Divine Intervention (33 page)

Natassia Prushenko was scared
―really
scared.

She looked down at the woman lying motionless in the bed.
She's so pale, so still. Like death.

The door opened behind her. Someone stepped into the room.

"Is Jasi awake yet?"

Natassia glanced over her shoulder. "No, she hasn't moved an inch. I'm worried about her, Ben."

Benjamin Roberts crossed the room, bringing with him an air of calm authority. When he reached Natassia, they stood side-by-side, keeping vigil over the woman in the hospital bed.

It had been nearly two weeks since their partner and team leader Jasmine McLellan had taken a bullet high on her left arm. She'd been doing well, was even out of Vancouver General Hospital for nearly a week, but then she'd taken an unexpected turn for the worse. Her arm had swelled painfully, the bullet wound festering. Without warning a blood infection invaded Jasi's body, causing serious complications and a sudden trip back to the hospital. That's where they discovered she had a concussion and mild swelling of the brain, probably from when she hit the ground after an explosion during the last case.

Natassia stared down at Jasi. "I don't think she's getting any better, Ben. She looks like she's barely breathing." She reached out to touch Jasi's arm, but snatched back her hand as if she'd touched a hot flame.

Ben raised a brow. "Natassia…"

"You know what can happen if I touch her. After all she's been through, the last thing she needs is me poking around in her mind. Anyway, we already know what happened during the Gemini Murders. It's not as if we need to know any more."

She studied the woman in the bed, taking in the tangled mane of shoulder-length auburn hair and the sprinkle of cinnamon freckles that appeared much darker against the creamy whiteness of her face.

"It's up to Jasi now," Ben said quietly. "We both know how stubborn she is."

He turned away, but not before Natassia saw tears in his eyes. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"I want to check on her status. I'll get her doctor."

Natassia felt a void in the room as soon as he was gone. She couldn't help but feel a little better when he was around. If there was one thing she'd learned, Ben knew how to take care of things―especially the people he cared for.

She watched Jasi. "And he sure cares a lot for you, my new friend."

Although she'd only known Jasi for about three months, she'd grown fond of her. The slender redhead had a lot of spunk. That was something she could appreciate.

Natassia had spent a few years consulting with a Russian agency similar to the Canadian Federal Bureau of Investigation, which had been formed in 2003. As a Victim Empath capable of receiving cryptic flashes from the minds of victims, she was responsible for bringing down some notorious criminals. After a brief scandalous affair with a married field agent, Natassia was
'traded'
to Canada's CFBI. Recently, she'd been assigned to the PSI Division and relocated to Vancouver, B.C.

"Remember when we first met, Jasi? You thought I was an escort hitting on Ben." She laughed. "The poor guy practically fell over in his chair when I sat down with you two."

It had been an awkward first meeting.

Natassia let out a sigh.

She still felt like the new kid on the block, having only been a Psychic Skills Investigator with the CFBI for the past three months. As a PSI, her gift of reading victims, live or dead ones, had helped crack the last case. But not before Jasi had been shot. Natassia hadn't been able to prevent that. Or Jasi's subsequent heartbreak.

She pulled the chair up to the side of the bed. "Get well, my friend. We've got cases to solve, murderers to catch and good-looking men to tease."

There was no answer.

She leaned closer. "Jasi? Can you hear me?"

No reply.

"Jasmine McLellan, it's time to wake up now."

The woman in the bed remained still.

Out in the hall, footsteps approached. Ben entered the room, followed by Jasi's father and Brady, her brother. Dr. Mohinder Habib entered the room after them and immediately picked up the chart at the end of Jasi's bed.

"So?" Natassia said impatiently.

When the doctor looked up from the file, his expression was guarded. That made her nervous.

"When is she going to wake up?" she blurted.

"We've been monitoring her stats closely," Dr. Habib said, his black eyes drifting to the bed. "Ms. McLellan has been only slightly responsive to antibiotics."

Natassia frowned. "But she's getting better, right?"

"Your friend is too exhausted to fight off the infection, and the swelling in her brain is impeding her recovery." Dr. Habib tried to smile. "She's in a very deep sleep."

"You mean she's in a coma," Ben stated.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, but she's still breathing on her own."

Jasi's father looked stunned. "When will she wake up?"

"I'm afraid we don't know when," Doctor Habib said gently. "The body often reacts this way when it's under attack. Some people wake up within days, once an infection is under control. Some remain in a coma for longer periods of time." He made a note on Jasi's chart and adjusted the IV drip.

"What's the worst case scenario?" Ben asked.

Natassia knew it was the one question everyone had on their minds.

"Well, worst case―and I mean very worst―would be that we can't control the swelling in her brain or the infection in her arm." He turned away from his patient. "And if the infection travels up her arm toward her heart, we might have to take more aggressive action."

"What kind of action?" Jasi's brother demanded.

"Brady," his father warned. "Let him finish."

Dr. Habib's expression darkened. "If the infection spreads upward, it could reach her heart or brain and that would complicate matters. There is a slim possibility that we might have to amputate her arm."

Natassia let out a soft cry. "No!"

"We might not have a choice," the doctor said quietly.

Natassia moved closer to the bed. As she gazed at Jasi, her mouth tightened.
I won't let them take your arm.

"For now, her vitals are good," Dr. Habib said, moving toward the door. "We have every reason to believe she'll fight the infection and regain consciousness, when she's ready. I'll check in on her in a couple of hours, but I can assure you we're doing everything we can for her."

