Nerves of Steel

by CJ Lyons

  "Kids like this--warning them about the Double Cross might have made them want to try it more."

  She looked down at the body at her feet. The boy--she didn't know his name either. John Doe, just another disposable child like Sarah, her own Jane Doe. Her jaw clenched in frustration, she pulled her gaze away from the boy's body to study the silhouette of the bridge, a dark, ominous form lurking in the night sky.

  "I can't believe you did that," Drake continued.

  "I didn't do anything but talk to the kid," she answered. "You're the one who rushed him."

  "Only when I saw he was ready to collapse anyway. I remembered the Winston kid from the other night. I was worried that this actor," he nodded to the body on the ground, "might jerk the wrong way and cut Rankin."

  "Don't you have work to do?" She was more than ready to end this conversation about dead and soon to-be-dead boys. "I thought Miller wanted you to lead the search for Trautman's drug cache."

  He shrugged. "It can wait."

  Cassie remembered Kwon's words about her interference with the investigation and Drake's career. "I don't need you to babysit me."

  She spun away and started toward her car. The bridge filled the sky behind the warehouse, towering over the landscape like some malevolent beast of the night.

  "Bricks." She stopped, her eyes fixed on the West End Bridge.

  "What?" Drake asked, and Cassie startled. She hadn't heard him following her, she'd been so preoccupied by her thoughts.

  She nodded at the bridge. "Trautman said Jane Doe--Sarah--hit him over the head with a brick when she stole the drugs from him."

  "So?"

  "Old paving bricks, PennDOT must have torn them up." She began to jog over the jumbled pavement, heading toward the foot of the bridge. Drake caught up to her and pulled her to a stop.

  "What do paving bricks have to do with anything?"

  "There was a pile of broken paving bricks near where we found Jane Doe," she explained, her words tumbling over each other in her excitement. "I remember Eddie putting the jump bag on them. That must have been where Trautman raped her, and she hit him."

  Drake frowned, then nodded with comprehension. "Why would she go back to where she knew Trautman might be, unless--"

  "Unless she knew his stash was near there, and she wanted to steal more drugs. That's why she was there at four in the morning on a night when there wasn't a rave. She went to look for Trautman's stash." They scrambled across the broken pavement to the other side of the road and down the embankment where Jane Doe had been found.

  Drake paced the bank of the river, his eyes moving over possible hiding places. Then he stopped, head tilted back, looking up at the concrete blocks that formed the foot of the bridge. He aimed the flashlight up, illuminating a narrow shelf between the last row of concrete blocks and the steel foundation of the bridge. Handing the light to Cassie, he began to climb the graffiti-covered slabs.

  "Hold the light up higher." At the top, Drake stretched his arm out, reached behind some tumbled fragments of cement. "Got ya!"

  The wind ripped through the underpass like a Chicago bound freight train. Cassie tried to hold the light steady, but her shivering made the beam skip. Drake skidded down the interlocked concrete slabs, landed at her feet.

  "Trautman made himself a nice cache up there." He pulled his cell phone from his jacket. "Cemented a big old lock box right onto the bridge supports."

  Cassie stomped her chilled feet. While Drake called for back up, she watched the black water of the Ohio lap against the edge of the gravel. Every time she looked away the water came near as if trying to sneak up and ambush her. She took a step toward Drake, not liking the banshee howl of the wind wailing through the bridge struts or the icy fingers of water stretching out to her. A rumble above them came as one of the police cars pulled off the bridge.

  Gravel flew down from the road surface. She gazed out over the stretch of river heading west. Suddenly a bright red flame came shooting over the railing of the bridge above them, twirling end over end as it spiraled through the darkness. It splashed into the black water with a ribbon of sparks quickly devoured by the greedy river.

  She froze, unable to move her eyes from the spot where the roadside flare drowned. That could have been her.

  Wrenching her eyes away, she stared up through the darkness to the railing high above. If Drake had been slower, a second longer. She would have dropped, spun through the air as the flare had. Plummeted into the water.

