The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (5 page)

“I’m sorry, Ryan,” he said softly. His eyes hardened as he searched for words. “It’s my fault…I can’t make this right, but I’ll try to make you proud.” He gently pulled the cover back over his head. “I love you,” he said, his voice trailing off.

The sound of sobbing brought Trent’s attention to his mother’s inconsolable form. She had been watching from inside the hospital room in tears. She’d just lost the son she had, and now she was faced with the one she’d lost. Trent knew his mother was strong, but this was too much even for a woman as strong as Cathy Turner. He shut his eyes to fight back tears and thought about what he had done to her.

“Hi, Mom,” were the only words he could say.

He gave her a loving hug as they watched the nurse push Ryan’s gurney down the hallway. Trent was stunned, but he slowly began to snap out of it. This would be difficult. He knew he needed to craft his next words carefully.

“I’ve missed you so much,” his mother said as she clung to him tightly. “I know he wanted to hang on until you got here. He loved you so much,” she said, her voice shaky. She hugged Trent tighter. “He almost made it…so you could say good-bye. He fought so hard.”

The pain in her voice ripped through his soul.

“I was sure he’d hang on,” she said. “I told him you’d come.”

The sadness and anger he felt was sharp. His limits were being tested like never before. After a couple of deep breaths, he regained his composure.

“It’s my fault, Mom.”

“Listen to me, Trent. You and your brother had your problems, but you can’t try to put this on—”

“No, Mom, you don’t understand,” Trent insisted in a measured tone. “It’s my fault. I can’t really explain it, and I know that’s not fair, but I promise you, this was about me, not Ryan.”

He thought intently about how much he could share with his family. Things were complicated, and he knew they could also be in danger. The fact that his brother had been compromised meant the killing could continue, unless he worked fast. He wasn’t sure who the next target might be, but he needed to find some answers.

“My job isn’t exactly a government job up north,” Trent admitted. “We work with the government, but…” He considered his next words carefully. “We fix things that are difficult to fix.”

He realized this wouldn’t make much sense to her, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He needed to say enough to make sure they would stay safe until he could take care of any threats.

“What I’m trying to say is there are a lot of shady people who don’t like what the company I work for does. I’m so sorry, Mom. I never meant for anyone to get—”

“Enough, Trent, enough,” she snapped. “Between your father and your uncle, there are plenty of people in this world who would like to do us harm.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts.” Her eyes burned with intensity and sadness. She wiped the tears from her face. “Your brother just died, and dammit, I won’t hear any more of this nonsense.”

They stood in silence. Trent tried his best to comfort her while he worked this out in his head. He needed to ask some questions. There would never be a good time for this conversation, and time was something he didn’t have.

“Mom, I need your help,” he said gently.

“Sure, anything,” she said. His worried tone calmed her down and filled the grieving mother with concern. “What is it? Are you in trouble?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I need to ask you some questions about what happened to Ryan. It’s not something that can wait. I’m sorry, Mom. Are you okay with that?”

“This isn’t a good time, honey,” she said. “I need to…” She saw an intensity in her son’s eyes she’d never seen before.

“I know,” he said, “but if I’m going to find the people who did this to Ryan, I need answers now.” He knew he’d better keep going so she couldn’t interrupt. “You sounded surprised that Ryan didn’t hang on longer. Did you think he wasn’t in danger of dying?”

“He was in really bad shape,” she said. Her voice was shaking again, so she composed herself before continuing. “But the doctors said his condition was stable. We were expecting him to hang on for a little while longer. They didn’t give him much of a chance for recovery.” She wiped her tears away with a tissue and said, “I just wasn’t ready to say good-bye to him yet.”

Trent found it difficult to concentrate as emotions invaded his thoughts. His gut was telling him the botched assassination attempt would have drawn the killer out to finish the job. If there was any chance for recovery, he knew it would be too dangerous to leave a man like him alive.

“Mom, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Something strange?”

