moment I could. Rather, it was a promise. I might be dying, but death would not define me. I was going out when I decided and how I decided, disease be damned.
Except…Ryder. A complication almost as unexpected as my one-in-a-hundred-million diagnosis. I couldn’t allow myself to want or need Ryder more than I already did. Sex was somethin
g we could both walk away from without getting hurt.
I stood there, staring, phone in my hand, watching him sleep, yearning to reach out and comb his hair back from his eyes. Ryder doesn’t snore; the sound he makes is more a constant rumble like a furnace running hot. After I left his warm embrace, he’d curled up on his side, one fist tucked under his chin like a baby.
Not that I’d ever tell him that. In addition to being a detective, facing the worst the streets of Cambria City have to offer, Ryder had been to war in the early days in Afghanistan. Yet, he still projects an aura of untarnished innocence. Not naïveté, definitely not. More like he’s seen it all—the good, the bad, and the ugly—and has somehow risen above.
It took all my strength to turn away from him now. Ozzie raised his head, shaking it, the fairytale wise man warning me to turn back before it was too late. Except this was no fairytale.
The phone in my hand rang. A cheerful ring tone crashing through the night like a battering ram. I didn’t have to look to know Ryder was awake. Fully alert, the way cops and soldiers and ER doctors woke, instantly and ready for anything.
I also didn’t have to look to know who was calling. “Are you okay?” I answered.
“There are footsteps. In the hall. They keep coming and going.” Tymara Nelson’s voice stretched tight with fear, ready to break.
I sagged onto the bed, my back to Ryder, but I felt his warmth as he shifted to sit up behind me. He settled one hand on my shoulder, a gift of encouragement and understanding.
“Did you actually see anyone? Did they stop at your door?” The first four times Tymara had called like this, I’d sent the cops to check on her. The next, I’d called Devon Price, the owner of the Kingston Tower apartments where she lived, and he’d ordered his men to watch over her. But Devon’s former gang members had made her too nervous, and so she’d sent them away. Not that I blamed her for being nervous about testifying, but there wasn’t much more I could do to help.
“No. When I look, there’s no one there.” A strangled cry emerged with her words. “But I know it’s them.”
Seven months ago, Tymara had been viciously attacked. A man she barely knew had raped her at knifepoint. Then, he’d blindfolded and bound her and invited others into her apartment to do worse. They’d left her for dead after a night filled with degradations that were unimaginable—unless you were the ER doc performing her forensic exam and taking her history after she miraculously survived.
Tymara didn’t sleep much anymore. If I hadn’t convinced her that the conviction of the one man the police had caught would be our best chance to get him to reveal the names of his partners in crime, she wouldn’t even be testifying today. In the six months since he’d been arrested and placed behind bars, there’d been no actual threats against her, but that didn’t stop her middle-of-the-night phone calls to me.
“It’s going to be all right, Tymara.” I kept my tone soothing and gentle as I lied to her. I’d dealt with enough victims to know it would never be all right, but things would—could—get better. “I’ll come over.”
“No. No.” She blew out her breath. “I’m fine. It’s all in my head, I know. I just needed—”
“I don’t mind. Whatever you need. I can come to your place, or I can call the police—”
Cambria City barely had enough funds to keep the police department functional, much less provide anything extravagant like witness protection, but Ryder had friends who owed him. He’d offered to watch over Tymara himself, even though he didn’t start his new position at the Advocacy Center until today and technically, this wasn’t his case. He still felt a sense of ownership. Tymara was one of our victims, which meant we’d do whatever it took to bring her the justice she deserved.
“No.” Her tone was firmer now, filled with hope that this would all soon be over and she could reclaim her life. “I’ll be all right. It’s only for a few more hours.”
“I’ll be there by eight thirty to pick you up.” Today was the second day of the trial; administrative issues and the testimony of police officers and lab techs had consumed the first.
“I go after you, right?”
“No. I think Manny decided to start with you before lunch. And then me after.” Manny Cruz was the ADA prosecuting Tymara’s rapist, Eugene Littleton.
“Right, right. I remember. He’ll be there? In the same room?” She meant Littleton.
“Yes. But you don’t have to look at him. You’ve met Manny, just focus on him.”
“You won’t be there?” She was twenty-three, but the uptick in her voice made her sound like a little girl.
We’d gone through this dozens of times. I’d walk her through it a dozen more if it helped to ease her fears. “I’ll be waiting outside. I can’t come in, not until after I’ve testified.”
