Nerves of Steel (22 page)

Cassie blinked up at him, unable to find the words to answer him.  Especially since she knew he was right.

She was saved by the blare of more sirens.  A patrol car and ambulance arrived, bouncing past the construction debris at the foot of the bridge, then screeching to a halt beside them.  Drake's mouth opened, clamped shut again.  He spun on his heel to intercept the other police officers.

The first paramedic recognized Cassie and approached her, but she waved him off and sent him over to Trautman.  "Bilateral eye trauma," she told him, surprised by how normal her voice sounded.  "The globe may be ruptured."

It took both of the medics to move the drug dealer's hands away from his eyes in order to assess the damage.  "Yeah, looks like one is gone," one of them told her as he grabbed supplies from the squad.  "Might be able to save the other."  He looked at her, appraisal in his eyes.  "He's saying you did it, doc."

Cassie nodded.  "Yeah, I did."

He pursed his lips and slid the gurney out from the ambulance.  "Guess he had it coming, then.  You going with us to Three Rivers?  Ought to have those hands looked at." 

She stared down at her grime and blood streaked palms.  Wincing, she flexed them; no tendon damage, just abrasions. 

"No thanks.  I'll be fine."

"All right, but at least let me clean 'em up a little.  Won't take a second."  She shrugged and allowed the paramedic to clean her hands, then salve them with antibiotic ointment.  Two fingernails were torn to the quick, but other than a few scrapes, there was no serious damage.  Cassie didn't even need the bandages he applied, but it was warm in the ambulance and she didn't feel up to facing Drake again.

Finally she was forced from her temporary refuge.  She watched the ambulance pull away, her hands bundled under her armpits to keep them warm and out of sight, the glaring white bandages marking her as a victim.   Her body was covered in streaks of grime from her sojourn on the bridge.  

Drake was busy talking with several more detectives.  One of them, a tall, willowy blonde wearing a tailored pantsuit turned, and Cassie recognized Commander Miller.   

Miller looked angry.  Cassie braced herself for another lecture.  She saw Drake glance her way and flinched at his glare of disappointment.  She'd acted recklessly, stupidly.  She could have gotten herself or someone else hurt--like Drake, what if she'd gotten Drake killed?  Trautman could have shot him.

She walked along the bridge, heading over to where her car was parked.  She flexed her hands encased in their cocoon of gauze.

She started shaking again.  Her shoulders hunched, her throat tightened with anger. That she almost died was frightening enough, but she'd let Trautman make a victim of her.  It was a feeling she despised, but a familiar one just the same.  Three years with Richard had made her an expert on the self-loathing that came with accepting the role of victim.

Cassie ripped the gauze from her palms.  The wind swept the wisps of cotton over the railing and down into the dark abyss of the Ohio.  Shoving her hands deep into her jacket pockets, she bowed to the wind and continued over the bridge.

The sound of running footsteps stopped her.  "Wait," Drake's voice came as he joined her.

She didn't move.  He took two steps around her until he faced her.  He was silent, looking down at her in the glare of the single streetlight.  Then he surprised her by taking her chin in his hand, tilting her face toward the light.  He slid a clean handkerchief from his pocket, licked one corner and used it to wipe her face.

Cassie's vision blurred.  The act was so intimate, so familiar.  Suddenly it was her father standing over her, cleaning her face before they went in to Mass.  Those same gentle strokes, that same concentrated look of concerned appraisal.  She blinked, and Drake's image returned, but he still wore her father's soft smile.  He bunched the now filthy cloth into his pocket.

"There.  At least you look halfway human again."

They continued walking beside the guide rail.  Cassie finally broke the silence.  "Thank you."

"For saving your life?  You're quite welcome.  It's not often that I get to come to the aid of a beautiful damsel in distress."

He was mocking her now.  She should've known better than to try to have a serious conversation with him. 

"It's not funny.  I almost--" she couldn't finish.

"Died?"  He supplied the word with a light tone, but she saw the frown tighten his face.  In the glow of the headlights, he looked haunted. 

"I needed to do something."

"You needed to trust me to do my job!"

Indigo blue eyes blazed down at her as she searched for a reply.  And failed.

Drake shook his head.  "You can't trust anyone, can you?  After last night I thought--"  Before he could finish, Janet Kwon pulled up beside them in a gray sedan.

