The surgical ICU occupied the east wing of the ground floor, so morning light suffused the double room. The dividing curtain had been pulled back to reveal the unoccupied bed, adding some breathing space to the cramped quarters.
‘And check this.’
Shep looked up at the doctor, their faces close. Watching Annabel eagerly, Dr Cha pinched the pad of Annabel’s finger. Annabel’s hand twitched away. The doctor regarded the hand with wonder. ‘Is that not the most beautiful damn thing?’
‘Beautiful,’ Shep agreed.
Dr Cha straightened up, and Shep took a step back. She cleared her throat and adjusted her wire-frame glasses, all business again. ‘She’s breathing above the vent now, which is good. We have it set for fourteen breaths a minute, but she’s at sixteen. If this keeps up, we might get her extubated by the afternoon.’ She cocked her head. ‘Why the face? This is good news.’
‘People will come to kill her,’ Shep said.
‘Kill her? Which people?’
‘The ones who put her here. They’ll want to finish the job.’
‘We have good security here. It’s not like anyone can walk into a patient’s room.’ She balked at the silence. ‘You don’t trust our security.’
‘No.’
‘So it’s not her husband, like the cops say. Who did this.’
‘No.’
‘How do you know?’
Shep said, ‘I know.’
‘Is that why you’re here? To stop whoever you believe is coming?’
‘Yes.’
‘You really believe—’
‘Can we transfer her to a different hospital? An undisclosed location?’
‘No. She’s too unstable. Her blood pressure’s labile. Plus, that artery nick is clotting off nicely. Any jostling in a vehicle might open it back up.’
‘Can her husband force a transfer? Doesn’t he have some legal say?’
‘You’re a devoted friend,’ she observed. ‘But no, I won’t allow her to be moved. Not until she’s more stable.’
‘Like this afternoon, when she’s off the ventilator?’
‘Like a week from now.’
Before Dr Cha could reply, the door opened and Elzey and Markovic strode in with Annabel’s sister, a big-boned, attractive woman. A weighty purse knocking about her hip, June paused a few steps from the bed, quivering, to regard her sister. She regained her composure, and introductions were made.
June shifted her attention to Shep. ‘Who is he? Who are you?’
‘Shep,’ he said.
She looked at Dr Cha. ‘He’s not family.’
Dr Cha tapped the medical chart against her hand. ‘I was told he’s on the husband’s side—’
‘Annabel’s husband doesn’t have any relatives.’
‘We were foster brothers,’ Shep said.
At this, June’s mouth came open a little. ‘I thought family privileges were only afforded to real family.’
‘Real family,’ Dr Cha repeated evenly. ‘It is our policy to consider foster siblings—’
‘Given what’s gone on here, why would you let anyone involved with Mike have access to my sister?’
‘What has gone on here?’ Dr Cha asked. She waited, the silence drawing out. ‘I wasn’t aware that any charges have been brought.’
June glared at Shep. ‘Mind if I have some time alone with my sister?’
Shep said, ‘What?’
‘Mind. If I have. Some time alone with. My sister?’
Shep stepped out into the hall, the detectives flanking him.
‘So,’ Markovic said, ‘you’re very close to Ms Andrews?’
‘Who?’ Shep said.
‘Annabel,’ Elzey said. ‘That’s her maiden name. Which you know, of course, given how familial you are.’
‘Right,’ Shep said. ‘Sure.’
A few feet away, Dr Cha jotted on the chart and slotted it into the acrylic rack mounted on the door. The detectives made no attempt to lower their voices.
‘Shepherd White. Safecracking. Burglary. B & E. Quite a celeb you are.’ Markovic grinned. ‘You’re in all the databases.’
Shep said, ‘And still not wanted for anything.’
Elzey said, ‘Currently.’
Markovic now. ‘Mind if we frisk you?’
Shep held out his arms. Markovic spun him, planted him on the wall, hands pinching his ankles, sliding up his legs, patting his sides. ‘You wouldn’t happen to know where your dear foster brother is, would you?’
Shep turned, straightening his clothes, and nodded cordially at Dr Cha over the detective’s shoulder. ‘No.’
