Darkwater Secrets

by Robin Caroll

  His breathing accelerated on its own volition as a shooting pain stabbed into Beau’s chest through his back, right between his shoulder blades. The pain stole his breath. His legs gave out from under him as the pain intensified. It felt as if a large vise twisted in his chest.

  Was this a heart attack?

  He couldn’t move. The pain held him hostage, twisting him on his back as he curled into the fetal position, bowing his back around the pain radiating out, causing his eyes to water.

  Definitely had to be a heart attack.

  Beau tried to reach his radio comm, but the agony pulled his arm back down. He rolled, his body no longer paying attention to any of his commands.

  A man appeared over him, holding a gun. Seconds passed, but they felt like an eternity before the man ran off.

  Beau couldn’t breathe. Death had to be imminent, the unbearable pain so intense.

  “Beau? Beau? Are you okay?” Marcel dropped to his knees. “Hang on, buddy. I got you.” He clicked his radio. “Ten-­double zero at this location. We need an ambo immediately.”

  Beau never thought he’d be the officer down. “I-­I think . . . I’m having . . . a heart attack.”

  “Just hang on, partner. Help is on the way.” Marcel held his hand tightly. “Just stay with me, man.”

  “I l-­let the guy . . . g-­go. I couldn’t . . . d-­d-­draw.”

  “It’s okay, man. The uniformed tackled and cuffed him. We’re good.”

  Sirens wailed. The dog two doors down barked louder.

  Beau closed his eyes. He could hear people talking. Knew his partner had taken custody of his service gun. Could feel himself being moved about, but he couldn’t do anything. The pain. The pain.

  The ambulance ride brought agony with every bump. He was going to die from a heart attack. He worked out, ate pretty healthily, got plenty of exercise, but he was going to die from a heart attack. Just his luck.

  The hospital nurses were quick to attend to him. They kicked Marcel out of the room, and an EKG was hooked up immediately. An ultrasound wand passed over his chest and abdomen. Minutes passed. A nurse came in, giving him a little cup of medication, which was one of the nastiest things Beau had ever tasted.

  Just as quickly as the pain had come over him, it disappeared. Had he survived the heart attack? How much damage had been done?

  He sat up on the examining bed slowly, testing the pain. Soreness remained, but nothing like he’d felt before. Wires connected him to the machine beside the bed.

  Beau ran his hand over his chin. He could have been shot and killed by that man tonight. Worse, he could have put his partner in danger. And Jon Williams. Marcel was younger than him, and his life could have been cut short because Beau had been unable to back up his partner.

  Jon had a wife and two kids who could’ve been widowed and orphaned today because of Beau’s inability to do his job. Beau knew how that felt. His dad had died in the line of duty, leaving him and his mother alone. While Beau had always been so determined to follow in his father’s footsteps—being a hero—he hadn’t taken the time to consider the mortality of the job.

  “Detective.” The doctor entered, clipboard in hand. “Good news, you aren’t having a heart attack.”

  “Whew.” It was a relief, but then— “What caused the pain? I promise you, it was the most intense agony I’ve ever experienced.”

  The doctor smiled and nodded. “Oh, I understand completely.

  I had the same attack two years ago.”

  But he was fine now, so that was good news.

  “You had a gallbladder attack.”

  “A what?”

  “A gallbladder attack. According to the ultrasound results, you have over thirty large gallstones, which caused the attack.”

  “A gallbladder?” Beau had been sure he’d been having a heart attack. Or a punctured lung. He’d never considered a gallbladder could cause such pain.

  The doctor grinned and nodded. “For a little organ, it can cause severe pain. Some people display minor symptoms like nausea, indigestion, fever. For others, like you, it comes on fast and furious, fooling many into believing they’re having a heart attack.”

  “So what do I do about it?” Images of the man standing over him with a gun in his hand filled his mind. “I can’t let it happen again.” It could put him, and others, at risk.

