She hadn’t bothered to close the door all the way yesterday. She told herself she did it for Jordan, who wouldn’t leave her side.
No big deal, right? Sure.
A cold sweat broke out over her body. She grabbed the first thing her hand hit in the bucket and drew back the toothbrush. She ignored the pain from her broken and jagged fingernails.
Okay. Breathe. Normal people did normal things in small places. She could do this. FBI agents didn’t run out of bathrooms as if the boogeyman were after them, about to pop out of the mirror and dive deep into her soul like a demon.
She grabbed the toothpaste and squeezed a dab outward, but the blue blob missed and landed in the sink instead. She tried again, focusing all her energy into getting it right.
Like she was at the shooting range. Line up your sights, McKenna.
This time both the brush and liberal amount of paste ended up in the sink.
Did her hands even belong to her? She held them out in front of her, palm down. They shook worse than an alcoholic’s in detox. A loud noise swarmed all around her, as if she were in a swamp filled with buzzing insects. Insects that liked to breathe heavily.
No, that noise was coming from her. A vice gripped her diaphragm and sent her lungs upward. The glaring white walls threatened to close in on her with each throb of her heart. A flash of white blinded her for moment. She was back in that dumpster, feeling sluggish, missing Jordan, and fearing death. Weightlessness had taken over, at that point, and her stomach had swirled like being on a cheap ride at the county fair. Then the ground met her body before the blackness settled in.
There was something else. Something she needed to grasp, but it lay out of reach. Like the door handle in the bathroom.
Rubbery noodles had taken the place of her bones, but she managed to reach the door.
Must. Get. Out. Yes, she’d get her bearings and try again later.
No shame in that. A small amount of air reached her lungs.
She whipped open the door. A face stared back at her. Dark hair. Dark, wide eyes. Not Jordan. A piercing noise came from her lungs like a wounded sea creature stuck in a fishing net. Jordan jumped from the chair and charged toward Rupert—what was he doing here?—then slammed him up against the nearest wall. A nurse rushed into the room, followed by a large man she’d never seen before.
“What is going on in here?”
“What are you doing?
“You left your post.”
“I didn’t.”
They were all talking at once, no one person listening to the other.
“Young man.” The heavy set nurse put her hands out, palms down and approached Jordan. “You need to let him go. Or I’ll have to call security.”
The tall man straightened from where he stood, slouched against the doorway. “I am security.”
Jordan didn’t relinquish the hold he hand on Rupert, but gripped the edges of his jacket tighter. He flicked a glance toward Tall Security Dude. “You’re fired. Get out.”
“Who do you think you are?” Tall Dude said. He looked at the nurse.
Jordan’s face held enough anger to last a lifetime and a look cutting enough to seal the security guard’s fate.
Rupert tapped Jordan’s fist. “You mind letting up?”
Her husband’s gaze swept back to Rupert. “I’m not going to ask again. What are you doing here?”
McKenna pulled her robe as close together as the IV would allow. She’d never see Jordan so fierce. The security guard and the nurse started arguing, their voices angry and blending together in her head.
Jordan still hadn’t removed his hands from Rupert. His lips moved, but she could only make out snippets. “Better have…good reason.”
“Family…Birmingham…hospital…McKenna…okay.” Rupert’s fists clenched at his sides.
The other conversation in the room gained volume, the guard throwing his hands toward Rupert and Jordan. The nurse had her arms across her chest as she shook her head. How could any of them think, let alone talk with all this noise? She touched her head. Something dark swirled in the pit of her stomach. They had to stop. Now.
One more second of this and she’d vomit on the floor at her feet.
“Shut! Up!” The sound filled the room and bounced back to her ears, as her own voice.
Every pair of eyes in the room centered on her.
No one said a thing or dared to move. She wasn’t sure if she could either.
She imagined they saw unflattering bruises and tangled hair. A woman about to come unglued. Not unglued. No. Too close to the truth.
Jordan released the grip on Rupert’s jacket. The other man took some extra time smoothing the wrinkles as if he had nothing better to do. Maybe he didn’t.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves. You’re acting like a bunch of kids.”
The floor had become more interesting than her in the last second. Nobody met her eyes. Not even Jordan. That fact was the most disappointing of them all.
“I’m going home.” She locked eyes with the nurse, then.
She opened her mouth to protest.
“I don’t care what you have to do, or who you have to wake up, but get me discharge forms. Please,” she added.
“I’ll see what I can do.” The nurse looked to the guard. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t look happy about it, but he didn’t make a fuss. Maybe because she looked like an assault victim stuck on a rollercoaster.
“I’ll be speaking to his supervisor,” Jordan mumbled.
Without looking in either man’s direction, she wheeled her IV pole over toward the sofa, which looked like a hard piece of stone covered in ugly purple cloth and was about as soft. Even with one foot in front of the other, her pace matched that of a one-hundred-year-old lady. Jordan was at her side in an instant, taking over the equipment and guiding her toward the couch.
Last week, his interference would have annoyed her. Not now. Now, her main focus was getting to that couch. Perhaps, she’d be able to take a full breath then.
