Against the Night (32 page)

Twenty-Nine

Johnnie stood with Amy and Dr. McMahon outside the door to Rachael’s room. It was dark outside, getting toward the end of a very long day that had started early that morning thousands of miles away.

“The bruise on her temple gave us some concern, but the CAT scan showed nothing that could account for the memory loss.”

“What about a concussion?” Amy asked.

“No sign of anything like that.”

“Then what is it?” Johnnie asked.

“It may be nothing more than a form of post-traumatic stress. From what we know, Rachael was abducted, drugged and probably raped. She’s just beginning to feel the withdrawal symptoms of the opiates she was given on a daily basis. She may be blocking, unwilling to face the things that have happened to her.”

Amy’s hand trembled where she held on to Johnnie’s arm. “Will the memory loss be permanent?” she asked, her face still pale.

“It’s possible, but not likely. Odds are, as time passes and she feels safe, her memory will slowly return.”

“When can she go home?” Amy asked.

“Whether she’s here or somewhere else, she’ll have to deal with the withdrawal symptoms. The drugs she was on were opiates so the recovery will be faster, but she’ll still suffer periods of anxiety and insomnia. There’ll be sweating, runny nose, then it will start to get worse. She’ll experience nausea, abdominal cramps, diarrhea, vomiting. We’ve got medications that can help the withdrawal, but it won’t be easy. It never is.”

Some of the color returned to Amy’s cheeks, along with a look of determination. “So she can go home?”

“If there’s a place she can receive the proper care.”

“My mother’s flying in. We’ll find a place. Between the two of us, we can see she gets the care she needs.”

Johnnie looked up just then to see his landlady, Ellie Stiles, striding down the hall in her usual jogging suit, silver hair neatly combed, a basket of violets in one hand.

“I can help with that problem,” Ellie said, having a knack for eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. “Nobody can afford a long stay at the hospital these days and I’ve got a great big house and no one in it. You can have the whole guest wing to yourselves for as long as you need.”

Amy looked stunned. “Oh, Ellie, that’s so kind of you, but we couldn’t possibly impose on you like that.”

“Why, yes you can. Johnnie’s family. You’re his girl, so you’re family, too. Family helps each other when they need it.”

Amy’s eyes glistened. “I don’t know…it seems like an awful lot to ask…”

“Go ahead,” Johnnie said. “I’d just as soon have Rachael close by until we figure out her connection to Ortega.” He had hoped Rachael would be able to tell them how she’d wound up on the island, but for now that wasn’t going to happen. He figured with Ortega dead, any threat to her safety was slim. Still, he didn’t have the whole story yet. He’d feel better after he tied up all the loose ends.

He looked over at his landlady and friend, his mind returning to the part where Ellie had said that Amy was his girl. She was…sort of. But the more they were together, the harder it was going to be to let her go.

And he’d have to. He was who he was and she was who she was. A not-so-ex-Army Ranger and a kindergarten teacher.

Just another of God’s little jokes.

Amy refused to leave the hospital that night, choosing instead to sleep in a chair one of the nurses brought into her sister’s room. Johnnie went back to the clubs on Sunset to do a little digging, see if he could pick up any rumors that might help him find out how Rachael Brewer managed to wind up in Carlos Ortega’s jet on her way to Belize, but wound up with the same big fat zero as before.

He went home to get some sleep. It was funny how empty the house felt now that Amy was gone. No one to share a cup of coffee with in the mornings, no soft, sweet woman to share his bed. He hadn’t noticed his lonely existence before. Now he did.

He told himself he’d get over it, that things were just the way they were and there was nothing he could do to change it. He figured in time he’d go back to normal. He showered and dressed, then heard a knock at the door as he headed for the kitchen and a last cup of coffee.

In a pair of jeans and a clean white T-shirt, Tyler Brodie stood on the porch. “I heard you were back. Thought I’d better check in.”

Johnnie stepped back and let Brodie in.

“Want some coffee?” Johnnie asked.

“Sounds great.”

They headed for the kitchen. Johnnie poured coffee into a mug and handed it to Ty, then emptied the pot into his own mug.

Johnnie took a drink. “I heard about the raid. Dev said you did real good.”

