Song of the Blackbird (Albatross Prison #1) (14 page)

“How long does he have?” Maxim forced out.

“Hours. Maybe a day at most.”

Maxim seized the bedrail. A cold sweat broke over him. The neurosurgeon said something else and left.
Hours
.
Only hours
. How could this be happening? He touched his father’s face and felt some wetness on his fingers.
Was his old man crying?
But no. His father’s cheeks were dry. And his leg still lay twisted.
Should they turn him on his side?
He’d always liked looking out the window and maybe he’d be more comfortable that way.

God.
Pops looked so broken. Frail and almost lifeless. Maybe he’d died all those years ago. And it had been all Maxim’s fault. Why hadn’t he locked the door that night? His parents were always reminding him to lock up after himself but he’d been in a hurry. Rushing to a party. Concentrating on having fun as usual when his parents were left alone with their door unlocked. The thieves had entered right through the door. It was almost as if he had fired the gun himself.
What kind of stupid idiot son would do that to his own parents?

It was all his fault. If only he’d come home sooner. If only he’d locked the door. He had killed both his parents that day. And no matter how many criminals he locked up, how many bad guys he punished, it was never going to be enough. His parents were never coming back.
Oh, God
. Maxim fell to his knees and let out a howl of rage.

Suddenly gentle arms wrapped around him as a sweet rosewater scent filled his nostrils. Emma hovered next to him, her beautiful face lined with concern. He didn’t deserve her sympathy, but he couldn’t help himself. She was his savior. The one light shining in his dark world. He buried his face in her abdomen, unable to control the violent sobs that racked through his body.

***

Emma brushed a hand through Maxim’s wavy hair, surprised at how soft it felt. There were sprinkles of gray at the temples but for the most part his hair was as glossy black as her bird’s. The familiar scent of coffee with a hint of spice emanated from him. She clasped him to her, knowing how hard it was to lose a parent, even when death had been expected for a long time.
The poor man.
If only she could offer some comfort. The warmth of his embrace enveloped her and Emma pulled him closer.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Just let it out. It’s okay.”

“It’s never going to be okay.” Maxim’s body shuddered. “I killed them that day. It was my fault.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t lock the front door.” His face was racked with guilt. “The robbers had free entrance. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself.”

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” Emma cupped his face between her hands. “The robbers killed your parents. You had nothing to do with it.”

“How can you be so forgiving?” Maxim’s silver eyes locked with hers.

How could she ever have thought him cold and unfeeling?
His eyes shimmered with tears. He brushed them away and caressed her cheek with the pads of his fingers. Her face tingled. She leaned in, mesmerized by the tender look on his face. She touched the short bristles on his chin and bent her head closer. He sucked in an audible breath, tightening his arms around her before suddenly pushing her away.

“Sorry. I need a moment,” he said, his voice hoarse. He stumbled to the nearest window and stared out into the dark night, his hand clenched.

Oh my God. She’d almost kissed him. What was wrong with her?
The man was wallowing in grief and she was coming on to him.
How could she have been so foolish?
He was her boss, and she best remember that. Maxim’s face was stiff and formal again when he turned back.
Good.
It was better to keep things platonic between them.

“Do you think they can turn my father toward the window?” he said, avoiding her eyes. “He needs his brown pajamas also. They’re his favorite. And I need Walt Whitman’s
Leaves of Grass
.”

“
Leaves of Grass
?” Emma asked, wondering at the choice.

“That’s his favorite book. I need to read it to him.”

Of course she agreed to assist.
If only she could do more
. Maxim didn’t break down again. For the most part he remained polite yet distant. Still, Emma couldn’t believe she’d once thought him a brute. Underneath that fierce exterior beat a vulnerable heart. How glad she was to have caught a glimpse of the tender man inside.

In the end, an aide from the nursing home brought over the book and helped put on his father’s brown pajamas. They turned his father toward the window, making sure the old man’s bad leg didn’t get in the way. Emma took over reading
Leaves of Grass
when Maxim’s eyes drifted shut toward the early hours of the morning.

