Everywhere She Turns (19 page)

As CJ prepared the patient for the images, she did what she’d been doing all morning. “You grow up around here?”

“Nah, I’m from Mobile. I came up here last year. Got a place over on Beacon a couple months ago.”

“Okay, I’m going to step behind the screen.” CJ headed that way. “Don’t move.”

CJ selected the appropriate settings. “Here we go.” A couple of clicks and she moved back to the patient’s side to position her for a second view. A third view and CJ was ready to have a look. “Just stay put while I process these.”

As she went through the steps, she continued her questioning through the open door between the exam room and cramped developing room that had surely once been a closet. “You like it here?”

“It’s okay.”

“I hear Ricky can be a tough guy to work for.” CJ held her breath. She’d skipped several questions and gone straight to the ones that might rouse suspicion.

“I don’t work for him no more. Tyrone wanted me working for him.”

CJ’s heart thumped. “You must be a hard worker.” It was the best she could come up with.

“Have to. I don’t do my part, he’ll kick my ass.”

CJ paused before pulling the films. “Did he do this to you?”

“Hell no. Uh-uh. No way. He ain’t gonna damage the merchandise.” She made a face and put a hand to her side. “Shit happens, you know?”

Yeah, CJ knew all right. “I guess you heard about the woman who was murdered last weekend.” An ache speared CJ. It still didn’t seem real. “You can sit up now.” She clipped the films onto the viewing box. She had to do this as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yeah.” Celeste rolled to her side and pushed up. She’d been through this before. “I partied with her a couple of times before she gave up the life. She was cool. She let me stay at her place once when Tyrone was punishing me.”

Anticipation pounding in her veins, CJ barely restrained the need to dive into a long list of questions. “Good news. No fractures.” She helped the woman off the table.

“That’s good.” She turned to CJ at the door. “Do I still get the Vicodin?”

“Does Lusk usually give you medication for your pain?” Bruising this bad warranted something for pain, but CJ didn’t want to step on Lusk’s toes. She saw none of the notes Lusk had mentioned in Celeste’s chart. And she’d like to do an ultra-sound as well.

“Yeah. She knows being a foot soldier is hard sometimes.”

“I’m not sure I understand the whole foot soldier concept.”

Celeste shrugged. “He’s the King, we his army in the streets.”

Talk about an ego. “You were saying that he punished you.”

“Like he did Shelley, you know. And anybody else who don’t do as they told.”

CJ tensed. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“The first time you fuck up, he tells you what for. Makes you feel bad for screwing up.”

Back in the exam room, Celeste shouldered out of the gown and reached for her cami. “The next time you get shunned. Can’t work. You get pretty hungry. That happened to me not too long after I got here. Shelley helped me out. Gave me a place to stay. Something to eat.”

CJ’s heart squeezed. Shelley had liked helping others. “That treatment sounds a little harsh.” This girl, like the others she’d seen today, didn’t look as if she could afford to miss even one meal. Most were living on drugs. She got that. But still, this was abuse clear and simple.

Truly sick bastard.

“If you stupid enough to piss him off the third time, then you in big trouble. That could get you dead.”

More of that tension stiffened CJ’s muscles. “Dead? Tyrone kills people who make mistakes?”

CJ snapped her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant to ask that question. She’d gone too far.

The deer-caught-in-the-headlights look in Celeste’s eyes signaled that she recognized she had said too much.

That frightened gaze suddenly narrowed. “Your name is Patterson, too. You’re her sister.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you asking all these questions.” She shook her head. “Goddammit.” She glared at CJ. “Bitch, you’ll get me killed if you go mouthing off to Tyrone.”

“No.” CJ gave her head an adamant shake. “I told you, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. You gonna give me them Vicodins or not?”

“I’d like to do an ultrasound.” Celeste shook her head. The simmering fury on the woman’s face said that CJ wouldn’t be getting anything else from her. Truth was, CJ couldn’t blame her. “Okay.” Getting her some relief was the least CJ could do. “Let me see what we have on hand. But if the pain persists, I’d like you to come back on Friday for that ultrasound.

“Whatever.” Celeste didn’t look at her.

There were more patients in the lobby. CJ would just keep asking questions until she got the answers she needed.

Or until Tyrone found out what she was up to and stopped her.

He, of all people, should know that stopping her would be easier said than done.

6:35
PM

CJ didn’t lock up until she’d seen the last patient, even if they’d showed after closing time.

She collapsed into one of the ugly molded plastic chairs and rested her head in her hands.

The quality of life in the village was unspeakable. She’d known it. She’d grown up here. But seven years away . . . she’d banished the worst parts from her mind. On the rare occasions when she’d come home, Shelley had made it a point to conceal as much of her life from CJ as possible.

Instead of complaining to Shelley, why hadn’t she asked real questions?

Instead of making demands, why hadn’t she listened?

A rap on the door jerked her from the troubling thoughts.

CJ was exhausted. She pushed to her feet. But if there was someone else who needed medical care, that was why she was here. And maybe, just maybe, she would learn something more.

She dragged to the window and split the blinds to see who was out there before unlocking the door. Some old habits were instinctive.

A man, ragged clothes, disheveled hair, waited at the door. He turned slightly as she watched. Blood stained the front of his shirt. Her pulse thumped. She surveyed the parking lot and didn’t see anyone else, which indicated the blood had likely come from him. No vehicle. He’d apparently walked from one of the village streets. Muggings and fights, usually over women or drugs, were an everyday affair.

