Stress Test (22 page)

“I’m sorry.” She knew she should let it lie, but before she could stop them, the words tumbled out. “It must be hard being married to a doctor.”

“That’s one of the reasons for this rough patch—not the only one, but we don’t need to go into that.” Rick frowned. “I thought maybe things would get better when I went into emergency medicine. The stress is unbelievable at times, but the hours are regular. I don’t make as much as some specialists, but . . . You don’t want to hear all this. Sorry.”

No, she didn’t want to hear about how hard it was to live with a doctor. She’d had to confront that once and thought it was a dead issue, but things were changing. Why had she taken on Matt as a project? Why was she coming back for him after his shift, instead of letting him take a taxi? “I hope you work it out,” Sandra said.
And
maybe that goes for me too
.

Lou swallowed hard, then cleared his throat a couple of times. “We’ve got a little problem.”

Once more he stood in front of the big man’s desk. When he looked at the rug he almost expected to see a bare spot from his shuffling feet. The throw rug on which he stood probably cost more than all the suits in Lou’s closet, and there was a rumor that it concealed bloodstains on the floor beneath it, blood from a man who tried to pull a double cross. Lou wasn’t certain of the truth behind that story, and he wasn’t about to find out.

“We’ve got a problem?” the boss echoed. “
We’ve
got a problem?” The sneer in his voice was mirrored on his face. “Since when do your problems become mine?”

“Sorry. I guess
I’ve
got a problem.” Lou made a conscious effort to keep his expression neutral. “I visited the doctor’s house last night while he was at work. He’s changed the locks, but that didn’t keep me out.” He paused, waiting for praise, but got none. He steeled himself
before delivering the news. “I searched the whole place, looking for a pistol, but it wasn’t there.”

“But you’re sure he had one?”

“I know he had it when Edgar and I were there. I saw it. He shot at us with it. He—”

“I asked you a simple question.” The boss’s voice was quiet, but his tone was unmistakable.

“Yessir. I didn’t find a pistol.”

The big man was silent for a few moments. The blinds were closed today. It added to the trapped sensation Lou always felt in this office—trapped with an unpredictable man who might at any time dispatch Lou with no thought other than how to replace a bloody throw rug afterward.

After what seemed like forever, the boss swiveled back. “Can you get an untraceable handgun?”

Lou didn’t even have to think about that one. He knew a dozen places where he could get a Saturday night special. If nothing else, he could get one of Edgar’s. “Sure.”

The man opened his center desk drawer. His hand disappeared for a moment, and Lou shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, ready to dodge whatever was coming. But the hand emerged holding two hundred-dollar bills. “Get one and come back here tomorrow.”

Lou pocketed the money. “Alone?” Again, no Edgar. Maybe it was that sleigh thing the boss talked about.
Well, better him than me
.

“Alone.” The boss leaned back. “Do you see where this is going?”

Lou nodded. The big man turned his attention to a pile of papers on his desk, and Lou took his cue to leave. He only relaxed when he closed the office door behind him. Lou had a lot to do, but he was still alive to do it. And if he understood the man correctly, in the near
future that might not be true for at least one of the other players in this scenario. He had to make sure that person wasn’t him.

In his car Lou dialed Edgar’s number.

“I need an untraceable handgun,” Lou said when his partner answered.

“Why?”

“You don’t need to know. Just get one and bring it with you when I tell you.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “That’s gonna cost. How much you willing to spend?”

Lou felt the two bills in his pocket. Might as well make a profit while he was at it. “A hundred bucks.”

“You got it.”

Lou ended the call.
No, Edgar. You got it. Or at least, you’re gonna
get it
.

Jennifer hit Print, leaned back in her secretarial chair, and stretched. Although some typists might suffer from carpal tunnel syndrome, her primary problem at the end of the day was a set of neck muscles that were tense as violin strings. She needed a massage, but her budget didn’t run to such an extravagance.

She shoved the papers on her desk into a drawer and locked it. Closed down her computer and turned it off. Time to get out of here. She’d pick up the letter she’d just printed out, put it in Mr. Tanner’s inbox, and be through the door before one of the assistant DAs could catch her and try to guilt her into doing “just one more thing.”

She had taken only a few steps when she heard, “Jennifer, got a minute?”

She recognized the speaker’s voice even before she could turn around to confirm his identity. “Sure, Frank. What’s up?”

He stood right behind her, suit coat over one arm, holding his briefcase with the other hand. “Relax. I’m not going to ask you to stay late and work. Matter of fact, I wanted to ask if you’d like to have dinner, then maybe hit one of the clubs—have a few drinks, dance, let our hair down.”

I have a lot more hair to let down than you do
. “Um, I’d need to go home and change. Freshen up a bit. Would that work?”

