Читать книгу Code of Justice - Liz Johnson - Страница 11

“Mom, I’m fine. Really. You can take off. Nora is going to come by and check on me every day after work.”

“But what about during the day? What if you need something? Shouldn’t I stay a little longer?”

Heather looked into green eyes so much like Kit’s, and a pang of sadness shot through her stomach. She almost dropped the half smile she’d pasted on her face. Reaching for her mom’s hand, she squeezed it gently. “I’m okay. I have crutches to get around the apartment. A couple kids from the church youth group are going to pick up food and groceries for me. There’s really nothing else I need. I’m really glad that you came, but you have a life back in Sacramento.”

And I have a case to solve.

Her mom’s gray hair bobbed around her ears, as she gave her oldest daughter a solid once-over. “I wish your dad didn’t have to get back to the base to get his unit ready to deploy. He’d talk you into letting us stay.”

The corner of Heather’s mouth lifted slowly. “No he wouldn’t. He’d tell you that you raised a tough girl and that I’ll never get better if you coddle me.”

Her mom nodded and chuckled. “You’re probably right.”

Heather’s eyes locked with her mom’s, and she squeezed the older woman’s hand. “I love you. Both of you.”

“We love you, too, sweetie.” Her mom leaned down to kiss the top of Heather’s head, softly patting her hair. “If you need me, just call. I don’t mind coming back. Whatever you need.”

“Have a safe flight. Thanks!” Heather called from her seat on the couch, just before her mom disappeared behind the closed door. Her leg propped on the cushions beside her and head resting on the back of the sofa, she stared at the ceiling. She’d been home from the hospital just two days, but already the walls were beginning to close in.

She had to get out of the condo and start working on the case. Thinking about Kit’s killer walking around free was driving her crazy. The trouble was she hadn’t heard from Jeremy since he’d agreed to help her.

Apparently she was going to have to make the first move. Reaching for her phone, she nearly rolled off the couch when it rang at ear-piercing volume before she touched it. Apparently her mom thought her injury also made her deaf.

“Sloan.”

“Well, that’s some greeting,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Nate? What’s going on?”

Her supervisor’s tone was a little too light when he said, “Just calling to check on you. Nora said I have to make sure that you’re doing okay, especially since your mom left today.”

“She’s been gone literally five minutes. I’m fine.” She sounded grumpier than she meant to, but something told her he wasn’t just calling to check in. “Now spill it. Why’d you really call?”

In typical Nate fashion, he switched topics the moment the questions were directed at him. “I talked with personnel today. You’re going to have to be inactive with the Bureau for anywhere from six weeks to three months.”

“Three months! You’re kidding, right?” He was teasing. He had to be. There was no way she could spend three months on the couch. At least she’d have time to wrap up Kit’s case.

“Sorry, kid. It might only be a few weeks, but you’ll have to do a lot of physical therapy and then be cleared by the doctor to be reinstated.”

But what if the case wrapped up in just a few weeks? How would she fill her three months then? “Can’t I at least get behind a desk? I can still do paperwork. I have two fully—well, mostly—functioning arms. I can write reports. Do research. Man the phones. Whatever you need. I just can’t sit on a couch for that long.”

“I know this isn’t any fun. It’s not fun for me either. I’m going to have to put up with the coffee that Myles or James makes for who knows how long. That’s just rotten. I may even have to go out looking for a new barista agent for the office just to get some good joe.”

Heather knew her laugh was exactly what he wanted, but she couldn’t hold it back. “Or you could make your own coffee.”

“What’s the point of being the SAC if I have to make it myself?”

Just in case they were on the edge of getting too familiar, every so often, Nate would throw out a reminder that he was the Special Agent in Charge of the Portland office. “As always, excellent point, sir.”

“Nice try. No amount of brownnosing is going to get you behind a desk any sooner.” He paused, and she could almost see his face turning serious. “Just take care of yourself, okay? Lay low. Get some rest, and get healed. We need you back in the office. Functioning at a hundred percent.”

“Sure. Okay.” Or not so much.

“I’m serious, Sloan.” His tone took on a quality not unlike her mom’s angry voice.

“Yes, sir. I’ll keep my head down and I won’t take any unnecessary chances with my health.” And that’s the truth. Any risks I take to find Kit’s killer are entirely necessary.

“Good. Nora will be by tonight. She broke our date to make sure you’re okay. I hope you appreciate the pain that I’m going through so my fiancée can check up on you.”

She chuckled again before hanging up. She could feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at her. The drugs made her so groggy, but she couldn’t seem to sleep soundly. Maybe a nap would help.