“Right. Sequestered. That’s what Mr. Cruz said. He’s nice, don’t you think?”
Actually, I didn’t. Manny Cruz was one of those competitive types who measure every encounter as a win or loss—and he liked to win, no matter the cost. Which made him the perfect prosecutor for this case. Once he won and Littleton was convicted, Manny would go after everyone else involved, knowing that with Littleton’s testimony in exchange for a lighter sentence, they’d all be easy wins.
Whatever it took. “Sure you don’t want me to come over?” Ryder squeezed my shoulder, offering his own services. It scared me that in only three weeks we didn’t need words. It had never been that way with my ex, Jacob, and he and I had been married two years.
Tymara’s voice drifted drowsily. “No. Really. I’m fine now. I’m going to go back to bed. Thanks, Dr. Rossi.”
“No problem at all. Let me know if you change your mind. See you soon.” I hung up.
“Coming or going?” Ryder asked from behind me, his breath stirring the small hairs on my neck. His tone wasn’t judgmental. Ryder never judged me, not even at times like this, when he had every right to.
I slid free of his warmth, stood, and steeled myself against the cold. “What do you mean?”
“Where do you go after I fall asleep? Even if I wake up in the morning and you’re still beside me, I can tell you’ve been gone during the night.”
It was a valid question. What kind of woman used a man for sex and every pleasure imaginable, but couldn’t remain in his bed for a full night?
Answer: the kind of woman whose brain is half-rotted by warped proteins known as prions.
Whatever my final diagnosis turned out to be, my brain was literally burning itself out. Which scared the hell out of me. And yet, during my time with Ryder, waiting for my lab results, I couldn’t help but convince myself that at any moment I’d get a call from the hospital telling me that they’d made a dreadful mistake, that everything was going to be just fine.
This is why doctors make the worst patients. Our knowledge leaves us powerless. Forces us to lie to ourselves, to those around us. To deny the truth and seek the impossible. But my lies were swiftly crumbling to dust.
“Going.” I somehow found the strength to tell him.
He glanced at the clock. “There’s plenty of time.” Another lie, but he didn’t know it. He patted the empty pillow beside him. “Come back to bed.”
God, how I wanted to.
“I can’t.”
He blinked, nodded. “Your appointment with your doctor. That’s today, isn’t it?”
I stepped back, away from him, from everything he had to offer. He was breaking the rules and he knew it—my illness was off-limits. Here, in his house, in his arms, it did not exist.
Anger flooded over me. He didn’t deserve it. They were my ridiculous rules, and he’d been patient for three long weeks, but still, I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t angry with him. I was angry with the entire universe. Heaven and Hell. From the farthest celestial body to the microscopic proteins ravaging my life. So damn angry. All the time.
One more reason to leave. Before my rage poisoned what we had together.
So I did. I’m not
proud of it. I ran. From his questions, from his half-hidden glances of concern, from everything he offered without asking for a single thing in return except the one thing I couldn’t give him, not without destroying us: the truth.
What comes after dread? Fear.
I’m not used to feeling like this. Afraid. Usually, I’m the one people turn to when they’re afraid and need saving.
Except this time, I’m the one who needs saving.
I’m Angela Rossi. I’m thirty-four years old, and this is the story of how I die.
I’m a lover and ex-wife and sister and daughter and friend, and this is the story of how I betray them all.
Most of all, it’s a story of redemption.
And hope.
Guess it all depends on your point of view….
Chapter 2
GLISTENING WHITE-SAND BEACHES, gleaming ruby-turquoise sunsets, graceful arching palm trees…the Tahiti travel brochures duct taped to my refrigerator promised escape.
Sodden Pennsylvania December skies, diamond-edged sleet, wind chill hovering a few degrees above freezing…that was the reality outside my apartment windows. A cold front had moved in after I returned from Ryder’s house with Ozzie a few hours ago.
I downed my handful of morning meds and drank a stringy, green antioxidant shake straight from the blender before it had a chance to congeal. The stuff tasted as foul as it looked. But when you’re down to last chances, you learn to swallow your pride.
Since I’d arrived home, while Ozzie snored on the couch, I’d pounded away the miles on my treadmill, trying to force my body to produce the endorphins I’d need to keep me functional in court today. Endorphins that a brush of Ryder’s gaze and a single touch of his lips could produce effortlessly. I hated how I’d left Ryder, wished I were able to go back and invite him to stand with me when I went to the hospital today to learn my fate.