Fallen (20 page)

My cheeks are burning; it surely must be halfway to an admission of guilt when the person you’re interviewing starts blushing furiously. Except my temperature isn’t rising because I’m feeling trapped or caught out. It’s rising because she thinks I’m stupid. There were no cameras at San Jacinto. Of course there were no cameras. It’s a private hospital, where clients appreciate their privacy and don’t want any evidence of them being wheeled into their third face-lift. Both Zeth and Michael made sure that they weren’t being recorded, and I’m betting Rebel did, too. If they had discovered that they
were
being filmed, that video footage would have been ‘accidentally’ wiped before the day was out. So, this bitch is lying to me and hoping I’m stupid enough to fall for it, which makes me exceptionally mad.

“I’m afraid you’re just going to have to wait on your evidence, Agent Lowell,” I say as sweetly as I can. “This nurse seems to have described someone that sounds like me, but surely there are lots of women out there who are my height and build with brown hair, right?”

I’ve called her bluff, and by the looks of her Agent Lowell couldn’t be less impressed. I don’t think very many people decline giving her what she wants, when she wants it. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing,” she says. “Your involvement with Zeth Mayfair has been of particular interest to us. Would you care to tell us where he is right now?”

So she knows about Zeth. But I’m getting the feeling she’s trying to play me again right now. If she did know anything, she wouldn’t need me to tell her where he was; she would know that. She would know his exact location at all times. More importantly, they suspect Zeth had something to do with Archie Monterello’s murder, so they would have arrested his ass.

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name,” I say politely. Lowell looks away, clenching her hands together in her lap. The polished leather toe of her right shoe starts tapping quickly against the carpet.

“What do you think you’re gaining from keeping this information from me, Dr. Romera? Do you think you’re protecting your sister? That you’re protecting this Mayfair character? Let me ask you this: have you considered that the DEA are trying to protect
you
and the rest of this country? Zeth isn’t what he may seem to be. He may have tricked you into believing he’s harmless; you may be drawn to that rough exterior, but let me assure you, he is a killer, Sloane.
A killer
. Are you aware that he did time in Chino for murder?”

I don’t let my thoughts manifest themselves on my face, but I feel like launching across the Chief’s desk and wrapping my hands around this woman’s throat. It’s laughable that she believes Zeth has been tricking me into being with him. It’s also laughable that she thinks Zeth’s fooled me into believing he’s harmless. If she’d have spent any time with him whatsoever, if she’d even ever
met
the man face to face, then she’d know it would be impossible for him to convince anyone of that. Zeth is just about as far from harmless as a man can get. “Like I said…I don’t know anyone by that name. I’m sorry I can’t be of any help to you where he’s concerned. And as for my sister, you say you think she was shot in the back? How do you know that? Is she badly hurt?”

Lowell cocks her head to one side, her lips pursed together into a tight line. “I don’t think she was shot in the back; I
know
she was. I shot her. As for her being badly hurt?” She shrugs. “I doubt very much that she’s dead. San Jacinto said—”

I shot her.

“—their patient had received professional medical assistance out in the field”—she raises her eyebrows at me, clearly indicating that she
knows
it was me who provided that care—“so I would assume—”

I shot her.

“—she’s still receiving appropriate care.”

I shot her.

The words are ringing inside my head. This woman, the woman standing so casually in front of me, is the agent who shot Alexis? Again, she gives me a knowing look, as though I’m sneaking off every five minutes to change my sister’s dressings. She fucking
shot
Alexis, and she’s looking at me like I’m a felon for attending to my own sister’s life-threatening injuries.

If she knew anything at all, she would know that’s not the case. In my head, I’m reaching for this woman’s gun and smashing it over
her
head with as much force as I can manage; she can’t tell me something like that and then expect me not to have a major problem with it.

“Why the hell would you need to attack my sister? Lexi was kidnapped and taken against her will. As far as I’m aware, that’s not a criminal offense that requires shooting on sight.”