She looked at him as if she wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

“Maybe it’s a person you had seen several times in a day, or someone that just didn’t fit in. Just something that’s off. Something that doesn’t add up or seem normal.” He knew it was a long shot, but his only hope was that the killer had been sloppy and made a mistake.

She let Trent’s questions sink in. She framed his cheeks with her palms and took in the sight of her son.

The emotions hammered him. He needed something to have any chance of finding Ryan’s killer.

“Especially in the hours leading up to his death. Mom? Anything, even if it seems silly.”

“Silly?” The word seemed to jar her memory and send a chill down her spine.

Georgetown, Washington, DC

HE STOOD IN his contemporary studio apartment with a look of complete satisfaction on his face. Its dark walnut floors contrasted with the white walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in sunlight. Nevin Perlman knew Eugène Ysaÿe’s Sonata No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 27—“Ballade”—had never been performed with such perfection. Perlman adored the Belgian’s intricate and demanding composition. It was a work created for the solo violinist, and a piece that only the very best could aspire to master. There was only one other person he had heard perform this particular sonata with the combination of precision and emotion that now held him captive. That man was the late, great violin master Valentino D’Angelo, his former pupil and dear friend.

With her long legs and toned figure, Victoria Eden D’Angelo wouldn’t be out of place sauntering down the catwalk in a high-fashion show in Milan. Her fingers floated up and down the instrument effortlessly as she played awe-inspiring double and triple stops. Her thoughtful green eyes echoed the emotion that sang from her instrument, punctuation marks for the strikingly beautiful features of her thin face, framed by long jet-black hair. She performed commandingly in the center of the room, her body moving in step with the grace of royalty and the confidence of a matador. Her elegance complemented the display of aural perfection.

She was a child prodigy who was pushed too hard by a well-intending father. After all, he was one of the world’s most renowned violinists, and his only child clearly had the talent to do what was once unimaginable—take his own playing to the next level.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked.

Perlman broke out into applause and said, “Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite. Bra-vo.”

If he hadn’t seen it himself, he wouldn’t have believed it. It was impossible. Her natural ability was far beyond that of her father’s. He had no idea his goddaughter had started playing again after she had graduated from university. He had been immensely proud of her valedictorian speech and, until now, hadn’t thought she could have made him any prouder than he was that day.

“Your father was right, Victoria,” he said as he looked out the window at the hustle and bustle on M Street. “You have a gift that transcends the instrument.” He met her eyes. “You are the instrument. The violin is merely a vehicle for your passion to be heard.” He smiled at his words and kissed her on the cheek.

“I know it must be hard for you with my father being gone, but you mustn’t overreact—”

“Victoria. Never in my life have I heard anything as beautiful,” he demanded. “It’s not because I love you like a daughter.” He shook his head. “No, no, no. What I’m telling you is true. Can’t you see the tears in my eyes when I tell you this?”

Tears of joy streaked down the wrinkles on his face, and her eyes began to well up.

“Do you think they would be proud?” she asked softly, thinking of her parents.

“Do not put those tragedies on your shoulders, my dear,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Your father was a very difficult man. I loved him like a son, but he…well, he had a certain way about him that could be very abrasive. You had every right to choose to do what made you happy. It hurt him, yes, but everything that happened was because of the choices he made. It was of his own doing.”

She had rebelled rather than follow in her father’s footsteps, and turned herself into a tomboy. Anything to get away.

“I always loved playing the violin, but he made it very difficult to enjoy,” she admitted.

“I know. Pushing you too hard was your father’s biggest regret. He was a perfectionist, and early on in his career he was ripped apart by the critics in the press. It was part of what drove him to excel, but it is also something he didn’t want to happen to you.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “Especially given his—shall we say—attitude. There would be no punches pulled for the daughter of Valentino D’Angelo—that you could count on.”

She had always wondered how different life would have been if her mother had been around. Even after all these years, her death still left unanswered questions that she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.

“How about Victoria Eden?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “Will the world accept her?”

