Dead on Arrival (5 page)

After one more, I missed, and Jagger took over, sinking five balls in a row.

Well at least I'd lose with my dignity still intact since he didn't cream me right off the bat. Actually, I played on, holding my own, all the while praying and visualizing the pros.

“Good job, Sherlock,” Jagger said right after I sunk the eight ball—after all my solid ones!

Of course, Jagger only had one left, so I didn't cream him by any sense of the word, but I did beat him!

I beat Jagger!

“Thanks,” I said, smiling. Couldn't help it. Maybe it was more of a cocky grin, but beginner's luck had given me a gift tonight. I looked up to see ER Dano standing right next to me.

“Five bucks.” He looked directly at me.

I swallowed. “Five bucks for the winner?” Geez. That sounded so stupid, and by the look on Jagger's face and his head shaking, he thought so too. But Dano remained stone faced. “Oh. Okay. But, you know, I should get some points spotted to me since I've already played a game.”

“How you figure that out, Nightingale?”

Did Jagger just flinch?

This was getting to be more and more fun!

I walked toward the bar, took a few sips of my Cosmo until it was done, and turned back. “I mean, kicking Jagger's butt took some energy out of me. Not sure if I have enough left to kick yours.”

Jagger really glared at me now.

Lilla and Buzz gasped behind me.

And ER Dano gave me a delicious smile.

Suddenly I felt as if I had a phone chord wrapped around
my
neck and it was tightening.

“Okay, so it was beginner's luck with you,” I said to Jagger after ER Dano kicked my butt—three times. Fifteen bucks. I owed him fifteen bucks.

Jagger pretended as if he didn't care as he took my arm—make that grabbed my arm—and pulled me toward the back of the bar and out the Emergency door. No alarm sounded, and I'm sure he knew it wouldn't. Out in the alleyway, he turned toward me.

“I couldn't give a shit about pool, Pauline. We need to talk about the case since we haven't had a chance to yet.”

I'll just bet you don't give a shit—since you lost!
I thought.

“Okay, what the hell are we doing out here?” I asked, looking directly at Jagger. “What? You want some pool playing tips from a pro?” I started to laugh—until I looked at him.

Oops.

Silenced me right up with that look.

“What did you find in the files before Payne was…came in?” he asked.

“How'd you know I even found anything?”

At first he looked at me as if I were nuts. Maybe I was for asking
him
that question when Jagger seemed to know all. Or maybe not.

“Payne wouldn't have tried to kill you for no good reason.”

Hm. That was probably true. If he just caught me there and wasn't worried, he wouldn't have pulled a knife. After all, that would have blown his scam. A knife. Eeks.

My knees weakened.

I leaned forward.

Then steadied myself on—Jagger's chest.

“I was nearly killed,” I mumbled.

His finger touched just beneath my chin, lifted my head a bit until we met eye to eye, and before I could contemplate what kind of outfits souls wore up in Heaven, Jagger's lips were on mine.

Well, not exactly
on
mine, but over, inside, and…yum.

He pulled me closer, and I let him. Strong arms held me so tight, I could barely breathe, but knew, just knew, that if he tightened more, I'd be in Nirvana. Very gently he ran a finger around my face, as if encircling me with his touch.

After a few moans (mine) and a few sensual animal sounds (his), I reached my hands up to run my fingers through his hair.

Jagger eased to the side enough that his lips touched near my ear. “I don't know what I'd do if…”

As his words trailed off (no way could I fully comprehend
anything
in this position), I ran my hands down his neck, around his shoulders, and just leaned into him.

If there was safety in numbers, I felt very safe with this
one
.

“We need to get working more on this case, Sherlock.”

Suddenly my safe, sensual little harbor of love was interrupted with the thought—did Jagger mean he couldn't live without me ‘cause I was fantastic and he was madly in love with me—or that I was a decent partner?

“Yeah,” I said, pulled back, and ran my hands down my clothing as if taking out any Jagger-induced wrinkles. “Yeah, we do.” I swallowed, hoping that would bring me back to reality.

“So? What did you find before Payne came in? I assume he came in and wasn't there to start.”

“Yeah. He came in all right.” I proceeded to tell Jagger about the files that I found, which convinced me that Payne Sterling was a criminal—but an empty feeling nagged at me all the while until Jagger took a step back.

A step back physically…and a step back from my heart.

After Jagger's kiss and our discussion of the case—which still had us stymied at square one—I made it back home in record time. Had to or I'd have stalked Jagger for the rest of the night. Funny thing was, I had no idea where he lived and often thought the guy just “disappeared” into thin air when not around.

Made him so damn mysterious.

