“Now I’m swabbing him with Betadine. It’s cold. That’s why he’s crying.”
Vanna didn’t move. Georgia nodded. The doctor peered at Vanna. “You sure she’s going to be all right?”
Georgia nodded again, but her stomach was roiling, and she wasn’t sure she was all right. She could only imagine how Vanna felt.
The doctor nodded to the nurses. Both situated Charlie so he was leaning over, to stretch his back. As they did, they pinned down his arms and legs. He couldn’t move. His crying turned to screams. The doctor took a needle, filled it with a clear substance, and inserted it into the area she’d marked.
“Lidocaine,” the doctor said. Charlie’s screams scaled up the register to a high-pitched keening.
Vanna tried to pull away from Georgia. “No more,” she cried. “I can’t take it. Please stop.”
Georgia restrained her sister, but Vanna was stronger than Georgia expected. Never doubt the strength of a mother protecting her child. “Vanna,” she said into her sister’s ear, “it will be over soon. Do you want to leave the room?”
“Oh God, Georgia. Make them stop!” Her screams mixed with Charlie’s as the doctor inserted a long needle into the spot where she’d previously injected the lidocaine. Georgia had to suppress a shudder when the needle went in. She squeezed her eyes shut. Charlie was inconsolable, his screams rising to an intolerable pitch. Vanna retched and looked like she was going to vomit.
“Vanna, honey, let’s go outside.” Georgia tried to lead her to the door of the procedure room.
But Vanna resisted and stiffened so much, Georgia couldn’t budge her. “No! I’m staying with my baby. He needs me.”
Then a remarkable change came over Vanna. It was as if she suddenly steeled herself to her own feelings and decided to focus only on Charlie and the need to identify what was wrong with him. She stopped crying, and amid his screams, Vanna started to coo to her son.
“Charlie, baby, it’s Mama. It will all be over soon. I promise. I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. Just hold on, sweetheart. I promise to hold you and rock you and sing to you all night when this is over.” A tiny smile curled her lips, and though it was impossible to silence his sobbing, Vanna looked peaceful and confident.
A swell of love and pride for Vanna washed over Georgia. It took incredible courage to control the anguish of watching her baby in excruciating pain. At that moment Vanna was a hero, and Georgia knew if Vanna could handle it, so could she. She hugged her sister. A little blood oozed from the injection site, but no more than a bruised knee would cause.
Finally it was over. The needle came out, and the doctor attached a Band-Aid to the injection site. Georgia was astonished that a simple bandage was the only tangible sign that Charlie had undergone such a critical procedure.
It was one in the morning. She sagged in relief. It was Vanna’s turn to hug her.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Charlie was asleep before the nurse wheeled him back into his room, but the rest of them catnapped. In the early morning hours Georgia and Jimmy went down to the always-open cafeteria for coffee. She told him everything she’d learned from Kitty in Minnesota about Scott, the Prairie Rats, and Ruth Marriotti.
“So now it’s over, thank God,” Jimmy said.
“Not quite. I need evidence.”
“What do you mean? That’s the Bureau’s job. You cracked the case. Let them take over. You don’t have to catch the bad guys.”
“I didn’t have to be with Vanna either.”
“Oh come on. They’re not the same thing.”
“Aren’t they? The FBI isn’t going to arrest Ruth on my word alone. Or even Kitty’s, although I promised not to tell them where she is. They need proof. You know that.”
“Then let them look for it. That’s what they do. For all you know, the Prairie Rats are already on their radar.” He scowled. “They should be.”
“I agree. It could explain what happened to Dena Baldwin’s father.” She sipped her coffee, which was surprisingly good for two in the morning. “I had time to think on the flight back from Duluth. Dena’s father represented some energy companies who are into fracking in a big way. Dena was criticizing fracking in the Facebook group. What if the fracking owners sent Carl Baldwin a message—a warning, let’s say—that his daughter should cut it out?”
“By killing her?”