“The thing was we couldn’t go to the police. We pieced enough intel together to know what was going on, but there wasn’t enough evidence for a warrant.”

“So you went in and took ’em down.”

“That’s right.” Ty shot him a boyish grin. “It was almost too easy.”

“Yeah, right.” It was never easy taking down a gang of professional thieves but the kid was still at the gung ho, hoorah, stage of his life. Johnnie had passed that phase long ago.

“After we subdued the subjects,” Brodie continued with glee, “Dev made an anonymous call to the police explaining the situation. A couple of the cars hadn’t had the VIN numbers filed off yet. We left the big roll-up doors open, the cops showed up and hauled the bad guys off to jail.”

Johnnie took a drink of his coffee. “Dev needed backup and I wasn’t here. I’m glad you were able to handle it.”

The kid nodded, grinned. “So have you got anything new for me?”

“Maybe. I still haven’t figured the connection between Rachael Brewer and Carlos Ortega. Rick Vega talked to Manny. He doesn’t think Ortega’s son was involved. At least not directly.”

“Which leaves us pretty much where we were before you left.”

“Except for the part where the girl came back alive.”

“Yeah, that’s really great. So I’ll start digging again, see if anything new turns up.”

Johnnie nodded. “That’s what I plan to do. Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.”

“Maybe.” Ty finished his coffee and set the mug down on the table, calling over his shoulder as he left the house, “Thanks for the coffee.” The door closed softly, Johnnie drained his mug and headed for his car.

During the morning, he ran a couple of errands, then returned to the hospital. That afternoon, he drove Amy to LAX to pick up her mother.

He had tried to imagine what Hannah Brewer would be like but couldn’t come up with much of a mental picture. When the woman pushed through the United Airlines baggage claim door, he saw an attractive fifty-plus woman, a little overweight with Amy’s blue eyes and golden-blond hair cut in a shoulder-length style.

Johnnie grabbed her bag off the curb and tossed it into the trunk of the Mustang while Amy made the introductions.

“Mom, this is Johnnie Riggs. He’s the man who saved Rachael’s life.”

Hannah turned to him and gave him a smile. “Well, then, I owe you a very great deal. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Riggs.” But the way she sized him up, his jaw already dark with an afternoon’s growth of beard, he thought that she didn’t think it was nice meeting him at all.

“It’s just Johnnie. And it’s Amy you need to thank. It was her persistence that saved your daughter. If it hadn’t been for her, we never would have found her.”

He tried not to look at Amy, knew the heat in his eyes would be hard for a mother to miss. “Let’s get you both back to the hospital,” he said to distract her, “so you can get Rachael out of there and comfortably settled at Ellie’s.”

Better to move the girl before the withdrawal symptoms got worse. And Ellie was right. Neither Amy nor her mother could afford the massive bills a long hospital stay would incur.

The nurses had Rachael up and mobile by the time they arrived. She was sitting in a chair, talking but not saying much.

Amy and her mother watched from the open doorway, Hannah Brewer eager to reach her daughter, yet beginning to understand the situation Amy had explained to her on the way from the airport.

“So you’re saying you don’t remember anything,” Carla said. “Not how you got there, not what happened in Belize. Nothing.”

“No.”

“Not even who you are.”

Misery washed into Rachael’s face, still pale and thin but unmistakably beautiful. “No…” The answer came out as a whisper, and Carla rolled her eyes. She planted her hands on her hips.

“If that’s all you’re going to say, then I guess for now we’re through. But make no mistake. I’ll be back. And if it turns out you’re lying—”

“That’s enough!” Hannah Brewer charged through the door like a lioness protecting her cub. “If my daughter says she doesn’t remember, then she doesn’t remember.”

Carla’s lips thinned. “I’ve got a job to do, Mrs. Brewer. Whether you like it or not—I intend to do it.”

Hannah stayed where she was, guarding the space between Meeks and her daughter. Turning, Carla strode across the room, casting Johnnie a warning glance along the way, and disappeared out the door.

Johnnie breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as he’d returned to L.A. he had phoned the department and told them the story he and Wheeler had come up with. The DEA had found Rachael in Belize City and brought her back to the States. He didn’t mention Ortega or the villa or the island or anything that had happened. It wasn’t LAPD jurisdiction and the DEA wanted it kept quiet. So did Johnnie.

