After Midnight (3 page)

Minutes later, he had to admit he felt better having been able to splash some water on his face and succeed with his bathroom duties, even though it was pretty awkward using just his left hand. It took all his strength to keep on his feet as he repeated the slow shuffle back toward his bed.

The nurse intercepted him halfway and wrapped a strong arm around his waist. She was young and pretty, which had not gone unnoticed by him. He gave her his best cocky grin. “Are you looking at my ass?”

“You wish,” she said with a chuckle, not the least bit shocked at his question. “If you only knew how many asses I see every day, you’d know how unlikely that is.”

“Too bad. It’s a nice one.”

She helped him ease down on the cool, clean sheets. In his absence, she had changed his sheets, plumped his pillow, and laid out a fresh gown.

It took a lot of maneuvering to get the old gown off and the new one on, and by the time Sam was settled back in bed, he was shaking with pain and exhaustion. He noticed a dinner tray on his bedside table, but the bowl of soup and chunk of green gelatin held no appeal.

The nurse, noticing his gaze while she was tucking the sheet and light blanket in around him, said, “You really should try to eat a little. It’ll help you get stronger.” Without waiting for a response, she wheeled his table around, so that the tray was directly in front of him. “You’ve had a lot of visitors.”

“A lot?” He remembered only two.

“At least a dozen boys in blue have dropped by, and, of course, your brothers, but you were still sleeping. Most of them promised to come back this evening.” She readjusted the IV bag and heart monitor and pulled up the side of his bed. “Here’s the TV remote, and this is the call button for the nurse’s station. Just let us know if you need anything.” She picked up the bags holding the old bandages and dirty sheets and headed toward the door. Pausing at the threshold, she glanced back at him. “By the way, it
is
nice.” She gave him a very unprofessional smile and closed the door behind herself.

Sam obediently took a couple of spoonsful of soup and nibbled on the soft roll. Gelatin. Yuck. He wasn’t
that
sick. He pushed the tray away and clicked on the TV. After a quick run-through of the channels, he settled on a Rockies game. But his mind kept wandering back to the woman: the hooker, or the “actress.” It wasn’t just her name he didn’t know; it was her story. Who was her pimp? Why had she been there last night? Why had she come by today? Why had she saved his life? Damn, he wished he had been alert enough to at least find out how to contact her.

He flexed his shoulder and winced. He needed to get out there. He needed to find her. She had all the answers.

Kate was still so shaken by last night that she muffed her cues and scrambled her lines until she was practically in tears by the end of rehearsal. The small acting troupe at Heritage Square Music Hall were, of course, unaware of her part in last night’s drama on Colfax, but they were friendly and supportive and, most of all, patient.

Live theater in the Denver area struggled but somehow survived through recessions and competition by the multitude of other forms of entertainment in the area, not the least of which was the lure of the great outdoors. Heritage Square Music Hall enjoyed one of the longer runs and managed to put out four new shows each year, written and choreographed by the actors themselves. Each show consisted of a two-act melodrama, followed by a musical comedy revue.

With only six actors making up the core ensemble, there wasn’t a lot of room for outside performers, so Kate had felt lucky to make it through the audition process and be chosen to be part of the talented group. The pressure of being the new kid on the block was tough enough, but her horrible performance today made her feel even more vulnerable.

After tripping on her own feet and nearly taking down her partner during a dance number, she sat on the stage and buried her face in her hands. Andy, one of the regulars, tapped her on the shoulder, then helped her back to her feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, genuine concern showing on his handsome face.

“I’m fine.” A flush of embarrassment burned her cheeks. “Guys, I’m so sorry,” she apologized with a shrug. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

Carrie, who while only in her midthirties was the senior female member of the troupe, shrugged it off. “Don’t worry about it. We all have bad days.”

Andy snorted. “Be glad you’re getting it out of the way in rehearsals. Usually our biggest screwups are during a show.”

“Yeah, remember when Matt tripped over the chair and fell off the stage into that old lady’s lap? She thought he was her door prize and didn’t want to let him go.”

“Or the time Carrie got tangled up in that pink boa and disappeared behind the couch? She was laughing so hard that we all lost it. It took us ten minutes to get it together enough to finish the play.”

Their stories got crazier and funnier until Kate found that she was relaxing and enjoying herself. Surrounded by these incredibly talented and surprisingly warm people, she was momentarily distracted. She managed to finish the rehearsal without doing any more damage.

Everyone walked together to the parking lot. Kate wished someone would suggest dinner or even drinks, but all the other actors called out their good nights and separated into their own vehicles and drove off. Kate climbed into her bright yellow Ford Escape and sat, too drained to even start the car.

