On His Watch

by Susanne Matthews

  Nikki swallowed nervously. “But I don’t remember anything.”

  “He knows that, now.” Dr. Marion turned to Dr. James. “Have you finished with her for now? They’re ready for her downstairs to do the muscle-skeleton response tests.”

  “I’m done for today.” He turned to Nikki. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but let the memories come of their own accord. Don’t force them. You’re making new ones all the time, and something may trigger an old one when you least expect it. It’s happened already. You don’t like apple juice. It isn’t much, but it’s a memory, and it’s yours.”

  He stood and left the room, leaving her alone with Dr. Marion. Cassie entered and began rearranging Nikki’s bed.

  “What are you doing?” Nikki asked. “I thought I’d use the wheelchair again.” She looked to Dr. Marion for an explanation.

  “You mentioned your back was sore, so this will be more comfortable. I don’t want you to overdo anything.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers. I want the truth—the whole truth. Why is my back sore? What haven’t you told me?”

  Nikki realized she’d just spoken strongly and without hesitation.

  “You’re angry and stubborn. Good. I guess you should know it all if you feel that strongly about it.” Dr. Marion put the clipboard she was carrying down on the bed. “I’ll go down with you and explain as I go. We can’t keep the physiotherapist waiting all day. Do you want the bed or the chair?”

  “I’ll stay in the bed,” Nikki answered, knowing she’d have to wait for the orderlies if she opted for the chair. In her condition, Cassie couldn’t lift her out of the bed alone.

  Cassie hung the IV bag on the pole attached to the bed and opened the door for the doctor and her patient.

  “Where are we going?” asked the man in the hall.

  “X-ray. We’ll use the staff elevator. She won’t be seen.”

  “So start by explaining why I need around the clock security as if I were the First Lady.” Nikki spoke up loud enough for the doctor to hear. “Who are you hiding me from? The police? Did I do something wrong? Did I kill my family? Is that why that lawman is here? Is he waiting to arrest me?”

  Dr. Marion stopped, her mouth agape, her eyes wide. “Is that what you think?”

  “I think I was involved in a very bad accident that claimed the lives of my husband and my son. All the damage is on my left side. Was I driving?”

  “Nikki, you weren’t in a car accident. You had absolutely nothing to do with their deaths.”

  “Then how did I get hurt? How did they die?”

  “It’s best if I let Jason Spark explain the details to you. I wouldn’t want to say or do anything to compromise his investigation. Simply put, your home was invaded, your husband and son murdered, and you sustained serious injuries.”

  Nikki gasped. Murdered! It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. Dr. Marion’s words filled her with dread. Images of horrific scenes from slasher movies flitted through her mind.

  “As you know, your hand is in a cast and we had to repair your face. You were stabbed twice in the back, one nicking your spine, which is why your back is sore, the other puncturing your lung. Unfortunately, you were five and a half months pregnant. The child was too small to survive more than a few minutes.”

  Tears continued to crawl down Nikki’s cheeks. That’s why seeing Cassie depressed her. Subconsciously she must know she’d lost her child.

  “Can I have more children?”

  “As far as I know, you can, but you have a long recovery period ahead of you.”

  • • •

  Nikki sat in the chair by the window looking out over the city. In the distance she saw the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge. The supper tray sat on the table nearby. She’d tried her best to eat, but she had no appetite. The sky was leaden with heavy gray clouds that matched her mood. She felt miserable. While she didn’t know the details of the incident, she felt as if she’d somehow failed her family. They were all dead—even an innocent infant—why had she survived? The little girl—it seemed odd to think of her as her daughter—must have been elsewhere, or she’d probably have been killed too. The lawman only visited because he needed answers, answers she couldn’t supply. Without her memory, she was useless.

  She’d spoken with Irene, as Dr. Marion had asked her to call her, after she’d gotten back from physio. She’d asked her once again for details about the case, but the doctor had been adamant that Nikki wait for Jason Spark. Irene insisted the depression and survivor’s guilt she felt were normal under the circumstances. Knowing there was a name for her feelings didn’t make them any less painful.