‘If you talk to him, tell him this: If he doesn’t produce himself in short order, he’s gonna be charged for the murder of Hanley Burrell and the attempted murder of Annabel Wingate. Annabel’s father has already started proceedings to enjoin your boy from exercising his authority under the health-care proxy. No judge is gonna uphold a fugitive’s control over the life of a woman he put in a coma.’
‘Mike didn’t put her there. And he’s not a fugitive.’
‘Come tomorrow morning,’ Markovic said, ‘he will be.’
Chapter 34
Ensconced in a swirl of sheets and wearing a glazed expression, Kat watched cartoons. Absentmindedly, she rubbed her thumb across the back of Snowball II, working the mini-polar bear like a rabbit’s-foot charm. Mike had done his best to put her hair up, but strays abounded and the ponytail had wound up off center. It was one of those things he could never figure out how to get right.
‘I miss school.’
‘I know.’ Mike had pulled a chair around to sit, elbows nailed to his knees, his gaze stuck on the phone.
‘I miss the sun.’
‘Me, too.’
‘I miss my bed.’
‘I know.’
‘I miss my mom.’
Mike’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Kat was wearing the same blank expression she’d had on last time he’d glanced over. The phone rang, forcing him to switch tracks. He snatched it up.
Hank said, ‘We’re gonna steer clear of the sheriff’s department, since we know they’re hooked into the alert. But I found someone for you at LAPD. This is turning into a high-profile case, and I’m banking on the fact that LAPD’ll want to keep it in their court if you go in to them. They’ve got more muscle than sheriff’s.’
‘Who there?’
‘Jason Cayanne, a captain two in the North Hollywood Station.’
‘Can I trust him?’
‘Mike, this man will listen to you. That’s the best you’re gonna get right now. Let this thing go another twenty-four hours and the most you can hope for is a clean jail cell.’
‘I need to know Kat will be safe.’
‘LAPD will protect her better than you can.’
Mike hung up, pressed a fist to the edge of the desk until his knuckles ached. Then he found the Batphone and called Shep. ‘How is she?’
‘A little better. Some movement, pain response. The doc seems excited by that.’
‘Movement. Movement is good. Pain response is good.’ Mike realized he was babbling, chewing his thumb.
‘But she’s not out of the woods. Things could still go south fast.’
Mike swallowed dryly. ‘How about her safety?’
‘They’re letting me stay with her right now,’ Shep said, ‘but visiting hours end at eight.’
‘What are you gonna do?’
‘I’ll figure something out.’
‘Okay.’ Mike took a breath. It seemed inconceivable that he couldn’t be at his wife’s side through this. ‘Can we transfer her?’
‘Doc won’t go for it. Says she’s too unstable. The detectives were here, Markovic and Elzey. They said if you don’t come in by tomorrow morning, you’ll be charged for murder.’
‘Mur—’ Mike caught himself, lowered his voice. ‘Murder? For that piece of shit who stuck a blade into my wife?’
‘And for attempted murder on Ann
abel,’ Shep said. Mike felt a surge of rage, but before he could respond, Shep had moved on. ‘They also said Annabel’s old man is trying to take over the medical decisions for her. Something about suing over the proxy. He’s getting on a plane.’
‘So he’d be the one to green-light a surgery?’ Mike said. ‘Or pull the plug? He can’t do that. He can’t do that.’
‘He’s trying.’
Mike looked across at Kat’s zoned-out face, the glow of the TV rippling across her features. She had a red smudge on her chin from fruit juice, and she was sucking a thumb through her shirtsleeve, a habit she’d left behind four years ago. He was barely taking care of her now. How could he take care of her if they were really on the run?
As if reading his thoughts, Shep said, ‘Don’t do it.’
‘This only gets worse.’
‘You’ll be in jail,’ Shep said. ‘Helpless. And Rick Graham, William Burrell, and Roger Drake will be out here.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He hung up. Shep called back immediately, but Mike muted the ringer. Then he rose and started packing up.
