Nerves of Steel

by CJ Lyons

  The second message was Ed Castro. "I saw Trautman in the ER, the optho guys think they can save one of his eyes. Thought you'd like to know." He cleared his throat noisily. "I hope you're all right. Please. Be careful. Come talk to me anytime if you need to." The last came in a heartfelt rush.

  "Cassie, are you okay?" Neil Sinderson's voice sounded concerned. "You were on the news. They said some drug dealer was trying to kill you. Do the police think he had anything to do with what happened to Fran? Gosh, I hope everything is all right. Give me a call or page me, I'm available 24/7. Whatever you need, I'm here."

  The last message was Adeena again. "Hey, sorry I yelled. You know how I get when Tessa's upset. Anyway, I hope you're all right and I'll see you tomorrow. Take care now--and no more crazy stunts, okay? Love ya. Call me."

  Cassie climbed the stairs in her stocking feet, thinking of a few more hours of sleep followed by a hot shower. She stripped in the bathroom, tossing her sweat and blood stained clothes into the hamper, changed into the T-shirt and sweatpants she used as pajamas, and crossed the hall into her room. She took two steps toward her bed.

  The door slammed shut behind her.

  "Morning, Ella."

  CHAPTER 45

  Cassie spun around. Richard leaned against the door, arms crossed, seemingly relaxed. Until she looked into his face. His pupils were dilated with either excitement or drugs, his mouth set with fury.

  "Get out," she snapped, her own anger rising to match his. Even before he left for rehab, Richard never dared violate the sanctuary of her home. Shoulders hunched, jaw clenched tight, she squared off with him, refusing to be intimidated.

  "You've kept me waiting." He ignored her command. "After I heard about Victor Trautman almost killing you, I was worried." He opened his hands to demonstrate his sincerity, as if he expected her to rush into them for comfort.

  "I'm fine, Richard. Now, go." She fought to keep the anger from her voice. Richard never responded well to ultimatums, but this was her house, she was damned if she was going to beg him to leave.

  "You're sure you're all right?" He stepped toward her. She stood her ground, kept her eyes focused on his, not liking what she saw. Fine. If he wanted a fight, they could have it right here and now--all the easier to document so the police could lock him up for a good long time.

  "Yes. I just need some rest. Good-bye, Richard."

  "You've hurt your hands. Let me see."

  His tone was one of concern and his hand reached for hers. Cassie's glance dropped for an instant. He grabbed both her wrists, stepping so close she almost toppled onto the bed. She fought for balance, couldn't kick at him without falling back, his grip tugging her arms forward, keeping her upright and pinned against him.

  He pressed his body into hers, nuzzling her neck. "I can smell him. Taste him on you. You should have waited, Ella. A good wife would have."

  "I'm not your wife anymore." She squirmed against him, trying to find space to kick, hit, escape.

  "You're still mine, Ella. Forever."

  Cassie fought to breathe. The scent of his cologne filled the room, polluting the air she gulped. "Richard, you need help." She tried to find some compassion for the man she once loved. There was none. "Let me go before I call the police."

  His larger hands held her wrists in a stranglehold, tightened them until she gasped in pain.

  "You won't do that, Ella. See, I finally figured it out. My problem had nothing to do with drinking or drugs. It was you. You never learned how to listen, how to give me what I needed, how to be a good wife. But this time you're going to."

  He ground her delicate wrist bones together and she could no longer hide her wince. His eyes widened even farther and he abruptly released her, shoving her back onto the bed. He straddled her, sitting on her legs before she could kick at him, recapturing both her wrists in one hand, pinning them over her head.

  "There, now we can talk in peace." He raised his free hand, his leer widening when she flinched. He brushed her hair away from her face. His palm lingered, his flesh hot and slicked with sweat as he demonstrated his total control over her. The one thing she'd fought against during every second of their relationship.

  She blinked against the burning behind her eyes. Her mouth was dry and her lips began to tingle, grow numb. Her chest was heaving, her panicked breathing fast, too fast.