  “You have many options: zapping the stones, surgery, doing nothing. Some people have one attack and nothing again. Others get up and walk outside and have their gallbladder rupture.” The doctor scrawled on the clipboard and then put his pen in his white jacket pocket. “The internist on call is on his way to review your chart and talk to you.”

  A nurse entered and began removing the wires from his chest.

  “What did you do when you had an attack?” Beau asked the doctor.

  “I had mine removed laparoscopically. Surgery on Friday, back to work on Monday.” The doctor shrugged. “But the internist will discuss your options and expected results with you when he gets here.”

  “Thanks.” That sounded like a good option.

  “He’ll be here soon.” The doctor left.

  The nurse removed the last connection and wiped his chest with a tissue to remove the clear gel. She smiled at him. “There’s a man in the waiting room who I assume is your partner, Detective. He’s quite adamant to see you. Shall I send him in?”

  Beau nodded. “Please. And thank you.” He smiled at the nurse as she left.

  He knew he couldn’t have foreseen a gallbladder attack, but he still felt awful about putting Marcel and Williams at risk.

  “Hey, partner.” Marcel grabbed his hand. “How’re you doing?”

  “I’m fine. Gallbladder attack. Waiting for the internist to get here.”

  “Gallbladder?”

  Beau grinned. “I know, man, but I’m going to get it removed so it won’t be an issue again. I’ll be back within a week and backing you up.” He watched his partner’s face for any microexpression of wariness on that comment.

  There was none. “Good thing, bud, because I don’t want to be assigned to some arrogant jerk I can’t deal with.” Marcel grinned. “Or worse, someone who eats pickles on their burgers. You know that smell gags me.”

  Beau grinned. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

  The nurse came back. “Detective, there’s a lady at the nurses’ station asking about you.”

  Beau frowned.

  Marcel snapped his fingers. “Adelaide.”

  “What?” Beau stared at his partner.

  “I called her.”

  “Why?”

  Marcel shrugged. “I’m not really sure. For some reason, I just thought I should call her.” He stood. “I can go get rid of her.”

  “No, it’s fine.” She’d shown up when Marcel called. He didn’t know if that was because of concern or obligation. Maybe it was time to find out. He nodded at the nurse. “Send her back, please.”

  Now or never.

  Twenty-­Six

  Adelaide

  What if he didn’t wake up?

  Adelaide stared at Beau’s still body lying in the sterile hospital bed. After what her mother put her and her father through, she avoided hospitals like the plague. The doctors and nurses were nice enough, it was just the place itself. They all smelled the same: strong disinfectant trying to mask the stench of death.

  His chest rose and fell with every breath, but he hadn’t woken up from surgery yet. Shouldn’t he have by now? The doctor said everything went as expected, but what did that really mean? If the patient was still breathing, was that an acceptable result?

  She reached out and took his hand in hers. His skin was cooler to the touch than usual. Was that something she needed to tell the doctor about? She’d ask the nurse who seemed to come in to check on Beau every ten to fifteen minutes. Well, the nurse probably already knew what temperature his skin would be.

  Wake up, Beau.

  Seeing him lying there, so still and
lifeless, did strange things to her emotions. He’d always been there for her growing up, watching over her like a big brother, but there were times, just every now and again, when a different emotion would sneak up and surprise her.

  Like the first time she noticed how hypnotic his eyes could be in candlelight. Her dad had been in New York meeting with his editor and was late landing because of the storm that had rolled in. The electricity had gone out, and Beau had come to the house to check on her, knowing her father hadn’t returned. He’d helped her light candles, and they’d made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and had eaten them while telling jokes until her father made it home. Beau had caught her attention as a man, not a friend.

  Or the time she’d seen him out on a date with a very beautiful woman. She’d smiled, wanting him to be happy but experiencing her first stirring of jealousy. She couldn’t explain why, only that for those few fleeting moments, she’d felt some sort of unexplainable ownership of him.

