Twisted (23 page)

“I’m so sorry,” Sloane replied softly. Instinctively, she continued. “How are you doing?”

“Not well. She’s all I have—” Luke broke off, fighting to keep his emotions under control. “Nothing in life prepares you for this. Not even 9/11.” He exhaled sharply. “Let’s talk about something else. What did you want to see me about?”

Sloane hesitated. “I had a personal favor to ask. But seeing how much you’re hurting—maybe it isn’t such a good idea.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

Sloane nodded, then proceeded to tell Luke all about Burt and Elsa, and the idea she’d had for Luke to reach out to Burt. “Having said that, I don’t want to put you in the position of having to cope with your own trauma firsthand
and
make it worse by helping a stranger through a similar experience. Not to mention the fact that Elsa’s condition pales in comparison to Lillian’s. So why don’t we shelve this?”

“No.” Luke gave an adamant shake of his head. “I’d like to help. Focusing on other people’s pain helps me put my own in perspective.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. Sitting around describing the loss I’m about to endure is one thing. Applying my experience to get someone through a similar crisis is another matter entirely.”

Sloane squeezed his arm. “You haven’t changed a bit. You’re still one of the most calming and empathetic people I know.”

“Right back at you.” Luke took a bite of his hot dog. “Tell me about your neighbor. I take it his father is out of the picture.”

“He passed away a number of years ago. Again, the situation wasn’t as traumatic as yours—at least not from Burt’s perspective. He was a grown man when his father died. You were a child. Elsa, though, was another story. She was pretty dependent on her husband. She’s transferred a lot of that dependence to Burt.”

“That’s not an unusual scenario. And, for the record, you’re giving me way too much credit. My father’s death wasn’t that big a blow. Truthfully, he wasn’t around much.”

“Traveling?”

“No, cheating.”

Sloane winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put my foot in my mouth.”

“No problem.” Luke gave an offhand shrug. “It was a long time ago. My point was that Burt might have been more affected by losing his father than I was. And that definitely applies to Elsa. My mother’s a survivor. Until now, with her cancer taking over, she’s always been strong and independent. But for a traditional woman like Elsa, she probably felt lost when her husband died. So she turned to her son. Is Burt her only child?”

“Yes.” Sloane nodded.

“Does he have a family of his own—a wife, kids?”

“Neither. He just went through an ugly divorce. That compounds the problem. He’s angry and brooding. Not to mention alone way too much. He definitely needs someone to talk to.”

Luke’s gaze was steady but intuitive. “And you’ve been elected for the job. Which worries you because he’s starting to get attached.”

A half smile. “Like I said, you’re the same Luke. You pick up on everything. Yes, I’m a little concerned that he’s misinterpreting our friendship. Plus, you have medical training and a more intrinsic understanding on your side. I’m hoping that if you speak to him, make a few suggestions about concrete steps he can take, he’ll feel more useful and less at loose ends.”

“Give me his phone number.” Luke took out a scrap of paper and a pen, and jotted down the information Sloane recited. “I’ll give him a call. It’ll do me some good to concentrate on someone else’s problems for a change. Besides, there’s a lot I can suggest, things he can do to make a positive difference. I know from my own ordeal that it makes you feel a hell of a lot better to
do
something productive, rather than to sit around waiting for the inevitable. Especially since, from what you’re describing about Elsa’s condition, the inevitable could be a long way off.”

“I hope so. Elsa is a wonderful woman. She’s always been so strong. It’s creepy how she went downhill so fast.”

“What type of illness does she have?”

“That’s another thing. I don’t know. Burt never actually told me what’s wrong with her. All I know is that she’s weak, she’s on medication, and she needs to have someone with her. He had a nurse’s aid there yesterday, and I pitched in when she left, but I think she’s going to require a regular healthcare worker. And Burt won’t take money from me, not even as a loan.”

“I could look into some insurance angles,” Luke replied. “Sometimes it’s not
what
you say, but
how
you say it that can make a difference between covered and not covered. Give me a few days. Let me see what I can do on that front. In the meantime, I’ll give Burt a call, see if he wants to meet me for a beer. For obvious reasons, I don’t have much free time. But a beer and a talk, including some suggestions about how he can get more extensive in-house nursing care should do it. By then, I’ll have some referrals to pass along to him. I think we can get Burt in a better place.”

