Every Move She Makes (20 page)

"Apparently it wasn't."

"Apparently not, but I do know this. Scolari never goes -to Giovanni's
for his pizza." I didn't mention that I always ordered from Giovanni's,
and that Scolari knew that. Instead I said, "He's a Domino's man through
and through." "The last of the big spenders." Torrance and I both
glanced at the door upon hearing Sergeant Mathis's voice. Mathis leaned
into the room, knocking on the door frame. "Sorry to eavesdrop. Mind if
I come in?" he asked.

I smiled, and Torrance stood aside. "How's it going?"

"Same. Linda Perkins is out at Cillespie's place, giving me a break.

Heard about what happened, so I thought I'd come by." Mathis pulled a
small bouquet of mixed flowers from behind him. "For you," he said,
handing them to me. "And your apartment's still there, in one piece as
far as I can tell through the layer of beer cans from that party we
threw last night. Oh, yeah. The dinner you requested? It got cold."

"Very funny. And thanks for the flowers," I said, lifting them to my
nose, but smelling little. "Least I can do. Let's see," he pulled out a
paper, read the note. "Your landlord stopped by. Said he and his wife
are going to Ohio. They want you to feed Dinky. Pick up the papers.

Here's the number where they'll be at." He handed me the note.

"Thanks," I said, and placed it on the bedside table.

"And your aunt called," Mathis said. "I told her you were here. She's
planning on visiting you this afternoon, after she picks up your nephew
from school. Hope you don't mind?"

"No." Though I did worry about her worrying about me.

Mathis didn't stay long, but before he left he motioned to Torrance that
he wanted to speak to him privately, and the two stepped outside. The
door staved open, Torrance never leaving my sight or turning his back to
me. If that wasn't a clue that he was taking this bodyguard business
seriously, then the two uniformed officers standing on either side just
outside my hospital door were. I sat up and swung my feet over the side,
intending on using the rest room while he was occupied. I stood, pleased
to see my knees didn't buckle. My head started spinning, though, and I
felt nauseated. It eventually passed. Torrance watched my every step, as
though I might make a mad dash for it in a hospital gown that I had to
hold shut in the back. I gave him as sarcastic a smile as I could
muster, while grasping said hospital gown closed with an, "Excuse me,
won't you?" I guessed that he'd already determined there were no escape
routes out the bathroom, or even out the window, which from what I
surmised was several floors up. I shut the bathroom door, then leaned
against it, grateful for the moment of privacy it yielded me.

And then I glanced in the mirror. I wanted to groan.

It was the only appropriate sound for what stared back at me. My face
was pale, my eyes puffy. Half of my hair was plastered to one side of my
head, the other half stuck out, and my bangs reminded me of Medusa's
snakes. A purple bruise on my right temple accentuated the six neat and
ver-v small stitches. All that was needed to complete the effect was a
safety pin through my cheek, though I doubted it would help. I'd seen
punk rockers at slam concerts looking better. I splashed water on my
face, then my hair, Only to discover I had to pat my head dry with paper
towels. I wanted a shower, but figured I'd have to forgo that for a
later time, and was grateful I had a room with a toilet in it. Feeling a
little better, and trying not to reflect on the number of people who may
have seen me in this condition, I wandered back to my bed. I saw that
Torrance had closed the door. Even so, I clutched my gown about me in
case someone should have the indecency to enter before I was ready.

After a couple of minutes, someone knocked. Torrance, I discovered.

Mathis was leaving, and he wanted to ask if there was anything that I
needed done at my apartment. I told him to feed the cat. After Mathis's
departure, I had a steady stream of visitors. Shipley and Markowski
showed up with a get well card and stayed a few minutes. My soul ached
at the thought of Markowski being exposed to that pizza, and if truth be
told, I was glad when he left. Reid and my aunt wandered in after them.

Reid's bouquet of dark red roses dwarfed the flowers that Mathis had
brought, and I was glad Mathis wasn't there to see. In the short time
I'd been around him, I was beginning to notice he was the sensitive
type. My aunt scuttled about the room, straightening out my clothes,
then smoothing my bed sheets before sitting beside me. "Kevin wanted to
come, but he has a math test to study for. Oh, and I bought you some
makeup, dear. Every one of my friends I know who's been in the hospital
says if they had their choice between having good underwear when going
in and having makeup with them when going out, they'd pick the makeup
every time." I grimaced inwardly at the amused expression on Torrance's
face as he stood behind my aunt, listening. Reid said, "Since we missed
dinner last night, I thought we could try again." "I'd like that," I
said, more to be polite than anything else. I was too tired to think.

Torrance cleared his throat, his expression now serious. "She has a
concussion. The doctor doesn't want her going out on her own. And
considering what happened, I agree." "Going out with me is not alone,"

Reid said. Had I been more energetic, I might have protested. I didn't
want anyone telling me what I could and couldn't do. But then it
occurred to me that Torrance's objections might be the silver lining I
was looking for. I really didn't want to go out with Reid anyway. "A
concussion?" my aunt asked Torrance. "I thought you told me she had food
poisoning."