Carla wasn’t happy about it. When she pressed Johnnie for more information, he referred her back to Wheeler, who told her the rescue was DEA business and that was all she needed to know.

By now it was international news that Carlos Ortega was dead. According to word on the street, no one knew which man the cartel leaders would be putting in charge of his operation. Hopefully the men would be more concerned with keeping their illegal businesses running smoothly and the cash flowing in than finding the men responsible for what had happened in Belize.

Standing next to Rachael’s chair, Hannah reached for her daughter’s hand. “Sweetheart, I don’t want you to feel bad if you don’t recognize me, all right?”

Rachael just nodded.

“I’m your mother. I’m here to help you get back on your feet.”

Rachael swallowed. Her nose was running, her skin glistening with perspiration. She was clearly anxious, the withdrawal symptoms getting worse. Her mother plucked a tissue off the bedside table and wiped away the wetness beneath her nose.

“I wish I could remember you,” Rachael said. “I wish I could remember Amy, but I don’t.” Tears welled in her pale green eyes. “It’s all just… Everything is a blank spot in my mind.”

Hannah’s smile never wavered. “You’ll remember. It’s just going to take a little time.”

“Amy told me you were flying out from Michigan. Thank you for coming.”

Hannah leaned over and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Oh, dear heart. Of course I would come. Whether you recognize me or not, I’m your mother. I’ll always come when you need me.”

Standing next to Johnnie, Amy made a soft sound in her throat.

“Come on,” he said a little gruffly. “Let’s give them some time. We’ll go downstairs, finish the paperwork and get Rachael out of here.”

Amy looked up at him. “I don’t know what to say to you, how to thank you for everything you’ve done. I love you, Johnnie. I know I shouldn’t say it, especially not here. I know I’m not what you need and I don’t expect you to say anything back. But you’re just the most amazing man and as hard as I tried not to, I couldn’t help falling in love with you.”

Johnnie just stood there. His throat moved up and down in an effort to form some kind of reply but nothing came out. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and just held her.

There was nothing to say. Amy was sweet and brave, intelligent and beautiful. And she was right. She wasn’t what he needed.

He didn’t need anyone.

He never had and he never would.

They were settled in the guest wing of Ellie Stiles’s fabulous Hollywood Hills home. Apparently in his day, her deceased husband, Harry, had been a big-time movie mogul, a producer with a long list of box-office hits. Amy hadn’t paid much attention to the house next door to Johnnie’s; it was kind of off down the hill, mostly just the rooftop showing.

Like the guesthouse, it was contemporary in style, at least eight thousand square feet, with high ceilings, twelve-foot doorways, granite floors and massive plate glass windows that overlooked the rectangular swimming pool out into the valley.

“It has pretty much everything I need,” Ellie said as she gave them the tour, then guided them down the wide hall to a row of large, beautifully furnished bedrooms in the guest wing. “Except a gym, which is over at Johnnie’s.” She grinned. “Gives me an excuse to go over and check on him.”

Amy smiled. She liked Ellie Stiles, liked that she looked out for Johnnie. She knew he valued his independence, but everyone needed a friend who cared about him and Ellie thought of Johnnie as a sort of adopted son.

Two days slipped past and still Rachael had no memory of her family or what had happened. Both days she had been violently ill: stomach cramping, diarrhea, nausea and vomiting, but the drugs—clonidine and Subutex—that the doctor had prescribed were helping, and Amy believed her sister was on the road to recovery. At least physically.

The first and second days they were there, Lieutenant Meeks stopped by, determined to grill Rachael for information, but she still had no memory and she was feeling so ill the detective left her alone.

On the third day, Rick Vega showed up at the house. This time he brought a prettily wrapped box of dark chocolates.

He extended the chocolates to Amy. “I thought it might help with the craving once the nausea has passed.”

Amy smiled. “She’s feeling a lot better today. Why don’t you give them to her yourself?”

Vega’s dark features brightened.

“She’s sitting out on the deck. It’s this way.”

“Beautiful house,” he said as they made their way down a wide hall to the huge sliding glass doors leading outside. Along the way, they passed a line of elegant Miró sculptures. A big, colorful Lichtenstein hung on one wall.