  Irene had also mentioned people who’d had near-death experiences like hers often underwent personality changes. She shouldn’t feel badly because she didn’t remember her feelings for her husband and son. In her new reality, she’d never known them. Meanwhile she had a daughter who was alive and needed her. She should focus on her and dismiss the rest. If memories of Sam and Danny were going to return, even partially, they’d do so on their own.

  Nikki scrutinized the family picture she held in her right hand. The little girl with the doll, Amanda, was all she had left. The doctor had called her Mandy, and the nickname suited the bright-eyed child far more than the formal one did. Like her own name. She liked Nikki—Nicole, not so much.

  She looked down at the pad of paper on the table beside her. She’d tried to draw her son doing something kids did, but she’d been unable to finish the picture. The child wasn’t real for her. He was a two-dimensional image in the photograph—not a boy who played ball, ran, swam, or rode a bike. Instead, she’d drawn her angel and a horrific demon, possibly one of those who haunted her nightmares. She tore the page from the pad and crumpled it into a ball before tossing the offending image in the garbage. The devil was bald—bald like her father, and just thinking of the man brought back the unease she’d felt earlier.

  The door opened. She turned to see who’d come in this time. She wanted to be alone, and she was bone-tired. If she had to endure another test, another needle, or any more exercise, she’d scream. She turned to face her visitor. The words she’d planned to speak froze in her throat.

  The man hesitated and stopped in the open doorway. He wore a navy nylon jacket, a tan shirt, and dark jeans. His feet were stuffed into brown leather loafers that matched the belt with the brass buckle around his waist. He was clean-shaven, but his hair was a bit too long and curled at the collar. He looked at her with eyes filled with compassion and another emotion she couldn’t quite place. The edge of the shoulder holster was visible where the jacket had fallen open. She didn’t recognize him, but there was an unsettling familiarity about him.

  “Mrs. Hart, I’m Special Agent Jason Spark. Dr. Marion says you’ve had a rough day. I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but can I come in?”

  He looked at her as if he expected her to deny his request, and for a moment the thought did cross her mind. This was the man who’d found her—the man who could tell her what had happened. Unable to speak, she nodded slowly.

  He closed the door behind him and walked over to her. He took the chair beside her, flipped it around, and straddled it. He was a large man, attractive in a rugged sort of way, not Hollywood handsome by any means, but the dimple in his cheek gave him an innocence the rest of his face belied. She could swear the emotion is his startling gray-blue eyes was guilt. Why would he feel guilty? He ran his hand through his sandy, blond hair, a gesture she assumed he used to cover his discomfort.

  “I’d hoped to give you a few days to acclimatize yourself before talking about the case, but the doctor tells me you’ve asked about it. I know about the amnesia, so I’m going to be as specific as I can. Dr. Marion says a word could trigger a memory, and God knows we need all the information we can get on this. We have a lot more questions than answers.”

  Nikki furrowed her brow. “Why is the FBI involved in this?
Wouldn’t the California State Police be in charge of the case or have there been other incidents like it?” Using the doctor’s term made her feel more comfortable. She could disassociate herself from an incident, and it would make what she was about to hear easier to bear.

  “My brother is the sheriff in Larosa. I was on leave and agreed to help out while he was on his honeymoon. I answered the 911 call.”

  “What 911 call?”

  “The one you made. The one that probably saved your daughter’s life.”

  “Oh my God! She was in the house?” The thought of a child seeing her father and brother killed made her stomach roil.

  “Yes. The deputy found her asleep upstairs. Don’t worry. She didn’t see anything. Buck took her out of the house before she could.”

  “I see.” She relaxed. “You said you were covering for your brother, but that doesn’t explain why the case is yours.”

  “Whenever there’s a violent crime like this one, the FBI is called in to assist the local authorities with the investigation. Since I found you, I asked to be assigned to the case. At the moment, we’re looking at new evidence, and I hope to have information for you tomorrow.”