  Cassie crouched down, plunged her bare hand into the icy water. No mercy there, a few minutes perhaps before hypothermia overwhelmed the body.

  She closed her eyes, remembering Jane Doe's limp, blue body. There but the grace of God--and Drake.

  Her body shuddered as she realized just how lucky she was that he had been there.

  "What the hell--" Strong arms yanked her back before she could slump forward into the water. Drake pulled her to her feet. She opened her eyes and looked up into his. Dark as midnight now in the dim light, they narrowed in concern. "You're like ice. C'mon, we've got to get you out of here."

  "What about the lockbox?" she stammered through trembling lips. He wrapped his jacket around her, propelling her up the slope.

  "Kwon's coming to get it processed."

  Her numb feet slipped on the rocks, and she fell back against his body. Drake's body was so solid, so warm against hers. Definitely not the quivering mass of overwrought and exhausted nerves she had deteriorated into. She pulled away. She could take care of herself, she was no one's damsel in distress.

  Cassie plowed up the scree slope on her own, wincing as the gravel bit into her abraded palms. At least she could feel her hands again, she thought, cursing herself for not bringing gloves. She tucked her hands under her armpits once she reached the pavement and headed toward her car.

  "Wait. My car's right here." Drake steered her across the pavement to his Intrepid.

  She hesitated, steeling herself to refuse his offer. But then he was holding the door open for her, and she found herself sliding into the warm embrace of the front seat.

  Drake hurried around to the driver's side, got in, started the car and turned the heat on high.He turned to her. "Thanks to you, I think we just made major progress on the FX epidemic."

  "Tell that to that homeless kid. Or my patient. I still don't know who Jane Doe is, and Fran's killer is still out there." Everything she'd gone through, all for nothing more than a first name and the hazy possibility of an origin for Jane Doe. Not much to work with, but she'd call Adeena with the information as soon as she got home.

  She slumped against the seat, wishing that the heater could go higher, her body numb with exhaustion. Maybe she'd call Adeena after she got some sleep.

  "Didn't it occur to you that once Trautman knew you linked him with Jane Doe, he'd have to kill you? That he couldn't allow you to connect him back to Three Rivers or the FX?" He shook his head. "Just how far would you go to help a patient?"

  The edge in his voice forced a flare of indignation from her. "My patient, my job, my responsibility--a lot like yours, Detective."

  "It's my job to risk my life, not yours. My job to find Fran's murderer, not yours. You could have been killed." Now his eyes flashed with anger.

  Cassie sighed. Didn't they go through this already? "You wouldn't understand."

  "Try me. What makes an intelligent woman fool enough to take risks to help a girl she doesn't even know? What makes you think that Jane Doe wants to have her family back in her life? Maybe she made herself anonymous in a strange city for a good reason."

  She massaged the scar on her thumb and stared out the windshield. Because she was Cassie's, was the answer that she could never articulate. How to explain that someone had to stand for the helpless, the hopeless, that she cared for day in and day out? What words would make that feeling of responsibility sound real and not like some grand delusion?

  "I do what needs to be done," was the best explanation she could come up wit
h.

  He nodded slowly at that, and Cassie thought she saw some glimmer of understanding cross his face.

  "Why were you there tonight?" she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

  "Doing my job," he replied. She was silent, and he continued, "I remembered you found Jane Doe here and that other overdose was brought in from down here, so I headed over, hoping to find Trautman, his stash or both."

  She gave a taut laugh. "And you got lucky."

  He exhaled loudly, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  "I got lucky," he agreed, but his voice had lowered. "I saw Trautman toss you over the railing. If I'd been a minute later..." his voice trailed off, and he looked away.

  "Thank you," she said in a quiet voice. The trembling returned. It was as if the river had frozen her from the inside out. No matter how high the heat blew at her, it would be a long time before she felt warm again.

  Or completely safe.

  CHAPTER 40

  Drake turned back to her, his face carefully neutral. "You're welcome," he said. "Do you want me to drive you home? I can have uniforms bring your car by later."