Maxim’s father passed away as dawn broke through the horizon. Emma woke Maxim up when she knew the end was near. The old man’s breaths had become more agonal and labored. His hands were cooler to the touch. His eyes drifted open as the sun’s early rays filtered through the window. Maxim held his father’s hand while Emma stood close by, gazing out at the dawn. As the old man exhaled his last breath, a cloud of blackbirds flew over the sky.

Chapter 16

“Dr. Edwards.” Dr. Kaye’s shrill voice jolted Emma out of her slump. “Wake up.”

“Sorry.” Emma rubbed a hand over her weary eyes. She might have drifted off for a few seconds there; she wasn’t quite sure. She gave a self-conscious smile. The other doctors were shooting her concerned looks from across the table. “I had a really long night.”

“Then maybe you should have stayed home,” Kaye said, tapping her pen.

“Yes. Sorry.” She rubbed her neck and tried to stretch her stiff shoulders. She’d gotten home an hour ago from the hospital. Maxim had stayed behind to take care of the morgue arrangements. Emma had been tempted to stay home but the fresh memory of Cavendish’s attack was too raw to ignore. She needed to know how he was doing. And maybe she could discuss the attack with the doctors instead of going straight to Maxim. The poor man had enough on his plate at the moment without her bothering him. He’d probably take at least a week off. Which made it only more imperative that she tell Kaye or Julien now rather than wait.

So she related to them what had happened with the cigarettes. Including how she’d arranged for Cavendish’s move and how afraid he’d been of retaliation.

“It’s not your fault,” Bryce Churchill reassured her immediately when she was done. “They’re always fighting around here. Somebody’s bound to get hurt.”

“And maybe it wasn’t even about the cigarettes,” Dr. Parker pointed out. “Could be Cavendish owing some money. And his guy got tired of waiting.”

“Or maybe Cavendish did something really bad to one of the other inmates,” Dr. Pan chimed in.

“You never know,” Dr. Yee said. “Cavendish could be lying about the whole thing and only wanted to get moved. Maybe he didn’t like his bunkies.”

“What are you talking about?”
Why were they so dismissive?
“He had an asthma attack. It was bad. I saw it.”

“We know,” Dr. Ross said. “But what triggered it? Was it really cigarette smoke?”

“Or maybe he himself was smoking,” Dr. Tran said.

“And lied about the bathroom smoke just to get moved,” someone else added.

“Lied about it? Why would he do that?” Emma shook her head, mystified.
How could they not feel sorry for the guy?
He was beat up because he’d snitched. She was sure of it.

“Because he’s an inmate.” Dr. Kaye shrugged her shoulders. “They make up things all the time. So the guy was beat up. Who cares? Custody will deal with it. It’s out of our hands.”

“They almost killed him,” Emma insisted. “All because he told me about the cigarettes. And why are they even smoking in here? I thought it was illegal.”

“It is.” Julien leaned back in his chair. “But sometimes Custody doesn’t catch them doing it. Or they look the other way.”

“But that’s wrong.” Emma took in a deep breath. “Cavendish’s asthma almost killed him. They should enforce the rules more.”

“We’re in a prison.” Dr. Kaye’s sneer was ever present. “Inmates are going to do what they’re going to do. They’re criminals. They can’t help themselves. They lie, they cheat, they steal, they smoke and do drugs, they fight. It’s in their nature. You can’t change it. Just accept it.”

“I can’t accept that.” Emma half-rose from her seat. “Criminals can change. They can rehabilitate. And I’m sure Cavendish didn’t lie to me. We have to help him somehow.”

“You did,” Julien said gently. “You sent him to the hospital. Come on, Emma. You can only do so much. You can’t fix the system.”

The meeting disbanded soon after. Emma found herself in an empty room, too exhausted to move, both physically and emotionally. So none of them believed Cavendish. He was an inmate, so he was lying. And even if he were telling the truth, who cared, right? Inmates got hurt. They fought, they killed each other.
What did you expect?

