When Shannon had come home and encountered Megan holding a gun, she’d taken the weapon and laid it on an end table in the living room. After Megan left the room, Shannon moved it to the top drawer of her desk, wanting to get it out of sight, away from her, to be dealt with later. She hadn’t thought of it since.
Now Shannon scrabbled through the contents of the drawer, shoving aside papers, pens, all the material that collects in a desk. When she failed to find what she was hunting, she opened the other drawers and repeated the actions. At last she took a deep breath and held it for several long seconds before letting it out slowly. Her shoulders sagged. She sank into the desk chair and put her head in her hands.
The gun was gone.
SEVEN
THE FIRST THING SHANNON DID, AFTER TAKING A MOMENT TO gather herself, was go through the house from top to bottom, looking for the gun. There was no doubt in her mind about where she’d left it. But if the gun wasn’t in that drawer, maybe Megan had reclaimed it and put it somewhere. She hoped that was the case. Because if it wasn’t . . . No, she didn’t want to think about that right now.
When her search proved fruitless, Shannon clung grimly to the hope that Megan knew what had happened to the gun. She imagined a conversation in which her sister said, “Oh, yes. I decided it wasn’t a good idea to have the gun around, so I gave it to . . .” To whom? That wasn’t a great scenario either, to have a weapon covered with her sister’s fingerprints (as well as her own) floating around the city. Suppose it was used in the commission of a crime? Maybe it had already been used for that purpose.
When Megan finally came through the door, it was ten o’clock. Shannon bit back the question she wanted to ask. You don’t confront a grown woman and ask her to explain her movements, however much you want to do just that. Instead, she forced a smile to her face. “How was your evening?”
“Pretty good. I hooked up with some people I knew and got some leads on a job. There’s a small pharmaceutical company looking for field reps. I’m going to call them tomorrow.”
Shannon wasn’t sure that being fired from her last job would serve as a great employment recommendation, but that was a conversation for another time. “I guess you’ve already eaten.”
“Yeah, we had hot wings and mini-tacos at the bar.”
Bar? This just gets worse and worse. “Oh?”
“Don’t worry,” Megan said. “I stuck to Diet Cokes. I wasn’t going to come back to your house smelling of margaritas.” She spread her hands. “Honest. I’m clean, and I intend to stay that way.”
Shannon decided it was time to ask the big question. “I looked for the gun you had on Saturday, but I can’t find it. Have you seen it?” Shannon mentally crossed fingers and toes, hoping for the right answer. She didn’t get it.
Megan hesitated for a moment, apparently thinking about the question. “No, I didn’t touch it. But when you find it, go ahead and get rid of it. I don’t think it’s such a good idea for me to have a gun. Do you?”
“No, I agree.” But we may be too late.
AS MARK SHAVED ON TUESDAY MORNING, HE STARED PAST THE IMAGE IN THE mirror and considered the two crimes in which he’d been involved, either directly or indirectly, within the past few days.
In the shooting of the man outside Shannon’s house, he was pretty much a bystander, staying in the house to comfort Lee’s wife, Ann, while Lee and Shannon knelt over the victim. When Detective Alston mentioned the man’s name—Barry Radick—it had meant nothing to him. Of course, Radick might have undergone a biopsy or even a surgical procedure at one of the University Medical Center hospitals, and if so, there was a chance Mark had rendered a diagnosis from the tissue slides. He made a mental note to check that out, although he was pretty sure it would be a dead end. Other than that, the whole thing seemed to involve him only by happenstance.
As for the death of Megan’s live-in boyfriend, Tony, he’d been more intimately connected with that one. He gingerly touched his temple, pleased that the soreness and swelling were much less, although the resulting bruise decorated his temple with varied hues of green and yellow. Mark thought back to the encounter with Tony. He wished he’d followed his first instinct and drummed up an excuse not to accompany Megan. Try as he might, even though she was Shannon’s sister, he couldn’t get past the way Megan always seemed to be a problem waiting to happen.
