Читать книгу Secret Alibi - Lori L. Harris - Страница 9

10:30 p.m. Deep Water, Florida

What had happened to him?

Unable to move, unable even to lift his head off the desk blotter, Dan Dawson attempted to focus on his surroundings, but couldn’t. The room—his home office—seemed to be a mishmash of colors, one bleeding into another.

The objects closest to him were clearer—the paper clip and the gold pen appeared almost jewel-like as they floated against a bloodred background. Those a few inches beyond were blurred and indistinct.

As he was staring at the paper clip, his eyelids slammed shut, cutting off the one sense that seemed to be working, the one thing that kept him feeling connected to his surroundings. Even as the panic ripped through him, he tried to fight it. But it was as if he’d been closed into a box—a coffin.

His eyelids suddenly sprang open, the sharp reentry of light painful but not unbearable.

Don’t panic. Panic was…was counterproductive.

Stay calm. Approach it as if it was one of his patients who was in trouble. He needed to…he needed to do… What? He tried to focus, but it was as if his brain had locked him out.

Vitals. Like a life ring, the word suddenly floated past in the black sea of nothingness, and he grabbed on tight. If he really concentrated, he realized he could feel the air moving in and out of his chest. Respiration slow and shallow, but steady.

A sudden explosion of pain struck at the base of his skull, then ravaged downward through him, sucking the air from his lungs. His throat muscles contracted hard, and he felt his body gasp for oxygen.

What the hell was wrong with him?

His sluggish mind grappled with and discarded possible diagnoses. Stroke? Too young. Cardiomyopathy? Overdose? He hadn’t taken any drugs in months…or had he? Had he taken something tonight?

Sweat slid slowly down his back, morphing into a living thing, a parasite that devoured his life force before escaping through his pores and oozing downward toward the floor, toward escape. Like rats from a burning building.

A distorted sound shattered the silence. Not in the room with him, but in the foyer or the kitchen. He felt a warm rush of relief. Rescue. He would be rescued.

Dan again tried to raise his head, but it was like trying to lift a watermelon that dangled from the end of a swizzle stick.

When he attempted to speak, the muscles of his throat refused to cooperate, the sound coming out more a cough than a plea.

More noise drifted from beyond the room. Drawers opening. Closing. Not in a hurry, but slowly, as if someone wanted to go unheard.

A shapeless shadow entered the room. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined the movement, but then, as the form passed in front of the flickering light from the fireplace, he realized he hadn’t.

Dan again tried to speak, but the pitifully weak sound that came from his lips was barely audible. “Help…”

The shadow made no attempt to render aid. Dan’s vision partially cleared, and he made out a hand encased in latex. The disembodied hand hovered ghostlike, and then slowly slid open the top right drawer of the desk.

With sudden lucidity, Dan knew what had left him paralyzed. Worse, he knew what was about to happen.

And this time, there was no controlling the panic.

LEXIE DAWSON GLANCED longingly at the exit of Baldacci’s.

Even before she had arrived for this business dinner, it had been a long day for her, and the conversation among the three surgeons at the table had drifted into more technical realms. As a pharmaceutical rep of a large drug company, she was well versed in her product, but not this stuff.

Fortunately, none of the three seemed to notice that her attention had shifted.

Dr. Dennis Rafferty, the oldest and least forward-thinking of her three guests, had chosen the upscale, overpriced restaurant, which was located in what eighty years ago had been Deep Water’s theater house. Back then, the interior would have been quite ornate, but now, all that remained of the once-gracious building were exposed brick walls and large, unadorned windows, giving it the warmth of an empty operating room.

Small wonder that Rafferty had chosen the place. She didn’t even want to think about what this one night was going to do to next month’s expense report. But if it paid off, if she sold another doctor on using Talzepam, the meal would be well worth it.

“What’s your opinion, Lexie?”

Lexie refocused her attention on the man directly across from her. Ken Lattimer was a thirtysomething orthopedic surgeon with dark hair and liquid brown eyes. Good-looking by most standards, but not by hers. He was reputed to be the Southeast’s best hand and wrist surgeon. But his nickname around the hospital—Dr. Hands—had nothing to do with surgical talent.

The third man at the table was Joe Lemon, a slightly over-weight, fortysomething pulmonary specialist with a wife, two kids and a booming practice.

Straightening in her seat, she hoped to buy some time by reaching for the glass of water. With any luck, someone would unknowingly clue her in on the direction of the conversation. When she lifted her gaze above the glass rim, though, she realized all three doctors were waiting for her to respond.

It was Ken who rescued her. “I was telling Joe and Rafferty that I’ve been using Talzepam for about two months now. Or has it been three?”