Immediately her phone rang again, and she nearly chucked it across the room, which would have been torture to retrieve. Fumbling it between stiff fingers, she managed to flip it back open. “Yes?” she said, nearly out of breath.

“Heather?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Latham—sorry—Jeremy.”

“Do you have any news?”

He paused for a moment, and she thought she could hear a voice coming through the radio in his car. “I just got a call from my friend Tony with the Portland P.D. He thinks there may be a body in the morgue that’s of interest to us.”

“Really? How so?”

“I’m not sure. He just said there’s a guy there I should see. The last time I talked to Tony was right after you were poisoned in the hospital.”

“You think it’s connected?”

“It’s worth checking out. Where do you live? I’m coming to get you.”

“But I was just—” She stopped herself. She was the one who had asked him for help. Just because her eyelids drooped and her brain called for a rest, didn’t mean she had to give in to them. “I live off of Fifth.” She quickly gave him directions to her town house.

“I’m not far. I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

She looked down at her jeans, one leg split to the top of the gray brace, and faded blue T-shirt. She wasn’t sure she could muster the energy required to change clothes, so she looked around for a sweater or something to pull over the old shirt. Finally she grabbed her crutches from where they rested against the head of the couch. Pulling herself carefully to one foot, she moved slowly across the room to her bedroom. A black pullover sweater lay on the foot of the bed, and she leaned against the mattress to pull it on.

Just as she finished adjusting it, loud thuds landed on her front door.

“Coming.” Heather’s voice sounded on the other side of the door as Jeremy tapped his foot on the cement step. There were only a handful of steps, but he wondered how she had managed to make it up them. Moreover, how was she going to make it back down?

For about the hundredth time, he questioned his decision to bring her in on the investigation. Yes, he sympathized with her loss, with her sense of helpless-ness—sympathized more than she knew—but was she really up for this.

“You okay in there?” he asked.

“Yes,” she yelped, as she swung the door open. Her blue eyes eclipsed her pale face, and wild, yellow curls broke loose from her ponytail, framing her cheeks. Then she turned and looked at the kitchen counter on the other side of the living room. “I forgot my keys.” She made a move to go for them, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Let me.” He crossed the room, snatched the small key ring from the counter and handed them to her as he stepped back outside. “Ready?”

She followed him out the door, then turned to lock it. He watched as she took the first clattering step, analyzing her movements. Given the way her arms maneuvered the metal supports, he’d bet that normally she was pretty graceful, but the enormous brace and crutches made every motion awkward. It was entertaining to see her mulish determination to master the steps…but on the other hand, they were on a tight schedule.

Glancing down at his watch, he said, “The morgue closes in thirty minutes.”

“I’m hurrying.”

He chuckled to himself before jogging back up the steps, tucking his arm around her waist and swinging her crutches over his forearm. “Hang on,” he said, as he scooped her up. Her arm immediately wrapped around his neck, like she was trying to choke him. “Maybe not quite so tight.”

She blushed, moving her arm to his shoulder, as he maneuvered them back to the street and the cruiser parked at the curb.

“Be glad all you got was an arm around the neck.” Her tone was only half joking, and he took the hint. He wasn’t going to be able to push her around.

Her body stayed rigid until he set her gently on one foot as he opened the back door. “I think you’ll have to sit in the back. I doubt your leg will fit in the front seat.”

“You’re probably right.” She sighed, as he helped her scoot across the seat, keeping her injured leg elevated.

As he pulled out into traffic, he glanced in his rearview mirror. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine, I guess.” She slumped against the back of the seat with her shoulder, and her nose crinkled in distaste. “It smells bad back here.”

“Sorry about that. I guess I’ve had some unruly guys back there lately.”

“Is that what you normally do? Lock up the bad guys in the back of your car?”

He laughed loudly, resting one arm on the center console. “I am a sheriff’s deputy. It pretty much comes with the job.”

She seemed content to ignore his last comment and stared out the window as they moved from residential neighborhoods to a more commercial area. She crossed her arms over her chest, and he could almost see the barrier she pulled around herself. He knew that pose, that need to put up a shield so no one else could see the pain. He’d been there. Pulled his own shields so close he’d nearly cut everyone else out of his life.

He hadn’t lost his sister, but he knew what it was like to lose a loved one—a fiancée. Only in his case, it had been his own fault.

As he pulled past the police station and into the parking lot reserved for cops, he shot up a quick prayer for the woman in the backseat. Heavenly Father, would You please comfort Heather? I don’t know how much help I can be, but if there’s something I should say, give me the words.

He turned off the car and jumped out from behind the wheel. When he swung the back door open, he leaned one arm on the roof and ducked his head into the car. “You ready for this?”