A warped smile twists across Agent Lowell’s face. “Kidnapping doesn’t, no. But your sister is no saint. She’s up to her neck in hot water, and the temperature is only gonna rise from here on in. Maybe you should tell her that when you speak with her next.”

I’m growing tired of telling her I’m not seeing or speaking to my sister, and I’m growing tired of playing games. I get to my feet, straightening up the chair I was sitting in. “Are you going to ask me about Nannette Richards, Agent Lowell, or are you going to harass me for information that I do
not
have?”

“We don’t need to ask you anything about Nannette Richards,” Agent Lowell says, giving me a cold smile. “We already know everything we need to know about her. She is a victim; an innocent who was killed to make a point. Zeth’s ex-employer is a violent man, with an interesting way of making a point. You fuck with him, and you can bet your ass he’s gonna fuck with you right back. You should get used to having other people’s blood on your hands. Charlie Holsan will keep piling the bodies up on St. Peter’s doorstep so long as you’re connected with Zeth Mayfair. And from this conversation, Dr. Romera, I can see you’re not going to give up that connection easily.”

I fold my arms across my chest, giving her a dark look. She’s telling me I’m responsible for Nannette’s death, and I will basically be responsible for many more if I don’t tell her everything I know. I know that to some degree she’s right; I do have Nannette’s blood on my hands, figuratively as well as literally, but I will not succumb to bullying tactics just so this viper can get what she wants. I want Charlie Holsan put away for life, but something tells me Charlie isn’t this woman’s primary focus right now. Cooperating with her won’t get me anywhere. “I have patients to attend to, Agent,” I say. “Are we done here?”

Agent Lowell’s grin has a rather wolfish quality to it when she flashes her teeth at me. “Oh, no, I’m afraid not. I’ve re-evaluated the situation. Seems to me, we should take you down to the station after all. You may not wish to assist us in our investigation, Dr. Romera, but I’m thinking perhaps a forty-eight-hour stint in a public jail might persuade you otherwise. So please”—she smiles sweetly, gesturing to the chair—“why don’t you take a seat?”

The rain’s grown pretty heavy while we’ve been waiting for Michael and Cade. The fuckers take forever to show, and when they do make an appearance they’re soaked to the skin and dressed head to toe in black. They basically turn up looking like fucking criminals.

I give Michael a firm thump on the arm as soon as he’s within reach. “What the hell is wrong with you? Didn’t I say we don’t wanna draw any unwanted attention?”

“You told me to make sure Cade didn’t wear his cut,” Michael says, rubbing at his arm with an aloof but wounded look of pride. “And is he wearing his cut? No. He is not.”

Cade points to his back to demonstrate that Michael’s right. “This is all we had, man. Now come on, I thought you wanted to break into this place?”

“I did. But now that my sidekicks are a motherfucking huge ex-con covered in prison tats and a black guy in a fucking hoody, I’m not so sure. Doesn’t exactly scream respectable.”

Michael thumps me in the arm now. “Fuck you, Zee. And anyway, a black guy wearing an Armani suit hands down will always draw more attention.”

“And what about me? Am I not a sidekick?” Lacey’s hands are on her hips, her hair plastered to her scalp and hanging into her face in wet ringlets. She looks like a half-drowned cat.

“Fuck! Yes, you’re a fucking sidekick. For the love of god!” I’m beginning to think it would be better to do this alone, but there’s no way to shake Lace now. And Michael’s hardly one to heed my commands if he thinks he’s going to be needed. “Alright, fine, let’s do this,” I growl. It’s not ideal, but then whatever is?

Cade holds out his knuckles for me to fist-bump. “Strange turn of events, huh, bro? Both sent down for something that had nothing to do with us, and now, when we’re on the outside, is when we’re doing the illegal shit. Are we gonna kill this English fucker or what?”

“No. We’re going to avoid him like the plague. It’s too public to be brawling here. And we’re not doing anything illegal, either. We’re just breaking a quarantine. And maybe a few health codes.”