It was after seven, but the sun was still shining brightly over the Rockies. Sounds of screams and laughter echoed off the foothills that surrounded the parking lot. The lights on the Ferris wheel flickered on and the horses on the merry-go-round waited patiently for their riders to settle onto the wooden saddles before easing into a new lap of a never-ending race.

The Music Hall was part of Heritage Square, a small amusement park that in the 1960s had originally been planned as a scaled-down Disneyland. But investors had dropped out and money dried up, so the park had transitioned through several owners, eventually finding its own identity as a local favorite. It was located about fifteen miles from Denver, closer to Morrison, nestled between the first row of foothills and the Front Range in a relatively isolated area.

It was the perfect location for a family or anyone who wanted to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and, after just a short drive, be surrounded by the beauty and ruggedness of the Rockies for an afternoon or evening’s entertainment. The fabricated small town embraced its western flavor. Main Street and two intersecting streets were lined with colorful Victorian-style buildings that housed restaurants, shops, and studios where artists showcased and sold their work. A lively assortment of kiddie rides sprawled to one side, and an alpine sled tubular track snaked up the side of a mountain behind the complex.

Kate leaned her head back on the headrest and watched the activity. Everyone looked so happy, so carefree. She knew that couldn’t possibly be true. Beneath the smiles were men and women worried about jobs or house payments or cheating spouses. Everyone had problems. Everyone had fears. Possibly a few of them had seen someone get shot, or had even seen someone die at their feet.

Twenty-four hours ago, she wouldn’t have thought it was possible for her to fall in that latter category. A shiver shook her so violently that she dropped her keys and had to fumble on the floorboard to find them. “Calm down,” she cautioned herself. “Take a deep breath.” She sucked in a lungful of the clean mountain air and slowly let it escape between her lips.

It had been horrendous, but it was over. She had bundled up the ruined clothes and dropped them in a Dumpster behind a Target store miles from her apartment on her way to the Music Hall today. Luckily, the blond wig hadn’t sustained any damage, so she was able to slip it back into the wardrobe department, its brief absence never noticed. And she had safely hidden the hundred-dollar bill inside the purple Beanie Baby that sat on her pillow. All other evidence of last night’s events had been completely removed from her possession. All that were left were the memories.

Suddenly, she was anxious to get back to her small, safe apartment. A bowl of soup, a good book, and an early night snuggled in her bed sounded like heaven. If only she’d done that last night instead of—

Stop it. It wasn’t your fault. You’re going to get past it and everything will be okay.
God, she was talking to herself a lot lately. She shrugged and started the car. Well, she’d add that to her list of things she needed to worry about tomorrow. Tonight she needed sleep—deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep. Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.

HERO REPORTER SAVES POLICE OFFICER IN SHOOTOUT.

God, it couldn’t be a better headline if he’d written it. Oh, right, he had!

Brian leaned back in his chair at the coffee shop and smiled at the newspaper spread out on the table in front of him. At least he was the one who had written the copy. His editor had added the headline and given him the front page, as promised.

He sipped his coffee while he reread the words. He tried to be objective, but he couldn’t help but be proud. This was the piece that would give his stagnant career a jump-start. He’d already been given the go-ahead for a follow-up article on the cop, and maybe the hooker, if he could find her.

The Denver Police Department was allowing him unprecedented access to the case. He’d met with the lead detective yesterday afternoon, and today he had an appointment with the cop at the hospital. The DPD took an attack on their own very seriously.

And Brian was only too willing to stay involved and at the forefront of the investigation. Having a contact in the department would give him a head start on all the insider info. This was the lucky break he’d been waiting for. Well, maybe not all luck. As the old Roman philosopher said, “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.” Brian had been struggling for years to be prepared. Now he was determined to make sure he had plenty of opportunities.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, and even though it was still early, he decided to head for the hospital. He folded the newspaper and tucked it into his backpack, then slung it over his shoulder. There were still a few pieces missing that would elevate this from a great story to
the
story of the year. Hopefully, the cop could help fill in the blanks.

Dressed in navy blue sweats and a white T-shirt that his brother Rusty had dropped off, Sam reclined on his bed, relentlessly flipping through the TV channels in search of something to keep him from going crazy. Gone were the monitors, tubes, and IV bags. Nurses stopped in occasionally to check his vitals, but mostly to flirt. And Sam was more than willing to return the attention. Cops and nurses were a natural combination, and more than a few of his ex-girlfriends had been so employed. They understood the dedication and attention required of their chosen professions. And they understood that it wasn’t always about love. Sometimes it took quick, nasty sex to get past the ugliness of life and death.

When his door opened, he glanced up with interest, then slumped in disappointment that it wasn’t his doctor. Sam had been waiting all day, but his doctor had had emergency surgery and hadn’t been by to release him. And even the prospect of another night of hot nurses wasn’t enough to make him want to stay.

