Читать книгу While Others Sleep - Helen R. Myers - Страница 9

Southeast Longview Texas

1:02 a.m.

While driving north on Highway 259, lightning struck close, close enough for Jackson Blade to turn his head away. If he hadn’t, he might have missed the white car parked to his right at the back of the darkened restaurant.

Even though the deadly bolt went to ground as close as a block away, he instantly lost interest in the storm. He squinted through the rain-splattered passenger window of his El Camino for a better view of the compact car, with its front end almost kissing the Dumpster, but he saw something that had him braking fully and lowering the passenger window.

The vehicle was a Grand Am and it was blocked from behind by two patrol cars. Driving rain and activity made it impossible to see whoever was in the front seat, but his experience told him this wasn’t a routine license check or a Lovers’ Lane scare.

He turned the vintage Chevy into the next driveway. The sloped ingress led him up to a house-turned-office where he quickly inspected the privacy fence running between the properties. There would be no easy view from this vantage point, but there were several breaks in the fence. If he was willing to risk getting struck by lightning, and ruining his signature leather jacket, he might be able to answer some nagging questions without being spotted.

Pushing aside his disgust at having lost the vehicle he’d been following through the city, Blade parked and made his way to the closest set of broken slats. What he saw chilled him as much as the rain sluicing under the neckline of his clothes.

Whether the car below was the one belonging to the person he’d been keeping an eye on these last weeks or not, there was serious trouble below, serious enough for the EMTs to have arrived at the scene. One medic hurried up front to the driver. In the break between moving bodies, Blade saw blond hair, enough of it to determine the victim was female. His concern deepened.

Right model car…the hair matched, too.

Accepting that he needed to get down there if he was to get answers, he eased through a wider section of broken fence and leaped off the slick grass and red clay to the asphalt. He lingered in that crouched position in the deeper shadows provided by the storage shed, hoping to recognize one of the cops. It would be less problematic—not to mention dangerous—to have a semifriendly present. Then a third patrol car pulled in behind the others.

Damn, Jackson thought. His identity was about to be compromised beyond what he was willing to risk. Whatever he could learn here wouldn’t offset the dangers of being seen by someone he didn’t know—or didn’t trust. But as he started to retreat, one of the officers spotted him.

Blade almost swore out loud. She would have to be one of the rookies.

“You—freeze! Up slowly. Show me your hands.”

Tight-lipped, he did as directed. The pounding rain had him shrinking deeper into his jacket and muted the intentional heel-dragging of his well-worn Tony Lama boots. He knew what he looked like under normal conditions, and the weather and harsh light only made that worse, especially to an inexperienced cop. If he couldn’t get away, he wanted to attract the attention of her partner. In the meantime, he hoped the rookie didn’t panic.

“Hands!”

To his relief the female officer’s second warning caught the attention of someone else. Though Blade’s primary focus stayed on her and the .9 mm she gripped between her hands, he risked a glance toward the middle-aged man, who’d been slipping on his rain gear.

“You going to just stand there with your mouth open and let her shoot me, Parsons?” he drawled to the squinting cop.

As he peered at him, Phil Parson’s expression turned into a sneer. “I should,” he finally replied. “Might get a citation for enforcing the mayor’s ‘clean up the city’ program.”

“Your daughter seems to like what she sees.” Blade allowed a benign smile. Inside, however, he seethed. The asshole knew dressing like an assistant D.A. or rookie FBI agent could get him killed. Maybe his reply was a low blow and an outright lie—he only knew Parson’s daughter from the photo he’d seen on Phil’s locker door—but if the cop wanted to trade insults, Blade would have the last word. His work, his survival depended on it.

Not surprisingly, veins protruded at each side of the older cop’s eyes, spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. “Fuck you, Blade. My girl hasn’t been within miles of you. As soon as we got her out of that—that joint and into rehab, she became her old self again. She’s off of everything and I’ll kick any SOB who says otherwise.”

“Relax. I heard she’s one of the lucky ones.”

The cop’s cheeks puffed as he collected himself. He cast his confused partner a quick look as though wishing he could somehow retract his outburst from her memory. “Damn fool,” he grumbled at Blade. “What did you say that for, then?”