Kat asked, ‘Are we going somewhere?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
They loaded up the truck and sat in the parking lot with the engine idling, Mike staring blankly ahead, the dusty windshield muting the early afternoon. Buckled into the passenger seat, Kat watched him; he could sense her keen stare. The rucksack of cash was an olive drab lump at her feet. Snowball II peered out from her fist, halved-marble eyes waiting on his next move. Panic rose in his throat like bile, but he stayed perfectly still, throat bobbing, choking it down. Eventually the heavy gray of the afternoon settled over him, leeching away all emotion, and then he didn’t even feel panic anymore, just the dead, dismal weight of the air he was breathing.
After a time Kat said, ‘What do we do when we’re scared?’
It took him a moment to realize she was going for the Bad-Parenting Game. He couldn’t get his heart into it. ‘I don’t know, Kat.’
More vehemently now. ‘What do we do when we’re scared?’
He thought of Annabel lying in that hospital bed, the dark cigar hole between her ribs. His daughter beside him, needing to return to a life he was helpless to get her back to.
‘We curl up into a little ball and surrender,’ he said.
He put the truck in gear and started for the police station.
Mike couldn’t settle his nerves. The instant he stepped into the North Hollywood Station, he was convinced that he’d made a terrible mistake. But it was too late.
A flickering overhead fluorescent seemed to set the ominous tone, casting one edge of the lobby in alternating shades of pale yellow. The desk officer no sooner took in his and Kat’s faces than a back door opened and a uniformed cop appeared to frisk Mike. The guy would find nothing; Mike had left the .357 with the cash in the Toyota across the street. Shep could pick up the rucksack in case he needed money for Annabel.
Hands on the counter, legs spread, Mike made sure to keep murmuring to Kat, ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.’
She clutched that miniature polar bear like a security blanket.
Before the officer was through with Mike, Captain Jason Cayanne appeared, a virile guy, sinewy and dense of mustache, to apologize for the pat-down. He even crouched and got eye level with Kat to tell her how glad he was that she’d come in.
Cayanne led them upstairs through a warren of hallways and offices. He moved light on his feet, like a dancer or a boxer. The way he took the turns – crisply, on the balls of his feet – said he was former military. The farther back they wound, the more Mike’s apprehension grew. He had to remind himself not to squeeze Kat’s hand too hard lest he hurt her. She glided at his side, silent and trusting. By being here was he breaking his promise to Annabel to get Kat away from all this?
Cayanne kept on, giving no indication that he noticed the sweat popping from Mike’s forehead, until they reached his office. Big wooden desk with facing armchairs, Rotary Club plaques, a striped bass mounted on a piece of driftwood.
Two officers joined them, Mike looking warily from one to the other, searching out signs of betrayal. He sat on an armchair, pulled Kat into his lap, and laced his hands protectively across her stomach.
Cayanne said, ‘Get you a cup of coffee?’
Mike shook his head.
‘Maybe it would be better if Katherine went with Officer Maxwell.’
Mike said, ‘No way.’
Cayanne ran his fingertips thoughtfully through his dense blond mustache. ‘We need to talk about the crime scene, and I think maybe it would be better for her not to have to get tangled up in the details. How about if we put her there’ – he pointed through the glass door to the adjacent detective bullpen – ‘where you can keep an eye on her the whole time?’
Kat started to get out of Mike’s lap, but he didn’t relax his arms. She said, ‘It’s okay, Dad,’ and pulled free.
She settled into a chair in the next room and offered him an encouraging wave. Cayanne was waiting behind the desk, the picture of patience.
‘You made a pretty good run there,’ he said. ‘Blipped off the radar.’
‘There are people after us,’ Mike said. ‘Two ex-cons – Roger Drake and William Burrell, the brother of the man who stabbed my wife.’
Cayanne jotted the names in a black detective’s pad. ‘The brother of the man you killed.’
‘Yes,’ Mike said.
‘I don’t understand. Why are they after you?’
‘I don’t know.’
Cayanne’s clear blue eyes ticked up from the pad and held on Mike’s face for a beat before lowering again.
Mike said, ‘And there’s also at least one person gunning for me who’s inside law enforcement. Rick Graham.’
‘There appear to be a lot of people looking for you who are inside law enforcement.’
