Deathtrap (6 page)

“Doesn’t sound like a strong connection,” Joe said carefully.

Yet it was more than what Bing had before. “If I could figure out where this logo comes from, it might tell us something.”

“Could be a logo for an internal project at work.” Joe thought for a second. “I used to go out with a graphic designer. She made logos and headers for web pages put up for internal projects at a big corporation. A pharmaceutical company might have one for every drug they’re trying to bring to market. Or a big reorganization. Some internal employee recognition program, whatever. It might not ever be seen outside the company intranet.”

Bing nodded as he considered the possibility. Internal projects could run for months, if not years. They could be run by an interdepartmental task team. Maybe Stacy and Kristine had been on the same team, just not at the same time. Maybe so was the killer.

“Except nobody at the company recognized the damn logo when I showed it around after Stacy’s death.” He would show it around again. First thing Monday morning.

Joe opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Chase burst through the station’s front door, dragging a guy who was resisting like a champion fighter—the B&E suspect, presumably. He was six feet two at least and close to three hundred pounds, and hopped up on drugs, judging by the wild look in his eyes. He didn’t have a shirt on, and his pants were halfway to his knees.

Joe jumped to help as the idiot knocked Chase against the reception desk.

“Easy now, easy!” Bing yelled and ran to join the fray.

The day didn’t slow any from there: a battery case, another drunk and disorderly, a couple of migrant workers driving without a license, and a pretty nasty accident that happened just as Bing was about to leave. He stayed and helped with the processing, which took several hours. They had to be careful with every detail, since criminal charges would be filed in the case.

He ate cold pizza for dinner at the station, then used the gym for an hour or so. He tried to do that at least every other day. By the time he got home, it was time to go to sleep.

He didn’t dream of any of the craziness that’d happened during his day. He dreamed of Sophie Curtis. They were walking together, through an endless field of green, the stray Rottweiler leading the way.

The dog kept turning back and barking, as if trying to warn them of something. But no matter how hard Bing was trying, he couldn’t see the coming danger.

Chapter Four

Sophie sat on the examining table, her hands clenched in her lap. “What do you think about pets?” Not that she was seriously considering it. She’d given the dog a safe place to stay last night, but that was pretty much her limit.

She was mostly procrastinating telling the doctor about her fainting spells. If they meant something truly bad, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear that.

“A pet would be too risky at this stage.” Dr. Pratt, the top cardiac surgeon at the top hospital in Philadelphia, closed her file. “Have you been experiencing any chest pain?” He treated her with grandfatherly concern, all mildness and respectability, but Sophie knew for a fact that he had rows of tattoos running up his arm and sometimes he rode to the hospital on a Harley.

She kind of liked that about him. He’d had adventures. And she was going to have them. She smiled at him. “No chest pain.”

“Any fever since I last saw you?”

She shook her head.

“Weight gain over two pounds, for two days in a row, or a total of five pounds in a week?”

“It’s not polite to ask a lady her weight.” She tossed in her usual joke and sucked in her stomach. “No rapid weight gain.” No sense bringing up the slow, insidious thickening of her hips over the holidays.

“Okay, let me see that beauty mark of yours.”

She grimaced as she pulled aside the green hospital gown. She kept her eyes on the painting on the wall. “I look like Frankenstein’s bride.”

“You look alive,” he said with faint reproach before he smiled. “The raised edges smoothed out nicely. Color’s a lot better. I don’t even know what you’re talking about, young lady. You look perfect.”

“Looks like a cadaver that got sewn back up after autopsy. Poor little thing. I love her all the more,” Jeremy had told one of his friends on the phone shortly after her surgery, not realizing she could hear him.

After that, she’d made sure she kept at least a light T-shirt on, even when they were in bed together. She wasn’t sure if she would ever want to take her clothes off in an intimate situation. Not that it was an issue, since she didn’t exactly have men beating a path to her cottage.

“Nausea or vomiting or any flu-like symptoms?” Dr. Pratt went on with his checklist as she drew the gown closed.

“No.”

