Imperfect Contract (21 page)

I called the admitting department and arranged for a private room across from the nurses' station on Five Northeast.  I planned to take Vanessa as part of my assignment when I came to work the next day.  I'd have an opportunity to talk to her in private at some time during the shift, and we'd be able to keep her out of harm's way.

31
 

On Thursday, the last day of May, I arrived at work early, intending to request Vanessa as part of my assignment.  With every bed occupied, it was the only way to spend time with her.  Then I organized myself for the shift.  I had Vanessa, but I also had an overload of work.  I needed to be at my sharpest to take care of my patients and my friend.

As luck would have it—mine, not my patients'—the surgeons rushed Juan Salazar, the man with a hot appendix in room five-eighteen, to surgery, and Edith Kramer, an ancient woman with a severe heart problem, crashed and earned a ride to ICU, leaving me with a few extra minutes.  I headed in to help Vanessa with her morning care. 

"Mornin'," I said, pushing back the curtain.  "You alone?"

"Yes.  Craig left."

"When?"

"Hours ago.  Thank God."  She kept her eyes closed.  Tears glistened under her lashes.

"I'll help you get freshened up.  There's a lot of dried blood stuck to your skin."  I retrieved a basin from her bedside table and went into the bathroom to fill it.  I wanted to sponge her face and bruised arms.  It would give me a chance to inspect the wounds, and the physical closeness might encourage her to talk.

After pulling on gloves, I dabbed at her forehead, soaking off traces of crusted blood, revealing tiny scratches and a huge bruise.  "What happened here?"

"I'm not sure.  I think he hit me with the pewter lamp in my bedroom."  She ran her fingers over the wounds.  "It hurts."

"I'm sure it does."  I continued to sponge.  "Why'd you let him back into your life?"

"I didn't.  He barged in, you know, like he does.  Owns the world, or at least me.  I didn't seem glad to see him.  That made him angry.  I'm doing okay without him.  That made him angry.  I had some money for a down payment.  That made him angry.  And, he thinks I stole it from him."

"Did you?"

"He made a lot of money, but he never gave me any, just enough for the bills.  He wanted me in nice clothes, so he gave me a credit card.  That way he saw where the money went.  He even took my paycheck.  When I was planning to leave, I saved some by putting away a little grocery money each week.  Then when I'd go shopping with a friend, I'd put her purchases on my card, and she'd give me cash.  Little things that Craig would never ask to see."  She winced when I touched a sore spot on her left cheek.  "I'm entitled.  I worked for all of the twenty years we were married.  He lived high.  Did what he wanted while I took care of everything."

"That type never sees it that way."

"I know.  I know."  The tears flowed down the side of her face and sunk into the pillow, leaving pinkish, circular stains.

I continued to dab at the dried blood.  "What are you going to do?  You going to press charges?"

"I guess I have to.  I don't expect it to do any good, though.  I did let him stay."  She opened her left eye and stared at my face—the right remained swollen shut.  "I didn't force him to leave.  I thought I could be better this time, not make him unhappy, but I'd already made him angry with the things I'd done."

"How long was he with you?"

"A few days, in the house anyway.  He's been in town a couple of months.  We went out to dinner a few times.  It was nice, like old times before we started having problems.  And, to tell you the truth, I'm tired of being alone, I liked the familiar company."

"We'll have to rethink your plans for company."

She laughed, then grabbed her chest with her good arm.  "Don't make me laugh.  It hurts."

"Ray said he'll help you get an injunction." 

"What's that?"

"A restraining order.  It's called an injunction."

"Tell him.  Please."

"I will."  I inspected the wound next to her right eye.  The plastic surgeon did a beautiful job of suturing the cut, placing the stitches below the skin and sealing the outer layer with tiny adhesive strips.  "This cut looks good.  I don't think you'll even be able to see a scar when it heals.  You'll have to cover it with make-up for a while though and use sunscreen."

"That's the least of my worries."

"I know."  I continued to dab away at the various little cuts and huge bruises.  When I finished, she didn't look so gruesome.  "Have you given thought to your plans?"

"I can't go home."

"You can come and stay with me," I offered, knowing it wasn't the best solution.  I, after all, had a big bump on my own head from yesterday's adventures.