  And like the time after her mother died. Well, after the funeral, when everyone kept bringing over casseroles and cakes. She’d been so sick of having to smile demurely, thank them, then listen to their lies of how lovely her mother had been. Beau had shown up with individual bags of peanut M&Ms, her favorite. At that moment, she’d never known anyone more thoughtful or handsome as Beauregard Savoie.

  She rubbed his hand between hers. What would she do if something happened to him? She didn’t know if she could face it. Maybe he’d been a part of her life for so long that she took him for granted.

  Wait . . . what was she thinking? Was she actually considering thinking of Beau as more than a friend? That just . . . was it wrong? Weird? Their lives were so entwined that they seemed to be part of each other sometimes. Maybe all that she’d been through lately had started to catch up with her. Maybe she—

  “Addy.” Beau’s voice croaked.

  She smiled. “Hey, you. How’re you feeling?”

  “Like I got run over with a truck.” He grinned at the line she’d given him the first time she’d had a hangover.

  “Well, you look better than that,” she replied with the retort he’d given her back then. “All kidding aside, the doctor said everything went as expected.”

  “Good, then.”

  The nurse entered. “Look who’s up.” She checked his chart, then moved to his side and pushed the button to activate the blood pressure cuff on his arm. “Would you like some water? You can’t have anything to eat for a few hours, but ice chips and little sips of water will make you feel better.” She jotted down his blood pressure.

  “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  She smiled at him again. “I’ll get you some. The lab will be in momentarily to draw some blood for discharge tests.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  The nurse winked at Adelaide. “You can come get the cup of water. I’m sure he’d rather you help him out than me.”

  Adelaide didn’t know how to respond, so she shrugged at Beau, then hopped up and followed the nurse from the room.

  “I’ll get the ice water for you. Be sure and don’t let him gulp it because it can make his stomach upset, and after abdomen surgery, we sure don’t want that, do we?”

  “No. No, ma’am.”

  The nurse filled a large insulated mug with ice chips and then filled it halfway with water before putting the lid on it, jamming the straw through the hole, and passing it to Adelaide. “Try to get him to suck on a couple of the chips. It’s better than drinking too much water.”

  She nodded, then carried the cup back to the room.

  The technician was there from the lab, setting up. “If you’ve got a weak stomach, honey, you’d better wait outside.”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled as she let Beau take a small sip of water, pulling the straw from his mouth before he finished. “Your nurse said to let you have only little sips.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “Hello, have you met your nurse? I’m following her orders, bud.” Adelaide laughed.

  “Okay, let me see that band of yours to make sure you’re the right patient.” The lab technician grabbed Beau’s bracelet. “Beauregard Savoie, yep, it’s a match. Time to draw the blood.” He sat down and tied the rubber strap above Beau’s elbow, then tapped his arm. “There we go, a nice juicy one.”

  Adelaide didn’t have a weak stomach, but if this guy kept talking about juicy veins . . .

  “See, it’s not so bad.” The tech might be chatty, but he was quick, that much was for certain. He removed the strap and finished filling the vial, then removed the needle and put a cotton ball over the puncture. He wound a stretchy bandage wrap over the cotton to hold it in place. “Keep a little pressure on that so it won’t bruise.”

  Beau smiled at Adelaide. “All done. Can I have another drink of water now, please? As a reward for my good behavior?”

  She grinned and shook her head but held the straw so he could take a sip.

  “Okay.” The tech stood and grabbed his supplies. “I’m done. Oh, do you happen to know off the top of your head if your blood type is positive or negative?”

  A little bit of color fled Beau’s face. Probably the blood draw was a little more than usual. He did, after all, just have surgery.

  “I’m negative,” he told the lab tech.

  The lab tech grabbed a pen and wrote on the vial. “Good deal. O negative. Got it.” He left with a rattle of his cart.