“Shortness of breath or feeling light-headed?”

Here we go. “Some.”

“Dare I hope it’s connected to your handsome young man and falling in love?” He kept the smile.

She shook her head, pushing Ethan Bing’s picture from her mind. Her spells had started long before she’d met him. And he’d been a one-time annoyance instead of a romantic interest, in any case. “They don’t last long. The world starts spinning, then things go back to normal in a few minutes.”

Dr. Pratt raised his gray eyebrows that could have used some trimming. “Since when?”

“Since I moved. Just a few months. I had a bad one last night. I blacked out for a minute.”

“You’re supposed to call.” The gentle chiding was said in a voice filled with warm care.

“I was coming in first thing this morning anyway. It wasn’t that bad.”

He watched her carefully. “We’ll know if it’s anything to worry about once the biopsy results are in. I’ll call as soon as we have them.”

The results should have been in already; she’d had that done first thing when she’d come in, but a server meltdown was holding up the lab.

“Thank you.” She folded her hands on her lap and drew a deep breath before changing the subject. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything on my petition?”

He shook his head. “Unsealing donor records is an involved process. They might still be trying to contact the family for permission. I don’t want you to be stressing over this. Stress is the worst thing you could do to your new heart. What do I always say?”

“Calm and serene.” She made a face, then hesitated before asking, “Do you believe in body memories? I have all this weird déjà vu. And I crave peanut butter. I never liked it before. What do you think that means?”

He steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “Anything is possible, but as far as my medical opinion goes…donor recipients inheriting the tastes and memories of the organ donor has never been confirmed in a large-scale study. There’s some anecdotal evidence, but I wouldn’t put too much stock by it. It’s more likely that you have an iron deficiency. Peanuts are rich in iron. The body craves what it needs. I’ll add a check for iron levels to your next batch of lab work.”

Okay, when he said it all reasonable like that, her worries seemed pretty silly. She didn’t like the idea of body memories. That some random stranger’s heart beat inside her chest was bad enough. If her thoughts and feelings were no longer her own either, then who was she?

The doctor shoved her file under his arm, ready to go. “You remember the organ rejection warning signs, right?”

She rattled them off. She also still had the card she’d been given after surgery at the hospital.

He nodded. “Eat healthy, exercise with moderation, keep away from germs and stress. The more sterile you keep your environment, the better your chances will be for avoiding an infection.”

“Cleaning is my new hobby. Call me Miss Scrubbit.” Not that she was complaining about the work. It was better than the alternative.

Dr. Pratt pulled a flyer from the plastic sleeve on the wall by the door—Post-Transplant Support Systems—and walked back to her. “These are new. Are you attending the support group at your local hospital?”

“Not much.” She hadn’t for a long time. She wanted a normal life. She’d spent way too much time in hospitals and on checkup visits. She didn’t need any more reminders that her new lease on life might be temporary, that her body might reject the heart at any time.

“It might help with the psychological issues.”

“I’m okay. Honestly.” She flashed her most self-confident, all-is-well-with-the-world smile. The support group freaked her out with their memorials for members who lost their fight, organ rejection horror stories, and all the nonsense about body memories.

She dressed and left, her heart thrilling when she ran into her friend Wendy in the hallway. They’d been neighbors back when Sophie had lived with Jeremy.

“There she is!” Wendy enveloped her in a big hug, a smile lighting up her face. “How did it go?”

“Good. I didn’t know you were coming.” But, God, it felt great.

“Had the date written on my calendar. Nobody should have to go to one of these things alone, right? I’m taking you to lunch.”

“Where’s Justin?”

“Day care. Tryout. Two hours. We’ll see how it works. I’m going to have to go back to work, if anyone still wants me.”

Wendy did modeling for some local agencies, nothing big, mostly department store weekly flyers.

“People who look like you are not allowed to feel insecure,” Sophie warned her as they started down the hallway.

“I’ve gained weight.” Wendy groaned. “Maybe we should catch up at the gym instead of over lunch.”

“How long have you known me? Do I do the gym?” Sophie raised an eyebrow. “And we’re so not going to talk about gaining weight.”