"DJ," Kwon called through the driver's window.  "Miller wants you to stay here, find Trautman's stash."

"Give me a minute, Janet," Drake told her, his eyes never leaving Cassie's face.

"And she wants me to escort your witness," Kwon flavored the last word with sarcasm, "home.  Now."

Drake cut his eyes at Kwon, glanced at Cassie once more, then shrugged and spun on his heel.  Cassie watched as his long legs easily took him over the guide rail and into the vacant lot beyond.  She wanted to run after him, to explain--but her feet refused to move.

"I don't exactly have all night," Kwon said.

Cassie pulled her eyes away from Drake's receding form and crossed around to the passenger side of the car.  Kwon pulled away before she finished closing the door.

CHAPTER 38

The police car lurched over the uneven pavement as Kwon deftly steered through the construction debris.  They narrowly missed an orange barrel before bouncing over the curb onto Route 51.

"My car's parked beside the old Westinghouse warehouse," Cassie told the detective.  "I can drive myself home."

Kwon twisted the wheel furiously, spinning the car into a controlled skid as she made the turn into the lot where Cassie's Impreza sat in the shadow of the abandoned warehouse.  Several patrol cars had moved from the Barn over to the Westinghouse building, their headlights illuminating the open doors.

"I'm trying to figure out why you're messing with my case," Kwon finally said as she brought the car to an idle.  The police radio crackled in the background.   "You don't seem stupid to me.  Surely you realize that fucking DJ will only destroy any chance of seeing your friend's killer convicted.  And, getting him suspended from the job is no way to get Drake into bed.  So," the other woman turned, her dark eyes boring into Cassie's, "exactly what are you trying to accomplish here?"

She flushed at the detective's crude description of her relationship with Drake.  Kwon had no business speaking to her that way.

Except for the fact that she was right. 

"Thanks for the ride."  Cassie opened the car door.

"Think about what I said, Hart.  And stay out of my case."

The sound of two shots ripped through the night.  "Shots fired, shots fired, officer down!" a frantic voice shouted over the police radio.  "Westinghouse warehouse, front entrance.  All units, officer down!"

Cassie jumped back into her seat.  Kwon gunned the sedan, speeding them around to the main entrance of the building.  Sirens screamed as the other police units responded to the urgent call for help.

"Stay here," Kwon said.  She pulled her gun and joined several uniformed officers crouched behind a patrol car.

Cassie slid over to the driver's seat, rolled down the window and craned her head out.  An uniformed figure stumbled from the warehouse, clutching at his right arm.  Tony Spanos, the policeman she'd encountered yesterday morning.  He ran past the cordon of police cars and collapsed against the rear of one.  His fellow officers quickly surrounded him. 

Even if Spanos was a jerk, it looked like he needed medical attention.  Cassie left the car and pushed through the crowd.

"What happened in there?" Kwon asked.  "Where's Rankin?"

"Son of a bitch stabbed me," Spanos said, his eyes focused on the blood dripping from his arm, oozing between his fingers. 

"Does he have a gun?  Who fired the shots?"

Several officers were pulling shotguns and riot gear from their units while more cars squealed up behind them, their flashing lights cloaking the scene in a surreal glow.

"Kid's high on something, I dunno, PCP maybe," the wounded officer continued.  "Rankin got off two rounds, hit him at least once, but he just kept coming."

Cassie reached Spanos' side, pulled his fingers aside to examine his wound.  One of the other officers handed her a first aid kit. 

"Where's your piece?" Kwon asked.

Spanos looked down at his empty holster, and his face grew pale.  "Dunno.  Must have dropped it."

"Shit."  Kwon spat the word.  Then she glared at Cassie.  "He gonna be all right?"

It was a nice, clean laceration through the outer forearm.  No exposed muscle.  She moved Spanos' fingers.  No tendon damage that she could see. 

"Just a few stitches," she told the detective as she wrapped the wound in gauze.

"Fine.  Get him back to my car and out of here until the ambulance arrives."  She took a Kevlar vest from a patrolman and slid it over her head. 

"What did the kid look like?" Cassie asked Spanos as she helped him to his feet.  They headed back toward the gray sedan.

"Skinny, pale, bad acne.  Pro with the knife."  She opened the passenger door for him.  He slid into the seat, wincing as he jarred his arm.  "Am I gonna be okay?"

"You'll be fine," she assured him.  "Just keep pressure on it."