  “What new evidence?”

  “We think we may know who committed the crime.”

  “Then you’ll arrest them, right? Make them pay for what they’ve done?”

  “It’s not as simple as that. This particular man has been eluding police for years. He disappears once he fulfills his contract, and he covers his tracks well.”

  “Contract? Are you telling me someone was hired to do this?

  “Let me explain what we know happened. Stop me if you remember anything or have any questions.”

  “You’ll tell me everything, no matter how bad it is?”

  Jason nodded.

  “Before the crime occurred, you put Mandy to bed in a sleeping bag under the guest room bed.”

  “Under the bed?” Her disbelief came across clearly. “What on Earth for?”

  “We asked her that. Apparently, she’s afraid of the dark. She was practicing for a sleepover.”

  Nikki recalled her discomfort when she’d awakened in the dark room last night. Poor kid. What a thing to inherit.

  “Go on, please.”

  “We don’t know a lot about what happened between that time and when you made the 911 call. What we do know, is that your husband’s clinic stayed open late and that’s where the suspects caught up with him. They stole the money and drugs on premises, killed his nurse, beat your husband, and eventually put him in the back seat of the car. He was killed in your garage after giving up information about the safe in the den.”

  “So this was about money and drugs?” Tears brimmed her eyes. What a terrible waste. Why hadn’t Sam just given them what they wanted?

  “Not entirely. I found you and your son on the kitchen floor.”

  Jason described the crime scene in detail, but while she could picture it vividly in her mind, nothing he said triggered any memories. The words on the wall chilled her. At least the boy and the nurse, unlike her husband, had died quickly. Agent Spark had been rather vague about her beating, but she didn’t want to hear those details. Irene had explained the damage she’d suffered. Knowing how it had occurred served no useful purpose. Tears ran unheeded down her cheeks.

  “There were two dozen red roses in that crystal vase.”

  “I don’t like roses,” Nikki stated with conviction, her distress increased by the overpowering image of red petals turning to drops of blood. “Their scent nauseates me. I see red roses in my nightmares.”

  “Your husband ordered them and had them delivered earlier in the day. You might not like roses now, but you must have before . . . Do you see anything else in those nightmares?” Jason asked, and she could hear the eager curiosity in his voice. He’d avoided looking at her while he’d described the crime scene, but now his intense gaze pierced her, and that annoyed her. If she knew anything, did he really think she’d hold out on him?

  “No, Agent Spark, I don’t. In fact, until just now, I didn’t remember even seeing roses.” The last thing she was going to do was mention the disjointed images she got of angels and demons.

  He nodded. “Last night, an FBI agent in Sacramento confirmed two bodies found in Auburn National Park are those of two of our suspects. We thought it might have been a disagreement that turned ugly, but now we have different theory to pursue. This afternoon, I met with the FBI task force specifically assigned to this case. We’ve been joined by an Interpol agent who may have provided us with our first real lead. If what he says is true, then the man who orchestrated all this hasn’t finished his job. He’ll keep at it until it’s over. Thanks to the news, he knows you’re here, and he’ll come after you. We’ve placed Mandy in protective custody, and I want to move you to a safer location tomorrow.”

  Nikki sat up straighter, stiffening her spine, ignoring the twinge of pain the action caused. She didn’t like his bossy tone. No one was going to tell her what to do. “Whoa! I agree with placing Mandy in custody, but I’m not going anywhere. Dr. Marion explained the extent of my injuries earlier. Hell, I’m not even eating solid food, so I’m damned sure I’m not ready to leave the hospital. I understand there are security guards here. I’m sure I’ll be safe enough until I’m ready to be released.”

  “Mrs. Hart, be reasonable.” She heard the exasperation in his voice, saw the muscle jump in his tense jaw. “This man is a cunning, vicious assassin with over fifty notches on his belt.”

