by Janet Dailey
“That could be manufacturing error.”
“Error? On the extreme end of what scale?”
“Mine.”
“No way,” Linc argued. “I would say one percent is reasonable for manufacturing error. If that.”
“Ten, one—there’s no such thing as one hundred percent perfection,” Mike said dismissively. “So you and Kenzie shot up a couple of vests and they look like swiss cheese. That isn’t proof that someone forced Christine off the road because of it.”
Linc was irked. “And there’s no such thing as one hundred percent proof either.”
The lieutenant interrupted him again. “Equipment fails all the time. Companies recall it, issue a fix or make good—”
“I don’t think SKC operates that way,” Linc said, exasperated. “I just toured the place and I saw too many people who looked chained to their cubicles. Most of them wouldn’t even glance my way.”
“Your point?”
“They’re scared to death. The place had a bad vibe. I didn’t like it.”
“Vibe, bad. Let me make a note of that,” Mike said.
Linc told him where to put the note and his notebook. The lieutenant only laughed.
“I walked through a room where you could smell the fear. The drones are afraid of management and management is afraid of the execs. Guess who’s raking in the big bucks and doesn’t care.”
Mike coughed. “Show me the tax returns.”
“Come off it, Lieutenant. You know how big corporations work. SKC is getting bigger and richer every day.”
“A military supplier is going to make hay while the sun shines. There is a war on. When it ends, there will be another one.”
“It’s not right.”
There was a pause.
“You vote, Linc?”
“Yeah. Hell yeah.”
“Then that’s about all the say you have. It’s a free country. SKC and Lee Slattery are allowed to get rich.”
“Not for the wrong reasons.”
“You have to prove wrongdoing. I keep saying that. And then you have to prove they meant to do wrong.”
“The ballistics lab will—”
Another bark of laughter cut him off. “They will get back to you. In, what, weeks? Months?”
“I don’t know.”
The lieutenant shut up for a few seconds. “I’m trying to keep you on the straight and narrow, Linc. Call me back when you find some evidence.”
Linc ended the call with a push of a button. He longed for the old days, when telephones were heavy enough to kill someone. Slamming down a receiver would have been a lot more satisfying.
CHAPTER 14
The rehab center was a low structure comprised of several buildings joined by glass-walled corridors. Kenzie walked down one with Alf Corelli, holding Christine’s bags and carrying a hand-crocheted blanket over one shoulder. They had arrived ahead of Mrs. Corelli and Christine, who were coming in a patient-transfer van that had one other stop to make.
Colder weather had arrived in the area and both of them wore heavier jackets. Alf had added a snap-brim hat to his outfit and Kenzie had a muffler wound around her throat. The sun-splashed corridor was a pleasant place to walk, if too warm for what they had on.
The center was a lot more open than the hospital. A little too open, though she didn’t want to say so to Alf or his wife. She pushed aside her feelings of uneasiness. They couldn’t live in bunkers. It was bad enough that she hadn’t been back to her apartment even once.
Besides, there were a lot of people around. Staff. Patients—it was center policy to get them out of their rooms at least twice a day. She noticed that the corridor was more than wide enough to accommodate wheelchairs going in opposite directions or side by side.
Several patients were strolling or being pushed in wheelchairs between one building and another. A few people were making their way using walkers. Most wore regular clothes. Kenzie was very glad that Christine was out of the baggy-gowns-and-shuffling-slippers stage of her recovery.
Alf tipped his hat to an elderly lady who was going slowly and not without difficulty. She brightened and gave him a little smile, walking just a bit faster.
Kenzie wished that men still did things like that. It was a shame that being gallant was considered old-fashioned. Then she thought about Linc and smiled to herself.
It took a while to get Christine settled in her new surroundings, and she seemed irritable. She knew she was somewhere different but she didn’t seem to know why. The jiggly suspension of the van had made her doze off and she’d been groggy when she awoke. Dr. Asher had warned them that it would take her time to adjust to a change of this magnitude.
It occurred to Kenzie that Christine had never quite seemed to know that she was in a hospital. Her room here was a lot more homelike.
Her parents had left to complete the paperwork for the transfer, and Kenzie was in charge.
“It’s nice here,” she said encouragingly. “What do you think?”
“There’s too much light,” Christine said in a low voice. “I can’t turn it off.”
Kenzie looked toward the picture window and the clear fall sunlight streaming through it. At the hospital, Christine’s room had beige curtains that were often drawn over the one small window. The ceiling fixture was usually dimmed, unless the doctor was there. She understood why Christine would feel uncomfortable at first.
She went to the picture window and fiddled with the pull cord until a pleated drape lurched forward, stopped, and got stuck for good halfway. Kenzie was afraid of breaking the cord. She would have to call a nurse assistant or wait for Alf.
Christine turned her back to the window and stared at the wall. There was no picture on it. Kenzie thought of the bright posters framed behind plastic that she’d taken down the last time she painted her apartment. One or two of those would add a cheerful note if the rules allowed it.
Right now there wasn’t much she could do. She heard the familiar but unexpected noise of scrabbling nails on a smooth floor and turned to look a moment before a brown-and-white dog entered the room.