When Megan asked for his help, despite his underlying feelings he responded as he felt a Christian should. If a man asks for your coat, give him your shirt as well, to paraphrase the scripture. Of course, it had been obvious from the moment they walked into the house that Megan’s fear of Tony was well grounded. Could Megan have set up the whole thing in order to get back at Tony, maybe even get rid of him? That was ridiculous . . . or at least Mark hoped so.
SHANNON FACED THE WORLD ON TUESDAY OUT OF NECESSITY, NOT desire. She dragged herself from her bed, stumbled to the kitchen for a first cup of coffee, and somehow got through everything necessary before walking out the door.
She slowed as her car neared her favorite donut shop. After everything that had happened over the long weekend, her stomach was producing acid at a rapid clip. Common sense told her to steer clear of coffee and breakfast pastries. The rest of her, though, said, “Gimme.” She ended up getting a large coffee and a bear claw. Shannon nibbled and sipped her way to the medical center, licking the last bit of glaze off her lips as she pulled into a parking space.
This morning she was scheduled to staff the new senior surgery resident on a gallbladder. The time wasn’t too far past when that would involve an incision of six inches or longer and the use of retractors and force to give wide exposure of the area of the liver where the gallbladder was located. The surgery would take several hours, and the patient would be hospitalized for days.
Now surgeons used endoscopes—small fiber-optic instruments that allowed visualization through a virtual buttonhole, guiding other instruments inserted through another similar small incision. In skilled hands, the operating time had been cut in half, sometimes even less. Patients ended up with four tiny incisions covered by Band-Aids, and some left the hospital on the same day.
When she finished medical school, Shannon figured there’d be no more major advances in her specialty for a while. But things were constantly changing and, other than the regulations and paperwork that seemed to be multiplying, changing for the better. She wished she could say the same for her life, which seemed to be going in the opposite direction.
The new chief resident did a nice job with the surgery. He hadn’t yet reached the level of competence Lee Kai demonstrated, but then, Shannon couldn’t recall when she’d last had the privilege of training a resident like Lee. And she would enjoy telling him that today, because he was to be her guest for lunch at the medical center’s faculty club, celebrating his first official day in private practice.
Shannon went by her office to check messages before lunch. Most of the notes on her desk dealt with routine matters, but one made the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. “Call Detective Alston,” followed by a number she recognized as his cell phone.
She knew she wouldn’t taste any of her lunch so long as she was worrying about the call. She had to return it now. Lee would understand. She closed the door to her office, took a deep breath, and dialed Alston’s number.
He answered on the first ring. “Alston.”
“This is Shannon Frasier. You called?”
“Yes. Hated to call your office, but there was no answer at home or on your cell.”
“Sorry. I was in surgery.” She didn’t know why the apology slipped out. He was the one bothering her, not the other way around.
“I have some more information about the man who was shot in your yard, and it brings up a few more questions. Would you be available sometime today to talk?”
“Just a second.” Shannon scanned the daily schedule her secretary, Janice, had centered on her desk blotter. “I can fit you in about four. Would that work?
”
“Fine. I’ll come by your office.”
Shannon hung up the phone and wondered where this was going. What new information could possibly involve her? And Alston had said, “I’ll come by,” not, “We’ll come by.” Was he coming alone again? Shannon wondered if Alston’s interest in her was more than professional. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re almost engaged. Then again, maybe she hadn’t acted like it around Alston. She’d need to make sure her relationship with Mark was more evident the next time she met with the detective.
She wondered momentarily about calling Mark to ask him to be in her office at four. Shannon decided to think about it. Right now, she had to meet Lee.
“DR. FRASIER, GOOD TO SEE YOU. THIS WAY, PLEASE.” HANS, THE maître d’ of the faculty club, showed Shannon and Lee to their table. Before he left, he nodded to Lee. “Dr. Kai, congratulations on entering private practice.”
“How did he know that?” Lee asked when Hans had walked away.
“Hans knows everything that goes on around here.” Shannon unfolded her napkin.
