Blind Spot (18 page)

Lang was about to give up when he saw in his rearview a guy walking up in a green army jacket, jeans, and work boots and carrying a pizza box. He’d bought it at the general store, Lang guessed, as it was the only game in town. If so, it was one of those cheapo pizzas with a crust as hard as asphalt and barely enough pepperoni to call it non-vegetarian; he’d seen a couple of those under heat lights on his way to the café.

If this was Cade, he’d shown up at the general store after Lang’s meeting with the men in the bar, though he didn’t appear to know anyone was looking for him. He was just shuffling along, sorta tired-like.

Lang let him get to his house, watched him fumble for a key, slide it into the lock. Shoving a shoulder against his stubborn driver’s door, Lang stepped out of the truck as Cade passed inside. He loped across the street, reaching the porch about fifteen seconds after Cade closed the door behind him.

Lang rapped lightly, then took a step back.

“Yeah?” he heard from inside. A suspicious voice.

“Cade Worster?” he called back.

Silence.

Damn it. He should have stopped him before he went inside. He’d just been afraid that Worster might run. Why, he couldn’t say. It had just seemed that way, and now—

Slam!

The back door crashed against the house. Lang jumped off the porch, ran around the side of the house, and got to the rear just in time to see Cade Worster beating feet down the gravel road behind the house and heading for the open field.

Well. God. Damn.

Lang took off after him, hoping to high heaven he didn’t break an ankle on the uneven ground ahead.

Halo Valley looked different during the daylight, Rita determined. More hospital-like, less inviting, and if you got a view of that razor wire, well…the place was a damn prison.

She hoped to hell it was easier to get someone out than it looked.

She was wearing black slacks and a peach-colored blouse that hugged her maybe a tad too closely around the breasts, so she’d opted for a black cardigan. It was her Take Me Seriously outfit and she pretty much hated it, but whatcha gonna do?

Looking around the parking lot, she didn’t immediately see Paolo’s car. Paolo Avanti, that was his name. Dr. Paolo Avanti. Not that much in the mattress department, really, though he sure thought he was. She wondered idly if he was married. He hadn’t said so, but there was something rusty about him, like his dick might not get much of a workout.
She’d
certainly given him that last night. Woke him up but good.

A quick tour around the lot convinced her the Lexus wasn’t there, and as she was thinking that over, the car itself pulled into the lot and slammed to a halt in one of the reserved spots. She stepped behind an SUV, screening herself, and watched Paolo hurry inside. He looked sort of stern. Maybe he was late. It was damn near two o’clock in the afternoon, but she didn’t really think he had working-stiff hours. Still, it was kind of hard when you were trying to make an impression on other employees, something she’d sensed from some of his conversation the night before.

Not that he’d told her much. But something had gone down because his cell phone had rung and though he hadn’t wanted to take the call, he’d glanced at the number, thought about it for a moment, then answered tersely, “Avanti.” A pause and Rita had whispered, “I’ll be in the bathroom,” but then had been able to close the bathroom door and reopen it a crack without him noticing as he was standing by the door of the Salem hotel room. His back was to her anyway, like that would close her out. Hah.

“She’s coming around. She was affected by Heyward,” he said. “She knows the change’ll be good for him.” Another pause, longer. “Stone’s a dick, in more ways than one. I don’t know how he got there, but there’s no reason for him to come back. I’ll call the sheriff’s department myself. No. I’ll make her do it. Finish this damn thing. I’m sorry we ever got Jane Doe, but that was her fault, too!” Another pause while he listened, then, “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. We may have to do something. I don’t feel like having Pauline Kirby around anymore, either. She’s done all she can for us, whether she knows it or not. Yeah….” And then he snapped the cell phone closed.

Now, as she walked to the front desk, Rita had a blinding moment of realization that caused her head to hurt. She’d understood that Jane Doe was Tasha, but she now also understood that “have to do something” might mean moving Tasha out of Halo Valley. She needed this job. She needed it today. There was no time to waste with the whole human resources department. She had to leapfrog in.