A red service-animal jacket was strapped around the dog’s plump midsection, but Kenzie could see that she was a female and young. The dog seemed to be in charge, tugging at a leash held by a smiling young woman with curly hair.
Kenzie glanced at Christine, who was sitting on her bed, still withdrawn. “Look who’s here. Did you ask for a visit?”
Christine shook her head and turned away slightly, as if she didn’t want to look at the dog or her handler.
“I’m sorry. Peach is new here and she tends to just charge in.” The volunteer took a step backward and looked at the room number. “No, my fault. I have the wrong room. Well, my name is Ginny. It’s nice to meet you, Christine.”
Kenzie hesitated when Christine didn’t reply.
She’d sat in on the team meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Corelli. A social worker had emphasized that neuro-rehab patients were expected to speak on their own without being urged to do so, or worse, interrupted by well-meaning people speaking for them. A psychiatrist made sure they knew the move to rehab might cause Christine to regress to some extent or behave strangely at first.
They got the idea: The recovery process was never easy and cognitive therapy was unpredictable. Kenzie could see that for herself right here and now. Christine talked more, but she sounded uncertain and very young. She got stuck on some subjects and then forgot about them in the next second.
It was something new to worry about. But everyone on the staff seemed genuinely involved and concerned.
Ginny didn’t seem at all fazed when Kenzie introduced herself but not her friend.
The dog came forward and got busy sniffing Kenzie’s ankles, circling around slowly. Kenzie laughed, pinned to the spot.
“This is her first week,” Ginny said. “She doesn’t know the rules. Peach, behave.”
The easygoing handler wasn’t making a point of it.
The dog t
ugged her over to the bed and set her front paws on the edge, peering curiously at its occupant.
“Now, that’s not good manners,” Ginny began, unsure of Christine’s reaction. Christine remained indifferent.
Both she and Kenzie smiled with relief when Christine reached out a hand and began to stroke Peach’s head. The dog let her tongue loll to one side, giving Christine a comical grin of enjoyment.
“She has pretty eyes,” Christine said in an almost inaudible voice.
“Yes, she does. She gets those from her mama,” the young woman explained.
The dog made the most of her moment in the spotlight by gazing soulfully at Christine. Then she stretched up another inch, bracing herself with her paws, and licked the tip of Christine’s nose.
“Hello,” Christine murmured, “you’re sweet.”
The ice broken, she invited Peach up on the bed by patting it. The plump dog was happy to oblige, sniffing at the blankets and getting her nose into the folds.
“What is she doing?” Christine asked. She still asked questions in a tentative way, as if she was afraid she might not understand the answer.
“Oh, she’s wondering if you have a treat for her. But she’s on a diet right now. Peach is a little too fond of food,” Ginny said. “She gets that from her mama too.”
Kenzie chuckled. “Her mother must be the beagle part.”
“That’s right,” Ginny said.
“Kenzie knows everything about dogs,” Christine said. She adjusted her position so that Peach could come onto her lap. The dog settled down and the red service jacket scrunched up around her neck as she gave Christine another adoring look.
“Not everything,” Kenzie said. “But a lot.”
“Oh, do you work with dogs?” Ginny asked.
Kenzie explained briefly.
“That must be so interesting.” Ginny seemed eager to hear more, but she didn’t ask, returning her attention to Christine and the dog in her lap. “Look at you, Peach Pie. You’re so silly.”
“I think she wants to take a nap,” Christine said softly. The dull expression on her face had been replaced by one of interest. She rubbed the dog between the ears until Peach closed her eyes in bliss.
Ginny smiled and shook her head. “How did you know? Napping is her favorite thing besides food. But she has friends to see.”
Christine lifted a floppy ear and pretended to whisper in it. “I need a nap too. But come back.”
She rumpled the dog’s fur under the jacket to rouse her. Peach opened bright brown eyes and grinned again.
“Faker.” Ginny laughed. She gave a slight tug on the leash and the dog left Christine’s lap, pausing on the edge to gauge the distance to the floor from the bed.
“Go.” Christine gave her a light pat on the rump and Peach made the leap. Christine looked up at Ginny with a wistful smile. “Can she come back? Today?”
“Of course. She really likes you. We’ll stop by on our way out.”
“Thank you,” Christine said simply.
The dog’s nose moved to the floor and she followed it.
“Peach Pie,” Ginny called. “Let’s go.”
The dog strained against her collar in the opposite direction. Kenzie suddenly saw what Peach was after: There was a black disk lying in the corner.
Her heart tightened. She had one thought—it was a transmitting device. Not here. Not in this safe, sunny place.
But anyone could walk in here. Ginny had.
“Hang on.” She forced herself to stay calm as she moved the chair that held it in place out of the way. Then she bent down and picked it up. It was the top to a condiment cup from someone’s takeout meal.
“Just an old lid. The cleaning service must have missed it.” Kenzie smiled and tossed it in the trash, earning a mystified look from Peach. “Not for you,” she chided.
“If it has something to do with food, Peach will find it,” the handler joked.
“We’ll remember that.” Christine smiled again and waved as Ginny left with the red-jacketed dog. “She was nice,” she said to Kenzie.