She wiggled along the seat, always keeping her leg carefully protected. “Of course.”

She reached the edge of the seat before he remembered that he’d picked up a present for her. “I almost forgot! Sit tight.” He jogged to the trunk of the car and popped it open.

“What is it?” she called.

He put the wheels on the ground, closed the trunk and ran back to stand in front of her. “Your chariot, madam.” He offered an awful British accent and some silly hand flourishes to present the old wheelchair that he’d borrowed from the sheriff’s office.

He wasn’t sure if it was the chair or his strange behavior that made her smile, but he took an uncanny joy in watching her face change and her lips curve upward. Her eyes softened, and she held out one hand. He clasped her wrist and pulled her to her feet, helping her spin on one foot and settle into the creaking leather seat.

After propping her foot on the leg rest, he pushed her toward the small building next to the police department and held the door open for her as she rolled into the office. Flashing his badge at the man behind the front desk, he said, “Deputy Latham with the sheriff’s office. The medical examiner is expecting us.”

The bald man nodded toward a clipboard on the counter, waited until Jeremy signed it and turned back to his computer without a word.

Jeremy returned to Heather, pushing the wheelchair down a long hallway. They stopped at a large set of double silver doors, and Jeremy pushed one open, poking his head in.

“Rob?” He stepped farther into the bright room that broke every stereotype for a morgue. “You in here?”

“In the back. I’ll be right there.” The voice came from the other side of a mostly closed door, which probably led to a storage closet. Sure enough, just as he wheeled Heather through the door, Dr. Robertson walked into the room carrying several boxes. His white eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead when his eyes landed on Heather, but he didn’t say anything.

Jeremy offered quick introductions. “Heather this is Dr. Robertson, M. E.—Rob, this is FBI Special Agent Heather Sloan.”

Heather shot Jeremy an annoyed glance, but offered Rob a gentle smile as she held out her hand. “Rob Robertson?”

“Nope.” He offered a Cheshire cat grin as he tucked his thumbs beneath his ever-present suspenders.

“No one knows his first name,” Jeremy filled in at Heather’s wrinkled forehead and pursed lips.

“A man of mystery. I like it.” Then her smile dazzled, white teeth flashing in the bright lights. “So, Dr. Rob. Jeremy tells me that you have something that might be of interest.”

“Well, Special Agent Sloan—”

“Oh, no,” she cut him off. “There’s no need to be so formal. Call me Heather.”

Rob smiled like he’d never been in the presence of anyone so charming before, and Jeremy had to hand it to the woman. She had brought them right where she wanted to be without having to answer any questions about her leg or why the FBI might have an interest in the man on the slab.

“All right, Heather.” Rob cleared his throat and tipped his head toward a gurney behind him. “That guy was brought in four days ago. He was classified as a John Doe, and the city requires that I determine a probable cause of death for any unidentified bodies.

“I ran a tox screen and came up with a concoction of street drugs that I’ve never seen in almost twenty years with the city.”

Reminding them that he wasn’t invisible, Jeremy asked, “What made you tip us off?”

Rob did indeed look surprised when his gaze jumped back to Jeremy. “I ran the drug mix by the boys in the lab upstairs. They said your friend Tony Bianchi had dropped off an identical sample just the day before.”

Jeremy glanced at Heather out of the corner of his eye, instantly catching her sideways peek. She nodded at him, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. They didn’t even have to look under the sheet to identify the dead man.

“Where’d you get that sample you gave to Tony?” Rob asked.

Jeremy shrugged in response, but it was Heather who took control of the conversation again. “I think we should see if we recognize him.”

Rob immediately turned his attention to Heather, apparently forgetting the question that he’d just asked. “Are you sure? He’s been dead awhile, and he was on the street at least overnight.”

Holding out her hand to the doctor, she said, “I’m sure. Will you help me up?”

Jeremy flipped the brake on the old chair and offered her his arm as well. She placed her left hand on his forearm and held fast. When Rob pulled the sheet back to uncover the pale face and ragged features of an old man with long, matted silver hair, Heather’s grip intensified for a moment, but her face never flickered. She squeezed again, as if confirming that she knew this man.

The old man’s face wasn’t familiar to Jeremy, but that wasn’t surprising. He’d only seen the back of the homeless man’s head that day in the hospital.

“You know him?” Rob asked them both.

“I think so,” Heather responded. “When did he die?”

“It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, as he was in the elements for at least one night. But as close as I can tell, five days.”

“And where was he found?” Jeremy offered this question, hoping Rob would answer it even if it didn’t come from Heather, his new favorite person.

“About two blocks east of Immanuel Lutheran.”