“I have an appointment with Dr. Avanti,” she said.

“He just arrived,” the girl said, eyeing Rita with some surprise. “I’ll page his office, but I’m not sure he’s there yet.”

“I’ll wait.”

She found a seat on a chair across from a love seat, a grouping intended to make the front lobby more intimate and inviting. Glancing over, she saw a number of patients meandering around another room that looked suspiciously open to this room. How did they keep those crazies in check?

And then she saw the blond hair. In a chair, facing the TV. Some kid who looked kind of retarded was talking to her but Rita didn’t think she was responding. Of course not. She’d been in a coma, or something. Maybe still sort of was. She’d seen that kind of thing before. They were there, but they weren’t. Eyes open but the rest was shut down.

It was her! The blond bitch!
Tasha!

Her heart started pounding. What if Tasha saw her? What then?

She had to leave. Had to get out now.

Had to!

She stood up, intending to tell the girl at the desk that she had another appointment and couldn’t wait, but the retard suddenly turned Tasha’s chair around, gesturing right at Rita.

“Go!” he said.
“Go on!”

Tasha stared at Rita and Rita stared at Tasha. Both frozen. Each waiting for the other to make a move. In despair, Rita realized she’d left her knife in the car.

Tasha gazed toward the front doors. Gibby flailed his arms and did his bestest to get her to take this chance. “You can
go
!” he cried. “You need help!”

Darlene was suddenly there. And Donald.

Donald said, “You must calm down, Gibson.”

“Donald, let me handle this,” Darlene said with an edge.

“You’re a bitch with a capital—” Gibby sputtered.

“Gibby, you have to leave Cat alone,” Darlene said. “Every time you do this, you know what happens.”

“Nooooo!!!!”

He held his arms out to Cat. “She needs help! She said so!”

“We’ll get the wheelchair and take her back to her—”

“She can walk!” Gibby eased away from Darlene and Donald, beseeching the girl in the chair. “Show them, Cat. Show them what you can do!”

Donald looked concerned. “Should we contact Dr. Norris? Perhaps some Thorazine is needed?”

“We don’t need to medicate him,” Darlene said shortly. “Gibby, stop speaking for Cat.”

“She wants me to!”

“Haldol?”

“Donald…”

Darlene looked like she was going to pop a blood vessel. That’s what Thomas said. Pop a blood vessel. Gibby glanced over at McAvoy, who stood with his arms folded, watching them. “You know!” Gibby screamed at him. “You’ve seen her move!”

“She walks with help. We all know,” Darlene snapped. “Try to refocus.”

“What’s going on?” a male voice snapped.

Gibby gazed around and saw that the dark-haired doctor with the scowl had approached. He didn’t come around much. He just shook hands with men in suits, mostly.

“We’re redirecting, Dr. Avanti,” Darlene said. She pretended to be nice, but Gibby was pretty sure she wanted to pop a blood vessel, too.

Dr. Avanti glanced toward the outside doors and his whole body seemed to jerk. He was looking at a dark-haired lady who was staring down Cat. Gibby realized Cat was staring back.

“Who is she?” he asked, rushing to Cat’s side. “Who is she!”

Oh, holy mother…

Rita felt like she was in slow motion. She saw that bitch’s eyes and she wanted to claw them out. But Tasha could finger her, and she couldn’t have that.

There was a commotion. The retard was yelling; the staff was trying to hush him. Rita tried to turn away just as Paolo Avanti, alerted by the front desk, came into the room, scowling, looking slightly alarmed.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“We’re redirecting, Dr. Avanti,” the heavyset nurse answered.

And then Paolo’s gaze met Rita’s and she saw the flash of remembrance of their lovemaking cross his brain. It was powerful, and if she hadn’t been so freaked by Tasha, she might have experienced a little thrill as well.

But all she felt was urgency.