“Ugh….” Emma groaned. What was she going to do? What hope was there for Sam if he was judged only by the color of his uniform?

How she hated the blind prejudice so prevalent against inmates.
There was nothing to do except pack her materials together and head down the hill for another day in the Urgent Care. Her friend Phineas was fanning his feathers and belting out another song on her way down.
On-ke-kaaangh. On-ke-kaaangh.
His sharp eyes darted her way and then homed in on a caterpillar crawling on an outreaching branch.
Snap!
He gobbled up his breakfast in one go.

Where is your colony, little one?
Had he belonged to that cluster of blackbirds that had flown over the hospital earlier this morning? If so, he was really far from his family, like most of the inmates here. How many of the prisoners would love to fly away and join their family?

Urgent Care proceeded briskly as usual. She didn’t have time to talk with Sam and only managed a brief glance to make sure he was doing okay. Dr. Ross had to attend his annual safety training, so Emma was left to hold up the fort. Half yawning, she managed to wade through three upper respiratory infections, two ankle sprains, a wrist injury, one abscess, an ingrown toenail, two cases of gastroenteritis, and a chest pain. She also spoke to Mr. Nash, making sure his pain was adequately controlled. The man inquired about his compassionate release and she reminded herself to ask Maxim next time she saw him.

Maxim.
If she concentrated hard enough, she could conjure up his wonderful spicy coffee bean scent. She remembered the soft bristles on his face, the tender look in his eyes.
Had he gotten any sleep yet? When was the funeral? Was he handling it okay on his own?
They’d bonded during the night. How she longed to see him again all of a sudden.

Before she left, the Urgent Care nurses informed her that Cavendish had had a chest tube placed and had suffered some broken facial bones but otherwise was going to survive. His ear had been repaired. He was admitted to the trauma unit but they expected him to be released soon to the administrative segregation unit over at Chino to protect him from being beaten again.
Good. At least it was something.
As for finding the assailants and bringing them to justice, Custody told her they could only charge the men if Cavendish pointed out who they were. And knowing how he feared for his life, Emma doubted there was going to be anyone charged.

How ironic it was that crimes could be committed in prison with much more impunity than if they’d been executed on the street.
Did Maxim know this and simply look the other way?
How disappointed she’d be in him if it were true. She expected more of him, needed more of him than the tolerant dismissive attitude she’d heard at the morning meeting.

“Hey, Emma,” Riley called her as soon as she got home. “How are you holding up?”

“All right,” she said, swallowing a yawn. “Thanks for your help with Maxim yesterday.”

“Maxim?”

She could hear the teasing in her friend’s voice. “Yes. That’s his first name.” She took off her jacket but was too tired to change out of her work clothes.

“I know that.” Riley’s voice sobered. “Is he doing okay? Admin is worried to death, afraid he’ll blame us for not doing enough. That poor old man.”

“I don’t think he blames you guys.” Emma sat on her bed and kicked off her shoes. “You were great with him.”

“Until he threw me out. You’re right. The man can be pretty nasty.”

“He was stressed out, Ri.” Emma slid off her hair clip and lay back on the bed. “He’s actually not that bad.”

“Not bad, huh? Interesting. Anything you want to tell me?”

“Don’t even start. He’s my boss.” Emma checked the clock. Her eyes felt like lead.
Four p.m
. A quick nap would be great. “Sorry, Ri. I’m about to crash right now.”

“Just make sure he’s single.”

“He is, but you’re reading too much into it.” Emma stretched and yawned again.

“If you say so. We can talk later. Get some sleep.”

A loud buzzing sound shook Emma awake hours later. She tossed a pillow over her head and buried herself underneath the covers. She was so not going to get that. It was the middle of the night; whoever wanted her could come back in the morning. She pulled another pillow over her head. The buzzing became banging. Loud banging.
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
Whoever it was better have a good reason for jolting her out of her precious sleep. Emma threw back the covers and stumbled out of bed. Her eyes still felt heavy. Her foot slipped.
Drat.
Had that magazine been on the floor last night? The banging escalated.