He recognized the gray hoodie before he recognized the man, which triggered a twinge of guilt, especially considering the part the ride-along had played in putting Sam in the hospital instead of the morgue.

“Hey, come on in,” Sam invited, and nodded toward the chair next to the bed.

“You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’ll bet.” Sam muted the sound on the TV and swung his legs over the side of the bed. With his right arm in a sling, even the simplest task was difficult and awkward and sent lightning bolts of pain shooting from head to toe. He grimaced, but tried to hide it as he straightened. “I read your article in the
Post
. Front page, huh?”

“Big story.”

“Great. And I was there.” Sam shook his head, hating having any part of this or any other event big enough to make the news. Worse than the personal shame of not keeping his focus and anticipating the pimp’s actions was the painful fact that he’d lost his best friend because of it.

“You
are
the story.”

“Even better,” Sam muttered.

“I have a few questions.” Brian took a spiral notebook and a pen out of his backpack. “Had you ever seen the hooker and her pimp before that night?”

Sam thought back to all the nights he’d patrolled Colfax and the streets around it and all the faces he’d seen and people he’d met. Most were regulars and had spent more than a few nights in jail. Some were even on a first-name basis with him and provided tips that helped solve other crimes. Hookers were out there every night, and they witnessed a lot of shit going down. If they feared the cops more than they feared their pimps, they made great sources. But Sam couldn’t remember ever having seen either the girl or the pimp before last night. “No, neither of them.”

“So you don’t know who they are…or were?”

“No, other than what you wrote.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You never mentioned that you were a reporter.”

Brian shrugged. “It never came up. Besides, I was there as a citizen, not a member of the media.” He looked down at his notes and pushed ahead with the interview. “The woman hasn’t come forward yet?”

“I’m sure she’s afraid to.”

“What are you going to do to find her?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Sam lied. Actually, she’d been hovering on the edge of his thoughts since he’d awakened. But there was something about this reporter guy that kept him from sharing notes.

“What can you tell me about the dead cop?”

Sam’s hands curled into fists, and he would have popped the guy in the face had it not been for his sergeant’s call earlier telling him about the department’s cooperation with this particular reporter. And, yes, Sam was grateful to the man for obvious reasons. But he could have been a little more sensitive.

“His name’s Larry.”

Brian didn’t seem to pick up on the dangerous tone in Sam’s voice and continued. “He had a couple of kids, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, and a bunch of grandkids.”

“I guess his wife will get a pretty good pension, huh?”

“I’m sure that’s not at the top of her thoughts right now.”

“So, she should do okay?”

“If you think losing your husband just a few months before you’d planned a carefree retirement, tooling around the country in your RV, is okay. If you think getting a job as a greeter at Walmart because you’re worried about making mortgage payments is okay. Hell, no, I don’t think she’s doing okay.” Sam took a deep breath and forced his fists to relax. “He was a hell of a cop and a great friend.”

Brian flipped his notebook closed. He didn’t lift his gaze as he muttered, “Sorry. You’re going home tonight?”

“Just waiting for the doctor to sign the papers.”

Brian slid the notebook and his pen into the pocket of his backpack and pulled out a business card. He held it out to Sam. “Would you call me if you find the girl?” When Sam didn’t take the card, he set it on the nightstand. “Can I call you if I have more questions?”

Sam shrugged. “Do you have my cell number?”

“Yeah, your boss gave me one of your cards when I was at the precinct today.”

A knock on the door drew their attention. The doctor entered the room, his eyes skimming the flip chart in his hands.

Brian stood and threw the backpack over his shoulder. “Take it easy, man.”

Sam nodded, barely noticing as Brian slipped out the door. “So, Doc, tell me some good news.”

Rusty parked in front of Sam’s apartment building in the fire zone and turned on the flashers.

“I could give you a ticket for that,” Sam said as he climbed awkwardly out of Rusty’s bright red Explorer.

“Hey, I outrank you in the fire zones. I’m here on official FD business.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Escorting one of Denver’s finest home.”

Sam paused to gather his strength. “I don’t feel so fine,” he admitted through gritted teeth. “You haven’t told Mom or Dad, have you?”

“And ruin their vacation? No way.” Rusty hit the auto lock on his keychain, and the Explorer chirped a confirmation. “Fortunately, you didn’t die. I wouldn’t have wanted to make that call.”

His tone was light, but Sam knew both of his brothers had been shaken by his brush with death. They were a tight-knit family, and although they had the usual brotherly dustups—mostly brought on by some sort of competition, be it familial, sports, or female—they knew that no matter what, they had one another’s backs.

Sam, like most middle children, always felt like he had to fight harder to get his share of attention. But this sort of attention was definitely not the kind he wanted to get from his parents. They were still a little unnerved by all three of their sons’ choices of careers. Just the fact that Sam always carried a gun everywhere had caused them many sleepless nights.

