Читать книгу Code of Justice - Liz Johnson - Страница 10

Even after Jeremy Latham flashed his Sheriff’s Deputy badge at the pretty blonde nurse at the station next to the elevator, she wouldn’t tell him the exact condition of the survivor of the helicopter crash that had claimed two lives. Something about confidential patient records. No matter. If she was conscious, he would get Heather Sloan’s statement and piece together the events leading up to the crash. But as he approached the door he’d been directed to, a scream sent him running toward the very room the nurse had indicated. As he neared it, a woman shouted again.

Hoping the door was unlocked, he crashed into the solid wood. It flew open as he twisted the handle, sending him to his knees on the slick floor.

A pair of very old shoes and an unpleasant odor shuffled past him as he scrambled to his feet. He caught only a glimpse of the back of the man’s head before screams from the bed grabbed his attention.

“Get it out. Get it out! It burns!”

The cries from the woman on the bed made it clear what took priority. She needed help. Now. Jeremy ignored the other man as he scrambled to her side.

Putting one hand on her forearm, Jeremy said, “Where does it burn?”

“Right arm,” she managed between gritted teeth, her eyes rolling back in her head.

This was no time to pretend he had the kind of medical training needed to help. He pounded the call button over and over, following it up with shouts of his own. “Nurse! Nurse! I need help in 411!”

The young woman screamed when he picked up her arm, but he had to get a closer look at the crimson stripes making their way toward her elbow. She must have pulled the dangling tube from the back of her hand, but the redness definitely started beneath the tape still holding an IV needle in place.

The red lines were nearly to the crook in her arm when he realized that he had to stop whatever was causing them from getting any farther. Yanking the IV cord from its bag he wrapped it around her biceps and jerked it into a crude knot. The slick plastic didn’t want to stay in place, so he held it there, calling again for help. “Nurse!”

The woman whimpered, and he put his hand back on her forehead.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re all right.”

Just then, the same blonde nurse who had told him Heather was in room 411 entered at a run, and her presence made Jeremy breathe a little easier, despite her curt tone. “What happened in here?”

“I don’t know. I was in the hallway, and I heard someone screaming. There was another man in here. I think he put something in her IV. She said that it was burning her. I tried to stop it from going any farther up her arm.” He raised his hands to show her the makeshift tourniquet.

The patient groaned, her eyes still clamped shut. And the nurse immediately took control. “Keep holding that,” she said, pointing to the tubes in his hand. “I will be right back. Heather, hang in there.” She raced out the door and in an instant her voice came over the hospital’s PA system, calling for help in Heather’s room. It finally sank in for Jeremy that this was the woman he’d come to see—the survivor of the helicopter crash who had, it seemed, been attacked near fatally again. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Heather Sloan?

In a flash the blonde nurse was back, followed by two other nurses in pale green scrubs. One of the new nurses glared at Jeremy for a moment, before taking the IV tubing out of his hands and holding it in place. The other nurse poked buttons on the machine on the other side of Heather’s bed.

He opened his mouth to ask what he could do before realizing he was useless in a hospital. But he did know what needed to be done. With the victim secured, it was time to go after the attacker. Sprinting for the door, the voice of the other nurse stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just leave. The police will have questions for you.”

“I’ll have questions for them, too. As soon as I get back.”

Spinning out the door, he raced toward the stairs. Someone like the man who had been in Heather’s room would be noticed riding in a crowded elevator or strolling through the crowded halls of the hospital. He’d look for a deserted escape route.

Following the path Jeremy assumed the other man had taken and trying to keep his shoes from sliding on the freshly buffed floors, he skidded into the stairwell. As he raced down the steps, he tried to remember any distinguishing factors about the other man. He had been on the floor when the attacker passed, so his observations were limited, but based on the condition of the black boots he’d worn and the terrible stench that followed him around, Jeremy’s best guess was that he was homeless. And his hair was silver and matted. That was a pretty slim description.

Now he could kick himself in the pants for not getting a better look at the would-be…killer? But was he really trying to kill Heather? Why else would he have put something into her IV line?

But what could their connection possibly be?

Could it be related to a case she had been working?

Four flights later he ended up in a storage room piled with stacks of clean laundry. Metal shelves lined the walls, and additional rows filled most of the floor-space, so he dropped to the ground, peering through the six-inch gap below the bottom of each shelf. Palms flat on the cold floor, he craned his neck in search of those black boots.

