Necessary Detour (28 page)

Nikki extended her arms to signal the press to keep their distance. “Looking for Goldy?” she asked and as she did so, something struck her chest like a rock hit her hard. She staggered back with the blow. The man directly in front of her looked terrified, and, glancing down, she saw a gun in his hand.

She touched her chest. With blood on her fingertips, her legs gave way and she sank to the sidewalk.

Hell! Pete hoped Nikki knew what she was doing by jumping out of the van. The press was already flocking to her before he’d even shut the door and thrown the coat in the back. He had to leave her. His priority was Cathy Vanelli.

“God dammit, Nikki!” He hit the dashboard as they drove away.

This was her world and she was a master with the press. He told himself that, anyways. At least the distraction allowed them the break needed. It was a generous move on Nikki’s part, seeing she’d been trying to avoid the press all these months. And she’d sacrificed all that to save their hides.

The alley under the courthouse was dark, and Rivers switched on the van’s lights. Pete radioed for the police to find Goldy out in front. “Hey, Hitchens, can you bring her into the building?” Connie was scheduled to testify within the hour, and they had to hurry.

Once upstairs, they walked into the meeting room where the lawyer waited for Connie, then Pete joined Tony outside in the hall. “It’ll be good to get a real shower tonight, huh?”

Tony nodded.

“The danger is over now.” Pete ruffled Tony’s shaggy black hair.

Tony didn’t look convinced. Nikki would get a smile out of him soon. Someday Tony would be able to put this nightmare behind him and have a normal childhood. He was only a kid, for Christ’s sake.

Footsteps indicated someone was running down the hall, coming around the corner and Pete stood in front of Tony, instinctively. It was Hitchens, the policeman he’d asked to get Nikki outside the courthouse.

“Goldy’s been shot,” he whispered solemnly.

“What?” Pete’s first instinct was to run.

“A shooter took her down outside. The ambulance is coming.” He glanced at Tony.

“Status?”
Oh, God, please
.

“They got the shooter but...I don’t know about her.”

Hitchens’s partner ran around the corner. “Go ahead.” His nod indicated the direction they’d just come. “We’ll watch the boy.”

Pete hesitated. Connie was his duty. Tony too.

“I don’t think she’s dead yet,” the partner said.

Pete had to go. Connie was in good hands.

“Go, Pete!” Tony cried.

Pete grabbed him by the shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

“Just go!” Tony yelled.

The artwork on the wall rushed by him as he ran full-out, toward the front door. Once he hit the cool air, Pete took the courthouse front steps three at a time, barely touching the concrete on his way to the sidewalk where he’d last seen Nikki.

How could she be dead? He’d just seen her jump from the van. In front of him was the clumped crowd, police cars, people rushing in from every direction. Why hadn’t they secured the scene?

Ambulance sirens got louder. Traffic was at a standstill. He ran closer. A crowd of incredulous bystanders silently stared at the police who surrounded something lying on the pavement.

An ambulance screamed to a halt thirty feet away, lights flashing. Squad cars moved in from every direction and a fire engine rounded the corner.

“Coming through.” Pete pushed anyone out of his way, flashing his U.S. Marshal ID badge.
Don’t let her be dead.

“Give her room.” Police were putting up yellow tape.

As Pete flew through to the front of the crowd, he yelled “U.S. Marshal, move aside,” and luckily it worked.

Then he saw her. Her body was now on a moving gurney ahead, rushing for the nearest ambulance—her blonde hair visible, her head not under the sheet. A paramedic talked into a radio, another opened the ambulance door, and two more pushed the gurney at high speed.

She wasn’t dead.

Her blonde hair fell off the bed and when the gurney turned, it looked like her eyes were open. “Nikki!” Could she hear him over the noise?

Pete tried to push forward, but was stopped by two police who didn’t care that he was a U.S. Marshal. “I know her,” he pleaded.

“Sorry, buddy. We got our orders.”

He moved aside, watching her disappear. “U.S. Marshal!” He flashed his ID card to another police officer in front of him. “Hitchens sent me out here. I’m a friend of hers. Let me through.” Only able to get forty feet from the back of the ambulance, a policeman with outstretched arms stopped him.

“I’m a friend.”

