Dead on Arrival (11 page)

Dano eased me down onto the hillside of sand and joined me. I found myself moving closer, snuggling, kissing, and even wrapping my leg over his until it felt…so right. So damn right.

Ah….

My fantastic, larger than life make out session with ER Dano had me all hot and bothered and not in the least in need of a jacket. With no words spoken, we shared an intimacy that had me barely able to stop.

“Hey, there's a time and place for everything, Nightingale,” he said in all his realism, yet they were the most disappointing words I'd ever heard!

Dano leaned to the side, bent forward for a quick kiss on the lips, then took my hand into his. “You fit perfectly.”

Wow. Nice sentiment.

“Um,” I mumbled.

He was correct about the time and place, although for a few fleeting, CSIC-less minutes, I might have gone a bit farther if
he
hadn't stopped us.

Pauline Sokol: real naughty nurse!

For a change I'd thrown caution to the wind—and I loved it! Hey, I told myself, this was the twenty-first century and women were
allowed
to have sensual feelings. Even allowed to be the ones to
start
the romantic/sensual actions.

But this really wasn't the place, so I tucked my desires into the back of my mind in a new folder called “ER Dano…Yum” and sat silently looking at the sunset.

After we'd had to leave the beach since it closed at sunset, he drove me home, said goodnight with a decent kiss, and most importantly an “I'll call you.”

Now I was no fool, having a guy say he'd call was akin to having someone say “I'll see you” when you meet them on a vacation, and they live on the other side of the world. I'd long ago learned not to trust those words when a guy said them, so I quickly added, “When?” and Dano and I had a date set up for Friday night.

I mentally patted myself on the back when I went inside my condo and marked our date down on the calendar.

A light at the end of the single Pauline tunnel.

My mother would be stuffing lacy table favors with candy-coated almonds in pastel colors right now if I told her.

No one was home so I hugged Spanky for a bit, set him outside, and pressed the phone recorder.

“Pauline Sokol? This is your m…o…t…h…e…r.” The last word came out in a slow, deep voice much like Darth Vader's.

I shook my head but sat down and listened, knowing the tone was all in my mind.

“Your sister Mary is coming over for lunch tomorrow. I thought you might want to join us.”

I shook my head. “I'm gonna have to pass despite the tempting offer,” I mumbled.

“Oh and Uncle Walt has to have his wisdom tooth out. Who would touch an old man's wisdom teeth? Can't they just dope him up so he's comfortable? Pauline?” Silence. “I thought I heard a click and maybe you came in and picked up the phone. Just to let you know, you are not home much lately. Well, ever since that job. You know
that
job.”

I laid my head down on the counter and shut my eyes. I wanted to keep smacking my head against the counter, but that might dent the counter, and Miles would be pissed. I wasn't crazy…yet.

“Okay, I guess you did not come home. From where? It is nearly eight o'clock on a Wednesday night. Where are you at this late hour?”

This time I was really tempted to slam my head into the counter—a few times. Instead I sat up and went to press the stop button. Too much Stella Sokol at this time of the night could cause wicked nightmares.

“Well, you call me before I go to sleep so I don't worry. It is still eight o'clock, well, four minutes after. Wait. Wait a minute. I've got five after on my watch.”

I could hear she had put her hand over the phone receiver to yell, “Michael, what time do you have?” Daddy was probably asleep, so she took her hand away and said, “I go to sleep at nine sharp, Pauline.”

As if I didn't know that. Creature of habit Stella Sokol had gone to bed at nine sharp and woke up at six sharp my entire life. I only hoped that as a baby, I woke her up a few times during the night.

Mentally I chastised myself and stuck my finger on the stop button—

“Meet me at our place at nine…”

Shoot! I stopped the message before it finished but knew full well whose voice that was and where our place was.

Ah….

As I'd stripped off my beach outfit to don dark clothes, I knew Jagger had called to work on the case. My case. Our case as it so often became. I appropriately had stuck on “investigating” clothing along with stuffing my pockets with my work tools like gloves, my camera beeper and a tissue (okay, that was Mother-induced like don't leave home without going to the bathroom first or wearing clean undies).

Once dressed, out the door and into my car, I pulled into the parking lot of Dunkin Donuts and into a space near the back. Soon Jagger's SUV drove up beside me. Without a word, I got out, hopped into his car and we were off without any explanations needed.

Before long, we had come to the intersection where TLC Ambulance Company was located. My heart started to race in anticipation of finding something, some clue, no matter how tiny that would jumpstart this case.