  "Let me go, Richard. Now." She tried to put all her pain and frustration into her voice, to find the voice of command she used in the ER. He responded by squeezing her neck, so tightly that she could barely breathe, much less speak. She tried to swallow, it hurt so bad tears came to her eyes. Focused instead on slowing her breathing before panic could cement its hold on her body.

  "So here's my plan," he went on, oblivious to her pain. His voice took on a maniacal singsong, and she knew he must have been fantasizing about this moment. For how long?

  "You're going to come home with me. Don't worry about clothes or anything." His lips curled into a sneer. He released her face, his palm bracing his weight as he leaned forward, his face inches from hers. "I doubt you'll be leaving the bedroom for awhile. You'll call Ed Castro, ask for an indefinite leave of absence. We're going to start over again."

  "You're crazy." She managed to scrape the words together and force them past her bruised vocal cords. She didn't see his slap coming, had no time to prepare or recoil from it. Warm blood flowed from her nose.

  "Did I say you could talk?" he bellowed. "You never learn, do you? A good wife listens and does what her husband tells her."

  She wondered how he was faking his urine tests. It was obvious he was on something. Probably a form of amphetamine. Then he would bring himself back down with a barbiturate or opiate like FX. Never before had Richard been so delusional, out of control.

  Which was least likely to get her killed? Playing along or fighting back? She stopped struggling against him, lay there placidly and watched for her opportunity.

  "Want do you want?"

  "What every husband wants--his wife, at home, by his side, where she belongs. And that's what you're going to give me. You see, Ella, you forgot one small detail when you took up with that cop--yeah, I know who he really is, it's all over the news. You forgot about the cameras in the trauma rooms."

  She froze. Swallowed back a groan. There was nothing Richard could threaten her with, she'd taken the worse he had to offer and had survived, but now he held Drake's career in his hand. For the first time she felt afraid, truly afraid.

  "That's right. And I have the only copy from the other day." He shook his head. "Necking in the ER, your best friend barely cold. Imagine what the tabloids could make of it--detective fucking murder witness. I suppose any potential defense attorney would find it interesting. As will Drake's superiors. I checked into this guy, he's been in trouble before. Really Ella, you should use better judgment about who you get involved with."

  He cupped her chin in his hand once more, his fingers caressing the bruises he'd caused. "We'll go home. It'll be just like old times, won't it?"

  "Give me the tape. I won't tell anyone about you using drugs again," she bargained, hoping she wouldn't be forced to choose between Drake's future and her freedom.

  "Wrong answer. You do as I say, and your boyfriend keeps his job. The only right answer is 'Yes Richard'." His face filled her vision, the rancid odor of his breath corrupting the air she breathed. Triumph etched his features into sharp relief. "Say it." He raised his hand for another strike.

  He wanted her to resist, to give him a reason to hit her. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at his face, her mind made up. Sorrow and guilt loosed the dam of tears that had built over the past few days. They burned as they slipped past her defenses.

  "Yes, Richard," she said in a dull tone, opening her eyes, ignoring the sting of tears. Richard seemed fascinated by her crying--probably because it was the first time she'd ever wept in front of him. Her tears convinced him of her sincerity.

  "Good girl. Let's celebrate ou
r new understanding." His lips parted in anticipation, and he released her wrists as he reached down to fumble at his belt.

  Cassie watched as he lowered his head. "Richard," she called sweetly.

  He glanced up. She smashed her fist into his face.

  "Not if you were the last man on earth."

  He floundered off the bed, holding his nose. She leapt to her feet and gave him a solid kick in the groin. He doubled over, yelping like a wounded dog. Her muscles surged with adrenalin and unleashed fury. She brought her elbows down on the back of his head. His face ricocheted off the wood floor with a satisfying crack.

  Before she could strike again, he scuttled away to the other side of the bed and climbed to his feet. Blood from his nose and split lip smeared his designer suit and silk shirt. Richard always was a clotheshorse.

  "Get out of my house, now!"

  "This isn't over." He pressed a silk handkerchief to his face. "You'll pay for this, Ella." He swept a hand across her dresser, scattering the few pieces of jewelry, ceramic ballerina, crystal vase and lamp to the floor with a shatter of breaking glass.