“Then let the pros do their job.”

Pete moved on. “How is she?” he asked a paramedic who’d just come from her side. The man shook his head.

Pete grabbed his shirt collar frantically. “What? Not good or you don’t know?”

He pulled Pete’s invasive hands off him. “Hey, buddy, I don’t know, and it doesn’t look good.”

Pete turned to the ambulance which, by now, was surrounded by police. “She’s not dead, right?” he asked anyone who’d look at him. “She’s still alive?” He held his breath, his heart a bleeding lump in his chest.

“Still alive.” A policeman shook his head. “But I don’t know for how long.”

They closed the doors and, on impulse, he yelled, “Nikki, hang in there!” His hands cupped his mouth. Standing on his toes, he tried to get a better view. “It’s Pete, Nikki. I love you! Be strong!”

Slam. Slam.

The ambulance pulled away into the mess of people blocking the way to the hospital.

“Get out of the way. Let the ambulance through.” Pete yelled, flapping his arms. Timing was essential in a gunshot wound. They’d get an IV started in the ambulance and try to stabilize her for the arrival at the ER. Pete stood rooted to the sidewalk, only feet from where Nikki lay fighting for her life. He remembered something. The baby!

They didn’t know she was pregnant.

The ambulance was in the street now, the siren engaged, lights flashing in the gloom of the dismal Seattle November afternoon. A second ambulance hadn’t left yet. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, paramedic!”

A police officer tried to push him back. “Move on, now, show’s over. Everybody keep moving. She’s gone.” People stood dumbfounded, unable to comprehend that Goldy, the famous rock star, had been shot on the sidewalk in front of them. “Break it up. Move on.”

Pete needed to get closer to that ambulance. “U.S. Marshal.” He flashed his badge and lunged toward the person opening the driver’s side door of the ambulance.

“Hey,” Pete yelled. “Paramedic!” He ducked under the yellow tape.

“Sorry, pal.” Pete’s ID card meant nothing to this law officer. The driver scanned the crowd.

“Hey!” Pete tried again. “Paramedic!” He waved to the man in the uniform.

Pete caught his eye. “She’s pregnant!” he yelled.

The guy squinted and turned toward Pete. “What?”

“Goldy is four months pregnant.” He tried to look credible by holding up his ID badge. “Trust me, she’s pregnant. Let them know.” He pointed in the direction of the ambulance.

The attendant walked closer, as close as he could get with the moving sea of people. “You sure?”

This time Pete didn’t have to shout. “Yeah,” he nodded. “The woman they just took in the ambulance, Goldy, is four months pregnant.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He ran back to the vehicle and Pete saw him grab the CB microphone.

“What hospital will she go to?” Pete asked the policeman who was trying to disperse the crowd.

“Can’t say.”

Pete held up his ID card. “I’m a U.S. Marshal. I was protecting her.” The words escaped before he thought.

“Well.” The policeman looked him dead in the eyes. “You did a lousy job, buddy. She just got shot.” The police moved on to yell at the press. “Keep moving. Goldy’s gone.”

Pete stood on the sidewalk, numb. He’d done a lousy job. Yes, he had. Although his job was to protect Connie, hadn’t he taken on Nikki’s welfare too when they escaped from Louisa Lake together? He was morally obligated to protect her and look what had happened.

She’d jumped out of the van and gotten shot. How did he know someone would shoot the beloved Goldy? Was it meant for Connie? He had to find out.

As Pete looked up to the buildings that surrounded the courthouse, he noticed people standing in all the windows of the skyscrapers. They’d been watching it all unfold. What they didn’t know was that it was his fault.

Sure, Connie was safe, but Nikki had gotten shot and might be dying right now. She’d jumped from the van knowing she didn’t look like a rock star, in a selfless act to help Connie.

The thought made Pete bite down hard on the inside of his lip, instead of swearing out loud. He had to find out what hospital they took her to and get a progress report. And Elvis. Did he go in the ambulance? He’d jumped out of the van with Nikki.

“Where’d they take Goldy?” He flashed his badge to a police officer. The man shook his head.

“Where’d they take her?” He held up his badge to another policewoman standing by her squad car with a radio in hand.

The officer shrugged.

For the first time, Pete thought of the scum who shot her.

