Nerves of Steel (11 page)

Cassie sighed.  Some days you just couldn't please anyone. 

After an hour in the basement with her weights and heavy bag, she finally exhausted herself enough to entertain sleep as an option.  She fell asleep in her sweat soaked T-shirt and shorts, face down on her bed, Gram Rosa's heavy velvet patchwork quilt blanketing her.

Sleep for Cassie was often elusive and never restful.  How could it be with so many people clamoring for her attention?  Patients she could have, should have saved.  Her mother, who she'd never known and who had died because of her.  Gram Rosa with her scent of lilac and lavender.  Her father's face, gaunt and twisted by pain, silhouetted by broken glass glistening in winter sunlight. 

All the people who loved her--all gone now, except in her dreams.

Today she dreamed of dancing on the deck of a ship, a man's arms holding her close.  She closed her eyes, her body humming with anticipation, but then opened them as his grip on her waist tightened.  Richard grinned down at her.

"You'll always be mine, Ella," he said, holding her fast when she tried to run.

She thrashed beneath the heavy quilt, fighting to escape Richard.  The thick collection of satin and velvet had once saved Rosa's life, but it was powerless to protect Cassie from her nightmares. 

Finally, she left her dreams behind.  As always, she woke alone in a silent house. The same dark gloom that had greeted her this morning shadowed the room even though her bedside clock said four-fifty pm.  Cassie lay in bed a few minutes, fantasizing about sunlit beaches and ocean surf. 

Her grandparents had taken her to Wildwood every summer when she was a child.  A month before he died, her grandfather, Padraic, had won the ceramic ballerina sitting on her dresser there, at a Boardwalk arcade.  As the ancient furnace fired up, making the lace curtains ruffle, she tried to pretend the movement came from an ocean breeze. 

The February wind rattled the windows, its icy tendrils shattering her fantasy, and she gave up.  She gathered enough energy to shower and feed herself while the cat watched, forever hopeful. 

Several messages had come in while she slept.  The first was from Richard.  "I'm sorry about what happened last night."  His voice sounded sincere and earnest.  "I'll see you tonight.  I promise things will be different this time."

Fran's voice came through the machine next, eager with excitement.  "I've been playing around with this treatment failure idea and I think there's more going on.  The fentephex is just the tip of the iceberg.  I'm staying late at work, come talk to me before you start your shift.  Bye."

More to the FX thefts?  Did Fran mean more than one person involved?  Or had other drugs gone missing as well?  Cassie tapped the edge of the buffet.  Maybe she should call Drake.  No, Fran would have already called him.  Best just to get over to Three Rivers and see what Fran had found.

Drake would probably already be there, huddled with Fran, both sharing a joke, the mystery solved by the time Cassie arrived.

The roads were slick as she drove from Point Breeze to Three Rivers.  Sleet flung itself at her windshield with the ferocity of a kamikaze.  Cassie pulled her Impreza into the employee parking lot and raced across the blacktop, dodging raindrops.

Fran would be waiting for her.  It would be nice if she had solved the riddle of the FX source.  Anything to put a stop to this epidemic of dead and dying children.

Cassie hesitated at the stairwell, wanting to go up to the fourth floor and check on Brian Winston and Jane Doe, but there was no time.  As she opened the door leading down to the Annex tunnel, her cell phone trilled.  Probably Fran.

"I'm on my way," she said into the receiver.

"You'd better hurry," came a muffled voice. 

Cassie frowned, definitely not Fran.  "I'm sorry, who is this?"

"How fast can you run?" the voice continued.  "Your friend is counting on you.  Hurry or it will be too late."

"Who is this?  I think you have the wrong number." A clenching in her chest told her the caller had not misdialed.

"Ask your friend."

"Cassie."  Fran's voice now, high pitched and strangled with fear.  "Please hurry.  He says he'll hurt me."

"Fran?"  Her voice reverberated from the concrete walls of the stairwell, echoing with the pounding of her heart. "Where are you?  Are you all right?"

"Head back to your car, Dr. Hart," the first voice returned.  "Run.  Run fast."

Clutching the phone so tightly she feared it might slip from her sweaty grasp, she did as she was told and raced back the way she'd come.  "Please, don't hurt her."