  He started to advance on her, his face flushed with outrage. Cassie held her ground, her feet in a fighting stance.

  "What's going on here?" Drake burst into the room at a run, his gun drawn. He surveyed the damage-strewn room and kept his gun on Richard. "Hart, are you all right?"

  "I'm fine," she told him, catching Richard's eye.

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing, Detective." Richard smiled at her as he shook the creases back into his slacks. He ignored Drake's gun and moved past Drake to Cassie, nodding at her as if they had a bargain. "Just a little morning rendezvous. For old times sakes, you know."

  Drake holstered his gun and grabbed Richard by the arm. "Get your hands off her!"

  Richard looked down in amusement, then met Drake's eyes. "Surely, you're not arresting me, Detective?"

  "Like hell, I'm not. Assault and battery--" Drake began.

  Richard's laugh rang through the small room. "I think not."

  "Let him go," Cassie said, the words tasting of ash in her mouth. Drake kept his hold on Richard.

  "You can't be serious. Hart, think about--"

  "She is thinking, Detective," Richard said. "Thinking of what's best for everyone involved." He tugged his arm from Drake's grip. Drake stared at his empty hand, then at Cassie.

  "If I ever see you touch her again--"

  "It's all right, Detective, I understand," Richard said. "My wife has that effect on men. Remember what I said," Richard told Cassie as he stalked from the room, smoothing the wrinkles in his Italian silk. "I'll see you tonight, Ella."

  Drake spun to face Cassie. She knew he wanted to go after Richard. But she'd bought them a little time. She couldn't let him ruin that by arresting Richard now.

  "Let him go," she repeated. Confusion swept across his face. She collapsed on the bed, shaking with adrenalin and anger.

  The bed sighed as Drake sat down beside her. He placed his arm around her shoulders. She shrugged it off.

  She considered telling him about Richard and the tape. What would she say? My ex-husband comes from a rich and powerful family and wants to destroy you? Now, thanks to me, he has the means to do that.

  "Want to tell me what the hell is going on?" he finally said.

  She had until tonight. She could find a way to make things right by then. She had to.

  "Go away," she said. "Please, just go away."

  After several long moments, Drake stood. She fell back against Rosa's quilt, the thick velvet embracing her, as she listened to his footsteps echoing down the stairs.

  CHAPTER 46

  Cassie wiped her face on a corner of her shirt. Blood from her nose stained the white cotton. The least of her worries. She sat up, rolled her shoulders. What to do next? How to fix this mess?

  A creak echoed through the stairway, and she tensed. Richard returning to finish things? Her pulse hammered in her head, and her palms grew clammy. She searched for a weapon, grabbed the lamp from the nightstand and crouched near the door.

  "Hart?"

  Drake. Cassie almost dropped the lamp in her confusion. "I--I thought you'd left. What are you doing here?"

  He said nothing but took the lamp from her hand and replaced it on the nightstand. "He's gone. I've locked all the doors."

  She looked at him in amazement. What was this man doing in her bedroom, talking as if nothing had happened?

  Drake looked out into the fenced in square of Hart's backyard. Wind gusted through fallen leaves, creating tiny whirlwinds that swirled across the garden. His mind reeled in time with the small dervishes.

  "You left your cell phone," he said, his face still toward the window.

  "I'm glad you came when you did." Her voice was tentative.

  Drake spun around, both hands fisted at his sides. "What are you hiding from me? What really happened here this morning?"

  She kept her back to him, slumped down, hands dangling lifelessly between her knees. "It's none of your business," she said after a long silence.

  That hurt, especially after last night. He moved around the bed and stood in front of her. "None of my business, or none of the police's business?"

  She hung her head, veiling her face in a curtain of dark hair and was silent.

  "Damn it! Just tell me."

  "Who asked you for help? Have I ever asked you for anything?" She bounced to her feet and went to the door, holding it open. "Thank you for coming, Detective Drake. Please tell Commander Miller that I'll be in sometime later to give her my statement about last night."