"No, that won't work.  It's the first place Craig will look."

"What then?"

"When the doctor came last night, he said he'd make sure I can stay in the hospital for a few days, until I get my strength back.  My scans and everything are okay, but he's still claiming I need longer observation for internal injuries."

"A ruse, I assume."  I pulled a chair close to the bed and sat.  I had a few more minutes to spend with her, then I'd have to get busy.

"Yes.  It'll keep me here and out of harm's way." 

She extended her right hand in my direction, and I took it in my own, inspecting the cuts and bruises along the underside of her arm and marveling that it, too, was not broken.  After a moment, she pulled it away.

Van said, "Thanks for coming and helping me.  I don't know what I would have done.  I was afraid to move.  Afraid he'd come back."

"What are you going to do?"  She needed to go somewhere safe, and I knew better than to insist she stay with me.  "Do you want to go back to the shelter for a while?"

"I need to go home first, get some things, and make sure the house is locked." 

"Van, I locked your apartment.  I have your key, and your suitcase is in my car.  You can go anywhere you need to.  If there is something you need from your place, Ray and I will get it for you."

She shrugged, grimaced, and looked confused, giving her head a slight shake.  "That's where it is," she muttered.

"Where what is?"  I asked, wondering what she meant.

Her eye popped open as she came back into the moment.  "Oh, nothing.  Just thinking, that's all."  Groping with her right hand, she found the button controlling the intravenous pain medication pump.  She pushed it and settled into the pillow, waiting for the tiny dose of morphine to take effect. 

I arranged her bedding, tucking it around her shoulders.

"Craig did it," she muttered as she drifted off.

"I know, Vanessa."  I checked her IV lines, made sure she could reach everything when she woke up, and left the room, planning to look in on her every time I passed. 

I took a minute to call Ray and tell him to get the injunction.  He said he'd also call Tamarac PD and advise them she'd press charges. 

I finished the day with little additional conversation with Vanessa.  She kept herself sedated with the patient controlled analgesia—IV morphine can do that.  I didn't interfere because I believed she needed to rest and be pain free.  The doctor would discontinue the pump tomorrow, and she'd rejoin the conscious world. 

32

When I got home, Ray's S2000 sat in my driveway, surprising me.  I hadn't heard from him since calling about the injunction.  I felt peeved he presumed to go into my house without my being there, but since he volunteered to look out for my welfare, I decided to let it pass.  It wasn't like him, though.  Under normal circumstances, good southern manners were foremost in his mind.

"Hi," I called, opening the front door.

"I'm in here.  Sorry about letting myself in, but the dog heard my car and pitched a hissy.  I came in to rescue him from himself."

I peeked around the corner into the Florida room and saw Ray sitting on the recliner sofa with Sunshine resting in his arms.  I was losing my dog to my ex-fiancé.  Sunshine didn't move a muscle to greet me. 

"Sophi," Ray patted the sofa.  "Sit."

I glared at him.  "What am I, the dog?"

"Please." 

I relented and sank into the soft leather.  Sunshine moved from Ray's lap to mine.  I wrapped my arms around his neck, rubbing his soft fur.  He snuggled close, making a satisfied rumbling sound in his throat.

Ray, who I noticed had showered and shaved, put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him.  He smelled good.  The clean scent of Dial soap mingled with the compelling aroma of his Nautica.  I felt exhausted and didn't resist resting my head against him.  I opened my eyes an hour later and saw him shredding cheese.  My omelet pan sat on the stove top.  My favorite.

"Why don't you go ahead and get cleaned up if you want to?" he said, not losing his rhythm with the grater.  "I'll finish cooking.  You look like you could use a break."

"Wonderful idea," I said, stretching on my tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek.  "You're a love."

"I hoped you'd think that."

I reappeared sometime later, scrubbed and dressed in short shorts and a stretchy crop top.  By the time we sat at the table on the patio with our suppers and glasses of Pinot Grigio, it was late.  A cool breeze drifted our way, brushing the hibiscus against the screen and making a soft background for our conversation.  The omelets oozed sharp cheddar, complementing the grape and walnut encrusted
focaccia
.  The man had done some serious shopping at the specialty market.

We chatted about my day and about Vanessa.  He'd secured the injunction, but it wouldn't keep her safe.  It would only provide a means to have Craig arrested should he decide to pursue her.  The problem was he'd vanished. 

