Fallen (19 page)

It’s perfect, really. The perfect way to get my attention. Sloane’s parents are no longer around for him to threaten, so he’s upped the ante, knowing I won’t be able to resist. Something ugly and very disagreeable sets my nerves on edge. I grab out my phone and dial quickly. I have to speak to Sloane. I have to let her know that motherfucker is inside the building with her.

The line clicks as it connects, then begins to ring. Four rings. Five. Six. How many fucking rings does it take for someone to answer their phone? “Shit.”

“She’s not supposed to have her phone with her while she’s working, Zeth,” Lacey says quietly. She’s chewing on her thumbnail, her legs now tucked up underneath her, eyes intent on the television screen. “Don’t freak out,” she tells me.

She’s telling me not to freak out. Oh, holy fuck I must look like a complete psycho right now if Lacey is trying to talk me down off a ledge. “I’m fine,” I say. The phone rings out for the ninth time and I hang up, cursing under my breath. Well. There’s nothing else for it. I snatch up my leather jacket and start heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Lacey leaps off the couch and practically sprints to beat me to the warehouse exit.

“Where d’you think?”

“You know they’re looking for you. Every worker at that hospital’s seen your face because of Frankie’s brother; Sloane said so. The cops’ll arrest you the moment you pull up out front.”

Inconveniently, Lacey has a valid point. Fucking Frankie Monterello and his pain-in-the-ass family still causing me headaches from beyond the grave. “I’m not hanging out here while Charlie’s inside that hospital.”

“Are you worried about her? You think he’s going to kill her?”

My ribcage constricts just hearing her say that. It’s like there’s a block inside my vocal chords that cuts me off whenever I think about saying something that’s not a threat or a curse word strong enough to turn the air blue, though. I can’t admit to being this terrified. I clench my jaw and look away.

“Because that’s what I’m worried about,” Lacey says. “I’m really worried about that right now. I love Sloane.” She
loves
Sloane? Well, this is news. I jerk my head back, narrowing my eyes at her. Lacey actually returns my scowl. “Not like that, you jerk. I love Sloane like a sister. That’s the way she treats me—like family. And you love her, too. I am so sick of you guys—”

“Do you want to come with me or not?” I say. I can’t listen to her complain about how useless I am telling people—Sloane in particular—how I feel about them. I have to do something to get her out of that hospital. Lacey blinks at me, shock marking her face.

“Yes, I want to come with you,” she says.

“Then shut up and get your jacket.”

******

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I’ll bring Cade, too.”

“Cade’s with you?”

Michael makes an affirmative sound. “He and Carnie showed up earlier. Came to ask me something on behalf of my cousin. Cade wanted to see you, but I told him you were recovering. Which I’m guessing you’ve decided against, now?”

“I’m already recovered,” I growl into the handset. “Make sure he leaves his cut behind. And leave Carnie, too. Three of us is enough. We don’t wanna draw any unwanted attention.”

“Got it.” Michael hangs up, and I slam through my gear changes like the gearstick has done something personally to offend me. I barely lift my foot off the gas to take the corners.

“She’s fine. You know that, right?” Lacey tells me, leaning through the gap between the driver and passenger seats.

“She’s not answering her phone.”

“She’s probably just busy. It has to be mayhem in there.”

“She should have answered her fucking phone.”

“You’re gonna go in there and you’re gonna overreact, aren’t you?”

I wrench the steering wheel round, swinging the Camaro into the hospital parking lot. The place is buzzing. The news vans haven’t moved—they’re parked as close as they can possibly get to the glass frontage of St. Peter’s, and two different reporters are standing in front of the building, each talking into microphones as cameramen shoot them. Charlie’s Aston Martin is still parked by the emergency entrance, too. The sky’s darkened significantly since we left the warehouse, and it’s just starting to rain. I may not have stuck around in high school for long, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t read. I read everything from Plato to Sun Tzu, all the way through to Vonnegut. Right now the weather smacks of a pathetic fallacy that perfectly matches my black mood. Lacey grabs hold of my wrist from the backseat before I can get out of the car. “You haven’t answered me,” she says. “Are you planning on overreacting?”