  “Then you’d better make sure nothing happens to my daughter or I’ll hold you personally responsible.” She watched the color leach from his face. “You said you need to confirm information. Until you do, I’m not leaving. Now, I’d like you to go. I’m tired. Post fifty men outside tonight if you need to, but I’m staying put.”

  “I’ll be back first thing in the morning, hopefully with the proof you need. For tonight, we’ll increase security. I knew I’d have to fight your father on this. I didn’t expect I’d have to fight you, too.”

  “What did you think? That I’d meekly go along with some cock and bull plan for my supposed safety when you didn’t even have any proof that I was in danger from that individual? Hell, you haven’t even given me a motive for this contract. The only thing I’ve learned from you is that Sam was a doctor and how he and Danny died. You said they took money, drugs, all of my jewelry—cut my damn finger off to get a ring I think is gaudy and ugly as sin, but you haven’t told me why. What was the motive? Every crime has a motive. Why come after us? Answer those questions, Agent Spark, and I’ll consider your request. Goodnight.”

  She turned away and looked out the window. She saw him stand and walk out of the room. Moments later, a large bald-headed man entered the room.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Hart. I’m Troy McDerban.”

  She recognized his voice. This was the man she’d mistaken for an angel or the night nurse.

  “Can you call the nurse, please? I want to go to bed.”

  Chapter Eight

  Nikki swallowed her tears and sipped the warm milk the nurse had brought her. She was an emotional mess—weepy one moment, angry the next. She wanted to be left alone to mourn her losses, but Troy, the bodyguard who’d been with her last night, had been adamant that he stay in the room with her. He’d set his chair at the end of the bed with his back to her, but she still felt on display. She’d asked for pain medication and waited for it to kick in. She was ashamed of her angry outburst with Agent Spark, but the minute he’d started issuing orders, she’d balked. She’d lost her husband, her son, and a baby in the most horrendous fashion. Her memory was gone. She was damn sure she wasn’t ready to consign free will and independence to the pile. Putting Mandy in protective custody made sense on one level, but only if the threat was real.

  She sniffled and looked over at her jailor. It wasn’t right to be upset with him, but he was the target of her frustration at the moment. He appeared to be engrossed
in the novel he was reading on the tablet, but she had no doubt, from the way he held himself, that he was alert to every sound she made. He’d informed her additional security personnel were on the floor, so she’d be safe tonight. How could she relax when they were all acting as if the world’s most feared killer was on her trail? And nobody was even sure he was. Agent Spark had no proof, just a half-baked theory from an Interpol agent who’d supposedly been chasing this guy for years. Similar MOs. Didn’t these guys watch television? It was probably just some sociopathic copycat getting his kicks out of pain, brutality, and confounding the police.

  The whole idea of a contract assassin seemed far-fetched. What Agent Spark had described to her was a grisly murder scene, straight out of the scariest film imaginable. It was gruesome and messy, and didn’t sound to her like the work of any professional killer, but what did she know? She’d put her money on doped up sadistic druggies desperate for another fix. He’d mentioned finding two of the men dead—obviously the third guy didn’t like to share.

  She sighed. Any man who could commit the terrible crimes he had was a man to fear. Maybe she should reconsider her stance here. Making your own decisions was one thing; being pig-headed and mulish was another. The FBI had a lot of experience protecting people. If they thought she should be moved, them she should be cooperating, not putting her back up and hissing like an angry alley cat. But the guilt Jason Spark had tried to hide confused her. Did he feel badly because it was taking so long to solve the case? Or was there something else bothering him? Had he botched a part of the investigation? She imagined solving a crime like this one took time, but it had been almost seven weeks. He didn’t seem to have a lot to go on other than two more bodies and the possibility of an international assassin.

  Dr. Marion had come in shortly after he’d left to tell her that Mandy and her parents would be in to see her tomorrow afternoon, further depressing her. While she definitely wanted to meet her daughter, she wasn’t sure she was ready to meet her father, a man she disliked intently based only on his picture. Since Jason had said the child was in protective custody, no doubt she’d be accompanied by all the necessary bells and whistles an FBI security team would provide.