Because right now we had nothing.

One murder, one attempted murder, and medical insurance fraud being committed. The only guarantees so far.

I looked at Jagger. “Anything on Pansy?”

He parked on a nearby side street and said, “She's in a coma.”

“Damn. I was afraid of that. Her body must be in shock after the blood loss and trauma of surgery.”

He looked at me, and I ignored how damn good he looked. “What are the chances she'll pull out of it?”

“Geez, your guess is as good as mine.”

“I'm not guessing, Sherlock. I'm asking your medical opinion.”

My shoulders stiffened. “I
know
that, Jagger. What I meant was that no one can really say. I doubt even the surgeon would give you decent odds.” With that, I got out and stood on the sidewalk.

He followed me and took my arm to lead me toward our destination. “Someone's a little testy tonight.”

I pulled my arm free. How I wanted to shout something about Airbrush Lady but was too smart to say anything. All's fair in love and war came to mind until I told myself we were not lovers, but co-workers so I said, “Long day. Sorry.”

He nodded, took my arm again, and before I knew it, we were at the backdoor of the TLC building where Pansy had lived. The Tudor house was built amongst the other buildings as if it had been there first and everything else sprung up around it.

“B&E?” I whispered.

“Don't touch anything. Don't
take
anything,” Jagger said as he fiddled with something in the lock—and in a few minutes, it popped open, he turned the handle, looked over my shoulder, and eased me through the open door.

Talk about eerie.

I felt as if Pansy and Payne were standing in the hallway looking at us!

Something touched my face! I started to scream but found a gloved hand over my mouth. I swung around to see Jagger looking me in the eye. “Cobweb,” he whispered. “And no great surprise,” he added as he shinned his flashlight across the foyer.

It looked like something out of
The
Munsters
. Dark, dank, and medieval in appearance, the place looked like a Tudor house all right—only one that had been centuries old and not cleaned since.

“Geez,” I mumbled after Jagger took his hand away.

“I'll say. But not surprising.”

I was surprised
I thought as we made our way into the living room—which was as colorful as Payne's office, including 50s décor. “I love that old television,” I said, looking at the old pine cabinet TV that had to be very old. “These two were really nuts. His office taste yet her living room. Let's go see the kitchen.”

No wonder we'd all come in a different way for Pansy's after memorial service gig.

I followed Jagger down a dark hallway to a swinging door. He eased it open, held it so it wouldn't swing back and smack me in the face (or maybe so it wouldn't swing back and make any noise), and I walked in. “Wow.”

The kitchen looked like Mother Goose had decorated it. Country/nursery rhyme was an understatement. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling. Braided rugs covered the hardwood floors and dried flowers hung from every nook and cranny possible. And if I had a nickel for every duck, goose, or chicken in the room, I could quit my job.

I looked at Jagger. We could only shake our heads.

How sweet! Simultaneous head shaking.

Usually we'd get right down to the business of snooping, but both of us had our curiosities so piqued that we made a tour of this “fun house” before we could start.

The bathrooms were decorated like the ocean, along with real water inside the windows, which bubbled constantly—I felt a bit seasick. Upstairs the master bedroom was done in monochromatic black and red this time. If it weren't for the rest of the house, I would have thought Pansy had no imagination until Jagger opened the door to a spare bedroom.

Junglemania.

The entire room was done in animal prints including the carpet of a bear rug. I could only whisper, “Goldie would kill for this place,” then caught myself. “Oops. Bad choice of words.”

“Yeah,” Jagger said, but I noticed he was as intrigued with the place as I was and nearly speechless too. A real rarity. “We need to get going,” he warned once he obviously came to his senses.

I followed him down to the living room where he motioned for me to start looking on one side of the room. “Gloves on?”

I curled my lips at him and held my gloved hands up, wiggled my fingers at him, then started to put all of them down except the middle one—then caught myself and made a fist instead.

“Good girl, Sherlock.”

I smiled despite myself and started to open drawers—not even sure what the hell I was looking for but knowing I'd realize it when I saw it.

After several minutes of snooping, we came up cold and headed to the other rooms. Despite the very interesting objects we'd found, including a horse's bridle and whip in her bedroom—neither of us wanted to go there—and scented soaps and male fragrances in the bathroom, we ended up in the African hot spare bedroom. And hot it was.

My face burned each time Jagger or I discovered some sexual device. That was what I termed everything we found. H…o…t.

Pansy was no wallflower. That was for sure.