“That’s very generous of you. Thanks so much, Luke.”

“You’re very welcome.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going. The hospital’s short-staffed.” He rose, exchanging a quick hug with Sloane. “Take care of that hand. And I’ll keep you posted.”

After Luke dashed off, Sloane tossed her napkin into the trash, then started the three block walk to her car. She was lucky to have found a lot with some space. Parking in Manhattan was a pain.

She was half a block away when she got that feeling again.

Stopping in her tracks, she ignored the pissed-off pedestrians who strode around her, muttering four-letter words and glaring in her direction. She plucked her sunglasses off her nose and scrutinized the area, feeling the presence of her stalker as vividly as if she could see him.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t.

But she knew damned well he was there.

DATE:
5 April

TIME:
0530 hours

OBJECTIVE:
Tyche

She’s rounding the southern corner of Lake Ceva. I can hear her familiar gait, coming closer with each rhythmic tread.

Soon she’ll come into view—right on schedule.

My anticipation is growing.

I can sense my grip on the combat knife tightening. It feels so natural in my hand. Adrenaline thrumming through my veins. My heart pounding. My entire body taut and ready to strike.

One quick scan of the area, just to be sure.

Thankfully, deserted.

I’d had an unexpected close call when a new, unknown jogger decided to take this route at this time—today of all days. It had thrown me, and compromised my plan. Predawn on a college campus meant most students were first turning in for the night. This kid was an anomaly.

I was devising the best plan to get rid of him, when he eliminated the problem for me. He stopped, glared at his iPod, and began tinkering with it. Apparently, it wasn’t functioning correctly, because he abandoned his jog and headed back to his dorm, shaking the iPod in annoyance as he left.

He shouldn’t be so angry. That broken iPod had saved his life.

Now Tyche was alone.

She came into view, ponytail swinging, her breath coming quickly as she neared her spot.

Closer.

Closer.

Now.

As always, Tina stopped beside the same knotted oak tree, and took a swig of water. Ten seconds to rehydrate and catch her breath, and she’d be off again.

He came out of nowhere, an ominous dark blur lunging out of the woods. He was pressed up behind her in a heartbeat, his right arm wrapped around her throat, a large blade glinting in his hand. She winced as the blade grazed her left shoulder.

“Don’t make a sound, Tai Kee,” he ordered in a low voice. “Just come with me. And don’t try to fight me. If you do, I’ll slit your throat.”

No thought was necessary. Her Krav training took over.

Tina reached up with both hands and grabbed her assailant’s right wrist, pulling his arm out and away from her throat. She then flipped his knife-wielding hand palm side up. Gripping it with her left hand, she jammed down with her right, snapping his wrist. She heard the audible crack, followed by a sharp cry of pain, and a hiss of something that sounded like “Bow Za” followed by “Chao Ji Bei.”

The combat knife fell from his hand and dropped to the grass.

Tina was far from finished.

Still holding her assailant’s injured right wrist with her left hand, she whipped around to face him, striking him in the face with her elbow as she did. Her hair tumbled free as her hair clip flew off and fell to the ground. She ignored it. A split second’s view of her attacker told her he was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed all in black. Wearing a black ski mask.

Her right hand wrapped around the back of his neck and she used her forearm to twist his face to the side. In one motion, she released his right arm, grabbed his right shoulder with her left hand, and jerked him down to deliver a knee strike to his groin. Along with his agonized groan, she heard a jangle, saw two silver tags topple out of his shirt, dangling from a chain she’d felt when she’d anchored his neck.

Before he could recover from the first knee strike, she yanked him down again, this time delivering a knee strike to his face. She connected squarely, and blood spurted from his nose, oozing through the ski mask. He folded over in pain, and she followed up with a right elbow strike to the back of his neck. He bent farther forward, and she used that to her advantage, standing up and delivering a round kick to the back of his right knee as she pushed him away.

He lost his balance and fell to the ground. Two items flew out of his pocket. One landed beside him. The other sailed off into the woods.