Michael gives me a dubious look. “You say that every time.”

I don’t even justify that with a response. Cade takes a quick look around, searching for the cops, who are still standing outside the hospital. They’re too busy chatting to a news reporter, who’s wearing one of the shortest skirts I’ve ever seen, to notice us. “So what’s the plan?”

“The plan’s simple. You two, get me under each arm. Lace, once we get around the side of the building, you run on ahead and tell the cops your friend is hurt and needs urgent medical attention.”

Cade lifts one eyebrow, shaking his head. “And what are we gonna do when the cops guarding the side entrance see that we don’t actually have a wounded guy to wheel inside?”

With a level of self-righteousness that even I can’t manage, Michael gives me an I-told-you-so look. He reaches forward and grabs hold of the bottom of my T-shirt, lifting it quickly before I can stop him. “Oh, I somehow don’t think a real injury is gonna be a problem, huh, boss?”

Cade sees the blood pouring down my stomach, the broken stitches sticking out of my now re-opened wound, and he blanches a little. I had forgotten all about that—Cade Preston never was comfortable around the sight of blood. Doesn’t look like much has changed. “Aw, for fuck’s sake!” he says, scrubbing his hand over his mouth. “Doesn’t that fucking hurt, man?”

I fix all three of them in the nastiest glare I can muster. Yes, it fucking hurts. Yes, I feel like shit. If I’m honest, I’m not entirely sure how long I’m going to be conscious if I keep losing blood at this rate. “No, asshole. I’m fine. Now come on, let’s go.”

******

The other entrance to St. Peter’s is a staff entrance, not used for emergencies. There are less people here, but there is still a pair of cops guarding the door, blocking anyone from going in or coming out. Just like I told her to, Lacey runs ahead and does a fine job of turning on the waterworks.

“My friend, he’s—he’s been stabbed! He’s losing a lot of blood. You have to let us inside!”

The cops aren’t buying it until Cade and Michael practically drag me around the corner, my legs trailing out behind me, and they see the blood. It’s all over my hands and face now, courtesy of a liberal application from my stomach wound, just to make things look a little more dramatic.

“Whoa, whoa, what the fuck man? You need to take him around front!” the younger of the cops tells Cade, holding up his hands.

“Does he look like he’s got time for me to take him around the front, asshole? He’s fucking bleeding out!”

I cough for effect, making a pained groaning sound and doubling over. I must look like shit. I’ve never been particularly tanned, but right now I’m guessing that if my coloring were manufactured as a paint, it would be called Early-Onset Death.

The cops look at each other, unsure what to do. “There’s a lockdown in progress at this hospital right now, sir. You might want to head over to one of the other hospitals instead,” the older, more experienced guy says.

“He’ll be dead before we get there,” Michael hisses,

“Yeah. And if he dies, that will be on you,” Lacey adds, tears still running down her cheeks. Maybe they’re raindrops actually; either way, it’s working in our favor. The cops look like they’re about to back down. They give each other another hesitant look and I think we’re through…but then the older one says, “I’m sorry, guys. A quarantine’s a quarantine for a reason. We can’t risk it. Here, I can have an ambulance sent over to—”

Cade nearly skids in the mud as I straighten up, shrugging off the two men who are supposedly supporting me. In two short strides I’ve covered the ground between me and the guy who was speaking and grabbed hold of his face in my palm, shoving him backward. He staggers back a step; I let go, pull my arm back and I swing as hard as I can, smashing my fist into his cheek bone. It all happens so fast that the younger guy barely has time to react. I kick out his legs from underneath him, and then Cade rushes forward and drives his fist into the kid’s face, hard enough that his body goes limp on impact.

Both of the cops lie unconscious on the ground.

Blowing, Cade straightens up, looking from the bodies to me, and back again. “Not illegal, huh? I’m sure Washington State considers assault on a police officer illegal,” he says.