  "Want me to tell her you're too busy wallowing in self pity?" he asked, knowing it was cruel, a twist of the knife, but willing to do it if it returned her to her senses.

  She glared at him, refused to rise to the bait. "Tell her the truth," she said in a calm voice. "I'm exhausted, I haven't gotten much sleep in the past few days."

  "Why don't you call and tell her yourself? I'm not your messenger boy. I've a task force meeting I'm late for."

  "Then I suggest you go now."

  She wouldn't meet his eyes as he passed her, close enough to touch. Drake reached out a hand, willing to stop this nonsense if she would, but he saw her recoil when he drew near. He walked down the steps without a backward glance.

  To hell with her, to hell with everything except closing his case. He let himself out. Should have known better than to allow a woman to distract him from his work.

  The words rang hollow. Especially as Drake realized they were the exact words he used after he had learned about Pamela's secret.

  Miller stood beside Dimeo at the back of the conference room when Drake entered. Kwon shot him a look that said he was so busted. He took his customary seat behind Summers and slouched over the table, doodling on a notepad, making eye contact with no one.

  "We found Trautman's lab in the basement of his aunt's house," one of the narcotics guys was saying. "Hazmat will have it cleared for processing later this morning. No signs of any of the drugs stolen from the pharmacy the night Weaver was killed."

  "Phone records show several to his cell from Richard King," Summers said. "None to or from Hart."

  Drake's teeth ground together at the mention of King and Hart.

  "What else did Trautman say last night, Summers?" Kwon asked.

  Summers darted a glance at Drake before answering. "Said he caught Hart stealing FX from the ER. He was blackmailing her, and she asked to meet him on the bridge to, uh, negotiate."

  Drake's pen tore through the top pages of his notepad, leaving an ugly gouge behind. No way. Trautman was a lying piece of shit, just trying to cover his own ass. Hart wouldn't, couldn't--

  "So, do we believe him or Hart's story that she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Miller asked the group.

  Silence. Drake felt the weight of his team's eyes upon him. He remained silent, not looking up, his gaze boring a hole through the table.

 
"Seems like an awfully big coincidence to me," Dimeo said.

  "Did anyone talk to this social worker, Adeena Coleman, yet? The one who was supposed to be there with Hart."

  Drake jerked his head up. Talking to Coleman wasn't such a bad idea. "I'll do it," he volunteered, ignoring the stares of surprise the others sent his way.

  "Fine," Miller said. "You take Coleman, and Kwon can interview Hart when she comes in later."

  Drake glanced over. Kwon's smile was that of a predator circling in on its prey. Who cared? Hart could take care of herself--wasn't that what she kept telling him? She didn't need him to defend her with Kwon. She only needed him to find Weaver's killer.

  In other words, to do his job.

  Cassie watched Drake's car pull away from the curb and sighed in relief. God, the man was stubborn. And she didn't like the way he could see right through her--almost to her soul, it seemed at times. No one else had ever done that, except for Rosa, but she'd never felt so confused by Rosa's uncanny abilities.

  Drake scared her. The fact that she was allowing him into her life, her world. The way her body responded, compelled by the merest glance of him. Worse, the way she seemed to be coming to rely on him, to depend on him.

  She wished he could help her now, but she refused to risk his career. Or justice for Fran.

  She shook her head, chewing on her lower lip. She could fix this, make this right.Somehow. She owed it to Drake.

  The phone rang. "Cassie, it's Adeena. The neurologists said Jane Doe's EEG is looking better. It might take awhile, but she's going to make it."

  At least something was going right today. "That's great. How about my other patient, Brian Winston?"

  Adeena's silence told Cassie all she needed to know. Hell. "They're considering withdrawing life support," she finally said. "I'm sorry. When Jane Doe--"

  "Sarah," she interrupted. "Her real name is Sarah."

  "How--you found out who she is?"

  "Just her first name and a few other hints." Cassie looked at her rumpled bed. She wasn't going to get any sleep or any peace, not after what happened this morning. "I'll be in shortly and explain everything."