“Not at first. But knowing Dena, she didn’t stop her attacks. Who knows what happened?”
“Georgia, you’re talking about a conspiracy to commit murder. In the name of corporate profits.”
She nodded.
“You better be damn sure that’s what it was.” Jimmy sat back in his chair. “I don’t like this at all. I wish you wouldn’t take it any further. Didn’t LeJeune say the FBI wanted to interview you?”
“Yes. And I’ll tell his guys about the Prairie Rats and their relationship with Scott Jarvis.”
“Good. Then you’re out of it.”
“Except for one thing.”
“What?”
“I think there may be a connection between them and Ruth Marriotti.” She told Jimmy about Beef Jerky’s Perfect Kill video game. “And that’s exactly how it went down.”
“Georgia, you barely got out of DC alive and that wasn’t even a week ago.” He took her hand. “Please don’t.”
She kept her mouth shut.
Jimmy sighed reluctantly. “What do you have in mind?”
“I have a couple of ideas.”
• • •
They were back upstairs on a couch tangled in each other’s arms down the hall from Charlie’s room when JoBeth appeared.
“What’s going on?” Georgia asked in a worried voice.
“Everything’s fine. Vanna won’t sleep. She’s singing to Charlie. Of course, he’s out like a light. Jimmy, do you mind? I’d like a few words with Georgia.”
“Sure thing. I’ll go see if I can sing along with Vanna.” He disentangled himself from Georgia and kissed her forehead.
It was just the two of them.
JoBeth cleared her throat. “Georgia, I’ve learned so much since I’ve been in Chicago. Most of it has been surprising, overwhelming, and beautiful. But some of it not so much.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have two strong, independent daughters who I have grown to cherish. Between you and Vanna, you make a mother proud. But”—she looked down—“here’s the thing. I didn’t do a damn thing to make that happen.” She let out a breath. “In fact, I damaged Vanna. And you. I—I was a selfish child. I still am. I think only about myself. I make myself out . . . well . . . to be a victim. I throw temper tantrums, and when that doesn’t work, I drink. And when that doesn’t work, I run away. That’s what I did to you. It’s only now that I’m—well—beginning to understand how I destroyed both your souls.”
Georgia didn’t know what to say.
“There has only been one adult in this relationship. And that’s you, Georgia. Not me. You saved Vanna’s life. You helped her grow up. And, as I told you before, you have done a wonderful job.” She swallowed. “And you have every right to be furious at me. To exclude me from your life. I failed you both.” She stood up. “Come with me.”
Georgia rose and followed her mother back into Charlie’s hospital room. JoBeth leaned over Charlie’s crib and kissed him gently. Then she faced Vanna and clasped her in a hug.
“Vanna, honey, when Charlie’s ready to leave here, I hope you’ll live with your sister. You belong with her. Not me.” JoBeth released her daughter. “I’m so sorry.” Then she smiled softly, turned on her heel, and walked out of the room.
• • •
The next morning Dr. Kumar arrived before seven. An early sun was just peeking through the window blinds. “Good news, everyone. Charlie doesn’t have meningitis.”
Vanna clapped her hands, hugged Georgia, then hurried over to pick up Charlie. Georgia couldn’t stop smiling. The lightness spread through the room.
“In all likelihood, it’s a virus with a high fever and stomach upset. The symptoms are virtually identical to meningitis.”
“What about the seizures?”
“We call them febrile convulsions. They’re a result of the fever. They’re more common than you think. But . . . and this is key . . . while they look scary, they’re not harmful to the baby.”
“So he’s going to be okay?” Vanna said.
“I’m sure of it. But you did the right thing bringing him in. We had to make sure.”
“He won’t have to have another spinal tap?” Georgia asked.
“That’s right. Hopefully, never.” She bent over and tenderly brushed her hand across Charlie’s forehead. “As soon as your fever’s down, you can go home, little champ.”
Charlie gurgled.