  "I'm okay. Can I just sit here a moment?" Hart leaned against the door, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, his jacket hanging loosely from her shoulders.

  "You can stay as long as you like," he said, his voice dropping into a near-whisper. He couldn't help himself, the way his throat tightened when he thought of how close she'd come to dying, the way his pulse raced at the prospect of her sitting so close, yet still so very far away from him. She looked like an angel: the mist of their breath surrounding her, hair tumbling over her shoulders, that porcelain skin.

  He took a deep breath. She's off limits, he reminded himself, trying not to remember their passion the night before. Suddenly the Dodge seemed drenched in the smell of apples and vanilla.

  An angel with her wings folded around her, the image formed with clarity in his mind. He knew he would have to get it onto paper or canvas before his mind would allow him a moment's rest.

  Then the angel opened her eyes, and he was drowning in their depths. Hell of a way to go, a voice whispered even as he raised a hand to stroke an errant strand of hair from her face. He snatched his hand away, stunned by the flame that surged through him with the touch of her flesh.

  Steady boy. He returned his hand and gaze to the neutral steering wheel. It had been a long time since he'd felt this way--too long.

  Was this angel worth taking the risk?

  "You're shaking." Drake's voice penetrated the icy chill that had enveloped Cassie.

  Her teeth chattered as she answered, "It's just adrenalin."

  He raised her hands, unclenching them to inspect the damage. "Maybe I should take you over to Three Rivers."

  "No." The single syllable took all her strength. He looked away and dropped her hands. She wanted to ask him to hold her, to share his warmth, but knew it was impossible. There was too much at stake, not only his job and Fran's case. Cassie couldn't risk re-opening wounds that had taken eighteen months to heal, wounds that last night had come perilously close to exposing.

  Her stomach lurched as if she were falling still, dropping into an abyss. It was terrifying to feel like this, as out of control as when T-man hurled her from the bridge. Right before Drake pulled her back from the chasm.

  Drake turned back, surprised her by taking her wrist once more and raising it to his lips. With gentle precision he kissed the moon-shaped scar at the base of her thumb, her pulse vibrating beneath his touch.

  She froze. What should she do next? Damn it, she'd never been any good at this. Was he trying to tell her goodbye? Or something else entirely?

  He reached his other arm to gather her close to him, and she had her answer.

  The kiss was sweet, filled more with compassion than the passion that drove them last night. Cassie felt her trembling slowly ebb away. She slid closer to him, craving contact with him.

  After savoring the long, sweet exchange, she pulled back. Focused on reality. "I'd better go now. I don't want to keep you from your duties."

  "Seeing you home safe is pretty much my last job for the night." Drake's hand closed over hers. "We can get your car in the morning."

  Her resistance crumbled with his touch. She squeezed his hand in reply. But not her house, it was too crowded with memories and old ghosts. "No, your place. We need to talk."

  A tiny frown tightened his mouth and his gaze flicked away from her as he put the car into gear. He drove with one hand on the wheel, keeping the other entwined with hers. They rode in a comfortable silence over to his building in East Liberty. He parked the departmental car in the side lot. She waited for him as he moved around the car to open her door and give her his hand once more.

  Together they climbed the wide oak steps. Cassie admired the carved banisters and intricate twisting of wrought iron on the railings, details that she had overlooked last night. "This is a great building."

  "Thanks. I worked hard on it."

  "You own the entire building?"

  "My uncle advised me to invest in real estate. I fell in love with this place. It was built in 1922 to house the Liberty Times newspaper. Now, I'm just trying to find the right tenants for the other floors."

  "I can't believe nobody's interested."

  "A dot-com start up wanted the second floor, but they fell through. Monsignor Newman from Our Lady of Sorrows is going to take the ground floor for a new food bank and daycare center once we get the funding approved."

  She paused on the landing outside his door. "I have a friend who wants to start a community clinic," she told him. "Ed Castro--my boss in the ER, you met him, right? He's had this dream for as long as I've known him."