“Okay. I’m coming.” She lurched to the door and flung it open, blinking at the sunlight flooding her vision. “Oh, my God. It’s so bright.”

“It usually is in the afternoon,” a familiar voice said.

Emma snapped her eyes open.
No, it couldn’t be.
Yes, it certainly was, her frantic brain concluded. For standing in front of her was none other than Maxim Chambers, dressed casually in jeans and a light-blue T-shirt. She wasn’t sure which she was more surprised by: his appearance at her doorstep or his attire. She’d never seen him dressed in anything but elegant custom-made suits. “Hi,” she croaked out.

“Hello,” he said, standing stiff and upright.

“What are you doing here?” Emma brushed the hair back from her face.
God, she must have looked a mess. And was that a wet saliva stain trailing down her left cheek?
She swiped it away and rubbed her eyes again.

“May I come in?” Maxim asked.

“Sure.” He dwarfed her studio the moment he crossed the threshold. “Uh, sorry. I just woke up. Do you mind if I?” She pointed to the bathroom.
Great, Emma. Very eloquent there
. “Make yourself at home.” She rushed to the bathroom and slammed the door closed.

One look in the mirror and she almost fell again. Her hair was a complete rat’s nest, and her shirt and pants hung on her body like old unwashed laundry. She stripped off the clothes and jumped in the shower. It took only five minutes but she felt a hundred times better by the time she emerged. But darn, she didn’t have a change of clothes and couldn’t imagine getting back into the outfit she’d slept in. The old faded blue robe hanging on the back of the door would have to do. She tied it securely at the waist and didn’t bother drying her hair.

Why was Maxim here?
Whatever the reason, she was sure it involved the prison and…
Oh my God.
Did it have something to do with Sam? Had he discovered that Sam was her brother?
That would’ve been her worst nightmare. Second only to having pictures of Sam around the house that Maxim could easily recognize.

Emma made a swift mental inventory of her studio and breathed a sigh of relief. None of Sam’s pictures were up yet. She’d moved recently from LA to Corona right after residency and hadn’t had a chance to hang them. The only thing she managed to tape up was a big drawing Sam had sketched of his favorite blackbird. Which was nondescript and common, nothing to identify him by.

“I’m back,” she said as she opened the door.

Maxim stood with his back to her, studying the blackbird picture with some attention. She quickly went over and examined it. No, nothing incriminating there. Only a simple “To Emma, with Love” at the top of the drawing.
Good, Sam hadn’t even signed his name.

“It’s a beautiful picture,” Maxim said in that grave way of his, not looking up from the drawing.

“Yes, my brother gave it to me,” she said. “He loves all birds, but the blackbird is his favorite.”

“He’s very talented.”

“Thanks. You know, we have a blackbird at the prison.” Emma flipped her wet hair back. “Have you seen him by any chance?”

“No. Can’t say that I have.” Maxim finally looked up. His eyes widened and he stared at her for several long seconds, not saying anything before clearing his throat and turning away.

“Sorry, I was in a hurry.”

What the heck was wrong with the man?
The robe covered her from head to toe but he was acting as if she were half-naked or something.
Men.
Emma groaned to herself as she grabbed some clothes from the closet and darted back to the bathroom to change. If she hurried, she’d have time for some breakfast on the way to the prison.
Wait.
Emma screeched to a halt.
Did Maxim say it was already afternoon? Yikes!
She snatched up her watch from the counter. Two thirty. She’d slept half the day away.

Emma dashed back to the living room. “I overslept,” she said, picking up her keys from the kitchen counter. “I have to go. I’m so late. Evil Knievel is going to kill me.”

“Evil Knievel?” Maxim’s mouth twitched.

“Yes, Evil Knievel Kaye.” Emma slid on her shoes. “You know how she is.”

“I do.”

“Then you know why I have to run,” Emma said, a little distracted by the potential smile playing on his face. “I’ll see you at work?”

“No, don’t go.” Maxim raised his hand. “I already called and told them you’re taking the day off.”

“What? You can’t do that. What if they need me?”