Jagger stood in the center of the sexual jungle while I tried not to blush. He shook his head, which looked like a pissed expression in my book. Maybe he was embarrassed with all the “toys” we'd found.

Then again, this was Jagger.

If anyone would come out of this embarrassed, it would be
me
.

I started to walk toward him and tripped on a “toy” on the floor. No way was I even going to imagine how
that
thing worked. However, on the way to falling, I reached out into the air and grabbed onto a handle on the wall.

A vine- and fur-covered (black leopard, I assumed) swing came out the ceiling and smacked Jagger right in the back.

“Oh!” I shouted, steadying myself.

“Damn it,” Jagger mumbled, pushed the swing to the side, and went to the wall where he jiggled with the handle until the thing disappeared back into the ceiling like some snake retreating into a hole.

I merely stood there and watched, amazed that Jagger could work the damn thing and amazed at what Pansy did on the thing!

Jagger motioned for me to follow him, so I figured our search here had been futile—and we weren't going to play Tarzan and Jane.

On the way out, the lounge chair (which was what I was calling it, although tiger stripes and vibration did not exactly say La-Z-boy) caught my eye.

Despite the sensual décor, it looked rather comfortable, yet there were no arms to it. One could easily straddle…whoops. Better not go there.

For some reason, I walked toward it though, pressed the on button, and stepped back.

The top flew open, revealing a stack of papers.

I looked at Jagger.

Jagger looked back at me.

And the papers sat there begging to be read.

It seemed like hours passed while Jagger and I stared at each other back and forth then at the papers sitting inside the sex chair, which I now called it in my mind.
Had to be
, I thought, looking around this room.

Apparently Jagger pulled his thoughts to the present sooner than I did because he stepped forward and knelt near the chair.

Whoa.

Be still my heart and hormones.

I swallowed, mentally chastised myself, relived kissing ER Dano for a few nanoseconds (reminding myself we had a date, a real date, in two days), and bent down next to Jagger. My joints would kill me if I stayed this way too long, so I joined him on the floor, totally ignoring how our shoulders touched or our knees brushed one another's. Totally.

“Anything?” I whispered.

He seemed engrossed in a paper that he'd taken off the top of the pile. It appeared as if it had been thrown into the chair without being tucked inside one of the many folders.

“TLC carried dead bodies,” Jagger said.

My forehead wrinkled. Ignoring that I probably looked like a curious kid, I said, “They can't. They can't carry dead bodies.”

Jagger looked at me. Was that an “are you stupid” kinda look? I studied him for a few seconds to make up my mind, but he saved me the time when he said, “You're absolutely right, Sherlock, but look at this.” He held out the paper toward me.

Thankful it wasn't an insulting look, I shone my flashlight onto the paper. “Oh. My goodness. They carried dead bodies.”

“Many times.”

I looked at Jagger. “Why would an undertaker call an ambulance instead of transporting the dead body themselves?”

Jagger gave me a kinda “psychiatrist” look. That was a look that said, “What do you think?” much like a shrink would do until the patient talked on and on then cured him or herself!

I paused and thought. Why the hell….

“Well,” I said, “if they were too busy. That's it! They must have had calls simultaneously, and if TLC didn't get their bodies for them, they'd lose that customer to a competitor. There are only three funeral homes in Hope Valley, so the competition is pretty fierce.” I sat back on my heels and noticed Jagger smile in the dim lighting.

My heart danced in my chest.

“So, TLC made extra money. But what about the EMT and paramedics? They had to be involved—”

Jagger handed me a stack of papers from the folder on top. “Check out the names.”

I flipped through the fraudulent papers, noticing the same four names over and over and over.

Then I looked at Jagger, “These are all
fake
names.”

Jagger pulled into the drive-in window of Dunkin' Donuts—once again ordered for both of us without asking, and I couldn't even complain because tonight was a Boston Cream kinda night. I needed the chocolate—and he knew it.

Once he handed me my order, he drove us to the back, the spot where we always parked, pulled in where no one would pay much attention to us, and shut off the motor.

He took a sip of his black coffee. “You're sure none of those names struck a chord with you?”

“Did they with you?” I bit down on my donut. Cream shot out the other end, landing on Jagger's dashboard. “Whoops. Sorry.” I wiped at it, furious that it was all wasted. I really needed sugar and chocolate.

“Nope.”

“Well, we've both worked at TLC the same amount of time, and both of us are attuned to noticing things—”

He turned to me.