Chapter Sixty-Four
The hardest part of the plan was still ahead. Ruth had to convince him to kill Dena. Not only did she have to make him think it was his idea, but he also had to think he was a hero for doing it. This would test her skills at persuasion, and, frankly, she wasn’t sure she would succeed. She knew that the most effective manipulators used a combination of the carrot and the stick, but before she could apply either, she had to get to know him, perhaps better than he knew himself.
That was why she’d made so many trips to the Barracks, ingratiating herself with Jarvis, his sister, who was an unexpected but surprisingly helpful ally, and his buddy Beef Jerky. Jerky was a cipher. His eyes were intense, always observing, measuring, judging, and Ruth wasn’t sure whether he saw through her and her plan. The best strategy was always to play dumb. So she did, improvising by describing herself as apolitical. She could always tell Jarvis later she’d done so to make Jerky feel safe around her.
She realized they’d probably become lovers. That didn’t bother her; in fact, she took a perverse pleasure in the fact that she would be screwing someone who had initially wanted Dena. Ruth would make sure that he wouldn’t think that way for long. He would forget about Dena. Ruth would be the perfect lover and friend, supportive, nurturing, and accommodating.
A few weeks later, the plan was succeeding beyond her expectations. Jarvis was a ripe target, full of despair, depression, and fear. Caught between the horror of killing as a GI and the supposed reverence for life as a civilian, he was confused and vulnerable.
Her first step, after meeting him and studying the contours of his world, was to remind him of Dena. But it had to be done the right way. One night after a particularly rowdy political discussion where Beef Jerky vowed he would never stop fighting until the last fucking libtard was either locked up or dead and good white men were back in charge of the country, Ruth asked Jarvis to take a walk around the block.
“Hey, Scott, do you remember the first time we met?”
“At the bar. My sister introduced us.”
“Before that.”
“We met before that night?”
“Well, not exactly. I came in with this woman who proceeded to get really drunk and insulted you. Her name was Dena. She was part of this political group—well, I’m a member too, but I don’t believe in it anymore.” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Especially since I met you.”
“Now that you mention it, I remember her. She was hot.” Surprise flooded his face. “You were the other chick with her?”
A stab of envy pricked Ruth. Dena was sexy, built for speed, while Ruth, no matter how attractive she made herself, was built for comfort. Compared to Dena, she was invisible. She nodded.
“She was a real bitch.” Jarvis squeezed her hand back. “I wanted to belt her.”
“I feel the same way.”
“How come?”
But Ruth had planted the seed. Better to leave it for now to germinate. “Oh, I’ll tell you later.” She snuggled close. “Let’s walk down to the lake and fool around. It’s not that cold.”
• • •
Her next opportunity came the last weekend of October, just past peak leaf-viewing season. She and Jarvis took a drive up to Wisconsin to a small lake Jarvis said reminded him of the place he wanted to live. With a mirror-still surface reflecting a big blue sky and the surrounding evergreens, it was a lovely place. Ruth saw only two boats on the water, and their occupants didn’t look like tourists.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I can see why you love it.”
“My family has a cabin up in Minnesota. Near Duluth. This reminds me of it. It’s totally isolated. And since my parents passed, no one uses it much. Kitty’s gone up a few times, but I haven’t been there since I was sixteen.”
“Is that where you want to live? In the cabin?”
“You ever hear of a yurt?”
“One of those round tents people have?”
“Right. I was thinking of something like that. You can get stuff that keeps it warm all year round. Heaters, stoves, insulated windows. Electricity. A bed and furniture, too. They are awesome. You’re cut off from the world, but you can still have everything you need. I used to think about it when I was on patrol in ’Stan. The things I’d want in the yurt.”
“Sounds like a dream come true.”
He smiled. “You think?”
“Well then, we should get one,” she said.
He whistled. “Are you kidding? With everything I want, it would cost thousands. Can’t afford it.”
“Oh. In that case, we can dream, can’t we?”