Satisfied that he was alone, Jeremy jumped back up and hurried to the door, which led him into a hallway next to the E. R. Straight ahead was the ambulance entrance. Stopping quickly at the nurses’ station, he flashed his badge and asked, “Did you see a homeless man go past here a couple minutes ago?”

The young man behind the desk nodded. “Sure. White hair and gray jacket?” He pointed toward the glass doors. “He looked like he was in a hurry.”

“Thanks.” Jeremy followed the old man’s path, hoping he wasn’t too late.

The sun hid behind a cloud as he stepped into the fresh air, looking around the parking lot. A woman with a broken leg rolled her wheelchair past him, and a flashy black Mercedes peeled out of the visitor’s parking lot. No sign of the old man.

Jeremy’s shoulders sagged as he headed back into the hospital, opting this time to take the elevator instead of the stairs. Glancing at his watch, he wondered how long his useless chase had lasted. Had he missed out on clues in the hospital room that could have helped him?

As he approached Heather’s room, the frantic sounds of saving a life continued. A deep voice had been added to the mix, but its tone was just as concerning as the others.

Turning away, he walked toward a small, deserted waiting room on the floor, images of Heather writhing in pain still flashing behind his closed eyelids. It was too familiar, knowing a woman was in pain and being completely helpless.

Pushing memories of the other woman out of his mind and focusing on the one he could still help, he slumped into a seat and pulled out his cell phone. Dialing an old friend, who he’d worked with on two unrelated drug cases when he started with the sheriff’s department years before, he said, “Hey, Tony.”

“Latham. How’s everything in the sheriff’s office?”

He shrugged out of habit. “Good. We’re keeping busy.”

“Yeah, I heard about that chopper crash. You working it?”

“Always.” His experience as an FAA agent supposedly made him an asset in situations like this, but the end of his time there had made it clear that he didn’t bring nearly as much to the table as the sheriff thought.

“So what can I do for you?” The tone of Tony’s voice relayed that he remembered that he and the PD owed Jeremy a favor for a tip on a case two months before.

“There was a situation at Immanuel Lutheran Hospital today.”

“You mean the one about five minutes ago?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know about it? I’m not even sure that our guys have made it down there yet.”

Jeremy ran his free hand through his wavy brown hair in desperate need of a trim. “I know. I’m here now. I was coming to talk to the crash survivor. An old guy—I think maybe homeless from the smell of him—was in her room and put something into her IV. The doctor is still working with her. I’m not sure what he dosed her with or what’s really going on, but the guy got away.” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice.

“Whoa.”

“I know. So listen, I need you to do me a favor and keep your eye out at the jail just in case someone brings in a homeless guy with white hair, a gray jacket and black boots.”

“But that could be anybody. How would I even know if it’s your guy?” Tony sounded stumped.

“Just call me. I’ll come down and check it out.”

“Okay. You got it, man.”

Jeremy hung up his phone and walked back toward Heather’s room. The voices inside continued at a slightly less rattled pace, but Heather clearly wasn’t out of danger yet.

Back pressed against the wall, Jeremy slid to the floor, adrenaline leaving his system like a flood. Resting his forearms against bent knees and his chin against his chest, he sighed. God, please save Heather. He barely knew the girl—hadn’t even had a real conversation with her, but something was going on. And she needed all the help she could get.

Heather’s eyes refused to open yet again, but for the first time in forever she felt human. The fog had lifted in her brain, and she was able to quickly take account of the situation.

The beeping monitor to her left and firm pillow beneath her head told her she was still in the hospital. Her leg still ached from the surgery.

Her shoulder felt significantly more normal than it had the last time she was awake, and a quick rotation provided only a minor twinge.

And the burning in her arm was gone. It tingled a little bit, but she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just a memory of the pain of whatever had been injected into her arm.

All seemed normal. Now. But it hadn’t been that way.

Before.

How long had she been asleep? When had that homeless man been in her room? What had he done to her? And why had she been his target?

Why hadn’t she responded better? Years of training had gone down the tubes with a little bit of pain medication that made her feel blurry. She’d been useless. Like she had been during the crash.

A phone rang, and a hand pulled out of hers. Had someone been holding her hand? She turned her hand over, squeezing it into a loose fist, trying to recall the shape and size of the absent hand.

