by L. T. Ryan
“Do you have a minute?” She gestured to her vacant seat. “I know you’re probably busy.”
“I can make time.”
Alan placed his hand on the small of Cassie’s back as he led her over to the chairs. She had to resist the urge to wiggle out of his reach. Even through her jacket, his touch made her skin crawl.
“Thank you so much.” She made her voice breathy and plastered a smile on her face. She was grateful when they finally sat, so he’d stop touching her. “I really appreciate it. Vanessa told me you wouldn’t mind talking to me about one of your patients.”
Alan had the wherewithal to check that no one was listening. He at least pretended to care about breaking the rules. “I could get in trouble for that.”
She batted her eyelashes. “I’ll make it worth your trouble.”
“Sold.” Alan smirked, and Cassie had to resist rolling her eyes. It was all too easy. “What do you want to know?”
“She called to ask you about a patient who died at the other hospital. She said he’d come through here first and almost died, too.”
“Yeah, I remember him.” Alan squinted. “Can’t think of his name, though.”
“Don Chichetti.” She’d studied his chart.
“Right, right.” Alan shook his head. “He was in some sort of motorcycle gang. It wasn’t the first time he’d been through here. I’d say ‘and it wouldn’t be his last,’ but I guess it kind of was.”
She didn’t laugh at his joke. “You said he almost died after surgery? What happened?”
“Don’t know. His body started failing. They fed him an IV. Pumped him full of meds. He stabilized.” Alan shrugged. “He walked out of here a couple days later. Only to wind up in the hospital again. Stupid bastard.”
“And you don’t know why he crashed like that?”
“Not a clue.” Alan narrowed his eyes. “What’s this all about?”
Cassie flashed him a smile and leaned forward. The easiest way through this conversation was to stroke his ego. “He was my friend’s brother. She wants to know what happened to him. Vanessa told me you were the only one who could help.”
“She said that?”
“Yep.” Cassie didn’t linger in the moment. “Something’s fishy about the way he died. We think maybe someone was trying to hurt him.”
“Someone did hurt him.” Alan didn’t bother hiding the condescension in his voice. “That’s why he was here.”
“What I meant,” Cassie said, forcing her voice to remain flirtatious, “was that someone tried to hurt him while he was here. And while he was at UMC. And they succeeded the second time.”
“They fired a girl after they fixed him up, but I don’t think she has anything to do with this.”
Cassie sat a little straighter in her chair. “They fired someone? Who? Why?”
“This hot volunteer chick. She was in the room when he crashed.” He shook his head. “They couldn’t prove anything, not really, but they let her go because they said she may have accidentally increased his dosage. But I don’t buy it.”
“Why not?”
“She didn’t fit in around here. She had tattoos and piercings. Some of the older patients complained it was inappropriate. I didn’t care. It was hot.” He sneered in a way that told her she didn’t want to know what he was thinking. “She didn’t mind showing me all of her tattoos.”
“You think they were just looking for an excuse to fire her.”
“Pretty much.”
Cassie smiled. “So, you hooked up with her?”
He wasn’t good at playing coy. “Maybe.”
“Your place or hers?”
Alan laughed. He looked intrigued. “Hers. Why?”
“You know where she lives. Can I get her address?”
He thought about it for a moment. “I’ll give you her address if you give me your number.”
Cassie didn’t even hesitate. “Deal.”
23
Harris shifted in the front seat of her car, shaking out a cramp that had formed in her calf. It’d been half an hour since she’d seen Francisco Aguilar enter the Brazilian steakhouse, and she was moments from making her move.
The attack at Cassie’s house felt like it had happened days ago rather than a few brief hours. The vet had cleared Bear, saying he had some bruising, but would be fine with rest and extra love and attention. As much as it pained her to leave him alone at the house after such a traumatic event, Harris had work to do.