“Shut up. We both are. You just have more experience than me.” I finished off my donut before I aimed the rest of the cream at him.

While licking my fingers, I watched him sip his coffee a few times and then set the cup in the holder. “Damn it. We have to get to Pansy before she leaves this world.”

My body shivered at the thought. “True,” I said, “But whoever killed Payne and stabbed her might
also
be trying to get to her.”

“Is trying to get to her.
Is
trying,” Jagger corrected. He cleared his throat and looked as if he were debating whether to tell me something.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“Come on, Jagger. Spill. You know more.”

“A few hours ago, one of the cops sitting guard outside of Pansy's room was smacked from behind—”

“Shit!”

“Yeah. He wasn't knocked out completely, and before whoever the culprit was could finish the job, an orderly came off the elevator.”

“Did they see anything? Anyone?” I moved closer and leaned toward him as if that would pull words out of Jagger's mouth. “Huh?”

“Naw. He or she disappeared so fast, neither the injured guard nor the orderly could even say if it was a man or woman. All they agreed upon was the color of the scrubs.”

“What color?”

He looked at me and said, “Blue.”

I really didn't relish dealing with a murderer. This fraud stuff was bad enough, but it seemed the stakes grew higher and higher in each of my cases; evidently greed led to more than just stealing.

It led to murder.

Yikes.

“You get anymore of those phone messages?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Maybe the caller stopped so that he or she wouldn't get caught.”

Jagger just sipped on his coffee.

When we finished our coffee and donuts, Jagger started the engine. I looked at my watch and wanted to say I was tired and had to get up early to do my ride-along tomorrow during orientation, but knew he was correct.

No time like the present to beat the “Angel of Death.”

“We'll stop by your place to change,” Jagger said as we headed south out of the Dunkin' Donut parking lot.

“Change?” I looked at myself all in black and thought, not only did I look perfect for spying but hot too. Okay, that was my opinion.

“We can't go walking around the hospital like this, Sherlock.”

Duh. Damn it, I hated when he got the drop on me like that. I should have figured that out myself, and would have, if it wasn't such a long day.

And long it was.

Seemed like ages since I “necked” on the beach with ER Dano. I sighed.

“You all right?”

Oh…yeah
. I looked at Jagger as we stopped at my condo. “I'm fine. Just fine.” How I wanted to hop into my bed when I got inside though and suddenly pictured Airbrush Lady. Geez.

“Be quiet so we don't wake Goldie or Miles,” I said to Jagger as I unlocked the door. Wasted words, sure. Jagger was never a ball of energy or a chatty kinda guy anyway.

But what a guy!

Spanky looked up from the couch and gave a sleepy smile to…Jagger.
Good
, I thought,
you little traitor.
Good that you fell asleep down here waiting for me. The little guy always slept in my bed unless I wasn't there. Served him right.

I turned on the living room light and walked toward the stairs. “I'll only be a few minutes”

Jagger was already on the couch with Traitor Spanky fast asleep on his lap!

When I walked into my room, the bed stood out as if it'd grown a hundredfold. It
called
to me. “Pauline,” I heard it say, “Just sit on my edge for a second. It won't hurt to do that. Only a second. My pillows are so soft.”

I tried to ignore it and walked to my closet where I shuffled through the many sets of scrubs hanging there. What color would be most inconspicuous? Something rather dull. Rather drab.

Gray.

I certainly wouldn't stand out in gray. It'd match my eyes and make me look pale and tired—as if I were working the night shift. Perfect. And I sure didn't want to wear blue like the person who attacked the guard.

I dressed quickly and sat on the edge of the enticing bed to put on my socks and clogs. Typical nursing shoes nowadays. Had to have comfortable feet in a job where one stood so much. I leaned back to pull my sock up….

“Sherlock. Sherlock.”

“Hm?” I rolled to the side and felt something solid under my hip. In my groggy state, I reached down and pulled out a clog from underneath me. Then I blinked several times in my confusion only to look up into the dark, sexy eyes of…Jagger.

In…my…bedroom….

Oh my.

Suddenly I flew upright and shoved the clog onto my foot. “All set. I'm all set!”

“And the sun is out,” he said, nodding toward the window.

“Sun? At this hour?” Not sure what the heck hour it really was, I looked at my clock. “Damn. I fell asleep and have to be at TLC in a half hour.” I remained on my side of the bed and looked at Jagger. “Why didn't you wake me?”

He looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “I've had more luck raising the dead on several cases.” With that he turned, walked toward the door, and said over his shoulder, “Be ready after work. We can't drag our feet with Pansy's condition the way it is.”

“Drag our feet? Drag
our
feet? You should have woken me up!”

He merely turned around and grinned.

And for the rest of the day I'd picture that look that reminded me—Jagger had stood by my bed watching me sleep.

And, horrified, I'd keep wondering if I…snored.

I'd taken my own car to work so it wouldn't look as if Jagger and I were in cahoots. That was my idea, and I was still smiling about it as I stepped out into the parking lot and watched ER Dano pull his truck into his space.

My knees knocked.

Taking a big deep breath, I told myself to calm down. He was just a man. A man who I'd kissed. Liked kissing and hoped to kiss more.

I gave a very casual wave, smiled nicely, and walked toward the door. Dano was fast on my heels.

“Hey, Nightingale.” His uniform was clean but worn and wrinkled unlike the snap, crackle, pop of Buzz's. However, Dano looked so male and hot, no one cared about damn wrinkles.

“Morning.” I kept up my pace even though I wanted to slow, turn, and grab him. Get that second kiss out of the way, you know.

“We'll be doing a daily on the southern border of town today. Be prepared to sit and wait for calls. Bring a magazine or something.” With that he grabbed the door handle before I could, yanked, and held it just long enough for me to get through.

I smiled so he couldn't see. For some reason, I didn't think ER Dano would want me to acknowledge any gentlemanly moves from such a macho guy.

He turned toward the guys' locker room with a quick, “Later.”

Too bad he seemed so burned out. Been there. Done that.

I walked to the reception desk where Lilla sat talking on the phone in French. “Your mom?” I asked quietly.

She winked.

“Say hi for me.” I sat on the chair opposite her desk and waited, wondering if she had anything helpful for me.

Lilla held her hand over the receiver, “Fabio is asking how the case is going.” She shook her head and winked at me.

I groaned. “Fantastic. Tell him fantastic.”

She continued on in French at what seemed like a lot more words than my “Fantastic. Tell him fantastic,” but didn't translate for me after her “
Adieu
.”

When she hung up, I leaned forward. Frankly I couldn't care less about the jerk Fabio. “Hey, Lilla, anything for me?”

She curled her lips. “Pansy's guard was attacked—”

“Um. I know.” For a few seconds I wondered how
she
knew. Did Jagger tell her? If so, when would Jagger have seen Lilla? Maybe Buzz had told her. They seemed to have been getting along. Yeah, Buzz. I was going with Buzz.

“Morning, ladies,” a deep voice said from behind.

I swung around to see Sky heading toward the lounge, then I looked at Lilla. “Yum.”

She giggled. Only someone dressed exclusively in black and having a face and body like her could get away with giggling and not have it be annoying. “You are special for him,
chérie
?”

“Special?”

“Interested.”

“Ah. No. Actually, he's a doll and one heck of a looker but no.” Just then ER Dano walked out of the locker room and turned toward the lounge without a word. I remained silent.

Lilla's eyebrow rose.

“What?”

“Ah. I see.” She winked at me and shuffled some papers on her desk.

I got up and turned toward the lounge then looked back. “No you don't see. You can't see. There's nothing
to
see.”

She chuckled. “You have the hots, as they say here, for
Monsieur
Dano.”

It wasn't a question, merely an astute observation, so I leaned near and asked, “Does it really show?”

She touched my hand. “No. No,
chérie
. It doesn't.”

“Yeah, right. Thanks for that. I'll be more careful,” I said then laughed.

While the both of us continued laughing the intercom above my head boomed, “Copter 123 report. Copter 123 report.”

“That for Sky?” I asked as Lilla's phone rang.

She nodded, answered, and sounded concerned.

I waited a few minutes then Lilla hung up. “You have to go,
chérie
. They need a registered nurse on this flight. The trained helicopter paramedic will be with you too.”

For a second I was glad I hadn't had my morning cup of tea yet or else it might be climbing up my throat right about now.

Once out on the helipad, I met Nicky Straight the paramedic who was going too. He explained that the patient we had to pick up needed some IV meds in transport that he wasn't trained to give.

Okay, I told myself. That doesn't sound too bad. IV meds I could do. Watching for signs of distress I could do.

Whirr
.
Whirr
.

The helicopter's blades started to turn. Riding in this tin can with blades—I couldn't do. Blades held on by only one nut I'd heard!

Sky looked at me through the window and gave Nicky and me a thumbs up.