Urgent Care (26 page)

“Maybe not. But right now, without any forensic evidence, it’s the best weapon I have to hunt him down. I wish we could explain the eighteen months between your attack and the next victim.” He scrubbed his palms over his face and glanced up at her. She suddenly had the sinking feeling that maybe they weren’t finished after all. “I have to ask—”

She slid to the edge of her seat, hanging on to the weathered upholstery. “What?”

“Seth. When did you first meet? We know he was working at Angels during the time of your attack.”

“No.” Her voice emerged a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat, met his gaze. “No. We didn’t meet until a year later. It couldn’t have been Seth.”

“I want to think that. But he knew both you and Karen, he knows hospitals, he could move around one without anyone noticing.”

“No. Jerry, you know Seth. He’d never hurt anyone; hell, I can’t even get him to kill a spider. It’s not possible.”

“I’d feel a lot better about things if he had come forward about his association with Karen.”

Silence circled the room. “It wasn’t him. Besides, he was on call the night Karen was—”
Taken, raped, tortured, violated, murdered . . .
there was no one word large enough to encompass everything she’d experienced.

“Janet is verifying his alibi now.”

“There’s no way. It wasn’t him.” Nora tried to focus her vision as she was catapulted back in time, felt the breadth of her attacker’s hands pressed against her, inhaled his odor. . . . Her stomach churned, and she regretted the sandwich Jerry had made her eat.

She thought of Seth, the way he moved, the way he made love, his scent, his touch, his taste. “Trust me. It wasn’t Seth.”

“You think it’s a coincidence this guy targeted both you and Karen?”

The question had been nagging at her since yesterday. “No.” She finally met his gaze once more. “You think he’s going to come after me again.”

Jerry blew his breath out, obviously frustrated. “I wish I knew. This actor has a thing for women and hospitals. Knows their routines, is comfortable inside them. He takes the time and effort to learn everything he can about his victims before he attacks. But what worries me is the extra time he took with you. That and the way the others look like you.”

“Except for Karen. Maybe he’s changed the type of woman he’s targeting? Tall blondes instead of petite redheads?”

His look of doubt said it all. She knew it couldn’t be that easy.

“I wish I could say for sure one way or the other. Whatever’s going on in this guy’s head, it makes sense to him—even if not to us.” He stood, shaking the creases from his trousers. “If you think of anything, call me.”

She pushed out of her chair, hoisting herself back onto her feet, feeling a bit breathless and dizzy as her thoughts collided. “Why? Why me? I’ve read about stalkers, what do you call them, the ones who are delusional and make up a relationship out of nothing?”

“Intimacy seekers.”

“Right. But I’m not famous or anything. I’m not beautiful. Why me?”

“We may never know. And it may not really be all about you—I don’t have enough information yet. Maybe it’s something to do with the hospitals; maybe that’s what set him off. The important thing is, you shouldn’t go home alone. Get out of town, visit family, or—”

“No.” She was shaking her head. “No. I’ve been running from this for two years. I can’t keep running—if he
is
after me, he’ll catch up with me sooner or later.”

“Nora. At least give me some time. This isn’t the movies; we can’t arrange around-the-clock protection for you.”

“Even if you could, for how long? There were months between Amy and Meg and Karen’s attacks, not to mention the out-of-state victims.”

He nodded and opened the door, leading her to the elevator lobby. “And there might be more victims out there that we don’t know about yet.”

Nora hoped that wasn’t the case. But she knew all too well that most sexual assault victims never reported their assaults. Which meant who knew how many other women could have fallen prey.

The elevator dinged, and its doors opened. “So, what should I do? I can’t put my life on hold forever.” She turned to face him. “What would you do if it were Gina who might be in danger?”

His eyes took on a vacant look as a smile creased his features. “I’d take her to Vegas for a quickie wedding, then off to a Greek island for a honeymoon that would last as long as it took for them to catch the creep.” He blinked, and his eyes clouded. “But that’s not going to happen. Because you’re one of those hyper-responsible, take-charge, independent types who will insist on standing her ground, aren’t you?”

“I’m no fool, Jerry. Just a realist. This guy is obviously patient, has some plan of his own.
If
he is after me, running and hiding will only delay the inevitable. And he might target someone else—maybe even my family or friends—in the meantime.”