Brady and his father followed the doctor out into the hall, while Natassia sank into the chair by Jasi's bed.

"They might take her arm, Ben. Oh, God…"

Ben placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you heard the doctor. She's stable and she's a fighter. She'll wake up soon enough, and when she does, she'll be bossier than hell."

Natassia studied the woman in the bed, yearning for Jasi to open her green eyes. "Come on, Jasi. You've gotta fight this thing."

Behind her, Ben said, "She's probably dreaming about lying on a tropical beach somewhere, sipping mojitos and getting that tan she always wanted."

While her partners discussed tropical beaches and tanning, Jasi drifted on a turbulent river of unconsciousness, reliving flashes of conversations and glimpses of past murder scenes that all led her back to the one case that had hit close to home.

Too close.

She'd let her guard down, opened herself to a personal connection instead of her ordinary measure of distance, something she always strived for.

In her drug-induced world, faces flashed before her.

Brandon…Ben…Natassia.

A burnt corpse floated past her on a cresting wave.

Monty Winkler.

The dream took her closer to the water. She saw her reflection. And something else just below the surface.

She scrunched her eyes.
What is that?

Suddenly, a hand broke the surface. Fingers clawed at empty air, yet as quickly as it had appeared, the hand sank below, returning to its watery grave.

No!

A rush of emotions assaulted her. Death…loss…pain.

Jasi was suddenly transported to the day she had returned to Divine Operations, the covert location of the PSI Division. Divine Ops was cloaked within an isolated, heavily guarded complex in the Rocky Mountains. Not even the one hundred or so residents of Divine, BC, knew what went on inside the complex―or underground. They believed the signage that stated it was a company called Enviro-Safe Research Facility.

In her dream world, Jasi found herself standing in front of Matthew Divine, the mysterious creator of the PSI Division. With shoulder-length gray hair tied in a ponytail and old-fashioned tortoise-shell glasses, the man could be easily mistaken for an aging hippie, or a computer geek.

The latter was true.

"Hi, Matthew," Jasi said.

She knew he wasn't pleased. Why should he be? She had another dead body on her hands, someone who could've been saved if she'd bothered to call for back up. Plus she had a wounded friend who wouldn't have been shot if it wasn't for her stubborn refusal to follow protocol.

"I-I'm sorry," she told him.

A bright flash sent her muddled mind back to the case that still haunted her. The Parliament Murders. Memories flooded her mind. She couldn't fight them, or stop them. All she could do was remember.

As usual, everything had started with a dead body.

2

Sunday, April 15, 2012

~ Ottawa, ON

Jasi first met Monty Winkler at the Ottawa
Forensics Unit, but shaking his hand was definitely out of the question. From the look of his bloated, blistered and undeniably dead corpse, Winkler wouldn't be shaking hands, hugging women or kissing babies any time in the future.

As she approached the metal table, she was forced to do a double-take. Her gaze drifted from the corpse's face to the photo on her data-com screen.

She frowned. "You sure this is my floater?"

"The one and only," the pathologist said. "All week."

"A slow week?"

"Dead slow. For him anyway."

Jasi held out a hand. "Agent Jasmine McLellan, CFBI."

The woman removed a latex glove and wiped her hand on her lab coat before offering it. "Dr. Faith Copeland, keeper of the dead. Also known as the chief pathologist."

Copeland was small and neat in appearance, her ash-blond hair twisted into a tight bun. Gold-rimmed glasses made her brown eyes appear even larger and softened the small lines that feathered the corners. She wore no makeup and didn't need any to maintain an attractive yet serious appearance.

The pathologist yawned loudly, then blushed. "Sorry. I've been on this case almost twenty-four-seven. We're a bit short staffed. You know, government cutbacks and all."

"No need to apologize."

Jasi knew all too well the hazards of a case like this one.

"This victim is our number one priority," Copeland stated. "And I doubt any of us will get much sleep until you find his killer."

Jasi turned her attention back to the body on the table.

Winkler was unrecognizable. His unanticipated swim in the icy waters of the Ottawa River had put on an extra twenty pounds or more of bloated tissue. That was after someone had tried to fry his flesh―extra crispy. His body was unevenly burned and blistered, with most of the damage to his head, face and right side. Fish had feasted on one side of Winkler's head, and the underlying skin tissue clung loosely to muscle and bone, falling away in places like meat from the bone of an overcooked turkey.

Jasi's stomach lurched and she studied the photo again.

What happened to you?

The smiling―and alive―Monty Winkler in the photo reminded her of someone, a comedian. The father in American Pie. He had the same curly black hair, a prominent nose, bushy eyebrows and dark intelligent eyes circled by black frames. A man like him with average height, weight and looks would normally blend into a crowd, except that he had a charismatic personality that most people found very appealing.

Married, with no kids, Winkler was a dedicated Member of Parliament and a firm supporter of gun rights, and although women hovered around him like flies, he'd always appeared committed to his wife.

What was her name?

Jasi consulted a file on her data-com.
Ah, Marilyn!

"Marilyn's going to take this hard, Monty."

Her eyes wandered across the photo again and she glanced back at the decomposing body. "How can you be the same man who wielded such charm that you had college girls and married women practically swooning at your feet?"

"Pardon me?" Copeland said, distracted.

"Don't mind me. I have a habit of talking to the dead."