Lee looked over at the dessert buffet. “That always looks great.”
“If you’d let me recommend you for a faculty position, you could eat here regularly.”
“Sorry, I guess I’ve got to try my wings flying solo. But I appreciate you bringing me here today.” There was genuine regret in his voice when he said, “I’d better just have a sandwich, though.”
After they ordered, Lee stirred his iced tea, then asked, “What’s the latest on the shooting in your front yard? The detectives interviewed me, but I couldn’t really tell them anything. When they called me yesterday to give me the victim’s name, I had to tell them it wasn’t familiar.” He took a sip.
“Me, too. I’d never heard of Barry Radick,” Shannon said. She told Lee what Alston had passed on to her, pausing frequently to sip water. “And apparently they’ve uncovered something more. Alston will be here around four to talk with me again.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You can answer a question for me,” Shannon said. “I got an anonymous phone call Monday morning. The man kept asking what Radick said before he died. I know he mumbled something, but I couldn’t catch it. Did you?”
They paused and leaned back as a waiter placed their sandwiches on the table, added a bottle of catsup, and departed. Lee picked up his Reuben on pretzel bread and took a big bite. He chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with iced tea. “I love these,” he said.
“I’m glad,” Shannon said, “but wait a minute before you take another bite. Did you hear what Radick said before he died?”
“Yes. He recited a string of numbers. They didn’t make any sense to me, though.”
Shannon felt herself deflating like a party balloon when the string was untied. “And of course you aren’t able to remember the numbers.”
Lee feigned a hurt look. “Dr. Frasier, I’m ashamed of you for forgetting so quickly. I have an eidetic memory. Certainly I remember.”
SHANNON SAT AT HER DESK, SCROLLING THROUGH LAB RESULTS and biopsy reports on her computer. She looked up when she heard a knock on the frame of her open door.
“May we come in?” Detectives Alston and Callaway didn’t wait for a response. They entered and took the two chairs across the desk from Shannon.
So much for this being a social visit. Shannon wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. No matter. She looked at the men with what she hoped was a neutral expression. This visit was their idea. Let them talk first.
The two detectives looked at each other and apparently some sort of silent communication passed between them. Alston nodded and said, “We need to locate your sister.”
“Megan?”
“I believe that’s the only sister you have,” Callaway said.
“Where can we find her?” Alston asked. “We have some questions for her.”
“She’s supposed to be job-hunting today,” Shannon said. “She should be back at my house this evening.”
Alston nodded while Callaway jotted something in his notebook. The two men started to rise, but Shannon stopped them.
“Wait! At least tell me why you want to talk with Megan.” She turned toward Alston. “You said you’d discovered more about the shooting in my yard. What does that have to do with her?”
Callaway shrugged. “Barry Radick, the man who was shot, did a stint in drug rehab at a place called First Step not long after he got out of prison. Your sister was in that facility at the same time as Radick.” He rose and shoved his notebook into his pocket. “When you see her, have her call us. We have some questions for her.”
MARK WAS READY FOR THE DAY TO END. IT WAS THE TUESDAY after a long holiday weekend. He’d faced the problems associated with the influx of new first-year residents. And now there was this new discovery. His heart ached as he thought of the implications, and his stomach knotted with the realization he’d need to tell Shannon, and the sooner, the better.
He picked up his phone and dialed Shannon’s private line, figuring the odds were at least even that she’d be in the operating room with one of the new residents. Mark was surprised when she picked up on the first ring.
“You’re in your office and it’s only a quarter to five. Will wonders never cease?” he said.
“I’m ready for this day to be over.” Shannon’s tone told him what he needed to know before she finished her sentence.
“Can you come by my office when you’re ready to leave?” Mark almost wished Shannon would say no. He dreaded telling her his news.
“I suppose. Why?”
“I need to talk with you, and I think we should do it in private.”
Shannon’s puzzlement was reflected in her voice. “Okay. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
That gave Mark time to prepare. He gathered some things and made a couple of phone calls, all the while grieving over what he had to do. Shannon tapped on his office door as he hung up from the last call.