He surprised her by giving her a quick hug. “At least do me a favor and stay with someone else for now. Keep a low profile. The less attractive a target you are, the less likely he is to make a move, and the more time I buy to investigate.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Jerry.”

They arrived on the first floor and she was surprised to see Seth waiting, pacing the public lobby beyond the large, bulletproof, glassed-in desk. Jerry escorted her through the locked doors, and she felt a weight leave her chest as if she were a prisoner being paroled early for good behavior.

When Seth caught sight of her, he froze midstep. The look on his face was a mixture of relief and concern. He rushed forward, wrapping his arms around her. “Are you all right?”

She pushed away; it was too hard to breathe, being that close to him. “I’m fine.”

Seth squared off against Jerry. “It’s been hours.”

“No one told you to wait.” Jerry placed a hand on Nora’s arm. “Nora, do you want me to take you to Lydia’s?”

“She’s coming home with me,” Seth protested. Nora backed away from both men, too tired to interfere. Better to let them run the course of their testosterone-driven standoff.

“That’s up to Nora,” Jerry said, although Nora considered it a good sign that he no longer considered Seth a viable suspect. “How did your chat with Janet Kwon go?”

Seth bristled. “Yeah, she’s a real peach. If I ever need a prostate exam, I’ll know who to call.”

“Hey, you’re out here, not locked up, that says a lot. Like the fact that your alibi checked out.” Jerry smiled, but it didn’t make it to his eyes, which were still filled with worry. “What do you say, Nora? You going home with this mutt, or you want me to take you somewhere else?”

Seth beseeched her with his gaze. She never could resist those big, dark eyes. “I’ll go home with Seth.”

“Okay. You think of anything, see anything, hell, you even feel like this guy has eyes on you, I want you to call me right away. Night or day. Understand?”

She squeezed his arm in gratitude. “I will. Thanks, Jerry.”

“So you guys still don’t know who this nut job is?” Seth demanded. “What about those flowers from a few months ago; can’t you trace him through the florists or something?”

Nora frowned at Seth. “What are you talking about?
You
sent those flowers.”

“What flowers?” Jerry asked.

“Back in October some creep was sending Nora flowers all the time.” Anger simmered through his words. “She thought it was me—I told her to call you guys.” He turned to Nora. “I told you it wasn’t me, except for the one time. After you refused to talk to me.”

Nora’s head was pounding. “But I—you really didn’t send the others?” She thought for a long moment, a stray memory nagging at her for attention. Something recent—something from last night. “Seth, did you bring flowers with you yesterday? When you came to my place?”

“No. I brought the DVD, that was it.”

Nora grabbed Jerry’s arm. “Call Mickey, send someone over there, please. Make sure she’s okay.” She quickly explained to Jerry about the bouquet of lavender daylilies and the anonymous flowers she’d gotten in October. She could kick herself for being such a fool, but it had made so much sense back then that they’d been sent by Seth. Besides, it wasn’t like they were threatening—more like an awkward form of courtship.

Jerry caught on quickly, interrupting her to send a patrol car over to check on Mickey and gather any evidence that might be left.

“You know, this changes everything,” he said once he hung up from talking to the other officers. “This guy hasn’t forgotten you.”

“Sending flowers isn’t exactly a threat,” Nora said, relieved that Mickey was okay. “Besides, maybe it’s a good thing—finally some evidence for you.”

“Come on, Nora,” Seth said, taking her arm. “I’m taking you home with me tonight.”

Jerry gave Seth a measuring look. “You watch out for her, you hear?”

Seth rose to his full height as if rising to a challenge. That still put him a few inches shy of Jerry’s six-one, but he didn’t back down. “I will. And you guys do your jobs. Stop wasting your time talking to people like me and find this son of a bitch, why don’tcha?”

Jerry jerked his chin in a brusque nod and walked back through the barrier that separated the police from the civilians. Seth took Nora’s hand in his, and she finally felt warm again. Felt something at least. Better than fear and guilt and regret, Seth’s touch made her feel hopeful.