Paolo had inadvertently blocked her from Tasha. Rita was torn between running away and still meeting with Paolo. He made the choice for her, pretending to just meet her with a pumping of her hand, then another hand in the small of her back as she was escorted toward a room just around the corner of the south corridor. The heavyset nurse was helping Tasha from the chair and guiding her toward Rita and Paolo. Rita quickly ducked in the room, which was semidark and private, her attention on the hallway. Tasha never moved her gaze from straight ahead. She lumbered, her belly protruding. Rita’s baby…

Tasha hadn’t seen Rita at all. Still in a coma? Catatonic state?

Rita was shaking, she realized. And Paolo Avanti was furious with her.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

“I told you I wanted a job.”

“I don’t do the hiring!”

“You could put in a good word for me.”

“No! It would be an anomaly. I don’t do that kind of thing.” He was fit to be tied, but his eyes were all over her, hugging her curves.

“I want to get on my hands and knees and have you do me right here,” she whispered.

“God, Rita.”

“You can lock the door. We’ll be quick.”

“I can’t put in a good word for you,” he pleaded, his eyes goggling as she turned the lock herself, then was as good as her word, unzipping her pants and stepping out of them, hooking her scrap of lacy underwear with one finger, dragging it down her legs. She then positioned herself on the floor, her hair over one shoulder, her gaze intense as it met his eyes. His mouth was on “O.”

Rita wriggled her ass. “Come over here….”

Lang’s lungs were on fire. Damn, but the Worster kid could run, work boots and all. Of course Lang was in cowboy boots, so it was probably a draw. But he had ten years on the kid, too, and that’s what he was currently feeling in every aging muscle.

He slowed down, his breath coming in gulps. Cade had zigzagged across the open field and then slid into the Scotch broom. Lang had veered toward the Scotch broom, which was damn near as tall as he was, and now he was kicking himself for getting drawn into this insanity. He should go back to Worster’s house and simply wait. Eventually, the kid would come back.

With that in mind he took stock of where he was. There was no sound from within the thick shrubbery apart from his own ragged breathing. Why had Cade run? Because he knew something about the attack on his cousin and Jane Doe? Or because he was a thief and recognized instinctively that Lang was part of the law?

Either way it was a pisser. Lang just wanted some answers.

Annoyed with himself, he brushed Scotch broom needles off the arms of his jacket and slopped back across the field to Worster’s place.

A large dog started
boo-woo-wooing
somewhere ahead of Lang and to his right. He glanced over. Damned if that speedy little shit Worster wasn’t already halfway back to his house! He’d circled around toward the west and was hugging the houses there, trying to stay under Lang’s radar.

Lang let himself drift back to the protection of the Scotch broom and hesitated a moment, watching as Worster scurried across the road and to the back of his own house. He returned to the worn-down rambler home like a homing pigeon.

“Must be really jonesin’ for that pizza,” Lang muttered, annoyed.

It was humiliating to be so outrun by the little bastard. Time to get back to the gym before he started with the TCSD.

Paolo was on Rita in an instant. Fumbling with his belt, dropping his trousers, grabbing at her butt and pushing hard. It wasn’t the most romantic of meetings, but she’d had worse. Then he was slamming into her and trying to balance himself and grab her breasts with one hand under her blouse.

“Baby, baby…”

She wished very definitely that he would stop saying that. It made her head feel like it would explode. Blocking out his crooning voice, she tried to concentrate on the moment. The moment. If she could think about Rafe. His hard body, his deep penetration, his—

“Jesus!”

The harsh whisper accompanied a last thrust and Paolo collapsed against her like he’d run a marathon. Rita had to balance his unexpected extra weight and it really torked her that she could feel his life-giving sperm spilling out as he pulled away with a groan. She did a mental count. She knew enough about her cycle to think she could get pregnant.
Be fertile. Please, please…

“God,” he said, stumbling away, reaching for his belt and trousers.