"Probably more interesting," Ray said, "is we picked up Jamel Hutchinson today."

I raised a brow.  "You did?  Well now, where did you find him?"

"Hanging out in the neighborhood.  Wiggins, the little snitch, called Lewis' line and left a message last night.  We rousted Hutchinson and his girlfriend out of the sack this morning and took him in for questioning."

"And?"

"Wiggins said Hutchinson knew the two shooters on a personal basis.  They were
all
members of the same gang years ago.  Jones and O'Ryan remained loyal to Wright."

"Wright, he's the missing leader who probably set up the contract?"  I leaned forward, over my empty plate. 

"Correct."  Ray smiled but his voice sounded serious.  He was working.

"Jamel had the connections to set up the contract."

"He didn't admit anything.  He flat out denied it, in fact."

"Based on what I saw in the hospital, I don't think there was much of a relationship between the kid and his father."

"You're right.  He didn't profess any love for his father.  He seemed angry about him cheating on his mother all those years.  In point of fact, he implied as much."  Ray sipped his wine and picked at the remains of his
focaccia.
 
"He also admitted being into Wright for almost ten large.  Claimed he made some deliveries for Wright a year or so ago, then a dude from a rival gang robbed him.  Wright didn't believe his story and wants him to pay it back."

"Hence, he had to hit his parents for spending money."

"Yup.  Only, his daddy wouldn't give.  That gave Jamel two things to make him angry."  He sipped again, then grasped my hand.  His skin felt warm.  "He also 'fessed up that he knew all about his father's girlfriend.  He knew where she lived, had followed them around some, and knew Daddy planned to leave his mother.  Jamel's no fool.  He knew his mom would be destitute, and she wouldn't have the means to help him out."

"You're convinced Jamel contracted to have his dad murdered, then finished the job himself?"  I stared at Ray wide-eyed, then pulled my hand away.  "The next thing you'll be telling me is Amelia was in collusion with the kid and they plotted together to have the old man shot, then they disconnected the ventilator."

"That's a distinct possibility."

"At least Vanessa would agree with you," I said.  "I'm not so sure.  I watched Amelia a lot and talked to her, too.  She just doesn't seem the type to me.  She's more dependent, needy."  I stood and started gathering the plates and silverware.  We still had half the wine, so I left the bottle and the glasses on the table.

"Go on."  He sounded skeptical. 

"One day I saw Jamel acting
very
tender with his father."

"Guilt."

"But if you feel guilty about contracting a hit, do you finish off the job?"

"You know how the Mafia is rumored to get very nice to a guy before they take him out.  So nice, in fact, that it often tips off the victim," he said.

"But Jamel is gang related, not Mafia related."

"Details, details."  He followed me into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel.

While I washed the dishes, he dried them and put them away.  He even wiped down the counter and the outside table.  "I see you're feeling downright domestic."

"Trying to make you happy, give you a break."  He gave the sponge a manly toss into the sink.  I would have rinsed it and squeezed it dry.  Then, he took my hand and led me back onto the patio where he refilled our wineglasses.

I held the glass by the stem, swirling the golden liquid, inhaling the essence.  "You don't need to keep staying here and baby-sitting me.  You have a life of your own, and this house is . . . safe."

"That would explain how someone broke into it yesterday while you weren't home."

I stopped with the glass suspended in the air about an inch from my lips.  "Someone has to know the code.  I'm sure I set it when I left the house yesterday morning before going to Vanessa's."

"Who knows the code?" he asked in his interviewing voice.

"You do."  I raised a finger.  "Connie does."  Another finger.  "Vanessa does.  The neighbor across the street."

"Does it make sense to install a burglar alarm, then give it a code half the city knows?"  He rolled his eyes.  The edges of his goatee twitched.  I knew the thought of what I'd done made him angry.

"Want to help me change the codes?" I said, my tone cheerful.  "I have the directions handy.  It'll only take a minute."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," he said.  He emptied his glass before following me into the garage.  Within a few minutes, we recoded both the garage door opener and the alarm, giving each different numbers to make it harder for someone to come in uninvited.  When we came back into the house, he locked the doors to the patio and settled onto the sofa.