“Right. We’re going to celebrate your recovery.”

“And your getting picked for every photo shoot in the city.”

They went to Zerritos next to the hospital, not only because the place served healthy food but because they had the best coffee, hands down, in the entire city, in every flavor ever invented.

“Pictures?” Sophie asked as she tried to eat her honey-mustard chicken with restraint instead of gobbling down the entire plate within three seconds.

Wendy passed her phone across the table.

“Could he be any cuter?” Sophie scrolled through the baby pictures. “He should be in ads.”

“The talent agency offered to sign him last week.” Wendy gave a proud grin between two bites. “I’m just not sure if I should start him so early.”

What she didn’t say was that money was an issue. The baby’s father wasn’t in the picture, and her parents, living in Florida, couldn’t afford to help financially.

“Don’t look at me for advice on how to make a good decision.” Sophie filled her lungs and then told Wendy about the stray Rottweiler.

They were still hashing that out after lunch when they stopped at the pharmacy to fill Sophie’s prescriptions and pick up diapers for Justin. Sophie also picked up dog food and some dog toys, and a collar and leash too, so if the owner showed up it’d be easier to lead the dog away.

A colorful display of nail polish caught her eye as she passed by the cosmetics isle. She hadn’t worn much nail polish in the past. Her doctors liked to keep her nails uncovered, since a blue nail bed indicated cyanosis, low oxygen saturation in the blood. Also, during surgery, nail polish, especially red, messed with the older pulse oximeters.

Except there’d be no more surgeries, God willing.

“Go ahead,” Wendy said when she caught her looking. “You deserve it.”

She grinned and picked hot pink, spring green, and a wild orange. Then she picked lip glosses to match. Her sick days were behind her. From now on she was going to be a vivacious woman with unbridled enthusiasm, living a life of endless possibilities. The next endcap display held boxes of condoms as colorful as the nail-polish display.

Sophie passed by. “Not gonna need any of those.”

Wendy pulled her back. “What kind of negative thinking is that?” She grabbed the box and dropped it in the cart. “You prepare for the things that you want to happen in your life. You deserve a great guy.”

New heart. New house. New life.

“Fine. Have you seen Jeremy lately?” she asked as they went through the self-checkout.

Wendy worried her perfect bottom lip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to know.” She hesitated. “I think he has someone.”

“Good for him.” She meant that. They weren’t right for each other, but she wished the best for him.

“Honestly, I never understood what you saw in him. You deserve so much better.”

“He was my knight in shining armor at first, before he got all controlling.” She gave a small smile. “He stood up to my mother. She was a hundred percent against the surgery. He was the one who supported me through it. I don’t know if I’d be alive today without him.”

“And he’s handsome,” Wendy grudgingly admitted.

“Yes.” There was that. He didn’t have Bing’s rugged good looks, but the nurses used to swoon over him. “He was independent and helped me be independent. I thought moving out from my mother’s house meant independence.” She shook her head. “I’ve never been in love before. I was a silly young girl, just desperately wanting to be in love and feel all grown up. He gave me that feeling. At the beginning.”

“He needed you too, you know.”

“It was one of those codependent relationships.” Sophie could see in hindsight what she hadn’t been able to see back in the day.

“And that stopped working once you were no longer dependent on him.” Wendy’s fingers flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I have no right to analyze or judge or anything. And I’m not judging, I swear. Look at my messed-up life. The father of my baby is… The point is, I have the relationship skills of a gerbil. Justin Sr.—never mind. May a fiery meteor hit him, wherever he is,” she said with feeling.

Okay, so that had been a rocky relationship that involved drugs on his part, toward the end, a lot of verbal abuse, and probably some physical, Sophie suspected, although Wendy never talked about it. “Good riddance. You can get any man you want.”

They walked out of the store and stopped at Sophie’s car.

“That’s just it,” Wendy said. “I don’t want just any man. I have Justin now. I want a man who could love me for more than my job, someone who could be a father for Justin. That’s tricky.”