“Yes. And Peach looks like a lot of fun. Better hide your lunch when she’s around.”
Christine sat back in the pillows.
“How are you feeling?” Kenzie asked.
“Better. Hope it lasts.”
Kenzie collapsed into a chair. She was so tired she was seeing things. A little piece of trash seemed suspicious. Linc had something to do with that.
“You okay?”
She nodded, propping her chin on her hand. “Sure. Just frazzled. It’s been a long day for all of us.”
The routine hubbub of a medical-care facility echoed in the halls. Kenzie heard the clank of trays being delivered to individual patients from a food cart. Judging by the sound, they had a little while before it reached them.
“Kenzie, tell me something,” Christine began. The brief happiness of meeting the friendly little dog had worn off fast. She seemed low again. “How long will I be here?”
“For a while. We all want to get you home.” Kenzie kept her replies simple.
“I know I was in an accident,” Christine blurted out.
Kenzie sat up. “What?”
Had the Corellis told Christine that? Kenzie seemed to remember that they’d planned to before the move to rehab. But she hadn’t been at the hospital every hour of the day.
As far as she knew, Christine had never asked. By unspoken agreement, there had been no photos of the black-and-yellow sports car among the others they’d shown her. One thing at a time. That was a big thing.
Christine reached under her pillow and pulled out a thick folder. Her medical file, Kenzie saw at a glance. “Mom left this at the front desk.”
“How do you know that?” Kenzie asked, startled for the second time.
“Someone brought it by when you weren’t here and said so. Stuck the whole file in that thing.” She gestured. “Some papers fell out, so I read them.”
Kenzie turned that way to glance at the clear plastic document holder attached to the door. It was empty. She looked back swiftly, suddenly afraid. “Who was it? A woman or a man?”
“A woman,” Christine added. “She was old. Not like Ginny.”
Kenzie extended a hand. “May I see the file?”
Her friend wrapped her arms around it. “No.”
“All right.”
Christine relaxed after a few minutes. “I know it’s about me. I can read some of it, but the words don’t stay still.”
“That’s okay. It’s really good that you can read.”
Kenzie was heartened, but Christine’s wavering voice gave away how she felt.
“I want to know what happened to me.”
Kenzie heard a quiet exclamation coming from the doorway. The Corellis had returned. She murmured a quick explanation of the file.
“Oh—I forgot to take that,” Mrs. Corelli whispered.
Their daughter stared at them with troubled eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“About what, honey?” her father asked.
“The accident.”
“It wasn’t time yet,” Mrs. Corelli answered straightforwardly. “And now—I guess it is.”
“I don’t remember anything about an accident.” She stopped, thinking. “I woke up in the hospital and you were all there.”
“That’s right,” her father said. “You were in the ICU for more than a week and we stayed with you.”
“What happened—well, it’s over.” Kenzie left it at that. She couldn’t think of the right thing to say. It was hard to bear the idea of Christine reliving a nightmare.
“I want to remember some things,” Christine said. “I think I do.”
“You will.” Again Kenzie hesitated, looking at the Corellis. “When we were looking at the photos, you knew the people. Where you were and who was with you—”
“Not the accident. I want to know.” Her insistence made her voice rise.
“Christine, do you mind i
f I go outside with your mom and dad?”
She shook her head, still hanging on to the file. Kenzie and the Corellis closed the door behind them and conferred in the hall.
“I wish I could talk to her doctor first,” Mrs. Corelli said worriedly. “But it’s the end of the day. He must be gone.”
“If you’re worried about what she knows, the file doesn’t give particulars,” Alf said. “I read through it, made sure everything was in order.”
“Thank heavens for that,” his wife replied.
“For now Christine doesn’t need to know anything other than that she was in a wreck and suffered a head injury,” Alf replied. “Agreed?”
He looked from his wife to Kenzie. They both nodded. No one spoke as they went back into the room.
Mrs. Corelli sat by Christine’s bed and tried to explain. Finally, she let go of the file with some reluctance.
“Do you want to eat something?”
The tray of food that had been left on a side table for her hadn’t been touched.
“No,” Christine said. “I’m tired.”
Kenzie stayed near the door. Her mind was racing. In the last several days, she’d learned an awful lot about brain trauma. Recovering her full memory could send Christine into emotional shock. Kenzie didn’t need a social worker to explain why.
She thought again of the man’s eyes. Mesmerizing her with the power of his hate. Had Christine seen them up close?
If she didn’t remember him, that was a mercy. They had to do more to catch him. Not the Corellis—she and Linc.
Kenzie would go to the police sketch artist as Linc had suggested. She had to try. Not that seeing the stalker’s face on an eight-by-eleven-and-a-half sheet of paper would cut him down to size. He’d terrified her on a laptop screen.
She was afraid that the sudden knowledge of the accident would make him appear in Christine’s dreams.
Her sleep had never been peaceful once the drugs were withdrawn. But Christine had never seemed to remember if she’d had a bad dream.
It bothered Kenzie beyond belief that family members weren’t allowed to stay the night here—the rehab center had different rules on that. Tonight, Christine would be alone for the first time since the accident.