She rushed past a security guard at the hospital entrance and beckoned for him to accompany her.  The guard looked at her as if she was crazy, but heaved his bulk from his stool and plodded after her.  She pushed through the doors, scanning the parking lot.

"Where are you?"  Fear slashed at her, as icy as the sleet.  She turned towards her Subaru.

"Who you talking to?" the guard asked her as he stumbled out into the rain, fumbling with a golf umbrella.

"Too late, Doctor."  The voice returned.  "Maybe if you move fast you can still save your friend."

The sound of a gunshot echoed in Cassie's ears.  "Fran!" she screamed, but the wind devoured her voice.   A dark form ran from the parking lot, quickly lost in the night.

"Get a trauma team out here," she shouted at the guard as she sprinted toward her car.

Fran lay beside the Impreza, blood bubbling from a jagged wound in her neck.  Cassie knelt in the freezing rain, frantically applying pressure to the massive wound, ignoring the lurching in her stomach as she focused on Fran.  Bright red blood sprayed between Cassie's fingers, showering her with crimson warmth.  Fran's eyes were open, life still in them, but she was unable to speak.

"Sshh, it's all right," Cassie crooned.  Fran's wrists were bound with strapping tape, but she somehow found the strength to reach up and clutch Cassie's arm.  Blood gurgled around Cassie's fingers.  Fran's lips formed words Cassie was powerless to translate.

"Fran, I'm sorry.  It's all my fault.  I should have never gotten you mixed up in all this."  She bent over Fran, trying to keep the rain out of her friend's face.  There was little other comfort she could give and nothing more she could do until the trauma team arrived.

She heard the sound of voices, glanced up to see the trauma team rushing a gurney stacked with equipment toward them.  Thank God.  "Help is on the way," she told Fran.  "Hold on." 

Fran's eyes closed, her body fell limp.  Cassie reached for a pulse.  It was gone.  No!  She straddled her friend's body and began chest compressions, but each one forced more blood from the awful wound.

The surgeon examined the damage and shook his head.  "You can stop CPR."

"No--we can get her up to the OR, repair the damage.  Damn it, why isn't someone getting me a line, we need to push Oneg!"

The team stared at her.  The surgeon took her arm.  "Look around you.  She bled out, it's too late."

Cassie blinked hard, finally looked down.  Blood streamed off her clothes.  Fran lay in a large puddle of dark red fluid so thick the pounding rain couldn't begin to wash it away. 

A silent scream tore through her, lodging in her throat before she could give it voice.  She rocked back on her heels, raising her bloody hands from Fran's still chest. 

"She never had a chance," someone murmured.

CHAPTER 20

What everyone failed to understand, Cassie thought as wind and sleet and people swirled around her, was that Fran did have a chance.  She would be alive if she hadn't been Cassie's friend, if she hadn't agreed to help her.

If she hadn't trusted Cassie.  The thought reverberated through her like a church bell tolling a call to worship as she was jostled by yet another uniformed policeman attempting to cordon off the crime scene.

"Lady, you're gonna have to move," he told her in a brusque voice.

"I'm not leaving her."  Her eyes never left Fran's face, now chalky white against the blacktop.

"You don't leave on your own, I'll move you myself," he said, placing his hands on his hips. 

Cassie wrapped her arms tighter around her body.  She couldn't feel her feet, they were as numb as blocks of concrete.  She shuddered as the corner of the sheet covering Fran's body danced in the wind, giving the illusion that Fran was still moving, still alive.

"Please, lady," the cop's voice dropped now, almost pleading.  "Just move back a little.  We got to take care of her now.  Won't you let us do that for your friend?"

Blue and red flashing lights surrounded her, bathing her in their surreal colors.  Cassie nodded and shuffled back a few steps, still in eyeshot of Fran, but out of the way.

She choked back tears of frustration.  Why didn't the killer come after her instead of Fran?  It wasn't fair, wasn't right.

No one ever promised the world would be fair
, she heard Gram Rosa's voice whisper through her mind.

Cassie raised her hand to her lips, sealing in her cries of anguish.  Her vision blurred as she stared at Fran's body.   

It should have been Cassie.

Chills cascaded over her flesh as she stood in the sleet, her friend's blood soaking her skin and clothes.