With a steely expression directed into the rearview mirror, I fix her in my glare. “Lacey, I never overreact. If I can’t get in there, I will react accordingly. I. Will. Fuck. Shit. Up.” She starts to object, but it’s too late; I’ve already climbed out of the Camaro.

I assess the situation as quickly as possible. The entrance to St. Peter’s is closed, and two cops are standing outside; besides them and the news crews, there are few people waiting in the parking lot. A handful of concerned bystanders wait in the cold, presumably for their loved ones inside. It looks as though the rest of Seattle has taken the threat of chemical poisoning on board and have stayed the hell away. Smart fuckers.

Lacey gets out of the car, grimacing as a gust of frigid wind buffets us, hair flying around her face. “You won’t leave me, will you?” she asks.

“No, I won’t leave you, Lace.” I wish I could. I wish she would stay in the fucking car if I told her to, but I know even saying the words is a complete waste of breath. The last time I told her to wait in the car, she walked in on me shooting Frankie, her ex-fuck buddy, in the face. “You don’t need to worry. We’re gonna do this nice and quiet. I don’t feel like reacquainting myself with the penal system. There, does that make you feel any better?”

She shakes her head, shrugging her shoulders up around her ears against the cold. “Not really.”

“Great. Then let’s go.”

It takes all of two hours for the police to come looking for me. Two hours, where I numbly treat patients and go through the motions, just waiting and holding my breath. My first instinct was to contact Zeth, to let him know what’s happened, but without my cell that’s physically impossible. I really should have memorized his number. That way I could have snuck into one of the quieter areas of the hospital and used one of the landlines at a nurses’ station, but it never occurred to me that I might need to do something like that. And now all of that is irrelevant, because my name is being called over the PA system and I’m being summoned to the Chief’s office on level three.

“Here, Dr. Romera, I can finish this for you,” Grace offers, holding out her hand to take the suture needle from me. I’ve been stitching a nasty gash on an elderly woman’s arm; Grace takes my seat and continues with the job, giving me a warm smile. Despite the unique turn of events today has taken, she’s been totally normal with me; I’m beginning to think she wasn’t instantly suspicious when she discovered me coming out of the blood bank with those units for Zeth.

“Thanks, Gracie.” I take my time finding the way to the elevators. I’m in no rush to be questioned by the cops, especially because I haven’t been able to figure out what the hell I’m going to tell them. Basically, I can’t tell them anything. Or certainly not the truth, anyway.

When I reach her office, the Chief is sitting on the edge of her desk, talking to a woman in her early thirties. The woman’s clearly law enforcement; she’s wearing a dark navy pantsuit and a crisp white shirt instead of a uniform, but she holds herself in that same way all authority figures do.

“Ah, Dr. Romera.” Chief Allison smiles when she sees me. She’s been the Chief since I started at the hospital, but she worked alongside my dad for years before that. Highly respected, an authority in her field—pediatrics—Dr. Allison is an excellent doctor, but also a hard woman. She never smiles. Never. Something is quite wrong here. “This is Agent Lowell from the Drug Enforcement Agency. She’s requested a moment of your time.”

DEA? Really? I would have thought they’d send the FBI instead, but then again, maybe this toxin is something the DEA have seen before. Maybe this has more to do with the drug than the actual risk of contagion. The agent looks like a bit of a blank slate—the generic pantsuit; the generic ponytail haircut; the generic flat shoes, made for running. Since she’s not a member of the Bureau, she doesn’t necessarily need to wear such formal clothing—I’ve seen DEA agents wearing Hawaiian shirts walking around this hospital—which means that she’s chosen to wear the suit. That tells me a lot about her already. I give the woman a curt smile, offering out my hand. “Of course. Anything I can do to be of help.”
Except tell you the truth. Or generally disclose anything that might actually assist you in your investigation.