"Do you have any ex-boyfriends wandering around with the code?  Maybe someone left something here and decided to help themselves."

I stood in the middle of the room, hands on my hips.  "Ray Stone, you bastard!  The only ex-boyfriend with that code is you.  Did
you
hit me on the head?"

"Of course not."  He laughed.  "You look pretty fearsome standing there in skimpy clothes with your bellybutton ring shining."  He patted the seat next to him.

By the time I got to the sofa, Sunshine had bolted across the room and jumped onto the cushion next to Ray.  I decided to ignore the obvious and sat next to him, putting Sunshine on my lap so that I could properly cuddle him.  The dog, I mean.

"That rules out several potential suspects."

"In truth—not that it matters—I've had few dates and fewer boyfriends."

"May I ask why?"  I saw the surprise in his eyes, but more than that as well.  What? I wondered.

"It doesn't matter.  Just because."  I massaged Sunshine's ears, and he nestled close to me.  I slid a hand under his chest and worked my finger into the thick fur.  He growled deep in his throat, telling me he appreciated the rub.  "Meanwhile, I'm safe now.  Like I said earlier.  You don't need to stay here.  I'm sure you have things to do."

"I can't feel responsible for you being hurt again.  I know you don't want me anymore—”

"I never said that."

His brows rose almost to his hairline.  Then he continued, repeating himself, "I don't want you hurt again."

"Ray, it's not your fault I was hurt.  You didn't attack me."  I massaged the sore lump on my head.

"I'm not talking about yesterday."

"Huh?"  I slid to the other end of the sofa, taking Sunshine with me, and turning to see his face.  "What, pray tell, are you talking about?"

He stared straight ahead, as if watching something on the patio, but I knew he wasn't.  My neighbor's new yard light illuminated the deserted patio.  "Sweetheart," he said, his tone tender, "the perp who murdered your partner and shot you . . ."

"Yes."  I remembered all too well.  In fact, as he referred to the incident, I felt my stomach turn, and my right hip and thigh spasm.  "And?"

"We had him in custody that morning.  We released him to see who he contacted, what he did, where he went.  We could have held him, but we wanted him to lead us to the main man, an ass-wipe named Corker."

"It was coincidence Ralph and I pulled him over.  You couldn't have known that would happen."  I wondered about the burden he'd carried through the years and empathized with him.

"He was there when you stopped by my desk that morning.  He knew about our relationship.  I believe when you approached his car, he shot you for revenge.  He wanted to get back at me for busting him."  He continued to stare straight ahead.  I saw the taut muscles in his face and sensed the depth of his guilt.

"You should have told me."  I slid back over next to him and put a hand on his, rubbing it, offering comfort.  "You had no way of knowing.  You should have told me."

"Maybe.  I hid in a meaningless affair instead.  Then I couldn't face you about that either."

"You threw away our love, our life, rather than tell me?  It wasn't even your fault.  How could you have known?"

"I should have known.  That's why I need to protect you now.  It's my fault you're involved in this case.  Someone is trying to warn you off, to shut you up."  The big muscles in his leg quivered under my hand as he talked. 

I eased Sunshine off my lap and turned to Ray, embracing him as best I could.  He wrapped his arms around me and buried his head against my neck. 

I felt his lips against my neck and his warm breath next to my ear.  "I love you, my darling.  I'll always love you.  I can't bear for you to be hurt again.  I'll leave the house if you want me to, but I'll still protect you."

I turned my head, and without design, brushed my lips against his.  Then we were kissing.  At first lips to lips, savoring the closeness.  Then he was exploring my mouth with his tongue.  I met his tongue with mine—the way we once did—and melted into his arms.  Molding my body to his, feeling his warmth, tasting him, smelling him.

I felt his hands slide under my shirt.  He stroked my back, tracing my ribs and backbone with his fingers.  "No bra," he murmured.

I unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it free of his pants, then laced my fingers into the thick, dark hair on his chest and tugged at it gently.  Then I moved over onto his lap, straddling him, and allowing my bare midriff to touch his abdomen.  I craved body contact—his body contact.

He must have felt the same, because he pulled my top over my head.  He leaned me back a little and looked at my body.  "Simply beautiful."

"Good thing you're still not into breasts," I said and giggled.