“Wanted your attention. I’m in a hurry.”

“You got it.”

Blade nodded at the car behind the two officers. “What’s wrong with her?” At this point he could definitely tell the driver was female and that she was lying back against the headrest.

Ignoring his partner’s continued stare, the broad-faced man shook his head. “Belly shot. And I suspect you know she’s small.”

“If she’s who I think she is,” Blade replied.

“Doesn’t look good. The EMTs just said they can’t risk waiting to stabilize her here.”

The technicians were, in fact, already removing her from the vehicle and making quick work of loading her into the ambulance. Although he’d seen scenes like this many times—too many—Blade kept his face blank, his tone flat. “Has she said anything?”

“Nah. Nothing sensible, anyway.”

“Come on, Phil, before I have to worry about a bullet in the back as well as the front.”

“Just what is going on here?” the female officer demanded.

Another close flash of lightning, followed by a loud peal of thunder, had Sergeant Parsons cringing. In the next moment, he snapped, “Put that thing away before somebody gets hurt.” To Blade he said, “It sounded like she mumbled something, but it could have been a moan. So what’s up with her? She something to you? We haven’t spotted a purse yet. Our check on the plates identifies the owner as Raymond Holms. Car could be stolen for all we know.”

Blade nodded, though he didn’t offer what he knew about the matter. He simply replied, “I’ve just seen her here and there.”

“And?”

New sirens were sounding in the north. He couldn’t tell if they were heading this way, but it was a good bet. “Who called this in?”

The female officer stepped forward. “I did. We were at the traffic light and I saw a dog sniffing around the car. The dog was on its hind legs and leaning into the window. I guess he smelled the blood. I’m Cathy Miles. I just started this week.” She took a step forward as though about to extend her hand.

“Give him your phone number while you’re at it,” Parsons muttered.

The rookie’s tentative smile vanished. “I—I’ll go see if they need—” Swallowing hard, she beat a fast retreat.

“Smooth,” Blade murmured.

Parsons waved away the criticism. “Hey. I’m sick of being given all the females to train. I feel like some kind of one-man feminist nursery school.”

“Ever think it’s because somebody thinks you’re a good teacher, or are you determined to be pissed because she’s cute and you can’t do anything about it?” Having seen and heard enough, Blade was ready to retreat himself. “Who’re they sending to take the case?”

“Snow.”

Always tenacious, Detective Gordon Snow took his time. Everyone else’s, too, but Blade would vote for the Snowman’s brand of caution any day. “I’m going to the hospital.”

“I’ll let him know that’s where he can find you.”

“Uh-uh. You forget I was here.” Blade pointed a finger over his shoulder. “Make that clear to your partner, too—and that if our paths cross again she never uses my name if anyone else is around. If there’s something Snow needs to hear, I’ll make sure he gets the information. You know how I operate, Phil.”

Despite the initial tension between them, he suspected Phil Parsons would oblige. The guy was a good cop, even if he was an old-school redneck when it came to women. Parsons would remember that Blade’s role in the world of night wolves required extreme caution.

The storm was moving east and Blade made it to Good Shepherd Medical Center in five minutes. Parking his two-tone gray 1982 El Camino between two larger trucks, as far away from the tall security lights as possible, he sprinted to catch up with the ambulance. He could see the EMTs wheeling the victim through the automatic glass doors of Emergency.

Only an arm’s reach from the entry himself, he collided with another person. He heard a surprised, pained gasp, and then a woman fell hard onto the concrete, immediately curling into a tight fetal position. Blade’s religious workouts kept him extremely fit, but she wasn’t exactly Tinkerbell. When they’d collided they’d been shoulder to shoulder, and while she was slim, his impression of her was of toned muscle, too.

A split second later it registered with him that she wore a uniform. He squinted in the harsh light to read the patch on her sleeve. Cody Security. His lips twisted. Just what he needed—appeasing a wannabe.

Impatient to get inside, Blade extended his hand. “Come on, I’ll help you up.” Meanwhile, his attention had returned to the EMTs. He wanted to make sure he knew where they were going.

“Back off.”

The harsh warning, accompanied by a sting as his hand was slapped away, jerked his attention back to the security guard. She might be a mess—as soaked as he was and blue from the cold—but she had a great head of hair. No amount of rain could diminish the toffee-gold in that long plait. His gaze lingered for a second too long.