  Adelaide looked back at Beau. He was paler than pale. What on earth was wrong with—

  Had the tech just said his blood type was O? That couldn’t be possible because that’s what her mother had needed a living liver donor to have, and Beau had been tested and wasn’t a match. There had to be some mistake.

  “Addy.”

  But as she looked into his eyes, she knew there wasn’t a mistake.

  Beau had lied to her.

  Dimitri

  The stars filled the night sky, dancing around the half-­moon like revelers around a Mardi Gras float. Soon January would segue into February, full carnival season. Even the temperatures complied and had dropped into the low forties. A beautiful night, but Dimitri couldn’t enjoy the evening. Ever since his father had threatened to fire Adelaide if he didn’t give up his desire to be a chef, Dimitri had worked on formulating a plan to pull the power from Claude Pampalon.

  Tonight was the night to execute his plan.

  “I think it’s time we talked, Father.” Dimitri stood in the middle of the downstairs study, facing the chair his father sat in.

  His father neatly folded the newspaper he’d been reading and set it on the coffee table. “Then by all means, young Dimitri, please talk.”

  The condescending smile wouldn’t stay on his father’s face for long. Not if Dimitri had anything to say about it. He sent up a silent prayer for wisdom and guidance, and especially for peace.

  He’d rehearsed his speech many times over, but standing before his father now, it was harder than in front of a mirror. Still, he would get through this. “You’ve told me my entire life how the Pampalon name means something. Our reputation is everything.”

  Claude nodded. “It is.” As expected, his father took lead in the conversation. “It is not always easy to keep the hotel forefront in our minds, considering the result of every single one of our actions, but we must. While others can dally in both private and public, Pampalons are to be better. We are to hold ourselves to a higher level of respectability.”

  This couldn’t be any more perfect if Dimitri had written his father’s monologue himself.

  “I know you are disappointed that you must take your rightful place in the business, but every Pampalon is required to make sacrifices for the family name and legacy.”

  Dimitri couldn’t stop his grin. “I agree. Completely.”

  Claude didn’t smile. He straightened in the chair, probably feeling like a deer in a hunter’s crosshairs, but not knowing where the danger would come from. “I am glad you agree. I only wan
t the best for you. I always have.”

  “Speaking of sacrifices made by every Pampalon for the family name and legacy—”

  “Yes?”

  Footfalls echoed in the hallway, then Lissette walked into the room.

  Claude stood, smoothing his slacks. “You did not tell me we had company, Dimitri.” He moved toward Lissette and extended his hand. “I’m Claude Pampalon, Dimitri’s father.”

  She stared at his hand as if it were a two-­headed snake. “Lissette Bastien, your daughter.”

  He stumbled two steps back, caught himself, then glared at Dimitri. “What kind of prank is this, son?”

  Dimitri pulled the envelope from his back pocket and handed it to his father. “It’s no prank. These are the DNA results proving Lissette is your biological daughter.”

  Claude sank onto the chair, his posture not nearly as rigid as he pulled the results from the envelope.

  Dimitri nodded at Lissette. He’d warned her Claude would blow. He’d tried to prepare her for every outburst his father would launch. Together, they would stand firm and prevail.

  “Please, sit down.” Claude’s calmness was unnerving.

  Lissette glanced at Dimitri before she eased herself onto the couch. Dimitri sat beside her as she asked, “So you knew I was your daughter all this time?”

  Claude slowly nodded. “Odette kept no secrets from me.”

  “Yet you never claimed me.” Lissette’s upper lip went stiff.

  “I was not able to do that. You heard what I just told Dimitri. I could not claim an illegitimate child. It would have destroyed the Pampalon name.”

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you slept with another woman while still legally married to my mother. After all, you’re the one who said we must live in a way to bring honor and respectability to our name. Having a child out of wedlock in no way does that.” Dimitri took Lissette’s hand and squeezed. They knew they had to break Claude, and it might sound as if they were against each other, but that’s the way they had to come across.