“Victoria Eden’s talent cannot be denied,” he said emphatically. “You will take the music world by storm, and they won’t know what hit them.” He gave her an adoring smile. “Truly, Victoria, I am at a loss for words. Your father tried to tell me how special you were, but I dismissed it as the ramblings of someone who had consumed one too many bottles of Cabernet. For the life of me, I cannot see how you were able to advance your playing on your own.”

“Don’t forget, Uncle Nevin, from the time I was a child I listened to my father play every day. I have every warm-up, practice routine, and piece he played permanently etched in my memory. It was a simple matter of practicing,” she said as if the answer should have been obvious.

She began to play her father’s favorite warm-up sequence, and Perlman beamed with recognition.

“My dear, it is more than just practice to play the way you do, but that would certainly explain a lot. I cannot wait for you to tell me about your first audition.”

She gave him a hug and said, “Thank you so much for setting it up.”

Inova Fairfax Hospital, Fairfax, Virginia

CATHY TURNER CONSIDERED her son’s last question, trying to connect the dots as the memory began to surface.
Silly
, she thought.

“Well, there was a nurse who came in and woke me,” she said. “He looked ridiculous. His clothes were really tight, and he certainly wasn’t from around here. He had a strange accent.”

Trent Turner’s expression was tense. “What sort of accent was it?”

“It sounded—I don’t know—kind of Eastern Bloc, but it was strange.”

“Go on.”

“His words took on a British enunciation.”

“Excuse me, nurse,” Trent called out, and waved his hand.

The nurse walked over.

“Could you please tell me if there are any foreign nurses working this evening?” Trent asked her. “Someone with an accent.”

She creased her brow and replied, “Sure, we have two on duty right now.”

“See, honey, it’s okay,” his mother said. “We’re both having trouble thinking straight.”

“Would you mind giving me their names?” Trent asked the nurse.

“It’s okay, honey. I’ll call your father, and we can go to the chapel to say a prayer. It will make us both feel better,” his mother insisted.

The nurse turned to Trent. His expression demanded an answer. “Sure, it’s no problem at all. Sam and Chris are on duty now.” She gestured toward the nurse’s station. “If it’s any help, they’re both standing over there.”

They turned their heads in unison to see a pair of nurses discussing a patient’s chart.

“They’re women?” Trent’s mother said with complete surprise.

“Yes,” she said, laughing. “They certainly are. We don’t have any male nurses on this floor.”

Cathy Turner’s heart began to race. Anger churned inside as she considered the evil that would possess someone to murder a defenseless man under his mother’s nose. “Oh my God,” was all she could say as the nurse walked off.

“Mom. Mom. It’s okay,” Trent said. He held her hands tightly in his. “There’s no way you could have known. Now, Mom, I really need you to focus.” He dipped down to make eye contact and snap her out of the shock. “What did you see him do? I need you to replay every detail back to me. I’ll find him, don’t you worry. I promise you I’ll find him.”

“No, honey,” she fired back, and shook her head. “I’ve already lost one son, and I won’t lose the only one I have left.”

“You don’t understand, Mom. He was coming for me,” Trent said flatly. “Right now I have an advantage. He thinks I’m dead. If he realizes I’m alive, then he’ll just come after me to finish the job. It’s what he does. Concentrate, Mom. I need you to concentrate.”

She looked down, overwhelmed with emotion. After a long moment she met his eyes and he continued.

“Now what did he do while he was in the room? Did he open the door?”

“I don’t know. I was sleeping when he came in. He moved my arm to give Ryan some medication.”

“So he touched your arm?”

“No. He never touched me.”

“Then how did he move your arm?”

“I was holding my book. He pushed my arm aside using my book.”

“Was he wearing gloves?”

“No. I don’t know.” She struggled to remember. “I don’t think so.”

“What did he do next?”

“He gave Ryan a shot through the port in his IV. Then he said good-bye and left.”

“Did he touch the IV?”

“No. I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Only my book.”

He pulled out his XHD3 and said, “Point to the part of the book he touched, Mom. Let’s hope he was sloppy since you were in here alone.”