“The shooter?” he asked a policewoman.

“Got him.” The police was distracted. “Probably thought it was Cathy Vanelli.”

Pete felt like spitting. The shooter had seen a woman jump from the van with the blond ponytail and assumed it was Connie. After all, Nikki didn’t exactly look classic Goldy in her sweat suit and no makeup.

Pete ran into the courthouse, through the scanner and down the halls to the secured area where Cathy Vanelli was waiting to take the stand. He had a job to finish, but his heart felt like a truck ran over it.

Tony had sunk to the floor in a ball, with his hands over his head. Hitchens looked at Pete sympathetically. “I called a counselor.”

Pete nodded and slid down the wall, to sit beside Tony. “Looks like Nikki will be fine, Tony.” He didn’t see any reason to make the kid feel worse.

“She’s okay?” Tony looked up with tear marks staining his cheeks.

Pete nodded. “She will be. They had to take her to the hospital, but it didn’t look bad at all.” He thought about telling a little white lie and dove in. “She said to tell you that she only hurt as bad as your last defeat in Stratego.”

Tony let a little smile slip from the corners of his mouth.

Pete stood and, closing in on Hitchens, whispered, “Can you get a status for me?” Pete nodded in Tony’s direction to let the officer know it wasn’t to be discussed around the kid.

“I’ll see what I can find out.” He took off down the hall, a phone to his ear.

Pete motioned to the window in the small room, where Connie was seated at a table, dabbing at her eyes. “Did she get called yet?” he asked the partner.

“Not yet.” He looked at Pete. “Why was Goldy with you guys?” Pete saw a strange look in the man’s eyes. A mix between envy and curiosity.

“Long story, but she was our neighbor at the last location.” Pete shrugged like it was no big deal and bent to Tony, who was staring off into space. “Hey, sport, do you want anything to eat or drink? Chips? You love chips.”

Tony shook his head.

“Want a chair?” Pete touched the boy’s shoulder.

Tony shook his head.

“Your Nintendo?” The bags from the truck, along with Hammie’s cage had been piled on a table down the hall.

Tony just shook his head, staring at the wall across from him. Pete squeezed his shoulder. “This’ll all be over soon.”

“Will Goldy stay the night in the hospital?” Tony used her stage name.

“Pretty sure they’ll keep her overnight, even just to have her sing.” Pete smiled at Tony and pointed to the policeman who was guarding that section of the hall. “He’ll let us know how she is.” Even if she died, Tony need never know, seeing he was disappearing into obscurity later tonight.

Tony and the child psychologist ducked into Connie’s vacated room for a chat.

Pete waited to hear something from the hospital, from Hitchens, from anyone. A raging storm whirled inside his head as he struggled to keep his emotions under control. Nikki was shot in the chest, and they were working on her at Seattle Medical Center. He didn’t know much about this sort of thing but assumed that meant she’d lost the baby. A profound sadness swept over Pete. If she lived, she’d be devastated.

Pete phoned all his contacts to get any bit of information, but nothing was known about the famous rock star and the bullet she’d taken, already hours ago. The talk around the courthouse was all about the basics. Goldy was shot. What was Goldy doing at the courthouse? It felt intrusive to hear others claim a piece of her.

“I have all her CD’s,” someone said.

“I saw her in concert when she was here in the summer, man. She was such a hottie.”

“I heard she looked pretty rough lying there on the sidewalk.”

“I loved her music.”

They talked like she was already dead and Pete had to bite his lips closed to prevent saying something he’d regret. What they didn’t know was that the woman who got shot was Nikki Crossland, not Goldy. And he knew Nikki well. He knew stuff about her that no one else in the world knew. Now look at him. He couldn’t even get through to find out if she was dead. It seemed like once he’d left Nikki’s circle, others rushed in, taken over, and now he couldn’t get in again.

He’d drive over to Seattle Medical and find out how she was, as soon as he could. For now though, he was still on the Vanelli case, and his first obligation was to see this through. His work as a U.S. Marshal was now measured in hours, possibly minutes. Cathy had been visibly nervous, going into the courtroom, even though every precaution had been taken to protect her before and after her testimony. She’d be fine. The courtroom was closed for her moment on the stand.