“Three.” Lexie had started repping the drug about six months ago and had found it a difficult sell. Most anesthesiologists and surgeons were slow to make changes. In fact, Ken was one of the few doctors at Cougar County Regional Hospital who embraced Talzepam.

She understood the reluctance the others had. Talzepam’s competitors, Valium and flurazepam, had been used in the operating room with good success for years. Why take a chance on a new drug—even if it offered some advantages to the patient?

“Like Ken, most surgeons who have tried Talzepam have found it to be fast-acting and dependable,” Lexie continued.

Ken agreed. “And so far I’ve seen very few post-op side effects. At least with my patients.”

She scanned the faces of the other two men—the unconverted—then swung her gaze back to Ken. “Not just your patients. I’ve been hearing the same from all my accounts. In every trial, Talzepam outperformed its counterparts. There were fewer reports of vision changes post-op, as well as problems with breathing or a slow heartbeat.”

Rafferty leaned forward. “Perhaps fewer incidences of respiratory problems, but those that did occur were more severe.”

Lexie maintained her relaxed posture. “You’re right. Several early studies did suggest that when breathing problems occurred with Talzepam, there was greater difficulty stabilizing the patient’s respiration—especially during long procedures. But it was found that, in all but one case, the anesthetist had overcompensated for the patient’s body weight. Talzepam is a powerful drug and dosing guidelines have to be strictly adhered to.”

His expression thoughtful, Ken nodded. “I’ve been following Talzepam since the trial stages. I think it has something to offer both the medical community and the patient.”

“In what ways?” Joe Lemon asked, and in the next instant, Ken was off and running, discussing his experiences with the drug.

Lexie knew that doctors tended to listen to other doctors more than sales representatives. Which made sense, really. The key was to pick the right doctor—usually the young ones were more open to new drugs. And if you could nab one who was both well-liked and respected by his peers, as Ken Lattimer was, the selling became that much easier.

She still was puzzled, though, by Ken’s phone call this morning. He’d asked her if it would be possible for him to join the group. That had never happened to her before, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was in it for him. It could hardly be the free meal. Or that he was without other social options for the evening. Reaching for the nearly full glass of red wine, she realized what she was most afraid of was that his interest was not in Talzepam, but her.

The cell phone tucked discreetly beneath her black tweed jacket vibrated. Pretending to smooth the napkin in her lap, she glanced down. Her ex-husband’s home phone number appeared on the backlit screen.

Great. She’d been expecting some form of communication from Dan all day. Dreading it, actually.

Lexie straightened her jacket, concealing the phone once more. Even if it had been someone she was interested in talking to, she would have ignored it. She’d already been caught once being less than attentive; she wasn’t about to look unprofessional a second time in one evening.

The discussion at the table again drifted away from her product, briefly touching on hospital politics and the current shortage of nurses. When the conversation veered to Tampa Bay’s chances in the playoffs, she excused herself from the table and headed for the ladies’ room. She’d nearly made it there when her phone began to vibrate again.

Flipping it open, she scanned the text message: have anniversary surprise stop by drink.

What in the hell was wrong with her ex-husband? Didn’t he understand that as far as she was concerned the only anniversary worth celebrating was March 15, the day she’d been awarded a divorce from him?

Fed up, she stopped just inside the short hallway where the restrooms were located and quickly manipulated the phone pad keys.

Don’t drink with murderers. Cruel words, but Dan would know exactly what she meant.

Only after hitting Send did she notice her hands were trembling. Calm down, she reminded herself. He’s just doing this to get a rise out of you. Or because he was drunk…. It didn’t really matter why he was doing it, though. She was pissed.

She clipped the phone to her waistband again. Right now, she needed to forget about Dan and keep her mind on business.

When she returned to the table a few minutes later, something in her face must have given her away, because Rafferty leaned toward her. “Everything okay?”

She glanced at him. He’d always seemed like such a cold fish, so she was surprised when he picked up on her emotional state. “Everything is fine.” She offered a tight smile. “Can I interest anyone in some coffee and dessert?”

Rafferty shook his head. “I have an eight o’clock surgery scheduled.” He placed his napkin on the table. “Time to call it a night, gentlemen.”

“I’ll drop by with samples of Talzepam in the morning,” Lexie said as she, too, stood.

“Sounds good. Wait up, Dennis.” Joe Lemon shook her hand, then hurried after Dr. Rafferty. Lexie caught the words prolapsed and ICU, and knew the two men were discussing a mutual patient.

Ken was the last to get to his feet, and he made no move to follow the other two men.

Here it comes, she thought. He’s going to suggest a nightcap or something. How was she going to turn him down without damaging the professional relationship?

She bent to retrieve her briefcase. By the time she straightened, Ken had walked around the table.

“Care to come by my place for that dessert?”