The item beside him was a hypodermic needle.

“Ta Ma De,” he screamed, clutching his groin and rolling around in agony.

That was Tina’s cue. She turned and broke into a dead run, getting as far away as fast as she could. She didn’t stop until she reached her room.

When the door was safely locked behind her, she called 911.

Delphi slammed the front door behind him—so hard that the entire house vibrated from the impact.

Downstairs in their respective rooms, all the women leaped to their feet, fearful over what was happening, more fearful over what would happen next.

He tore through the house on a wild rampage, alternately smashing things, groaning in pain, and shouting English and Chinese profanities.

An hour passed. The intensity of his rage did not.

The goddesses cringed in their rooms, panicked over the outcome of this tirade. They understood that no new goddess would be joining them. Something major had gone wrong. And, whatever it was, Delphi would be taking it out on them.

But who? When? And how?

Waiting it out, and the apprehension that accompanied it, were unendurable.

Finally, they heard the stomping of his footsteps heading downstairs. Each of them froze and waited.

The metallic clink of keys. The moment or two until he found the one he wanted. And then the fumbling that indicated he was beyond fury and into psychosis.

Surprisingly, it was Hestia’s door he unlocked.

“I need your help,” he commanded, shutting the door behind him.

Hestia flinched. She was calm by nature, but Delphi had terrified her from day one. She compensated by obeying all his rules, and asking for as little as possible. Her goal was to remain almost invisible, a plan that seemed to be working, based on the fact that Delphi rarely spent any time with her. And it was unprecedented for him to single her out.

Until now.

She forced herself to rise, knowing he expected a response, and unsure what response would provoke him least. Before she could decide, he stepped out of the shadows and into the light, limping painfully toward her. As he approached, she could see that his nose was bloody, there was an ice pack strapped to his pants in the groin area, and his right arm was twisted at an unnatural angle.

Now she understood why he’d chosen her to come to.

“You’re badly hurt,” she confirmed quietly. “What can I do?”

“Hestia, the goddess of home and hearth,” he muttered. He was half out of it from whatever narcotics he’d taken for the pain, and from the sheer exhaustion resulting from his rampage.

“Yes,” she replied, keeping him calm by agreeing with him. “Now I’m Hestia. But before that, I was a nurse. Which is why you’re here. Describe your injuries to me, and how you got them.”

“Tyche, that bitch.” He was rambling, yet the pieces were easy enough to put together. “She launched a counterstrike. Against me of all people. I was her savior.”

Bravo,
she thought silently.
Whoever you are, Tyche, you got away. And you caused him pain in the process. I pray you take this to the police. If you do, maybe there can still be hope for us.

Aloud, she said only, “Show me.”

In answer, he rolled up his sleeve, and she could see that his wrist was badly swollen and discolored. With his left hand, he reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out some first-aid supplies. “I used ice on the drive back,” he told her. “I stopped at a pharmacy and bought an Ace bandage. I need you to wrap my wrist. I can’t do it one-handed.”

Hestia examined the wound. “The swelling is bad. The wrist could be fractured. You need to have it X-rayed.”

“I can’t and it isn’t,” he retorted. “I’ll continue to ice it. I’ll also elevate it and rest it. Now help me with the Ace bandage.”

She summoned all her courage and tried one last time. “It’s at least a grade-two sprain, if not a grade three. Which means, at best, the ligaments are partially torn, and, at worst, they’re completely torn. The joint will be impacted. You need to get to a hospital.”

“I said no!”
he shouted.
“Whatever treatment I need, you’ll provide. You’re a nurse. You worked in a hospital. Now fix it!”

“All right.” Alarmed by his outburst and the crazed, drugged look in his eyes, she took the Ace bandage, and with trembling fingers, she wrapped his injured wrist from the base of his fingers all the way to the top of his forearm, overlapping the wrap so it was as snug and supportive as possible without cutting off the circulation. “That should help,” she said. “Apply ice for twenty minutes at a time, every three to four hours. Do that for two days. Use the wrist as little as possible; it needs rest. Also, keep it elevated as much as possible. Prop a pillow under it when you sleep.”