He led her out into the parking lot, where his vintage Mustang shimmered with a thin coating of ice and snow. The driver’s-side door had been scratched up again. For some reason, the classic muscle car was a magnet for vandals. No matter what kind of security Seth put on it, it was constantly being keyed or dented and twice had its windows smashed out.

“You sure you’re all right?” he asked again, turning her attention away from the Mustang and to him, both of his palms resting on her shoulders as he scrutinized her.

Instead of answering, she fell into his arms, holding him tight, inhaling his scent, and letting his strength support her.

 

 

GINA AND KEN LEFT TANK AND HIS MOTHER awaiting their “second” opinion from Dr. Frantz. LaRose had vanished—after eavesdropping in on Tank’s diagnosis, no doubt—and the ER seemed relatively quiet.

“Nice call,” Ken told her as he added the results of the wet prep to Tank’s medical record. “Can’t believe we all missed that yesterday.”

“Fever, a piss-poor history, and without any scratching they looked like petechiae. Besides, who ever heard of scabies that didn’t itch?” Gina said graciously, although she was rather proud of herself. Not even Lydia Fiore or Lucas Stone had thought of scabies. Poor kid probably caught them at school—oh boy, she wished she could see the look on Nurse Pritchard’s face when they told her.

She watched Ken type and thought about what her mother had told her about his family. She should say something. Or maybe she shouldn’t.

Before she could decide, Amanda and Lucas rushed a gurney down the hallway at a breakneck pace. “We need a room,” Lucas called out as Amanda bagged oxygen into their patient.

Gina glanced at the board. “Take Trauma Two.” She jogged over to join them. “What’s going on?”

“Intermittent asystole,” Lucas said as the nurses quickly reattached Narolie to the overhead monitor. “She keeps brady ing down and losing her pulse.”

“Let’s get some atropine on board,” Gina ordered, moving to assess Narolie. She watched the monitor. The heart rate was fluctuating from a rapid rate over one hundred to a much-too-slow rate of thirty . . . twenty . . . “Flatline. Is there a pulse?”

“No pulse,” Amanda said, her fingers on Narolie’s carotid. Then a blip appeared on the monitor, followed by another. “Wait. Now I’ve got one.”

“Must be some kind of autonomic dysfunction,” Lucas said.

Gina couldn’t care less—it wouldn’t do Narolie any good to have a diagnosis if they didn’t stabilize her breathing and heart rhythm first.

“Amanda, set up for intubation,” she ordered. “Get me a twelve-lead and a rhythm strip.”

“We should call her aunt,” Amanda said as she grabbed a laryngoscope and endotracheal tube.

“I already did,” Lucas said, “when I saw the MRI. I think they understood me—their English wasn’t very good.”

“Let’s focus here, people,” Gina snapped. Who cared about language skills when the patient was trying hard to die on them? “Amanda, can you do the intubation or should I?”

“I can.” Amanda double-checked her equipment, then stepped alongside the respiratory tech who was bagging oxygen into Narolie through a mask. “Stop bagging.”

Gina watched, nodding in approval as Amanda swiftly forced the endotracheal tube through Narolie’s vocal cords. A few months ago Amanda would have fumbled her way through the procedure, or worse, would have avoided it for fear of failure.

Before she could say anything, the door burst open and a fine-boned black woman in African tribal clothing accompanied by another woman in a business suit appeared. The first woman took one look at Narolie and began crying, pushing past the nurses to rush to her side. She began to speak in a rapid-fire language that was both melodic and harsh at the same time.

“She’s saying, ‘Oh, my poor, dear girl,’ ” the other woman translated. “She wants to know what happened to Narolie.”

“And you are?” Gina asked.

“Tracy Steward with Catholic Relief Services. We facilitated Narolie and her brother’s arrival here on a P3 visa.”

The aunt began to speak again, this time clutching at Amanda’s arm.

“She wants to know what’s wrong, what she should tell Narolie’s family,” Tracy said.

“I thought she
was
Narolie’s family,” Amanda said. “Isn’t she her aunt?”

Tracy frowned. “That’s what I was told.” She exchanged words with the aunt, who was now crying, shaking her head. “No, not blood relation. It’s an honorary term. Their families are from the same small village; they treat each other as family even if they aren’t really.”