Читать книгу In The Enemy's Arms - Pamela Toth - Страница 10

“Collins! Phone call on line two,” shouted the uniformed deputy filling in for Christine while she took a break.

Bryce was sitting at his desk with his notes about the Orcadol case spread out before him, but he couldn’t concentrate. An hour had passed since Mari stomped out of the office. He might as well leave, too, for all the work he was getting done.

Disgusted with himself for letting her walk away, he picked up the receiver and punched the button that was lit up.

“Detective Collins.”

“Hey, bro! How ya doin’?”

His mood dropped another notch. From the giggle that followed Joey’s question, Bryce figured that his younger brother was either high or drunk. Unfortunately, Joey had never met an addictive substance he didn’t like.

“Hi, Joey. What’s new?”

“Oh, not much. Just figured I’d check in with my law-abiding big brother.”

Bryce could hear laughter and rap music in the background. Joey seemed to collect no-good bums and losers. No matter how many times Bryce told himself that he wasn’t responsible for his brother’s behavior, it didn’t wash.

“You okay?” he asked reluctantly.

In his opinion, Joey was never okay. The coal mine accident that left their father paralyzed when they were kids had somehow crippled Joey, as well. He had been in and out of juvy for small stuff. Between losing or quitting every job Bryce got him, he’d been arrested for a DUI, shoplifting and possession.

“Right as rain.” He giggled again.

“I’m at work, Joey. You must know that, because you called me on the department number. Why didn’t you ring my cell phone like I’ve asked?”

As soon as the words were out, Bryce winced. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. It wasn’t Joey’s fault that his own day had gone so badly.

“Sorry, bro. I, uh, I lost your cell number.”

“No problem,” Bryce replied, struggling for patience. “Let me give it to you again.”

He rattled it off and then he made Joey repeat it back. Maybe he’d keep it this time. The way he was headed, he’d probably need Bryce’s help.

“I’m about done here,” Bryce said. “You want to get a bite? We could go to Melinda’s. I’ll buy you a steak.”

Joey was as gaunt as a greyhound and usually in need of a haircut, but Bryce didn’t care how his brother looked. Perhaps he could talk some sense into him.

Melinda’s was Binghamton’s version of fancy. The decor was a little dramatic, but the food was reliable. On weekends, the live music alternated between country bands and classic rock, but it would be quiet tonight and they could talk.

“Nice of you to ask, bro, but I’ve kind of got something going here already. Rain check?”

Bryce felt a mix of disappointment and relief that added to his guilt. Where had he failed his only sibling?

“Sure thing. I’ll catch you next time.”

“One of these days real soon, I’ll be the one picking up the check.” Joey’s voice was hyped. “You wait. Maybe I’ll buy you a car, some fancy wheels to replace that piece of crap you drive now.”

Joey’s bragging barely registered. He always had some deal going, some shortcut to wealth that never amounted to a hill of black-eyed peas.

Once again a corrosive mix of guilt, regret and resentment sloshed around in Bryce’s gut like cheap whiskey. “That would be great. Make it red, with a good stereo, okay?”

“You never listen!” Joey’s mood flipped abruptly, as it often did. “Don’t you p-p-patronize me! I’m gonna show you! I’ll show everyone!”

Before Bryce could say anything more, the phone slammed down in his ear. Damn, he thought as tension zinged his brain. Another warm and fuzzy Collins family moment.

He slid open the drawer of his desk, found the battered aspirin bottle clear in the back and shook out two pills. He swallowed them with the rest of his cold coffee. As he shuffled the reports on the Orcadol investigation back into the folder, Hank sidled up to his desk like an overweight crab.

“When you gonna crack the Orchid case?” he asked loudly, jingling the coins in the pocket of his pants. His free hand rested on his gut as if to hold it up. “Got any leads yet?”

Hank’s interest was puzzling until Bryce saw that Sheriff Remington’s office door sat open.

“Save it, Butler,” Bryce replied with a jerk of his thumb. “He’s not paying attention.”

Hank flushed an unhealthy shade of red.

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” he blustered. “I’m just trying to help out.”

A rookie might have been taken in by Hank’s innocent expression and his helpful tone, but Bryce had been around long enough to know better. The other detective had a reputation for easing into a case after the legwork had already been done so he could hog part of the credit.

Bryce had already been pointedly rude to Hank today and the other detective still had juice with a couple of old-timers in county government. Hank’s other connections were mostly petty criminals and snitches, but antagonizing a fellow cop was never smart. You never knew when you might have to count on him to watch your back.

“I appreciate the offer.” Bryce kept his expression bland. “Let me get back to you.”