From the far corner of the room, came a deep voice. She recognized it, but couldn’t place it.

“Nate?” she called, while trying to pry her heavy lids apart.

The voice ended suddenly before resuming by her side. “No. It’s not Nate. It’s Jeremy.”

Finally her eyes opened, and she looked into a handsome, if only moderately familiar, face. She’d definitely seen him before, but where? Suddenly a wheezing cough racked her body. He reached for a glass and held the straw to her lips, so she could greedily sip at it. When she finally leaned back, he put the cup back on the table and scooted a chair closer to the bed.

“Jeremy Latham,” he said, reading the confusion in her eyes. “I’m a deputy with the Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Have we met before? You look so familiar.”

He shook his head. “I’ve been here a couple times, but you’ve always been out. Except last time.”

“When the homeless man was here.” It was a statement, not a question, as the veil covering that memory finally lifted. She nodded slowly, but it was like trying to put a puzzle together with missing pieces. She’d lost hours…maybe even days. “When was that?”

He bit the corner of his mouth and leaned forward over his knees. “Two days ago.”

“And I haven’t been awake since then?”

“No.” His dark curls bounced as his head moved, but his eyes remained steeled against whatever he had to say next. And she was certain there was more to come. As silence reigned, she waited. He didn’t move, only stared at her with that unwavering gaze.

“So why have you been coming to see me?” A swift glance at the window proved the sun had set long before. “And after visiting hours, I’d guess.” A longer look at the window, and she realized that her neck was free of the annoying brace she’d been wearing since the crash. She tested her strength and mobility with a couple of gentle stretches.

“Are you stiff?” he asked.

“Not too bad, actually.” She glared at him, then looked away, still testing the strength of her neck. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

He followed her gaze toward the opposite wall, as a frown punctuated his mouth. “I guess it is getting late.”

“You obviously know who I am, so you must know what I do. What do you want with me?”

He tugged on the hair at his temples, his forehead wrinkling. His eyes moved back and forth, looking for anything else to focus on. “Well, as I said, I’m with the sheriff’s department.” He pulled out the badge attached to his belt. Probably a force of habit for him like it was for her. “I’m investigating the PNW Tourism helicopter crash.”

Now it was her turn to avoid the topic at hand. “What did that man put in my IV? It burned.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

His dark brown eyes softened. “I heard you screaming.”

Heat rose up her neck, and she brought her hand up to her cheek to cover the embarrassing blush. How could she have been so weak? Trying desperately to change the subject, she asked again, “So what was it?”

“That, I don’t know. The doctors wouldn’t tell me much. As best I can figure, it was a lethal combination of street drugs. The guys in the police lab have already started analyzing the sample, but they don’t have a final report yet. You did good pulling that tube out.” His admiration was genuine, and she felt the redness returning to her cheeks. When had she become such a ninny?

A yawn cracked her jaw, but for the first time since the crash, she was able to fight off the tiredness. Pressing a button on her bed elevated her head until she felt less likely to doze off in the middle of their conversation. It also added an extra measure of pressure on her leg, and she groaned.

“Is something wrong?” Jeremy’s eyes filled with concern, and he reached out to touch her arm. The familiar weight of his hand gave her small start.

“Were you holding my hand?”

Now it was his turn to look embarrassed. His deep tan kept his cheeks from turning pink, but his gaze bounced around the room. “The nurse said that it’s good to let someone know you’re there, even if they’re asleep. I was just…letting you know I was here.”

“How long have you been here?”

Jeremy glanced at his watch. “Not long. A couple of hours.”

She couldn’t contain the snicker that came out of her mouth. “What have you been doing for a couple of hours?”

“Thinking mostly.”

“About what?”

His lips pursed to the side, his eyes narrowing. “Just wondering what brought that helicopter down.”

She stared directly into his eyes, wondering if they were thinking the same things about the crash. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t heard Kit’s last words, so how could they be? But what if he had other information? He’d probably seen the helicopter after the crash. He was looking into the reasons behind it. Maybe he could be useful.

The leg in the brace spasmed violently beneath her blanket, reminding her of her own weakness. But it didn’t matter. She was going to find out what happened, what caused her sister’s death. After all, Heather had done nothing during the crash to save her sister. She’d been useless. And Kit deserved more than that. Solving this case was Heather’s only way to begin making up for that failure.