Everett consulted a wristwatch that appeared to be a Rolex. She’d seen it up close and knew it was a knockoff.
So like Frank
Everett—all about appearances
.
Do I really want to hook up with somebody
like that?

“Why don’t I pick you up about seven?” he asked.

Jennifer did a quick inventory of her options, but they all seemed to begin and end with Frank. Matt had called, but must’ve lost his nerve when he heard her voice. If that was the best he could do . . . “Sure, Frank. About seven?”

“Perfect,” Frank beamed.

They shared an elevator, then went their separate ways. As Jennifer climbed into her car, she tried to ignore the faint gnawing of her conscience. Why had she said yes to Frank? He was nice enough, but . . . Thoughts of Matt crowded into her head. Should she try once more to call him? No. When she left the voicemail on his cell, it sort of put the ball in his court. She pushed thoughts of Matt aside and headed home to get ready to meet Frank. After all, a bird in the hand . . .

SIXTEEN

Sandra was parked in Metropolitan Hospital’s ER lot by eleven thirty p.m. Nurses and other employees emerged, some in groups, some singly, all hurrying to their cars. She watched a couple of ambulances roll in and discharge their cargo. Still no Matt. Should she call his cell? No, he must be busy—probably too busy to take her call.

It was half past midnight when Matt walked through the automatic doors, looking at his watch and shaking his head. By that time the area was almost deserted again.

“Sorry.” Matt dropped into the passenger seat and buckled in. “I should have warned you that sometimes it’s a struggle for a doctor to break away.”

Sandra eased out of the parking lot and set a course for her office, where Matt had left his car. “I understand.” She started to say more, but closed her lips firmly to stop the words from coming out.
No need
to go into my past history with Ken. Not now, at least
.

“I really appreciate this, Sandra. I hate it that I’ve kept you up so late.”

“No worries. Now how did your shift go? Any problems after the accident this afternoon?”

Matt shifted in the seat and rubbed his hip. “About what you’d expect. Nothing major.”

They rode in silence for a while, absorbed in their own thoughts. Sandra was grateful not to have to hold up her end of a conversation while she tried to sort out her emotions. Despite her assurances to the contrary, Grimes’s statement about new evidence against Matt worried her. Even more worrisome was the knowledge that someone was trying to kill her client, someone whose identity and reason were a total mystery both to her and to Matt. And tucked into one small corner of her brain, surfacing from time to time, were her feelings about the man sitting next to her. Attorneys fought to avoid emotional involvement with a client. And she’d vowed never to have another relationship with a doctor. Now here she was, digging in her heels as she felt herself dragged toward both.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Matt’s voice from the darkness beside her brought Sandra back to reality with a start.

“Just thinking about your case,” she said.

“Which part? My problems with the police or the likelihood that there’s someone out there aiming at the bull’s-eye on my back?”

“Actually, both,” Susan said. “I think Grimes is bluffing, but just in case there’s something there, I plan to tap into my resources at the DA’s office to see if I can find out more.”

Matt’s laugh had no humor in it. “Interesting. I used to have a source at the DA’s office, but she pretty much abandoned me as soon as she heard I was in trouble.” He dug his cell phone from his pocket and scanned the display. “No missed calls, so I guess she’s—”

Matt fell silent, and Sandra wondered where his thoughts had taken him.

After about fifteen seconds, he took up where he’d left off. “I guess she’s decided not to try getting back together with me.”

Sandra flicked a glance sideways at Matt. The poor guy had lost his future job, lost his girlfriend, and someone had tried to kill him—was still trying. He had every reason to be deep in thought.

Matt shook his head like a football player who’d had his bell rung. This was the second time it had occurred—a momentary lapse, a few seconds when it seemed someone had hit the Pause button on his ability to speak, or move, or think. He couldn’t ignore it anymore. When he got home, he’d find an all-night pharmacy and fill a prescription. If he was right, medication should take care of the problem, at least control it. He couldn’t afford to go through a full workup and all that entailed.
Not right now
.

He turned to his left and summoned a smile, although he wasn’t sure Sandra could see it in the darkness. “Sorry about that. I guess I got lost in my thoughts.”

Her laugh carried relief. “No problem. Been there myself.” She slowed the car and turned into the parking garage by her office building. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

Matt held up both hands in surrender. “Please, Mom. I’m a big boy. That car didn’t hurt me that badly, I seem to be recovering pretty well from my head injury, and I can find my way home just fine.”

There were only three cars left on that level of the garage. Either the drivers of the other two encountered mechanical problems that made them abandon their vehicles or, on a happier note, they’d ridden with friends to a dinner or a party or . . . whatever. Matt climbed out of Sandra’s car, then leaned back in through the open window.
“Thanks for picking me up—and for caring about me. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll talk with me tonight,” Sandra said. “Or rather, this morning, since it’s well after midnight. Call my cell when you get home. And I’m going to sit here until I’m sure your car will start.”