She rushed to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. “You’re injured?” The idea that he could have left someone injured and had come here for assistance flashed through her mind.

“It hurts bad.” He pressed a hand to his chest, grimaced.

“Come on.” She ushered him inside and down the corridor to one of the examining rooms. “Take off your shirt.” She washed her hands and grabbed a pair of gloves. The usual adrenaline dump seared through her veins.

A hand clamped over her mouth. She reached up. A cold blade pressed against her throat. Fear bloomed in her chest even as his overwhelming body odor filled her lungs.

“All I want is the drugs,” he growled against her ear. “Don’t give me no trouble and there won’t be none.”

His breath was rancid. She nodded her understanding. Told herself to stay calm.

Slowly she sidled toward the door with him in tow. The knife blade burned her skin as they moved, piercing the outer layer of epidermis. As they shuffled awkwardly along the corridor toward the supply room, her thoughts raced.

Should she go for the pepper spray? She’d tucked it into the pocket of her lab coat this morning. Just in case. But she’d dropped her guard as the day progressed without incident.

She should never have allowed complacency to slip in.

Nothing she could do about that now. She had to think. Make a new plan.

Her hands were free. She could go for it.

As if he’d read her mind, the pressure on the knife blade increased.

At the supply room door she stalled.

“Open the door,” he ordered.

“Locked,” she mumbled into his hand. She’d kept it locked all day since she’d been the only staff on site.

“Where’s the key?”

Now was her chance. “Pocket.” Her heart hammered against her sternum.

She waited to see if he would reach into her pocket for the key, but he didn’t.

“Unlock it,” he snarled, “but don’t do nothing stupid or I’ll slice your throat wide open.”

CJ reached into her pocket. Her fingers brushed the canister. What did she do? Take the risk? Or play along?

“Hurry up!” he roared.

Her fingers latched on to the key ring and she pulled it from her pocket. She couldn’t get a deep enough breath . . . couldn’t keep her hands from shaking as she sorted through the keys.

She unlocked the door, pushed it open. He ushered her inside. The cabinets were locked as well. Different key. She picked through the keys and selected the right one, jammed it into the cabinet’s lock, and opened the door.

Sample boxes and small plastic bottles of various medications waited on the shelves.

She didn’t ask him what he wanted. She dropped the key ring back into her pocket and waited for his instructions.

The blade came away from her throat. He pushed her away. “Stay over there!”

Could she make it past him to the door before he grabbed her? Maybe. He was busy sorting through the boxes and bottles.

Her hand went into her pocket. Fingers curled around the pepper spray. She flipped up the safety catch.

When he started to stuff the drugs into his shirt, she braced to make her move.

One, two, three . . .

She lunged for the door.

He twisted. Reached for her.

She aimed the pepper spray at him, pressed the trigger.

He screamed. One hand went to his face, the other groped for her.

She darted out of his reach and through the door.

Pulling the door shut, she fished for the ring of keys. Held her breath until the pepper spray around her dissipated. Her hand trembling violently, she managed to single out the proper key and ram it into the lock.

“You fucking cunt!” he screamed through the door.

The knob twisted in her hand. She held on with all her might.

“Open the fucking door!”

She turned the key. Didn’t work. The knob was twisted in the wrong position. She pulled, gave it a twist in the other direction. Turned the key.

The lock engaged.

He kicked the door. Banged on it with his fists. All the while screaming profanities at her.

She backed away.

Call the police
.

She reached into her other pocket for her cell.

“CJ?”

She whipped around.

“What’s going on back here?”

Braddock.

Thank God
. “He . . .” She pointed to the supply room. “He came for the drugs.”

Braddock charged forward, grabbed her by the shoulders, and looked her over. He winced when he touched her throat where the knife had marred her skin. “You should take care of that.” He took the keys from her hand and moved toward the door.

CJ collapsed against the nearest wall. Her eyes and nose stung from the spray.

“He’s got a knife,” she remembered to tell Braddock as he unlocked the door. She supposed he’d realized that from the nick on her throat. Braddock had already drawn his weapon.

She heard him tell the man to put his hands up. Heard the ensuing argument and the brief scuffle.

She pushed away from the wall and checked to see that Braddock had everything under control. He was cuffing the guy. The knife lay on the floor. Blood stained its sharp blade. Her blood. She shuddered. Her skin burned where he’d pressed it to her throat.

She moved to the exam room and took a look in the mirror over the sink.

Only a minor nick. She cleansed the wound. Applied some antibiotic cream and a small bandage. While she patched her wound she heard Braddock on the phone ordering Jenkins to come get the guy and haul him in.

She washed her hands and face, then braced herself on the sink. Maybe Edward was right. She was taking far too many liberties with her future . . . with her life.

For what?

Shelley was dead.

Nothing CJ did was going to bring her back.

But what about all these people?

The abuse they suffered, particularly the women, at Tyrone’s hands was incomprehensible. Could she just walk away and pretend she didn’t see this?

The way the rest of this city had been doing for years?

You don’t belong here no more
.

Ricky was right. She didn’t belong here anymore. But what kind of person would she be if she just walked away and didn’t try to stop this madness?

The conversation between Braddock and Jenkins was hushed. She stayed put. Didn’t want to deal with that. She dabbed her eyes again with a wet paper towel.