They exchanged phony smiles before Hank lumbered out to the vending machine in the lobby. Just watching him was enough to sink Bryce’s mood even further.

Was he seeing a glimpse of his own future? Hank’s wife had divorced him years ago and moved away with their daughter. Now he lived alone in a beat-up rental, waiting either for his pension to kick in or a heart attack to drop him—whichever came first. In the meantime, Hank closed enough routine cases to avoid becoming a blip on the sheriff’s radar.

“Detective Collins?” As if he had read Bryce’s mind, Sheriff Remington stood in the doorway of his office. “Got a minute?”

Bryce blinked and refocused. “Sure thing, Sheriff.” He got to his feet and dragged up another smile, one he hoped was convincing. “What can I do for you?”

“Bring the Orcadol file.” He went back inside.

Folder in hand, Bryce felt like a kid who’d been summoned to the principal’s office. He took the plain wood chair facing the sheriff’s desk. Among themselves, the deputies called it The Hot Seat.

“Have you got anything new to tell me?” Remington sat back, his hands steepled and his fingertips grazing his mustache. He gave Bryce his full attention.

“No, sir.” Bryce knew from painful experience how pointless it was to jerk his boss around. “I wasn’t able to interview Dr. Bingham today like I planned, but I will.”

The sheriff’s gaze narrowed, but he didn’t ask any more questions. Instead he removed a folder from a drawer and slid it across his desk. “This came in a little while ago. It’s the analysis on the handwriting recovered from the drug raid.”

Bryce itched to open the folder and read the contents. When they’d paid the dealer a surprise visit, they’d confiscated a variety of illegal substances, as well as what looked like torn prescriptions with Mari’s name. The signatures were illegible, but the department had ordered a comparison with a sample of her handwriting obtained by its office.

“The handwriting isn’t Dr. Bingham’s,” Remington said. “It wasn’t even a good forgery.”

Bryce was surprised by the relief that flowed through him. What he should be experiencing was disappointment, since the findings of the report made his case a whole lot tougher.

“I see,” he said stupidly.

Remington narrowed his piercing blue eyes. “I’ve been taking a lot of heat from the mayor’s office on this, and I’m damned tired of seeing my name in the Mage.”

He was referring to the town newspaper, which had run several editorials questioning the sheriff’s priorities. His re-election campaign had included a promise to clean up the county and get illegal drugs off the street, but the arrests they’d made so far hadn’t yielded much in the way of either drugs or useful information.

He ran a hand through his white hair. “Last week a reporter from a TV station in Lexington called. She was looking for an interview.” Clearly the request hadn’t made him happy. “I’m starting to feel like a duck in a shooting gallery, Detective. What’s your next move?”

Bryce tapped his finger on the report. “Whoever is responsible for switching Orcadol at the clinic with a different painkiller has got to work there. I’ll need access to their personnel records.”

The sheriff frowned thoughtfully. “Do you have a plan?”

“I’ve got an idea that I’m pursuing,” he replied, hoping the sheriff didn’t ask for details.

The sheriff tapped his fingers on his desktop. “Let’s not rule out the doctor yet as a person of interest. She may be connected somehow, since I doubt this is a solo operation. If you lean on her, she may crack.”

“Yes, sir.” Bryce picked up the folder. The idea that Mari might have sold or given out illegal prescriptions for Orcadol had never made much sense to him, despite how much his bitter, angry side wanted to believe it. Illegal drug trafficking was a damned risky way to get the money for her research center. Now he was back to square two, looking for the link to the Foster Clinic.

The sheriff reached for his phone. “Keep me informed.”

“How are you feeling?” Mari asked Milla as they left the clinic for the day and walked toward the employee parking lot. “Nausea all gone?”

Milla blushed prettily as she glanced up at the man beside her. Mari was sure Milla’s high color wasn’t just because of the temperature, even though the day was especially warm.

There wasn’t a breath of air to stir the tree branches overhead. Even the last of the summer flowers bordering the sidewalk appeared wilted.

“My ankles are a little swollen,” Milla confessed. “Other than that, I’m fine.”

Milla’s fiancé and the father of the baby she was carrying, Kyle Bingham, took her hand in his as he made a point to peer down at her legs in loose-fitting uniform pants and thick-soled white shoes.

“You have the ankles of a gazelle,” he told her with a straight face.

Kyle was a resident at the hospital, as well as Mari’s cousin. Although Uncle Billy had never gotten around to marrying any of his numerous lady friends, he’d managed to father several children, including Kyle, before perishing in the crash of his plane. Each of Billy’s descendants had a different mother. Adding to the confusion, the boy who Kyle was helping Milla raise, named Dylan, was another of Uncle Billy’s progeny. Young Dylan was Kyle’s half brother.