Rita found her panties and slipped them on, squeezing as hard as she knew how to keep him inside her. The whole thing was over in less than five minutes. It wasn’t the greatest sex and he wasn’t the perfect lover by a long shot, but he was perfect for her plans.

“I’d like to help you, but I can’t,” he apologized.

Oh, sure. Now that he’d been satisfied, he sounded less frantic about the whole thing. Detached, even. Rita gave the thought of blackmail a whirl. His colleagues wouldn’t think kindly on what had just transpired on their well-respected hospital’s gray carpet. But that was a card she was not quite ready to play.

Instead, she pushed aside her misgivings and sashayed toward him. He looked kind of concerned, which torked her off some more. Rita Feather Hawkings wasn’t used to rejection of any kind. But then, she also knew how to turn a man’s head around, and in this case, that meant ignoring all his crap and pretending they were longtime lovers and she had full access to him.

He tried to draw back, but she wouldn’t have it. She moved in close, grabbed his face between her palms, and kissed him hard on the mouth, sticking her tongue inside his and running it around his teeth. He made a soft, protesting sound but didn’t pull away. He was starved for sex, she thought with an inward smile. Married, unmarried—whatever his situation was, he wasn’t getting any. “We could meet like this every day,” she said, breathing into his mouth. “Or somewhere more private, if that’s what you want.”

“This can never happen again!” he sputtered wildly.

“Why not?”

“Not at the hospital!”

“Somewhere more private, then. Like last night…?”

He ran his hands through his hair and looked around, blinking, as if he couldn’t believe this was happening. He probably couldn’t. His life was filled with work and maybe not much else. That’s where his power came from: work.

But she was showing him another way.

“Rita Feather Hawkings is a good nurse,” she said.

He shook his head, but she could tell he was weakening.

“We’re good together,” she said, slipping her hand inside his pants and giving him a squeeze. Then she strolled out the door, throwing a look down the hall where they’d taken the blond whore, but she was now nowhere to be seen.

She forgot Paola Avanti as soon as she was outside of the room. He was a means to an end. A fairly pleasurable one, but he was no Rafe.

Soon, she thought, as she approached the girl at the front desk and asked to be directed to human resources and an employment form. Soon, she would be back at this hospital as an employee. Very soon. Time was of the essence. She needed to slit the bitch’s throat and take her baby out of that black womb. Save the child and destroy its evil mother before that whore’s body decided to give birth.

Lang had chased thieves, murderers, and criminals of all sorts in his years with the Portland PD. He’d never thought about it much, just gone ahead and done it. But then, that was the case with his whole career. He’d just gone ahead and done it. Until Melody’s death. Until his faith in humanity and overall fairness was destroyed.

Still, it came as a small shock to realize he was out of shape, that he couldn’t just fire up the engines and expect to run at breakneck pace, full-on, for as long as it took. Not only did he see long hours in the gym ahead of him, he saw a possible fine-tuning of his diet. Fewer burgers, fries, and greasy fast-food chicken. More salads, fruits, and vegetables lightly sauteed in olive oil. That was fine by him, but he was no gourmet cook. If it didn’t come out of a drive-thru window, it was kind of off the menu.

The fact that Cade Worster had brought him to this realization put him in a foul mood, and that foul mood made it impossible for him to feel kindly toward the fleet-footed thief.

He walked right around the back of the house and didn’t have to knock, holler, or attempt a break-in because Cade was coming out of the back with a hastily thrown-together black duffel bag in one hand and his precious pizza box balanced in the other. He was holding a slice of pizza in his teeth, the cheese and pepperoni sliding with gravity.

“Don’t move,” Lang said in his cop voice. He didn’t have his gun. It was locked in the glove box. Didn’t have anything but his anger, but by the wide-eyed fear in the younger man’s eyes, he thought it might be enough.

A piece of pepperoni hit the ground. Lang didn’t drop eye contact with the kid.