"Harley, would you move this lady," a uniformed officer called out, this one with Crime Scene Unit emblazoned on his jacket and carrying a tackle box.  "Jeez, this place is a circus."

"Yeah, we're gonna do a lot of good here," his partner said, banging Cassie's hip with his camera bag.  "Fucking rain just won't give us a break."

"Harley," the first one shouted.  "Who taught you to secure a scene?  Would you get this woman out of our way?"  He glared at Cassie as if his eyes held enough force to move her.  She merely stared back, willing her trembling to stop. 

The uniformed cop returned to plead his case.  "Miss, I asked you before--"

"I'm staying with her."  Cassie was surprised by how level her voice was.

"C'mon lady, give me a break.  It's freezing out here, don't you want to go inside where it's warm?"

She turned her gaze back to Fran and ignored him.  She liked the cold, it numbed her to her pain.  Right now the cold was her only friend.

"I've got it, Harley," a familiar voice came from behind her.

She didn't turn.  Drake was the last person she needed right now.  He might try to reason with her, talk her out of this rage building within her.

"Hart, go inside," he told her, his voice commanding.  When she didn't respond, he moved in front of her, blocking her view of Fran.  Cassie shot him a quick glare and took a step to one side.  He paralleled her movement.

"I mean it.  Your teeth are chattering, you'll make yourself ill.  Then what good would you do Fran?"

Logic.  Just what she'd expect from him. 

"I'm staying."  She took another step.

Instead of moving with her, Drake stepped toward her.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, snugging her close.  But he didn't try to force her to move.  Together they stood, his body pressed against hers, sharing his warmth, as they stared down at Fran.

"I'm sorry."  His whisper barely carried over the rain bouncing off the pavement.

A wave of exhaustion crashed down on Cassie, crumpling her strength.  She leaned against his shoulder.  He wore an old wool peacoat that smelled of lanolin and musk.  The rain had curled his hair, and there were goosebumps on the back of his neck.  His arm tightened, pulling her closer.

"You ready to go inside, tell me what happened?"

Too numb to speak, she nodded.  Fran was gone. 

Drake led her through the maze of cars and cops and gawkers, then into the shelter of the ER.  They moved down the rear hallway, and he turned slightly to bump through a swinging door.

"You can't come in here," Cassie said when she saw where he had brought her.  The women's locker room was empty.  Drake didn't seem to notice, steering her past the gray metal lockers and wooden benches to the shower stalls.  He reached out an arm and turned on the water as hot as it would go.

"You're freezing."  He slid her leather jacket from her shoulders and pushed her under the hot water.

"Let me out!"  The tiny jets stung her frozen skin.  She raised her face to the stream of water.  God, it did feel good.

"Not until your lips stop turning blue."

Newly awakened by the warmth of the water, Cassie looked down at her body.  Her fingertips were blue, and shivers rippled across her flesh.  She tried to pull her sweater off, but her hands fumbled uselessly at the sodden cotton.

Drake reached into the stall.  With a firm grip, he turned her around and tugged the clinging sweater over her head.  His hand, hot against her chilled skin, rested for a moment against the small of her back, steadying her.  Cassie watched, mesmerized by the vivid, technicolor swirls of blood circling the drain.  She wished she could drown out the memories as easily, muffle the gurgling noise of Fran's last breath echoing through her mind, bury the sight of crimson splashing through her fingers, smother the smells of blood and sweat and terror...

"This has got to stop," she said through chattering teeth.  She wasn't talking to Drake in particular, more to herself, but she heard him sigh.  He removed his hand from her flesh.  She missed his warm presence with a yearning that surprised her.

"I know," he said.  "Can you manage the rest on your own?"

Cassie turned to him, clothed now only in her sports bra and jeans.  His eyes were fixed on her face, searching for her answer. 

"I'll be all right."

He stared at her for a long moment, the muscles at the corners of his eyes tightening into small crow's feet of concern, then nodded and left.

CHAPTER 21

Drake already had an account of Weaver's death from the security guard.  He would've liked to hear more from Hart, but that could wait.  She would've told him if she had any urgent knowledge. 

His footsteps echoed through the dimly lit tunnel to the pharmacy.  Janet Kwon was supervising the scene.   Kwon knew better than wasting effort outside in the rain.