She’d returned to the office long enough to inform Clementine what had happened and to turn over the bloody napkin, hoping to find out who had attacked her. Not that she needed to know. The man who’d broken into Cassie’s house didn’t matter. Only Aguilar did.
After all, he was the one behind all of this. She was sure of it.
But there was protocol. And procedure. And bureaucratic bullshit. She’d fired her weapon, so there’d be an inquiry and more paperwork than Harris had patience for. Clementine told her to sit and wait for the results. She did. It didn’t take long. Harris had almost become the third dead cop in as many weeks. Everyone wanted answers.
When the hit came back, Harris was the first to get the call. Stanley “Shark” Gibson. He had a few priors, but mostly breaking and entering. He’d never gone to jail for murder. Didn’t mean he’d never committed it, though. If he had no qualms attacking an officer in broad daylight—even if it had been in the privacy of someone’s home—then this wasn’t his first rodeo.
Harris found all the information she could on the man. It wasn’t hard. Not only was he in the system, but his social media presence was far from quiet. He enjoyed checking in at restaurants and Instagramming his food. He was either a complete idiot or had no regard for his own well-being. Then again, those usually went hand in hand.
Against her better judgement, she’d followed his last known location to the Brazilian steakhouse. Clementine would be pissed, but Harris would deal with that later. Consequences be damned. Harris rarely went off book. They’d have to give her a pass on this one.
When Aguilar arrived, her heart kicked into overdrive. It hadn’t surprised her, but she didn’t expect coming face to face with him so soon. As far as kingpins went, Aguilar wasn’t shy. You’d find him all around the city, eating out, going to festivals, catching a movie. He was a big-time hotshot in Savannah, though most people assumed he was just a rich business owner. Those who knew what he was really into tended to keep their mouth shut.
The buzz of her phone made Harris jump. She stopped rubbing her calf and flipped over the device to see who was calling. Clementine. She was either calling to ask where she was or to chew her out because she already knew. Harris sent it to voicemail, knowing she’d regret that later.
Harris had tracked Gibson down on her own, but she was only ahead of the game by a few minutes. Soon enough, Savannah PD would show up to arrest him, and Harris couldn’t take that chance. She wanted to do this on her own.
What was that she’d said about idiocy and no regard for one’s own well-being?
The detective pushed the thought out of her head while she shouldered open her door. She had her phone, her badge, her gun, and a hope that they would be enough. She banked on the fact that being in the restaurant would help avoid any kind of scene. Most criminals didn’t want to draw too much attention to themselves, and Aguilar didn’t seem to be an exception. He emerged when it was convenient for him and stayed out of the limelight when it wasn’t.
That’s how he’d stayed out of jail for so long.
As Harris crossed the road, she compiled a list of scenarios in her head. It’s not like she didn’t know she was being stupid by going after Gibson alone. But the reward outweighed the risk. She’d get the guy and be able to look Aguilar in the eyes at the same time.
What would she say? She was still working on that part. She had a feeling it’d come to her when the time was right.
Harris resisted the urge to draw her pistol before she walked through the door
. It’d put her at a disadvantage if they were lying in wait for her, but unholstering her weapon around innocent civilians could escalate the situation in a way she couldn’t handle on her own. Risking her own life was one thing; risking someone else’s was another.
Outside the door to the steakhouse, Harris took one sharp breath and blew it out, releasing a portion of her amped-up nerves into the air. It grounded her momentarily, and that was all the reprieve she allowed herself before pulling the handle and walking inside.
The restaurant was dimly lit, despite the blazing sun outside the windows. The staff had drawn the shades, but the art deco lamps emitted a hint of light. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and her fingers twitched to her gun out of reflex.
When the room came into view, Harris relaxed. The restaurant was half full, with members of the staff darting from one table to the next, trying to keep up with everyone’s requests. There was a dim murmur of conversation, and an occasional laugh would break through.
A blond woman in her early twenties with pink cheeks and dark eyes walked up to her. “Detective Harris?”