“Come in.” He gestured to the chair he’d pulled to a position beside his desk.
Shannon collapsed more than sat. “It’s been a tough day. I hope you have something good to tell me.”
Mark leaned down and kissed her. “No, I’m afraid not. But I’ve already got the wheels in motion to handle it.”
“Mark, you’re scaring me. What’s the matter?”
“I kept wondering if maybe Barry Radick had come through the system here at the medical center. I did a computer search through all the tissue samples in our database for the past decade or so—biopsies, surgery, all that kind of thing—and it was negative. Then I thought to check lab reports.” He picked up a sheet of paper off the desk. “Just before Radick went into drug rehab, he showed up in the ER with a near overdose. In addition to the usual tox screens, the doc ordered an HIV test.” He saw the look on her face and hurried on. “Yes. Radick was HIV-positive.”
“And I had his blood all over my hands,” she said. “And so did Lee.”
“Afraid so.” He pointed to the equipment laid out on his desk. “I’ll call Lee first thing tomorrow, but right now let’s deal with you. I need to draw some blood for baseline studies. One of the doctors from the infectious disease group is on his way over with your first doses of medication. You have to start on AIDS prophylaxis.”
EIGHT
SHANNON GUESSED SHE SHOULD BE FLATTERED THAT THE CHIEF OF THE infectious disease service at the medical center would come in person to get her treatment started. But at that moment, she’d give anything for the whole thing to be a bad dream. She wanted to wake up in her own bed, with no thought of AIDS added to the fears that already dominated her life. But it wasn’t a dream.
Even though Radick’s blood hadn’t contacted her mucous membranes, even though she’d had no break in the skin to allow the blood (and therefore, the virus) free access to her circulation, Dr. Jay Sanders felt it was prudent to place her on what he termed “post-exposure prophylaxis,” or PEP. “
Maybe I’m being overly cautious, but these things are never black and white.”
“So what’s next?” Shannon asked.
“We’ll do baseline labs, including liver and kidney functions. Then we’ll need follow-up studies while you’re on the meds.”
“What meds?” she asked. “And how long will you want me to take them?”
He removed his wire-rimmed glasses and polished them with the end of his tie. “I’m following the CDC’s recommendations here. If the risk of exposure were high, we’d put you on three antiretroviral drugs, but most patients can’t tolerate the side effects and never finish the full four-week course. You’ll be better off on two drugs, and fortunately they’re available in a single tablet you take twice a day.”
“I guess you’ll want serial HIV tests,” she said, her eyes fixed on the carpet.
“We’ll do one now, of course, and expect it to be negative. Then you’ll need one at six weeks, twelve weeks, and six months after exposure.” Sanders forced a smile. “If that one’s negative, you’re safe.”
So she’d have six months to worry. Why hadn’t she taken the time to don gloves? She had a dozen pair in her home, gloves she’d taken from the operating room to use in chores ranging from cleaning floors to painting a cupboard. But she’d ignored the need for caution and followed her gut instinct, rushing to the aid of the fallen man.
It was almost seven o’clock when Mark walked Shannon to her car, opened the door, and kissed her. “I’ll call you later tonight,” he said. Was it her imagination, or was his kiss a bit hesitant? Was this going to sound the death knell for a relationship that had been stuck in one place for months? Don’t be silly. Mark’s not that kind of guy.
In her heart, Shannon knew she could depend on Mark to be with her every step of the journey that lay ahead of her. She wondered how she’d break the news to her parents. And that, in turn, reminded her that she needed to find out about her dad’s weight loss. Maybe his doctor had told him to lose a few pounds. Perhaps his blood sugar had crept up, and he’d been warned to change his diet or risk developing diabetes. Then, as a doctor generally did in situations of this sort, she leaped to the worst possible diagnosis. Her heart thudded against her chest wall when the word crossed her mind—did he have a cancer of some sort?
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