Once Jordan had her seated, he knelt in front of her, his hand enveloping hers. Warmth radiated and settled inside her.
“They said this might happen from time to time. That your body is still recovering from oxygen deprivation and you might feel dizzy or weak, but it should get less frequent and dissipate.” His soft voice soothed her frayed nerves, but left a lot unspoken.
Like the fact that the carbon monoxide poisoning could have caused damage to her heart. The type that could take years to surface. How was she supposed to live like that?
One day at a time.
“Slick, they’re not going to discharge you because you said so. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I’m…okay. And I need to get out of here. “She zeroed in on Rupert then, like a search-light spotting a fleeing convict. “What are you doing here? Visiting hours don’t start for a while.”
A half grumble-sigh came from Jordan as he sat next to her. “Birmingham is back in the hospital because he lifted some boxes.”
“I spent the night in the ICU with him. He tore the artery in his leg, the one they used to do the Cardiac Catheterization. They moved him to the cardiac floor a little while ago.” Rupert sank to the rolling chair. He rubbed the stubble forming on his chin. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I came to see if either of you needed anything.”
Sincerity lingered in his words. Huh. First time for everything.
“I meant what I said the other day.” Jordan’s voice was low.
They wore mirrored expressions of wariness, Rupert’s tinged with hope.
“You expect me to choose between you and Birmingham?”
“I don’t care what you do.” The venom behind Jordan’s words surprised her. What did Birmingham have to do with this?
“We’re brothers.”
The truth hit her like tidal wave. “So, it's true.”
“You knew?” Both men said in unison, the timbre matching in an almost eerie wa
y. Jordan had gone still beside her. As if he expected to find disappointment and heartbreak. As if she’d kept the ultimate secret from him.
She fixed her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. “I started suspecting it on Friday when Shawn smiled. When I looked closer, I could see some facial similarities.”
“Don't care.” Jordan cut in with a slicing motion of his hand. “Because we're not brothers. We happen to share the same deadbeat sperm donor. That’s it.” The stony set of his jaw told McKenna any future words fell on deaf ears.
Rupert shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “What about my mom and dad’s case?”
“It’s no longer in my control. I’m sure Agent Robinson contacted you with the information.”
What?
Jordan’s steady gaze met hers, a silent I’m-sorry-but-I did-what-I had-to in those blue orbs.
“I owe you both an apology.” Rupert said.
They both looked up at Rupert—probably with a good amount of shock showing through.
“I could make excuses, some of them would be valid, but I won’t. I apologize.” The words came out in tight syllables. “I’ve acted like a jerk and said things I shouldn’t have. I did things that have hindered your investigation. I’m glad that you’re okay and I hope that you both can forgive me.”
No one said anything for a minute. He shifting in his seat.
Then McKenna cleared her throat. “You’re forgiven.”
“Just like that?” Jordan’s incredulous gaze trapped her. His lips formed a thin line.
A simmering emotion rolled off of him in waves. Anger didn’t swirl in the depths of his eyes, but hurt churned with all the force of a category five hurricane. When he turned his attention back to Rupert, frustration welled behind her eyelids. Would anything between them ever be simple?
“This is surreal. This hospital. All these tests. This stupid IV.” She got up and tugged on the tubing, stopping short of yanking it from her flesh. “This whole thing is like a nightmare that won’t end.”
“Don’t undo that,” Jordan said.
“It’s just saline.” She stopped the flow and unhooked the tubing from the port on her IV. “This whole thing is like when you lifted me out of that dumpster. I could feel myself moving, but nothing else, like I was floating.” No end to the ride in sight.
The room got quiet and she registered Jordan’s pallor and the very real anxiety etched on his face.
“What do you remember?”
“Just what I told you.” She grabbed a bag from beside her bed and pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt. She pressed the wrinkles with her hands. “A man—I’m sure it was a man—pulled me out of there.” He’d said something to her in a soft voice. What was it? Even. It was the only word that kept popping into her mind. Maybe he’d been talking about the ground? No. It was more important than that, but locked out of reach.
Jordan stilled her hands. “Hey.” The soft voice caught her attention. “Breathe.”
“What?” Air rushed into her lungs. Pain radiated from her fingertips. She gripped her t-shirt as if someone had taken up tug-of-war with her. She let the cloth go. When had she started mangling the life out of the material?
Jordan settled a hand on her back. “You’re sure you didn’t get out on your own?”
“I couldn’t.” McKenna met his eyes, then. Concern radiated from him. “The handle was missing on the inside.” She examined her reddened and lacerated fingertips. “I tried to get the remaining portion to move, but it wouldn’t budge enough to make a difference. One minute I was on the metal floor and the next on the grass. At first, I assumed you’d pulled me out.”
Those kissable lips pressed into a firm line as he shook his head. “We found you about five feet from the dumpster.”
“I need to see it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“How did I let you talk me into this?”
Jordan sidestepped the fallen tree he’d barreled over a little more than forty-eight hours ago. He extended a hand to McKenna and helped her over it. The clammy moisture on her palm and fingertips made him curse himself for giving into her pleas to check out the crime scene.
She tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail, behind her ear. Her color had returned to normal, the grayish hue he noticed upon finding her long gone. A shower had erased most of the remnants of her hospital stay, minus the cast and the bruises.
“You know me too well. I would have come on my own if you hadn’t agreed.” She swiped a hand in front of her face, shooing a swarm of gnats. The trees around them stood still, the wind as silent as any animals hiding in the bushes and weeds. The sunlight filtered through the tall pines, creating shadows of light across the remainder of autumn’s leaves and the green grass beneath.
“You know the deal. Until, we’ve got Ciamitaro in custody, you can’t go out alone.”
“Yes, sir.” She adjusted the sling on her right arm. “This thing is driving me nuts.”
“You should be at home, resting.”
“I’m okay, so drop it. I need to do this. And so do you. I can’t sit around at home and do nothing.”
He laughed, the sound foreign after the last few days. “That implies that you’ve actually been at home. Doing nothing.”
“I did enough of that in the hospital.”
“You were there for two days.”
“Long enough.”
He couldn’t argue with that one.
“Have Stark and Hollins made any progress?” she asked, referring to the agents who’d taken over the Gaidies case.
“Amanda found Ciamitaro’s bronco on Lakehead road, abandoned. They tore it apart and found a compartment he’d screwed to the underside of the car. Contained two Samurai swords. Neither had any visible blood on it.”
“You’re thinking he used one of those swords to sever Emily Gaidies’ hands?”
“Yeah. With the use of Luminol we found trace amounts of blood. Also found an empty container of Acetic acid in his trash bin. He tore the label off the bottle and sent it through his shredder. The techs had fun piecing that together. Found a latent print on the label. We recovered his DNA on the visor in your car. He must have hit his head when he crashed into Rupert’s house.”
McKenna touched the gash near her left eyebrow. “Has he used any of his credit cards or bank accounts?”
Jordan held a branch out of her way as they hit the clearing in front of the dumpster. Yellow caution tape lined the perimeter, a large green tarp pitched over the area like a giant tent, acting as protection from the elements. A security camera sat perched atop the green metal, hidden beneath years of forest growth. He handed her a Tyvek suit and took the other for himself.
“All his accounts are untouched. Checking has little more than two hundred dollars in it. Same with the savings. Financial records show he withdrew money every week, but nothing to send up any red flags. We did find a couple of fake passports in his safety deposit box. Who knows how many more he has with him.
“He could easily be in Botswana by now. Or some other country without an extradition treaty with the U.S.”
She rubbed her hand on her jeans. “Show me where you found me.”
“We don’t have to do this right now.”
“We do. While it’s still fresh in my mind. You know, as well as I do, what time can do to a victim’s memory. A month from now, I’ll still tell you the same story, but I’ll leave out some detail I wouldn’t today.”
He hated how right she was. McKenna always had the type of fortitude he admired. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t change this moment if he could. “Alright. But if you get too overwhelmed, we’re out of here. No questions asked. Got it?”
She gazed up at him with so much bravado, her eyes alive with the thought of a good mystery. A pink tinge covered her cheeks, lending them a healthy glow. She could have asked him to push her back inside that dumpster and he would have said yes. Maybe.
“Deal?” He asked.
“Fine.” She reached up and pressed her lips to his, a chaste kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. Then she finished donning the suit, the color of her cheeks deepening.
Something inside of him uncoiled for the first time in five days. They weren’t out of the dark yet, but maybe they would be okay. She would be okay.
###
McKenna ducked under the crime scene tape, determined to see it as only that.
Another scene she had to categorize with specific details. The more thorough she was, the quicker this whole thing might close.
Yup, just keep telling yourself that.
Jordan stood nearby, the bottom of his booties already covered with leafy muck. “An anonymous call came in through the crime line. We were able to trace it to a disposable cell phone, which we triangulated to an area about a mile from here. Techs found the phone under some vegetation along the highway. Thing was wiped clean.”
“What if Ciamitaro called in the tip himself?”
“That’s a dangerous game to play. And it doesn’t make any sense. If he’d made the call from out of the country, that would be different, but in Charlotte? What’s the point?”
“To watch you struggle.”
“Doesn’t ring true. At that point, he had to know that you suspected or even knew his identity. You said he had a wig, but it doesn’t sound like he tried to cover his tracks. You don’t do that if you plan to watch.” He gestured to a spot outlined by red markers. “I came through the clearing and you were here. You had a pulse, but weren’t breathing.” The last came out in a gruff whisper.
Her heart gave a painful squeeze. What if he’d been five minutes later? “I’ll try not to do that again.” She tried a smile and stepped past the markers to the now closed makeshift door on the dumpster. “This was open?”
“Yeah. There wasn’t a lock or anything that we found obstructing it.”
She knelt in front of it. A shiny combination lock stood out against the rusting green surface. A gouge, fresh from the looks of it, marred an area to the left of the lock, shallow at the far end and becoming deeper toward the middle, then shallow again. “You sure there was no lock?”
LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1) Page 26