  "A free medical clinic?"

  "Not just medical. A place to help serve all of the needs of the community. Social services, job training, literacy counseling, financial planning--every time he talks about it, he comes up with more ideas."

  "That would tie into Newman's ideas. I should get the two of them together."

  "You'd do that? Let them use the building?"

  Drake nodded."Sure, why not? Maybe your friend the social worker would be interested as well."

  "I'm sorry about what happened this morning with Adeena. She was just--"

  "It's all right. You have good friends."

  "Sometimes I wish they'd let me live my own life."

  Drake opened the door to his apartment and flicked the lights on. After depositing his gun and badge on the foyer table, he took her coat and hung it on the coat rack with his jacket. The door behind clicked shut behind them, and Cassie felt a shiver run through her.

  Drake moved with slow, precise movements as if his mind were elsewhere. He led her into the living room.

  "Can I get you anything?" he asked once she was settled on the sofa. His voice sounded hollow, his face was expressionless.

  "No thanks." What was going on? She stole a look back over her shoulder at the closed door, trying to ignore her clammy palms. Had she said something wrong? Everything was fine when they were talking outside--wasn't it?

  But things had changed. All they did was cross the threshold, it had only taken a split second. Something was going to happen, something bad. She looked up at Drake, wanting to convince herself that her anxiety had no basis in reality, but he wouldn't meet her gaze.

  "We have to talk," he started.

  Here it comes, get ready. Where was her escape route? Cassie clenched her hands and forced herself to remain where she was. She remembered the look of concern on his face out at the bridge. He's not Richard. Drake would never hurt her. Oh, but he could, without even trying, he could cut her to the bone.

  Then it dawned on her what he was trying to say. She let her breath out in relief. "I know," she replied before he could go on. "Finding Fran's killer has to come first. And we can't see each other as long as you're on the case. We have plenty of time. I'll wait as long as you need."

&nb
sp; Drake stepped away from her to the window. He stood frozen, his gaze fixed far beyond the streets of East Liberty.

  "I should have told you last night," he said. He cleared his throat and turned around. "I'm sorry I didn't. But things moved so fast."

  She grimaced. That was her fault, not his. She started to tell him that, but he spoke again. His voice was distant, remote.

  "I used to drink a lot--" he started.

  Her head swam. It was Richard, all over again.

  She wiped her clammy palms on her jeans, strained to concentrate, listen to his words. Drake wasn't Richard, she repeated, hanging onto the thought even as her stomach tightened with fear.

  "It comes with the job," Drake was saying. "Your friends are cops, and you drink with them, your dates meet you at bars or parties so you drink with them. You're a detective working all hours, and sometimes a drink helps you sleep. At least that's how it used to work for me.

  "I never had a black out, and I was never drunk on the job, in fact I never thought I had a problem. Until last summer, that was." He stopped.

  "What happened last summer?" Cassie remembered what Spanos had said. She'd ignored the patrolman's warning, thought his angry words were the product of jealousy.

  "Someone died because of me."

  Cassie couldn't meet his eyes. Her mouth was dry. She fought to swallow as she waited for the rest.

  "This job wears you down, you know that," he continued. "There's only so much you can see before it gets to you, but you can't let it affect you because then it affects the job. You can't share it with anyone else because either they wouldn't understand or they'd think you were weak.

  "So you build a persona, an alter ego. Joe Cop--you watch enough bad TV shows and you can get it down real fast. Life imitates fiction. And boy, do the women go for Joe Cop." He shook his head. "It's unbelievable how sexy they find him," he said, speaking of himself in the third person.

  "Last summer I'm seeing this woman, Pamela. She'd been a witness in a case, and afterward she started hanging around, calling me, stopping by bars where we hang out. We hooked up, but then things got too serious, and I decide to call a halt to it. No big deal, had the routine down pat, did it all the time after I got bored or scared or whatever. Even prided myself on letting them down easy.