If they had a hint of what he’d just survived, they would have driven straight through to get home. But all the brothers knew that their parents had been planning for several years to take this leisurely RV trip to Niagara Falls, Toronto, and Montreal, followed by a month in Maine and topped off by a tour of the fall colors in New England. Nothing short of death would have caused any of the boys to call them and cut the trip short.

Rusty, at thirty, was the eldest. Ever since he was a little boy, he had wanted to be a fireman, and for the past seven years, he had been employed by the Denver Fire Department. And Chris, the youngest at twenty-six, had just returned from five years in the navy, where he had trained to be a medic. He was now working as an EMT for the fire department while he saved up for med school. He, too, would have helped Sam get home if he hadn’t been called away on an emergency at the last minute.

Rusty went ahead of Sam and held the front door of the old building open while Sam climbed the three steps to the entry. The building had once been a church, but had been converted to condos several years ago. Sam had jumped at the chance to buy a nice corner unit on the second level because of the balcony that offered a great view of the Rockies and downtown Denver. But now, as he struggled to climb the flight of stairs leading to that second floor, he wished he’d thought it through a little better.

“Want me to throw you over my shoulder?”

“Touch me and die,” Sam growled, and cursed the weakness that still weighed down his legs. Plus, the bruise on his chest was making deep breaths almost unbearable.

Finally, he walked through his front door, spotted his recliner, and knew he was going to make it. He collapsed on the chair, no longer trying to impress his brother. All he wanted was to rest.

Rusty dropped the plastic hospital bag that contained Sam’s personal items onto his bed. He made a quick check of the bedroom and bathroom to make sure Sam could negotiate the area without a problem. Then he returned to the living room.

“I’ll get you some water so you can take your meds. Do you want anything else from the kitchen?”

“No, I’m fine.” He struggled to reach the remote, but, it was on his right, and his left arm just wouldn’t stretch that far. Rusty saw his brother’s struggles as he returned to the room. He handed Sam the remote and set a glass of ice water on the end table within easy reach, then plopped down on the couch and snapped open a beer.

“Having trouble with only one wing?” he asked with a typical brotherly lack of sympathy.

“It’s a bitch,” Sam grumbled, trying to work the remote with his left hand. “I can’t do shit.” He finally managed to turn the television on and go to the channel that was showing the Rockies game.

“Speaking of shit,” Sam continued, “the first time I had to take a crap, it looked like a spider monkey had painted my butt.”

Rusty laughed. “Not too good with your off hand?”

“I had to take a shower. And that’s another whole challenge.” Sam flexed his shoulder and moaned.

“Yeah, just wait until you start PT. They’ll put you through hell and back. You’ll wish you’d taken your gun with you.”

“For me or them?”

“Depends on the day.”

“Great! Thanks for the pep talk,” Sam snorted.

“Sure, anytime.” Rusty’s blue eyes sparkled. “That’s what brothers are for.”

“I was wondering.”

They sat in companionable silence and agonized along with the other fans. All three brothers were die-hard fans of the Rockies, a club that was not often rewarded with good results, with the exception of making it to the 2007 World Series. The talent on the field was hit-and-miss at best.

Chris joined them at the end of his shift. He grabbed a beer and joined Rusty on the couch. Sam repeated his demand that no one tell their parents anything until they got back. Chris agreed, and they all settled in to watch the latest massacre at Coors Field.

Sam appreciated their company, but in the back of his mind, he was busy making plans to get out on the streets and track down the hooker. He didn’t know why, but he felt it was urgent that he find her…before that reporter did. Technically, she was breaking the law by not coming forward on her own, but he understood her reticence. No matter what she had been through before that night, he had to believe that the shootout had been traumatic for her. Her wounds hadn’t been physical, but she had to be an emotional wreck.

But in spite of his best intentions, Sam had to admit that just the trip home had been exhausting, and he simply couldn’t summon the strength to even consider going back out into the night. Not tonight.

Rusty and Chris stayed until the last dismal out, then tossed away their cans and headed toward the door.

“I’ll come by Friday morning and pick you up for the funeral,” Rusty offered. “It’s my day off, and several guys from my station are going to make it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there, too,” Chris said. His expression told Sam he knew what he was going through. During his tour of duty in Afghanistan and now as a paramedic, Chris had seen more than his share of death and loss. “Don’t try to go through this alone. You really should talk to someone—”

“Like a therapist?” Sam scoffed.

“Maybe. This is too big for you to try to handle on your own. Don’t keep it all in.”

Sam nodded, his throat too filled with emotions to speak. He couldn’t imagine life on the force without Larry, who’d been his mentor and senior officer when Sam was still in training. He had been a good police officer, a good husband and
father…overall,
he had been a good man. His funeral would be unbearable. But there was no way Sam would miss it. He’d think about the therapist later.