What if she stayed away from the investigation like Nate had ordered and they never found out why Kit had lost her life? What if they lost crucial time thinking it was nothing more than an accident? What if they never named a true culprit?

Heather couldn’t live with herself if she let that happen. And the only way to make sure it didn’t was to do her own investigating. Kit was too important to leave it up to someone Heather didn’t know.

“How much do you know about the crash?” He looked around the room, trying to keep from meeting her gaze, so she pushed again. “I’m a big girl. I deserve to know the truth, don’t you think?”

A little wobble of his head followed his shrug. Still not looking into her eyes, he said, “My contact at the FAA says it looks like the wires to the cyclic were disengaged.”

“The cyclic?”

“The joystick-type thing that controls the helicopter. It’s called a cyclic, and the wires to it appeared to be partially severed.”

The pilot had said something about the cyclic losing power, hadn’t he? Apparently Jeremy knew about helicopters, and he had a contact with the FAA. Two things she didn’t have. Yes, he could definitely be useful.

But how to get him to share his information? The sheriff’s office probably wouldn’t like an FBI agent poking around in the case…especially since she didn’t actually have authorization from the FBI to investigate.

She choked on an unexpected breath, at the memory of Nate’s last words to her. She was supposed to let Deputy Latham and the FAA do the investigating on this case.

Not likely.

That was her sister who had been buried. And she wasn’t going to back away quietly. No matter what Nate said.

He just didn’t need to know. Which meant he didn’t need to know about the attack by the homeless man either. He’d go into overprotective mode and insist on having her guarded around the clock. She’d never get any investigating done that way.

“What are you thinking about the crash? Do you think those wires were cut on purpose? Was the chopper sabotaged?” she finally asked.

As though she hadn’t asked the last questions, he said, “I’m wondering why that homeless man was in here. Targeting you.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“Did he say anything?”

Heather dove into the foggy recesses of her mind until she could see and almost smell the man next to her bed. His lips moved, but what had he said? “Put the tube in the line. Get the fix.”

“Put the tube in the line? Get the fix? As in put the tube of drugs in your IV line and he’d get a fix?”

“His hands were shaking really badly. He had to have been in withdrawal. Someone must have told him that if he gave me the overdose, they would get him more drugs.”

Jeremy nodded in agreement. “That sounds about right.”

A coughing fit caught her off guard, and she wrapped her arms around her middle. The searing pain in her shoulder as she tried to reach for the water cup on her bedside table made her groan, and Jeremy jumped to help her.

“Here. Drink this.” He pressed the straw to her lips, and she gulped greedily. His hands belonged to someone who worked hard, and she studied his knuckles, worn and weathered. “Better?” he asked, pulling the straw away, but keeping it at the ready in case she needed another swallow.

“I think so.” She only managed a mumble, angry with her inability to care for herself. Her knee throbbed, and suddenly she ached all over. Bruises that she’d successfully ignored until now screamed at her. And her brain nearly mutinied under the pressure that was growing beneath her temples.

What if she couldn’t do it? What if she couldn’t figure out what had happened? What if she physically could not bring the person responsible for Kit’s death to justice?

If she couldn’t solve the case, she didn’t deserve to be an FBI agent. And she certainly didn’t deserve to be part of her family. A family still in mourning.

Until she brought justice to Kit’s killer, she didn’t deserve to grieve. And if she never grieved, her heart might never heal.

Latham had leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful, arms folded across his chest. His eyes seemed to look right through her, focused on an unseen target. Heather recognized the look on his face. She’d seen it from Nate and Myles, another FBI coworker. She’d probably even made it herself a few times. He was solving a case deep in his mind.

And if she didn’t join him, she’d fall too far behind to ever take the lead.

With a bum leg and strict orders to steer clear of the investigation, cutting herself off from most of her resources, she’d never crack the case on her own. At least with him, she’d have access to all of his connections, research and mobility.

And he needed her. Needed her insight into Kit, and what she said after the helicopter went down. They could help each other.

Suddenly she wanted to tell Latham everything she knew. Tell him about the crash and Kit’s worries. Tell him that she knew the helicopter going down wasn’t an accident. But what if he wasn’t willing to help her? What if he didn’t want an injured agent trailing after him for weeks or maybe months? She had to get his word, had to get him to agree.

Swallowing thickly, she closed her eyes for a moment. “There’s more,” she said.

“What is it?” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, an eager light filling his eyes.