Whatever had uncoiled inside of her had grown taut again. “Yes?”
“I can take you to your table.”
Without waiting for an answer, the waitress sped off toward a table in the back. Harris followed her, dodging servers and patrons, and attempting not to knock anything over as she tried to keep up. The room was packed to the limit with tables, which Harris took to mean that it maxed out in the evenings and on weekends. She had no interest in ever dining around that many people.
Once they reached the back of the restaurant, the woman slid a curtain to the side to reveal a private room. Inside were half a dozen men, including Francisco Aguilar. He was already standing with his arms splayed to the side.
“Detective Harris. I thought you’d never come inside.”
The table chuckled as the waitress retreated, leaving Harris to deal with the men on her own. On the one hand, the half-full restaurant eased her mind. On the other, she didn’t like the idea of cutting herself off from her escape route by entering the room.
She scanned the faces around the table. She didn’t recognize anyone except for Aguilar, which meant Gibson wasn’t here. Was Aguilar covering for him, distracting Harris while he escaped out the back? Harris leaned back to scan the restaurant again. She didn’t see the man anywhere.
Harris returned her gaze to Aguilar. He’d dressed in a burgundy suit with a navy shirt underneath. She could just make out a white paisley pattern from her vantage point. It looked good on him. Then again, no one had ever tried to argue he was anything other than handsome. With his tailored suits, his bronze skin, and his perfect stubble, Francisco Aguilar turned heads wherever he went.
The worst part was, he knew it. Aguilar’s arrogance had gained him everything he’d ever wanted in life, from his home-grown shipping business to the loyalty of his men to the affection of his women. While Harris had never met him face to face before, she had met men like him. Their confidence was intoxicating. You gave them what they wanted because they expected it from you. Disappointing them never even crossed your mind.
“Please, sit.” Aguilar motioned to one of his men, who stood and held the chair out for her.
“No thanks.”
“I insist.”
“That’s too damn bad.”
The mood in the room shifted. Harris could feel it in the way the hairs on her arms stood on end. No one made any quick movements, but each of the men at the table imperceptibly tilted their heads as if to ask Aguilar if he wanted one of them to take care of her.
Aguilar smiled, and though it seemed genuine, she could feel the power behind it. Was he annoyed by her defiance, or impressed? Was he willing to risk getting his hands dirty to make a point, or would he let it go?
Harris banked on the fact that Aguilar was smart, and it paid off. He sat down and folded his hands in front of him. “Suit yourself.”
“Where is he?”
“Who?”
Harris rolled her eyes. Folded her arms. “I’ve decided you’re not an idiot, Mr. Aguilar. I hope you can do me the same courtesy.”
His smile broadened. “Fair enough, Detective Harris. For clarification’s sake, I assume you’re looking for Mr. Gibson?”
“Correct.”
“He’ll join us in a moment.” Aguilar nodded to the man on his left, who stood and left the room. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit?”
“I’m sure.”
For the first time, Aguilar looked less than bemused by her attitude. “I was sorry to hear about Detective Klein. I sent flowers to his wife on the day of the funeral. He wasn’t young, of course, but it’s still a tragic loss for the community.”
Harris ground her teeth together. “Cut the bullshit.”
“I promise you I’m not bullshitting.” The man on his right smirked, and even Aguilar’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “I’m going to miss David. What happened to him was unfortunate for all of us.”
Before Harris could form a retort, the man who’d left earlier returned with another man in tow. This newcomer was taller and leaner, but that’s not what caught Harris’ attention. A bandage wound its way around his forearm, and blood seeped through his shirt from a shoulder wound.
If Harris had any doubt Gibson was the guy who’d attacked her, it was gone now.
“Stanley Gibson.” She pulled her handcuffs out. “You’re under arrest for aggravated assault of an officer of the law.”