He didn’t look quite as confident as he usually did. Which surprised her. She tried to formulate some type of reply in her head, but after several seconds realized that the longer she waited to say something, the more awkward it was going to be for both of them. She settled for simple and direct. “No, thanks.”

He nodded, his mouth tightening ever so slightly. “I didn’t think so, but figured it was worth asking.”

He offered his hand, and she took it without hesitation. “Thanks, Ken, for helping tonight.”

Again, his mouth tightened briefly. “It’s a good product, Lexie. In time, it will outsell its competitors. Can I see you to your car?”

She had barely declined his offer when he tossed his jacket over his shoulder and, with one hand tucked into a pants pocket, strolled toward the front door. Several women a few tables over watched with interest. For a moment, Lexie envied them.

What did they see that she didn’t? She was twenty-seven, not ninety-seven. Sex was a healthy part of being an adult—one of the few perks, when you came right down to it. But in the eleven months since she and Dan had gone their separate ways, she’d had sex only one time. With a stranger who hadn’t stayed a stranger. Her abdominal muscles tensed at the memory of all the things they’d done that night. But more than the mechanics of sex, she’d been able to do something she hadn’t done in months—she had cried. He’d held her while she sobbed, never asking why, seeming to understand that her pain couldn’t be mollified with words.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Lexie realized she had no idea how long the busboy had been standing there looking at her.

“Sorry,” she said, embarrassed. Ducking her head, she moved away from the table. She had to stop thinking about that night, glorifying it as something more than it had been. Pity sex. That’s all it could have been for him. What was more embarrassing and depressing than that? To know a man had taken you to bed because he felt sorry for you?

After leaving the restaurant, she dropped last month’s expense account report into the box in front of the post office, and then took Alligator Creek Road toward home.

Temperatures had taken a hard dive into the high thirties—uncommon for early December in central Florida. A misting rain forced her to turn on the windshield wipers. She was used to the fifteen-minute drive, having moved out to Riverhouse, her grandparents’ old weekend retreat on the river, when she and Dan had separated. She’d expected the move to be a temporary one, lasting only until Dan vacated the house in town.

The majority of the land out this way belonged to the state now, so she was unlikely to see another car at this time of night. The dense line of vegetation, mostly palmettos and scrub oaks, with a few slash pines mixed in, formed a wall on either side.

Usually the drive relaxed her, but not tonight. She couldn’t seem to quite let go of her irritation over Dan’s interruption, or her uncertainty over the dinner meeting’s success.

Her headlights skimmed across a small family of armadillos that had wandered out of the undergrowth toward the road. Braking, she hit the horn and watched them scatter back into the brush.

She had just stopped in front of the house when her cell phone went off again. She checked the message screen.

paprs signd last dink

“Do you really think I’m that stupid, Dan?”

That was a fatal drawback to text messaging—you couldn’t really tell with any certainty the condition of the person on the other end. But the dropped letters in his message suggested that Dan was at least on his way to being drunk.

She should never have answered the first text message, she realized. As soon as she had, she’d given him what he really wanted from her. Not to be ignored.

Which was exactly what she needed to do. She reached for her briefcase and then paused, staring down at the phone she still held in her left hand.

But what if he wasn’t screwing with her? What if this time was different? What if he had signed the amended property settlement? She’d heard talk about his seeing a woman. Maybe he had finally started to move on.

She glanced through the rain-pocked window toward the front door of Riverhouse, wanting a hot shower and a soft bed. Wanting to forget about her ex-husband and legal documents. She wanted the mindless oblivion of sleep.

Lexie rubbed her forehead. No. As much as she would like to believe this time might be different, it would be like all the others. She’d lost count of the times he’d agreed to sign the papers, only to refuse when they were face-to-face.

She flipped the phone back open and, after briefly debating what her response should be, settled for being brutally frank. F off

She’d wanted to say that for months now, but hadn’t. Partially because she wanted to keep things as civilized as possible between them, figuring as long as she played nice, Dan would also. Boy had she been wrong.

She was reaching for her briefcase again when the phone vibrated in her hand. Startled, she dropped it on the floorboard. As she picked it up and straightened, she read the screen.

Pick up tnight Or brn them n house.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Lexie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Calm down. Just a head game. That’s all the threat was. He might burn the papers, but he wouldn’t burn the house. He wasn’t quite that crazy.

As she sat there in the dark, though, she realized that she was wrong. Drunk and mad, Dan might be capable of almost anything.

“Okay, Dan. We’ll play it your way one last time.”

She tossed the phone on the seat and turned the key in the ignition. If the papers weren’t signed, that was it. She’d kept her mouth shut for way too long. But no more.