On the drive home, Jarvis asked, “Could you see yourself in that situation, Nicole? Living off the land under the radar?”
“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation. “It sounds perfect.” She giggled. “As long as you’re there to protect me from wolves and bears and things.”
“Of course I would. But what about that group you were active in? And the woman who came into the bar. What would happen if you just up and left town?”
Ruth smiled inwardly. She couldn’t have asked for a better segue. “Not a problem. Don’t you remember how Dena humiliated you? And the boys? That was—is—the way she treats everyone. She’s liberal, sure, but she’s the most dishonest, untrustworthy person I’ve ever met. She started the group, but she’s running it all wrong. I won’t miss her. Or the group. I gave my all for over a year, and I tried to help, but I’m ready to quit. She’s ruined it for me. And it’s not just me. A lot of other people feel the same way.”
“What did you do in the group?”
She gave him a quick summary, but embellished it with demeaning things Dena never said, degrading things she never did. “And talk about being loose . . . she fucked anything with pants. Just needed it, I guess.” She sighed. “There’s just one thing. I promised to be at this demonstration she’s planning for January, and I always keep my promises,” Ruth said with a solemn expression. “Even if she doesn’t.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I could run it so much better, Scott. I know it. I would build bridges, not burn them. I’d reach out to people who don’t agree with us. People like Beef Jerky and the Tat boys. I’d try to find something we could all agree on and go from there. I was willing to give Dena a chance, hoping she’d grow in the same direction, but it didn’t happen. She turned out to be an ambitious opportunist. From what I know, everyone else in her family’s the same way.”
Jarvis nodded. “Sounds like a real she-devil.”
“You said it. But she’ll never give up. She’s power hungry. I just wish there was a way to kick her out. Get rid of her. That would make a huge difference. Even though I don’t plan to be there anymore,” she added hastily.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Two Months Before the Demonstration
By Thanksgiving, Ruth and Jarvis were a couple. Between teaching and the group, Ruth didn’t have much free time, but she spent all of it with him. The only challenge was keeping him away from Dena. It would be a disaster if the two bumped into each other. Jarvis had come to hate her almost a
s much as Ruth, thanks to Ruth’s lies and deceit. And while Kitty’s smiles and attention to Ruth/Nicole at the Barracks indicated she approved of their relationship, Ruth didn’t want to spend too much time with her, either. She had to stay detached. It was a delicate balance.
Meanwhile, her discussions with Jarvis had graduated from the theoretical to the possible, thanks to Beef Jerky’s Perfect Kill game. Ruth made sure to bring it up after sharing passionate sex one night. One evening in early December, they were lying in his bed at the apartment. Kitty was still tending bar—Ruth had figured out that early evening, right after happy hour, was the best time for them to be intimate. It was during these times that she made sure to anticipate and fulfill every one of his fantasies.
Jarvis lay on his side, sweaty but content, facing her. He was smiling. Ruth returned it and ran her fingers through his hair, behind his neck, and across his shoulders. At the same time, she faked a coy tone. “Hey, Scotty. Do you remember when Beef Jerky laid out that Perfect Kill game at the Barracks? He said you were going to make them all rich.”
“I remember,” he replied.
“Well . . . what if we could prove that it works in real life?”
He squinted at her. “What do you mean?”
“What if—I mean, if you think it’s a good idea—we could try it out at the demonstration in January?”
“What are you saying, Nicole?”
She let him figure it out, and when she saw the flash of comprehension in his eyes, she added, “You’d be a hero. You know that, right?”
“You think?”
“I know it.” She brushed her fingers across his forehead. “Even the members of ResistanceUSA would be grateful. And afterwards, you and I could escape to Minnesota. Forever.” She frowned. “After I recover, that is.”
“Recover? What do you mean recover?”
She explained that he would have to wound her during the “exercise,” as she’d come to call it. “It wouldn’t be hard. Do you remember in Homeland when Quinn shot Carrie in the shoulder?”
High Crimes Page 22