"She fell," Torrance said. "An accident."

"Oh, you poor dear," my aunt said, oblivious to the undertones. "I think
the lieutenant is right, you shouldn't go out alone. We can make it a
foursome. You can make up for the dinner you promised me in that strange
message I received on my answering machine." I couldn't help but glance
at Torrance this time, at the dirt my aunt added to the pizza mess. His
dark brows raised a fraction, undoubtedly to let me know that he had hit
redial on his cell phone and found out that my call to her was also
false. One more strike against me-and Scolari, I thought--closing my
eyes against the weight and pain of it all.

"Why don't we discuss dinner outside," Torrance said.

"Yes. We've tired her," my aunt said. I felt her hand grasp mine, cool
and soft to the touch, and remembered she used to do the same when I
was a child, on nights when my father was working swing and midnights. I
longed to hear her humming "Claire de Lune." I longed for Sean, for my
father, for my lost youth. For that simpler time when my biggest worry
was that I had to be in bed by eight. Reid kissed me on the cheek,
dispelling the thought, and my aunt kissed me on my forehead as always,
but I didn't open my eyes. They said their goodbyes to Torrance,
apparently thinking I'd fallen asleep, and soon I heard their footsteps
fade from the room. Torrance followed them, and outside my door they
made dinner plans for the following night. Torrance returned a few
minutes later. "Personally," I heard him say, "I'd pick the clean
underwear." I looked at him. He had a slight smile on his face, a
definite sparkle in his eye. We were alone, and the door was closed.

"Since I've seen myself in the mirror, and the doctors, nurses, and
everyone else in Emergency yesterday have already seen my underwear, I'm
going with the makeup."

"Silk."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I would have pictured you for the silk type. Not cotton."

"Great. You were there, too." I was beyond embarrassment. After the
pizza debacle, I didn't think I could sink any lower. "Actually," he
said, "the nurse brought your things in, folded up. I missed that part."

"Thank God for small miracles." He smiled. A full-blown smile. If we
weren't talking about underwear, I might have been moved. As it was, my
pager went off again, saving me from the topic of the year. It was that
Berkeley number again, and I realized it was just what I needed. To be
busy doing something else

besides lying here and thinking about my troubles. And silk underwear.

I looked around for a telephone, but didn't see one.

"I need to make a call."

"We had the phone removed." "'%Aihy?" For the millisecond it took him to
answer, I imagined they'd removed it because I was a prisoner. "The
ringing disturbed you." His expression told me there was more, but
before I could ask him what he meant, there was a sharp rap on the door,
and the nurse bustled in. She picked up my chart. An orderly wheeled a
cart past my door, and with it came the sound of vials rattling against
each other. "May I have a telephone?" I asked her as she checked my
blood pressure. Perhaps it was the remnants of the drug, but I felt my
heart quicken while I waited for her response. "Your chart says no
phone." Nurse Nightingale from Hell. She wrote down the results on that
very chart, and I wanted to rip it from her, read it myself "Why not?" I
asked, recognizing that what I was feeling was a sense of panic. Why
wouldn't anyone let me have a phone? Was I a prisoner?

"Well ..." she began, her gaze catching Torrance's.

That little exchange gave me the impression she was waiting for some
response or signal from him on what to divulge, but his expression
remained as impassive as ever. "You had a bad reaction to it," she
finally said. "I'm sure it was because of the drug you ingested-"

"Not intentionally," I felt it necessary to add.

She went right on as though the mere fact was of no concern to her. "But
when the phone rang, well, we had to restrain you. You were a little ...

out of control." My cheeks and ears heated up, and Torrance looked away
as though uncomfortable with my sudden embarrassment. I wanted to pull
the sheet over my head, but the nurse was efficiently shoving a
thermometer in my mouth. I was almost grateful, since her action hid the
prick of tears in my eyes. I admit now that what I felt was my own sense
of failure at my loss of control exposed to all, especially Torrance. As
an IA investigator, he was the eyes and ears of the department. I knew
he said he wouldn't talk about the drive to the hospital, but what about
what he'd seen in the emergency room? Would he reveal what he'd
witnessed? At the moment, I didn't have the courage to ask. I barely had
time to compose myself before the thermometer beeped. The nurse removed
it, and recorded the temperature on my chart. I closed my eyes, thinking
that the walls of my prison were of my own making, constructed by my
inadequacies as an investigator. Had I merely been up-front with
Torrance, I doubted I would have eaten the pizza. Hell, I would never
have pretended to order it. How had everything snowballed to this point?

What must he think of me? I didn't want to ask. But as I lay there, my
eyes still closed, I heard him say softly to the retreating nurse, "We
would like a phone in here, now."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but the chart-"

"To hell with the chart." His voice, low, even, rang with an authority I
knew he possessed but had never heard until now. Surprised, I looked to
see him push past the nurse and the two uniformed officers outside my
door. A minute later he returned with a phone, which he plugged in. When
he rose, he handed it to me. "Thanks," I said, meeting his gaze, pleased
and surprised by his actions.