Despite the dinner that Mari had recently hosted to introduce Kyle into the Bingham family, she hadn’t known him well until he’d met Milla. He had done the right thing when Milla got pregnant, but he’d also rescued both her and the clinic in another way.

During a recent home visit, Milla had discovered a new mother dead of a drug overdose and her baby girl in critical condition from ingesting contaminated breast milk. Milla called Kyle and together they managed to save the baby’s life.

As fate would have it, the baby’s aunt and uncle were the same couple who had filed a malpractice suit against Milla and the clinic for sending their own newborn to intensive care some months ago. When they saw Milla treating their niece, they confronted her.

Kyle overheard the loud exchange and leaped to Milla’s defense. He explained to the Canfields that without her quick thinking, the tot wouldn’t have survived. He didn’t mention his role in the rescue, instead giving Milla full credit. By the time he was through talking, he’d convinced the Canfields that no midwife as caring as Milla deserved to have her career damaged by a lawsuit.

Now she radiated with happiness, despite her swollen ankles and the fact that the day had been a hectic one. Love, Mari thought with a little curl of envy, must do that for some people.

Milla must have read something in Mari’s expression, because her smile faded. “This is all so unfair,” she exclaimed. “I wish there was something I could do to help the police find out who’s really been stealing Orcadol, so they’d leave you alone.”

Patting her shoulder, Mari felt the sudden tension. Milla didn’t need this kind of stress, not in her condition.

“You’ve both been wonderful,” Mari said. “Milla, I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate everything you did yesterday.”

Milla had quietly dealt with Mari’s patients after Bryce hauled Mari to the sheriff’s office. She had made excuses, rescheduled appointments and fielded questions from other staff members.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” Milla said, clearly embarrassed. “I was honored to help. I could never repay you for all your support.”

“I think we’re more than even.” Mari smiled at Kyle. “Do you realize how lucky you are, cousin?”

With a wide grin of his own, he leaned over to kiss Milla’s cheek.

“Absolutely. Having Milla, Dylan and a baby on the way has made me happier than winning the megastate lottery,” he replied.

To keep her thoughts from sliding back to her own problems, Mari tried hard to focus on the other couple’s obvious joy. Surely someday she, too, would find a man to care about, one who would support her career and help her to finally forget about her first painful love.

Milla’s happy smile faded again as she glanced past Mari. “On, no,” Milla groaned. “What can he possibly want this time?”

Mari glanced around to see who Milla was talking about. Her entire system jolted when she spotted Bryce leaning against his car, arms folded as he watched them. Despite the muggy heat, he was still wearing a lightweight jacket with his tan slacks, but his folded-up tie was sticking out of his pocket and his shirt was open at the neck. His hair was damp and slightly disheveled, as though he had been raking his fingers through it in the same way he used to do when they studied together. It gave him a youthful air she hadn’t seen in a long time, but the gravity of his expression spoiled the effect.

“Would you like me to run him off?” Kyle offered as Bryce approached them.

Mari took a deep breath. How could she find him attractive after everything that had happened between them? She must not have any better sense than a teenage girl with a crush on the boy she knew to be bad news.

Holding tight to her resolve, Mari patted Kyle’s arm. “I’ll be fine.”

She was fed up with Bryce’s constant harassment. Yesterday she had been too upset to offer much resistance when he’d hauled her into his arms, but today she was more than ready to vent her frustration.

“You two go on ahead,” she told Kyle. “I know you’re planning to take Dylan out to dinner. I’ve got a class tonight, so I’ll deal with this little annoyance myself.”

“Are you sure?” Milla asked. “You don’t have to talk to him. Maybe we should call Lily or an attorney.”

Mari shook her head. “I don’t need help standing up to a bully.” She pitched her voice loud enough for Bryce to hear, but he didn’t flinch. Either he’d grown immune to insults or her opinion didn’t concern him.

Probably the latter, since he believed her to be a criminal. He had stopped caring about her a long time ago, when she thought they were madly in love and planning a future together. Not only had he spoiled everything by refusing to go with her when she left for college, but he had expected her to give up her dream of attending medical school, so they could both find dead-end jobs here in Binghamton.

“Doctor. Miss Johnson.” With a nod, Bryce stepped off the sidewalk so they could walk by him. Milla returned his greeting softly with her gaze on the ground, but Kyle gave him a level stare.

“Call security if you need any help,” Kyle suggested to Mari as Milla tugged on his hand to hurry him along.