Cade’s shoulders slumped. He slipped the pizza box under his chin, opened his jaw, and dropped the piece of pizza atop the cardboard. “Ah, man…” The duffel bag hit the top step and bounced down to Lang’s level.

“I just wanna talk about your cousin, Rafe. That’s all.”

It took a while for that to register. He was either slow or scared. Maybe both. “What?”

“You sold a Chevy truck to him.”

“Sold it? Shit, no. He borrowed the fuckin’ thing for forever! He owes me!”

“This is the same truck you
borrowed
from Tim Rooney, about a year ago?”

“Don’t know what’ cher talkin’ about.”

“Let’s go in and sit down and I’ll make myself clear.”

He didn’t want to. He didn’t really get who Lang was and what it was all about, but that suited Lang just fine. He hated the waste of time it took to play by the rules, and anyway, Lang didn’t give a rat’s ass about what Cade stole from whom and why.

Cade picked up his pizza box and shuffled back in the house and Lang took the two steps in one stride and followed him in. Cade stood in front of the refrigerator and Lang positioned himself to face him with his back to the counter. If the kid decided to escape again, Lang could leap either way and make a great stab at stopping him.

“Who are you?” Cade decided it was time to ask.

Lang ignored him. “I think your cousin Rafe is dead. I think he took your truck, with or without your permission, and left with his pregnant girlfriend. But something happened at a rest stop on Highway 26 and he was stabbed and killed. The pregnant girlfriend was attacked, too.”

Cade had set the pizza box on the counter and it was a good thing, too, because his arms went slack to his sides and his jaw dropped. “Bullshit,” he said.

“You haven’t seen the news?”

“I saw about the pregnant girl—don’t know her—but Rafe? Nah, man. You gotta be wrong.”

“I’ve got a picture I could show you.”

“A dead picture?” Cade’s brows lifted in dismay. “Like of a dead person?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to see it.”

“I kinda need an identification,” Lang said.

“Who are you, man?”

Cade was getting upset, so Lang told him about working with the Winslow County Sheriff’s Department and his pending job appointment with Tillamook. Cade’s attention faded away early on but Lang realized it was because he believed him, didn’t much care, and was processing the information about Rafe.

“Rafe Black Bear’s your cousin,” Lang finished, trying to nail down the facts.

“Yeah, man, but his name’s not Black Bear. People just call him that ’cause it was his dad’s name, but his mom and dad never married. His dad was an Injun. But Rafe’s a Worster, like me. His mom and my dad are brother and sister.”

“So you’re saying that Rafe took your truck without your knowledge?”

“That’s about it.”

“You know when?”

“Uh…a couple weeks ago?”

“Are you asking me?” Lang almost smiled. It was the classic attitude of a kid who was searching for the right answer to keep himself out of trouble.

“I don’t know, man. Why don’t you just leave me alone.” He wrapped his arms even closer around his chest.

“If it’s Rafe, and somebody killed him…” Lang tried.

“It’s not Rafe. He’s too real to die.”

“Too real?”

“Look, he’s a pain in the ass, okay? But he’s all right.”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear. I’ve got a picture of a homicide victim. I’m pretty sure he’s your cousin. I just need some identification. And then I need to find who stabbed him, and you might be able to help catch his killer.”

“You got it wrong. It’s not Rafe.”

“Denial isn’t going to change the truth,” Lang said. “Let me go get the picture.”

As he turned to the door, hoping to high heaven that the kid wouldn’t start running again, he saw Cade’s gaze drop to the floor. He seemed to shrink in upon himself. “Ah, man…” he said with a catch in his voice, sliding down the front of the refrigerator to sit on the floor, his forehead touching his knees, his hands clasped on his head.

He was finally getting the picture.

Feeling like a heel, Lang hurried to his truck for the manila folder that held Rafe Worster’s photograph.

Claire’s intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

“There’s a call for you from Leesha at Laurelton General,” the receptionist said.

“Put it through.”

A moment later, Leesha was on the line. “How’re you doing? How’s our Jane Doe?”