“Are you deaf?” she demanded.

Once again Blade found it necessary to raise his hands. “I only want to know if you need some help from inside?”

Instead of answering, she rolled to her knees and struggled to her feet. It was as clear as a traffic signal for him.

“Good girl. So watch it in the future, okay?” Leaving her to her injured pride or whatever, he resumed his race inside.

The waiting room and hallways of Emergency were flooded with people tonight, and it was only Tuesday. Most of the dazed souls he passed appeared to have been dragged out of bed. The rest looked in dire need of one.

Blade didn’t have to worry about getting by the reception desk. The clerk had all the work she could handle dealing with people looking for information about loved ones. He passed through another set of glass doors and strode by the nurses’ station, relying on what always worked for him—confidence. But his step faltered moments later.

The EMTs were already leaving the second triage unit. He didn’t like the look of it. When he saw their expressions, his first question was “Did she ever say anything?”

The older of the haggard-faced men glanced his way, but appeared intent on continuing past him. Blade took no offense. It had been a grueling forty-eight hours, and his usual five o’clock shadow was beyond disreputable. There wasn’t much he could do about genetics—in his work his swarthy coloring usually proved an asset—nor could he help his bad timing. He needed answers. Determined to get them, he quickly blocked the men’s path and stuck his ID in their faces.

The technician closest to him blinked a few times. “Ah. Okay…no. She never said a word. She was already flat-lining in transit. They were never able to bring her back.”

Blade made the badge disappear as quickly as he’d flashed it. “Thanks.”

“That it?” The technician looked unsure that the questions were over.

“Unless you know who killed her?”

“Somebody as lost as she was.”

He had that right. Blade wasn’t surprised at the guy’s reaction—people in emergency care tended to see the same view of the world that he did.

“If only we’d been able to get to her a few minutes sooner,” the man continued.

Blade frowned. “I thought the wound was such that she wouldn’t have pulled through?”

“But I think we might have briefly revived her. Maybe long enough to get some kind of statement. It’s not in the job description, but we know it’s part of what’s asked of us. Somebody took a helluva risk leaving her in that condition.”

The two men moved on, leaving Blade to consider that bit of speculation. It took the reproachful stares of passing hospital personnel to remind him that this was nowhere to do his thinking, and he followed the men out.

Beyond the Emergency doors, he was held up by a group who had just received similar news to his. He shut his mind to the sobs, his eyes to the anguish, and stepped around them. Directly ahead was Ms. Cody Security in intense dialogue with a nurse.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the harried nurse said. “Maybe they did just bring her in, but I don’t have paperwork on any shooting victim.”

The EMT who’d spoken to Blade paused on his way out and backtracked. “You know the kid who was shot?” he asked the security guard.

Bewilderment had her smoke-gray eyes appearing all the larger. Under different circumstances Blade would have been tempted, wanting to linger and find out her name. It was her fierce grip on her upper left arm that snapped him back to attention. Could he be responsible for that? Her jacket was flight-style like his, only canvas. It would have offered no protection whatsoever when she fell down.

“Kid…?” She shook her head in slow motion as though caught up in some dream. “No. The woman in the white Pontiac. A Grand Am. She’s seventy-nine. Five-two…though she insists it’s still five-three. She wears a platinum blond wig.”

“Right car, close hair, wrong driver,” the EMT said. “Our passenger was an eighteen-year-old girl.” He glanced at his partner. “What was the name Phil gave us?”

“Holms. Well…maybe.”

Blade watched the woman frown in confusion and barely heard her murmur, “I guess I made a mistake.”

The EMT shrugged. “Good luck.” He and his partner moved on.

The nurse looked ready to escape, too. Blade stepped closer and said to her, “Maybe you’d better get the lady some help. I think her arm—”

“It’s nothing,” the guard interjected, staring at something light years beyond his left shoulder. But when she did focus on him she physically recoiled, as though backing from the deepest of black holes, bringing her up hard against the admittance desk. “Son of a—” While she checked the curse in time, she directed all of her pain at Blade. “Will you please get lost? It was just a little lightning, okay?”