‘Not looking. Gunning. This guy is working with criminals to come after me.’
Cayanne’s pen ceased scribbling. ‘Working with ex-cons?’
‘Yes.’
‘Bad guys and dirty cops makes a conspiracy. And you have no idea why this conspiracy is centered on you?’
‘Look, I know how this sounds. But it’s the truth. I don’t have any idea why I’ve been targeted, but I will work with you and do whatever it takes to figure out what’s going on.’
Cayanne set his pad down on his desk. Folded his hands on the leather blotter. ‘And in return?’
‘I need to protect my daughter. I want the right to make decisions for my wife, medical decisions. That’s all I care about, how they can be taken care of. Nothing else. Do you understand me?’
‘I do.’
Mike’s throat opened up a little at that, as if he’d loosened a tie. ‘I have put my family in your trust. Will you protect them, no matter what happens to me?’
‘Of course we’ll make sure they’re safe.’
The muscles of his neck unclenched. He fought his shoulders down, stretched his neck, the burn somehow underscoring his relief.
Officer Maxwell reentered the room. ‘Mr Wingate, you have a call.’
‘A call? How does anyone know I’m here?’
‘We alerted the hospital that you were coming in. And I’m afraid it’s them calling. About your wife. They say . . . they say it’s urgent.’
Dread, pure and simple.
In the next room, Kat was petting Snowball II soothingly, her feet swinging a few inches off the floor. Her mouth was moving, and it took him a moment to realize what she was whispering to the bear: We’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.
When Mike spoke, it came out a croak. ‘Okay.’
‘You can take it at my desk.’ Maxwell extended his arm, pointing to his station against the far wall.
Mike moved across the room on deadened legs. Five or so lines fed into the phone, but only one button was blinking. He rested his hand on the receiver, took a deep b
reath, and picked up. Steeling himself, he turned away toward the window, not wanting Kat to read his expression when he got the news. ‘Mike Wingate here.’
Down below, he could see the gated side lot, filled with black-and-whites. The sight of a black Mercury froze him, his breath misting against the glass. The driver’s door was open. His eyes tracked around the lot, found a broad black officer facing away, blocking whomever he was speaking to.
It took Mike a moment to register that it was Hank’s voice on the phone. ‘Mike. Mike. Mike.’
‘Hank? What happened to Annabel?’
The cop in the parking lot was back on his heels, arms out, going submissive in the face of a reprimand.
A low heat prickled across Mike’s neck.
‘Never mind that,’ Hank said. ‘I had to say I was a doctor to get you on the phone. Listen, that alert that’s out on you? It’s at the state level. A counterterrorist agency. These guys have authority over sheriff’s, LAPD, everyone. They can take you and your daughter into custody and move you wherever they see fit. And guess who’s one of their directors?’
Down below, the officer stepped aside deferentially, and Rick Graham started briskly toward the entrance.
As the phone lowered to the cradle in Mike’s trembling hand, he faintly registered the tin-can squawk of Hank’s voice, saying, ‘You gotta get out of there.’
Chapter 35
Mike forced himself not to sprint back to Cayanne. He had maybe four minutes before Graham cleared the lobby and navigated his way upstairs and back to them. Mike kept an even pace, nodding reassuringly at Kat as he passed her.
Cayanne said, ‘Everything okay with your wife?’
‘She took a turn. It looks bad.’ Mike assumed he appeared shaken enough to be believable. What kind of plan could he generate in the next thirty seconds that would get him alone with Kat? ‘Do you have a bathroom? I need a minute before I tell my daughter.’
‘Of course. Around the corner there, second on the left.’
Mike rushed back, frantically scouting a way out. Offices let into offices, halls onto halls, a host of internal windows giving the entire floor a spotty transparency. In the bathroom he searched under the sink, behind the door – nothing. He threw toilet paper out of the rotting wooden cabinet, finally locating a first-aid kit in the back. He dumped it out and shoved aside the gauze rolls and medicine packets, plucking up a catheter-tipped syringe for wound irrigation. His shoes slipping over the supplies, he dashed across to the sink and filled the syringe with water. Dubious-looking, but if it came down to it, it would have to do.
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