Ten minutes later, Lexie paused at the end of the driveway leading down to the Victorian that she’d once shared with Dan. This house and Riverhouse had passed into her hands nearly four years ago with the death of her grandparents. Just the thought of losing it frightened her. As Dan had known it would.

Unlike most in the neighborhood, the large home with its deep, wraparound porch sat well off the boulevard. Several ancient live oaks blocked the view of the house from the road, their dark limbs so low-slung they appeared to rest on the lawn before rising skyward. As a child, she had spent summers crawling on those sturdy branches, climbing upward to where a thick bounty of leaves had made her invisible. At least once, when her mother had come to collect Lexie at summer’s end, she’d sought refuge there.

And there had been unpleasant consequences for that action.

Lexie took her foot off the brake and let the car creep down the brick drive. Some lessons stayed with you for a lifetime. Avoidance was an option, but it was rarely a solution.

The front light wasn’t on, and large, dense hedges blocked any light from neighboring homes, making the yard extremely dark. A lamp in the foyer and the one in Dan’s office were on, though.

With the rain having increased to a steady drum on the car roof, Lexie removed her coat before getting out. She held it over her head as she made a run for the door. Her eyes darted toward the wide set of stairs that climbed from the brick walkway to the porch, but just as quickly she looked away. She couldn’t go up them. She would never use those stairs again.

As she started for the back of the house, she saw movement, a shadow, just inside the front door. He must have seen her headlights. He’d know to meet her at the back door.

Lexie sprinted across the thick St. Augustine grass, now slick with rain, and ducked under the back porch covering. She shook the dampness off her jacket. Shoving her arms back into the sleeves, she peered through the glass, waiting for Dan to come into view.

They’d remodeled the kitchen two years ago, replacing the ceramic tile countertops of the 1920s with granite and the original cabinets with new ones that had been made to look old. The under-cabinet lighting they’d added gave the room a peaceful glow.

As she stood there, though, the knot in her stomach tightened. The last time he’d gotten her over here with a promise of signed papers, there had been candles, wine and a diamond bracelet waiting instead of the papers.

One look and she’d been out of there.

When she didn’t see Dan after half a minute, she knocked. Pulling her damp suit jacket closed, she crossed her arms to hold it that way. “Come on. It’s too damn cold for this.”

Several seconds later, when there was still no Dan, she tried the door and, finding it unlocked, debated going on in. Was that what he wanted? For her to come in? Was he waiting for her naked on the couch again?

She stood there weighing her options. She didn’t relish the idea of dealing with a drunk, naked man, but it wouldn’t be the first time. There was also the possibility that he had simply passed out. If he had, and if by some miracle the papers were signed, she could just grab them and leave. No confrontations.

Lexie pushed the door open. The first thing that struck her when she stepped inside was the silence.

Dan liked noise. He always had the television going, or left a CD on. He couldn’t handle being alone. It was the same reason he drank. The same reason he occasionally abused Valium.

“Dan?”

When he didn’t respond, the knot in her chest tightened. Something didn’t feel quite right….

“Dan? Where are you?”

As she crossed the kitchen, heading for the door leading into the dining room, she opened her jacket. The house was unusually warm, which wasn’t like him, either. He always kept the place cold enough for a polar bear.

She shoved open the swinging door. When she let it go, it closed behind her, the only light now coming from the lamp on the old English chest in the foyer.

“Dan?”

Her footsteps echoed on the oak flooring, and then were muffled by the foyer’s Persian carpet. A thin swath of light spilled out from where the door to his office stood ajar. She called out one last time when she was still several feet away.

Two scents registered simultaneously. Blood. Fresh blood. She remembered it from the few times she’d entered an operating room. And the underlying scent, the much more subtle one—cordite.

“No!” Her heart crashed inside her rib cage as her gut twisted in fear. Her palms slammed into the door, her forward momentum carrying her halfway across the room before the scene registered: Dan slumped at his desk, his head resting in a large pool of blood. Lexie kept going, something inside her refusing to believe—until she touched his hand.

Releasing cold fingers, she jerked backward, almost as if something had struck her a physical blow. Her hand came up to cover her mouth. Too late, she realized there was blood on it.

She stared at it, then at Dan. She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t. It was as if her brain, her body, had forgotten how, had been short-circuited by what was in front of her.

The first wave of nausea hit her, forcing her to stumble backward, toward the door. She clamped a hand over her mouth as if that could stop the vomit. She made it as far as the small bathroom beneath the stairs.

When the retching passed, she leaned against the sink, afraid her legs would give out. Dear God, this couldn’t be happening! Not to Dan. What would make him commit—?

When she lifted her gaze to the mirror, her thoughts suddenly derailed.

She hadn’t closed the door behind her. She was sure of it. But it was shut tight. And everything inside her told her there was someone on the other side.

Waiting for her.