The living room was quiet when I opened the door, figuring Goldie and Miles were out. It was a bit too early for anyone to be asleep so I called Spanky, who came running like an obedient dog—now that Jagger wasn't with me.

I bent down and rubbed Spank's tummy. “Hey, buddy. How you been?”

After a few more rubs, I let him out and got myself a glass of warm milk. I stuck a pat of butter in it and watched it slowly melt. This was Stella Sokol's old remedy for us kids when we couldn't sleep. Of course she'd die if she knew Jagger's kiss was what I envisioned was going to keep me awake like a gallon of caffeine would.

Then again, there was that time she changed all my undies to thongs while I was away on a case.

Maybe I misjudged my mother.

I laughed and took a sip of the concoction, all the while ignoring the gazillion cholesterol grams that floated before my eyes.

Spanky was taking his good old time, so I went to the phone to see if anyone had called. The red light blinked three times, so I pushed Play.

“Pauline? Pauline Sokol?”

I rolled my eyes at my mother's voice. She always talked to the machine as if it were alive. Make that as if it were me.

“Pauline, this is your mother. I want you to come for dinner tomorrow night. Be there at six sharp. Bring the boys. You know what I mean. The homosexual men.”

I groaned and let Spanky back in. “She's going to drive me insane, Spanks.” He looked as if he agreed. He knew her very well. “Guess there's no trying to get out of it though.”

Spanky nodded.

I waited for the second message. “Pauline Sokol, this is Nancy at Banker's Holding Company—”

“Damn!” I poked at the delete button, silencing Nancy. No point in hearing her
remind
me that my car payment was due. Past due. I'd send it in tomorrow. I would!

I looked at Spanky. He raised one eyebrow. Not sure if dogs even had eyebrows but he raised something in disbelief. “Shut up. I will send it in. I'll postdate a check and get paid soon.” This should be a fast case with Payne already dead.

Spanky gave me a “yeah sure” look and walked away. The little creature of habit knew when it was bedtime, and I figured he headed upstairs. I started to turn, and the last message began in a garbled, almost robotic voice. Reminded me of the device patients who had suffered cancer of the larynx used.

“Two plus two equals four. Then if four plus four equals eight, what does that mean, Pauline? What does eight mean for you? For your
life
, Sokol? Wanna find out?” Sick laughter filled my kitchen. I dropped my glass of milk, the remainder splashing across Miles's immaculate white kitchen floor. “Get the hell out of TLC.”

That last part came out so clearly, so threateningly, so menacing, that I gasped.

“Do you have to listen to that again?” I asked Jagger as Goldie and Miles both made little sounds of shock.

“I'm guessing you didn't call me over here to chat, Sherlock. Just listening for clues.” He gave a sympathetic look to Goldie and Miles who were huddled at the kitchen table, both holding my hand. Same one. “Maybe you guys want to wait in the living room?” he asked.

I had to smile at that thoughtful suggestion. Jagger was such a dichotomy of personalities, but I loved that he cared about my dearest friends in the world.

“We're fine,” Miles said, tightening his hold.

“I'm gonna take this to Shatley and have his boys analyze it.” Jagger lifted the tape out of the recorder, and all I could say was, “Glad we have the old-fashioned kind of machine instead of the tapeless one.”

Everyone looked at me.

No one smiled.

Amazingly enough I slept a few hours that night. Of course, knowing Jagger was sleeping on our couch downstairs had something to do with it.

He really did represent safety for me.

When my alarm went off, I got up, not in the mood to lounge around, although I always thought the best feeling in the world was waking up and staying in bed while still in that glorious restful state.

I couldn't even pretend last night was restful.

Who the hell was that on the tape? Who knew my number? What did the damn riddle mean? And, more importantly, why me?

After my shower and dressing in my blue scrubs, which I hated but thought today was a day I should wear them for some strange reason, I headed downstairs to inhale maple syrup and coffee aromas in the living room.

When I pushed open the kitchen door, Jagger sat at the counter reading the newspaper. Spanky was nestled at Jagger's feet with traces of maple syrup on his whiskers and Miles and Goldie ate solemnly at the table.

I wanted to hug both of them. No, all three…four of them.

“Hey, why so gloomy?”

“Suga'?” Goldie squealed.

“Okay, I know why, but stop it, you two. What a great breakfast,” I said, taking my teacup and putting water in it. The decaffeinated green tea bag was already in it. A dish with aluminum foil covering it sat at my place, and I turned to Jagger, “Thanks. Breakfast smells great.”

He merely nodded. We all ate in silence, and then Goldie and Miles kissed my cheeks simultaneously (and held me way too long as if they knew this was my last day on earth).