Gibson didn’t run. He didn’t resist. In fact, he turned around and put his arms behind his back. Harris only hesitated for a moment before wrapping the metal cuffs around his wrists. She ratcheted them closed tight enough to make the man grunt, but he didn’t say a word of protest.
Now that Harris had Gibson in custody, she felt like there was a shield between her and Aguilar. She turned to face the man. “Why are you doing this?”
“Mr. Gibson and I talked.” Aguilar’s voice was somber, but it sounded practiced. “He had a change of heart. He regrets his actions. He wants to turn his life around.”
“Is that so?”
Gibson finally decided to speak for himself. “It is.”
“See? He’s already on the road to reformation.”
“What’s your play here?” Harris asked. “Just between the two of us.”
“You promise? Just between the two of us?”
“I promise.”
Aguilar steepled his fingers. He thought for a moment. Really pondered the question. When he had formulated his thoughts, he sat back in his chair. Completely relaxed. “I want to prove to you I’m not a bad guy. I know my reputation, and I’m here to tell you you’re wrong about me.”
Harris had plenty to say to that, but she bit her tongue.
“I’d like to work with you, Detective Harris,” Aguilar said.
“The feeling’s not mutual.”
“Come on.” He spread his arms wide again. “If it was good enough for David, it would be good enough for you. He held you in high esteem, you know. He told me that. On more than one occasion.”
“You’re lying.” Harris gripped Gibson’s arm until the man cried out.
“I’m not. But I see you’re not ready to have that conversation.” He frowned, like a father disappointed in his daughter. “Perhaps the time will come soon enough. Until then, I’ll see you around, Detective Harris.”
Harris stayed rooted to the spot. She knew Aguilar was taunting her, but she didn’t know with what. She’d never believe David would willingly work with the man, but she couldn’t write off the possibility that he’d been trying to get close to Aguilar.
As Harris hauled Gibson out of the restaurant, one thing became abundantly clear.
David had been hiding much more from her than she ever could’ve thought possible.
24
“You gave him your number?”
Cassie couldn’t hide the smile on her face. She had left the hos
pital immediately after getting the address of the volunteer worker from Alan Wolcott. As soon as she entered the car, she relayed the entire conversation to Jason, from start to finish.
“Of course not.” Cassie laughed at the look of relief on his face. “That guy was a creep.”
“Then who’s number did you give?”
“I almost considered giving him yours.” Cassie teased as Jason blanched. “But that guy one hundred percent would’ve sent an unsolicited dick pic, and no one deserves that. I took his phone and put in all zeroes. He won’t know until later when he tries to text me.”
“Nice.” Jason leaned forward and looked up at the building in front of them. It had been about a fifteen-minute drive from the hospital to the woman’s apartment complex. He checked his watch. “It’s almost dinnertime. There’s no guarantee she’ll be home. How do you think she’ll react when we question her about getting fired?”
“Not sure.” Cassie got out of the car and waited for Jason to catch up to her before she continued. “It’s not like we know much about her. Her name is Charli—as in Charlie without the e—and she’s covered in tattoos and piercings. She’s super hot according to my new friend Alan, but she’s got a problem with authority. Which he also found super hot.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “I’m liking this guy more and more.”
“If she can help us figure out what happened with Don Chichetti while he was at Tulane, maybe we’ll be able to figure out what happened to him at UMC. And if he’s connected to Jasmine, Mark, the woman from my dream, and all the others.”
Jason motioned for Cassie to step into the elevator before he followed. He pressed the button for the seventh floor and didn’t speak until the doors closed with a whoosh. “We don’t have much to go on. We’re miles away from Jasmine. How could she be connected?”
Cassie shrugged. She didn’t know either. But she did know they had a responsibility to follow any leads, and the line connecting Jasmine to the volunteer was a straight one, even if they didn’t see its true meaning yet. Unfortunately, something inside her said the answers they were looking for were back at the hospital with the Ghost Doctor.