It’s like this Agent Lowell woman can literally hear me thinking this as she reaches out and shakes my hand. Her business-like expression falters and I quickly see what lies beneath—out-and-out disapproval. She doesn’t know me. She’s never met me before, and yet I can tell she already suspects something. Perhaps I’m just being incredibly paranoid. It’s comforting to believe this, until…

“If you would give us a moment please, Chief Allison. Ms. Romera and I need to have a little talk.”

The Chief, despite her passive attitude since I walked in, still has balls of steel. “Oh, I’d say that’s entirely up to
Dr.
Romera, wouldn’t you,
Ms.
Lowell? It seems to me that your request to talk with one of my employees comes without any official mandate that might force the matter.” Dr. Allison didn’t like the cop’s flagrant put-down when she chose not to use my title, so now Allison’s deigned not to give Agent Lowell her title, either. Agent Lowell’s facial features go blank.

“Oh, I assure you, there will be an official mandate if I think that justice is being obstructed here. I can get a warrant for this woman’s arrest at any moment of my choosing.”

“Then perhaps you should—” Chief Allison starts to say, but I quickly jump in; I don’t like where this conversation is heading. I really don’t want this Lowell woman heading right out to get a warrant for my arrest.

“No! No, it’s fine, Chief. I can talk to her. It’s not a problem. I have nothing to hide.” No greater a lie has ever been told, but much better that I spend half an hour being grilled by this woman here than be grilled for much longer at a police station. The truth of the matter is that I don’t know anything about Nannette Richards, or why she ended up with my name scrawled across her skin before being poisoned and sent to this hospital for
me
to treat. I won’t have to lie about that.

Chief Allison gives me a slight nod before turning cold eyes on Lowell and leaving the room. A moment of awkward silence follows where Agent Lowell slowly paces around the Chief’s desk and shoves her paperwork out of the way, making room so she can perch on the edge, directly across from me.

And then she starts talking, and everything spins on its head. “Where is your sister, Dr. Romera?”

The speech about not knowing my dead patient dies on my lips. My sister? What the hell? What can this possibly have to do with my sister? “Uh…Alexis?” I ask, stalling for a moment. A moment to think. To get my head around this change in direction.

“Do you have any other sisters?” Agent Lowell asks, her voice clipped.

“I’m assuming you already know that I don’t.”

The woman nods, her neat and tidy ponytail bobbing up and down. She’s only six or seven years older than me, but her pulled-back hair and severe expression make her seem an awful lot older. “In the interests of saving time, it’s probably safe to assume that I already know an awful lot more than you think I might, Sloane. I know that your sister was taken by a biker gang, and I know she’s resurfaced. Now you need to tell me where she is.
Right now.
”

The burning intensity in the agent’s eyes flashes like tempered steel—on a regular day she’s not the kind of person I’d be screwing with, but today I don’t have any other choice. “I don’t know anything about my sister, Agent, but if you do, I would be glad to hear about it. She’s alive? Lexi’s disappearance happened so long ago; my parents and I, we’ve believed for a while now that she’s dead.” It’s not an Academy Award-winning performance by any stretch of the imagination, but my voice doesn’t shake. Agent Lowell clenches her jaw, eyes narrowing a little at the corners.

“Okay. I’ll tell you what I know. Your sister was shot in the back eight days ago. She was admitted into a private hospital in San Jacinto, where she was treated and discharged two days later. A nurse at the hospital claims a woman matching your description was fighting with a member of a biker gang in the hallways, and she nearly had the woman removed from the premises. We’re waiting on their surveillance footage to arrive at our office, but I’m ninety-nine percent positive that when that surveillance footage does arrive, it’s going to clearly show you and your friends waiting for news on your sister’s well being. Now why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what
I
want to know?”