"Guess I screwed up royally."  He stared down at her, eyes narrowed, lips pursed in disapproval.  "Almost as bad as Drake did last summer.  Heard you were here with him, doc.  You should've listened to me."

She ignored him, watching as Miller moved toward the knot of police officers.  Where was Drake? she wondered, hoping he hadn't done something dangerous like run inside the building.  "Stay here, I'll be right back." 

"Dr. Hart, what are you doing here?" Miller asked. 

"She was helping Spanos," Kwon answered.

"I think I know the boy inside," Cassie said.  "I spoke to him earlier today--he's the one who told me about Trautman and Jane Doe."

"Thank you, but that's not very helpful right now."  Miller's voice was cold, her eyes never leaving the entrance of the warehouse.  "Please, go take care of Officer Spanos.  Let us do our jobs."

"I gave him money for the information," Cassie persisted.  "I think he used it to buy some Double Cross.  If he did, the combination of FX and MDMA could have effects similar to PCP.  It might make him difficult to deal with."

"Nothing we can't handle."  The uniformed officer beside her punctuated his words by chambering a shell into his shotgun.

The noise of an ambulance siren cut through the night air.  It pulled alongside Kwon's car, and paramedics jumped out to attend to Spanos.

Drake slipped behind the patrol car, seemingly appearing from nowhere.  He spread a piece of paper open on his knee as he crouched beside Kwon. 

"I've got the layout of the place," he told Miller.  He glanced over at Cassie, his brow creasing momentarily before he composed himself once more.  "Doors here and here.  They're secure--we'll have to ram them."  He pointed with his pen at the sketch.  "Windows low to the ground along this side.  I could see the suspect and Rankin about here."  He indicated their position, just inside the main entrance.  "The suspect had a knife held to Rankin's throat."

Tires squealed close behind them as the news vans returned.  "Great.  Here come the vultures," Kwon said.  "Everyone smile for the cameras."

"I'll deal with them."  Miller nodded to several officers to accompany her.  "Get them back and get a perimeter established," she instructed the patrolmen.  Then she turned to Kwon and Drake.  "Once we have all the civilians at a safe distance, you can proceed," she told Kwon.  "Detective Drake, will you please ensure that Dr. Hart leaves the scene and returns to her home?"  Miller barely spared Drake or Cassie a glance as she moved to intercept the media.

A frown crossed Drake's face as he surrendered his sketch of the building layout to Kwon.  He took Cassie's arm and began to escort her away from the scene.

"Go away!"  The shout came from the entrance to the warehouse.  "This is my place.  I want you all to just go away!"

Cassie turned and saw the leader of the homeless kids push Officer Rankin through the doorway.  Rankin's hands were handcuffed behind his back, and he stumbled to his knees.  The boy held his knife at Rankin's throat.  A dozen police officers focused their attention on the teenager, most of them through the sights of their guns.

The boy's gaze jumped around, his eyes squinting in the headlights.  Then his eyes fell on Cassie.  His face broke into a broad grin.  "Hey, it's Dr. Feelgood," he shouted a greeting to her.  "Thanks for giving me my fix, doc!  This stuff rocks!"

Cassie felt the weight of the police's attention fall on her.  She took a step forward, hoping to distract the boy from his hostage, but his blade never wavered.

"You all get out of here," the boy shouted again.  "All except her, she can stay.  I saw you and T-man all cozy.  Think you can score me some more?"  Then he frowned.  "Why'd you let T-man call Five-O out on us?  They took everyone--they're all gone 'cept me."  The last was delivered in a plaintive wail.  Rankin jerked as the boy twisted his free hand in the officer's short cropped hair and yanked his head back.  "You took everyone away, Five-O!" he screamed at the captive man.  "Don't think I'm gonna forget that!"

"It wasn't his fault," Cassie called out.  "It was T-man's."

"Be quiet," Drake told her, pulling her back.  "You could get Rankin killed."

"Hey, you leave her alone!"  Drake froze.  "Let her go, now--or I'll slit this pig's throat!"

Drake's hand tightened on her elbow.  "Don't," he whispered.

She bit her lip and stepped forward, leaving Drake behind.  "He didn't hurt your friends," she called to the boy.  "It was T-man."  She kept her voice level, the same voice she used with drunks and psychotic patients.  Her gaze remained focused on the lower half of his face, not challenging him with direct eye contact.