“First I have to get your word that you’ll help me.”

His eyebrows clenched together, and he sat back into his chair. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not the way that you mean. My sister died in that crash.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

Heather swallowed again, the sound seeming to fill the whole room. “I owe it to her to see this investigation through. I need to know what happened, I need to know who’s responsible.”

His face relaxed. “Sure. I’ll keep you in the loop every step.”

“That’s not enough. I want to be at the front of the investigation.”

He glanced at the enormous brace covering her leg, and when his gaze lifted, his eyes filled with bewilderment as he let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding, right? How could you possibly be on the ground investigating? You’re not exactly mobile.”

“I know,” she conceded. “That’s why I’ll need your help. You could help me get around, take me whenever you’re going to be looking into anything related to the crash. In exchange, I’ll give you all the details from the crash, and tell you anything you want to know about my sister.”

“So you think the crash had something to do with your sister?”

“I’m sure of it.” She reached out to touch him, ignoring the sting in her shoulder. His forearm jumped when her fingers brushed the dark hairs growing there. “I can help you. I need to help you.”

He scrubbed open palms over his face, eyes still squinting. “No. You need to be at home recovering. You’ve been through a traumatic experience. I get that.”

“No, you don’t! What would you do if it was your sister?” Desperation made her voice jump half an octave, and she took a calming breath.

His nose wrinkled as he took a deep breath as well. Something like regret flickered across his face and disappeared in an instant. “I understand. Please trust me. I do. But this isn’t healthy for you, physically or emotionally. You need to recuperate. Do something to keep your mind off your sister.”

“Like helping you with the investigation.”

His shoulders rose and fell, but the sigh was silent. “Like reading a book.”

“Please. I can help you. I have information that might be helpful.”

Frown lines crinkled around his eyes. “You know I could arrest you for hindering an ongoing investigation if you don’t tell me what you know, if you don’t share with me whatever it is that makes you so sure this crash was about your sister.”

“I know. But I also know that you need me. And I need you.”

He stood, pacing the small room with purposeful strides. “I just don’t know.” He sighed, running long fingers through his hair. Head bowed, he turned slightly to look at her.

“I know what I’m asking. I know it won’t be easy. For either of us. But I have to do this for my sister. And you need the information that I have. Besides, when I tell you what I know, I think you’re going to have a bigger case than you realize.”

“But you’ve just been through major surgery.”

“I’m also a special agent with the FBI. I can handle this. I won’t slow you down. Much.”

“Why don’t you just ask your friends in the Bureau to get involved?” he asked. “I bet they’d work with you. Give you the information you want. Help you launch your own investigation.”

“I can’t.” She couldn’t hold his gaze when she continued. “My Special Agent in Charge told me to rest. He ordered me to stay out of it.”

Latham’s face turned smug. “Smart guy. Listen to him.”

She squinted at him, praying that he would understand her heart in just that moment. She’d been broken. This was her only hope at healing. “You know I can’t. Let me help you. We’ll solve this case together.”

He remained silent for several moments, running his palms over his cheeks and stretching his facial skin. Finally he nodded. “All right. Tell me what you know.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat and pushing the pain in her heart to the side, Heather said, “Kit was a Deputy D.A. here in Portland. She handled some pretty major cases.”

“I know.”

“After the chopper crashed, Kit was still conscious.” Jeremy suddenly looked very interested. Sliding back into the plastic chair, he leaned closer. “She told me—” Heather swallowed thickly again, blinking away the moisture threatening to pool in the corners of her eyes. “Just before she died, she told me…to follow the drugs.”

“What drugs?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe she was getting ready to prosecute a case involving drugs. But whatever drugs she was talking about, she believed they had something to do with the crash. She was convinced of it or she wouldn’t have said anything. I’m sure of it.”

“So you think the chopper was tampered with to cause a crash to kill your sister so she couldn’t prosecute this case?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, but his face remained unreadable. “What about you? Do you think that poisoning attack with the IV was connected to Kit’s case?”

“Well, it could be a coincidence that a guy stumbled into my hospital room and tried to kill me with a mess of street drugs while talking about getting his own fix just five days after I almost died in a crash—a crash that killed my sister, who believed the reason behind the crash was illegal drugs.”

“But…”

“But I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Me, neither.” His eyes turned a softer shade of brown, and he squeezed her hand. “You’re in some serious trouble.”