I said a quick prayer that my darling roomies were not clairvoyant!

“Stop following me around, Jagger,” I said close to his ear so no one else in the living room of TLC would hear.

Buzz Lightyear sat at the ready, with a newspaper in hand, but not reading. Two other EMTs watched
The Today Show
, and darling ER Dano sat in the corner by himself drinking steaming coffee. Damn, he made it look so delicious.

Jagger said nothing and took a step back. He'd been doing it all morning since we left the condo. Following me as if Robotman, what I now called the threatening phone caller, was right on my tail.

Usually having Jagger so close would be fun. Sexy. Sensual. Pheromonally intoxicating.

But today he annoyed me.

That, in all reality, was because I was on edge—but didn't want him to know it. When he was so protective, I interpreted that as him fearing for me. I didn't much like Jagger being afraid for anyone or anything.

“Four, five, six, we have a possible eight ninety-two at 24 Chester Drive!” came across the intercom.

Jagger looked at me, dumped his coffee cup on the nearest table, and headed toward the door. Buzz jumped to attention, so I figured he'd be riding with us. Great. That put me in the back. And ER Dano took the last sip of his black coffee, set the mug down, and sauntered to the door.

Once outside, ER got into the driver's seat although I could tell Buzz was dying to drive. He looked like a puppy wildly wagging his tail in anticipation.

“Get in, the bunch of you!” Dano ordered, cranked the engine, and before Jagger and I had seated ourselves on the bench in the back, we were flying out of the parking lot.

Flying might have been too mild a word.

Suddenly, I think while making a left-hand turn, I found myself sliding toward Jagger. “Oh! Sorry!” I yelled as the sirens tended to drain out any sounds in close proximity to the ambulance.

“Hang on.” He motioned to the railing that was on the wall near me.

I nodded and grabbed onto the wall handle. “You know what an eight ninety-two is?”

As soon as the words came out, I shook my head. Jagger knew something about everything.

“Attempted suicide.”

My grip slipped since one of my hands flew to my face in shock, Dano jammed on the brakes, and before I knew it, I was in Jagger's lap.

I pulled myself back to a sitting position, inhaled to clear my head, and got up—then flew out the doors without a word.

“Yowza,” Buzz Lightyear said.

Dano grunted at him.

Jagger remained silent, but there was some indistinguishable look on his face.

And I had to grasp onto the doorframe as I watched the young woman in the bed on this 892 call.

She writhed about like a stripper! Had to be only about mid-twenties, dressed in a thin, very thin, white nightie that might as well have been hanging in her closet instead of trying to cover her.

Buzz cleared his throat.

Dano turned to him. “You got this one.”

“She's nuts,” a woman, who looked as if she were the patient's sister said, edging into the room.

I had to agree; although I also thought the patient looked a bit pale. For a second, I figured these three guys could handle this babe, and maybe I'd sneak out and get back to TLC to snoop, but then she started grabbing onto the headboard—as if it were a pole.

The three guys took a step foreword.

I wasn't going anywhere.

Buzz asked, “Um, ma'am, can you hear me?”

The girl looked at him with disgust. “Why the hell wouldn't I be able to?”

“Oh. Good. Great.” Sweat broke out on his forehead, and he wiped a finger across it. “So, ma'am, uh,” he looked at the sister.

“Virginia,” her sister said, while ER Dano threw a sheet over the girl.

Buzz nodded. “Ms. Virginia, why are we here today?”

She just about spit the words at him as she kicked at the sheets until they flew off. “I didn't call you, handsome, but if you wanna f—”

“Virginia!” Her horrified sister said, making the sign of the cross.

I looked around the room. Statues of Blessed Mother, Jesus, and a few others I didn't recognize other than that they had to be saints covered the room. Virginia had to be Catholic. A set of rosary beads hung off the doorknob. Yep. Catholic school too.

Virginia glared at her sister. “So why the hell are these pseudo docs here, Margaret? You called them…” She started to drift off.

Virginia must have taken a whopping dose of some medication. Despite her maneuvers, she looked semi out of it, and her nail beds were cyanotic instead of bright pink. Not enough oxygen in her system.

Buzz diligently opened the supply bag, got out a mask, and hooked it up to the oxygen, then tried to put it on Virginia. I'm not sure how it happened, but after I blinked, I looked across the room to see the oxygen mask hanging off of ER Dano's left ear!

He grabbed it, pushed Buzz to the side, and said, “What'd you take, Virginia? And—” He undid the mask from the tubing, took out a nasal canula from the bag, and finished with, “I'm not leaving unless you put this on. It's not confining like the mask. I'll just stick in into your nostrils.”