Like Arrows (Cedar Tree #6) (36 page)

"Hey, Kim," Chrissy, one of the nurses greets me. "You brought new reinforcements today?"

"Hi, yes, this is Katie, Mal's sister-in-law."

With introductions out of the way, Chrissy settles me in one of the large recliners in the treatment room, pulling up a visitor chair for Katie before taking off to prep my cocktail of poison. The curtain is closed around us, giving us an illusion of privacy, even though the door to the hallway is always open. Still, it's enough to leave me with a bit of dignity without making me feel isolated. With the nurse's station right across the hall, all it would take is a sniffle or a clearing of my throat for someone to come check.

"I brought you something. Well, actually, Caleb brought it. Something his grandmother made for him." She pulls a beautiful afghan out of her tote. Rich earth colors brace a set of intricately detailed wings. Angel wings.

"It's beautiful," I say in awe.

“She gave it to them after Nascha died, with the wings representing their sister watching over them. It's the only thing he took with him when he left home."

I'm overwhelmed as she tucks the blanket around me.

"Caleb is convinced of its powers," she smiles indulgently. "Every time Mattias has even a simple cold, he wraps that boy up in this thing, summer or winter, doesn't matter. Anyway," she says, looking a little red-eyed herself, "we figure both Nascha and
amá sáni
would be honored to provide you with some comfort—and who knows, maybe some protection too."

"That's gorgeous!" Chrissy steps around the curtain, pushing a cart with all the 'tools of torture.' I can't help but chuckle at my own melodrama. I run my hands over the soft texture of the afghan and smile up at her.

"Isn't it? Mal's grandmother made it and Katie and her husband brought it in."

"It's perfect. Gonna keep you nice and cozy. You know this stuff can give you the chills." She indicates the IV bag on the trolley. "You know," she turns to Katie, "If you want to grab a drink or something to eat quick, this would be the time."

I see the hesitation on Katie's face. "Go, it'll be a long sit without any sustenance. Grab something, I mean it," I add when she still seems unsure.

"Okay. I won't be long," she says, squeezing my hand in passing.

The moment Katie is gone, Chrissy pulls a chart. "So tell me—what if any symptoms did you have after your first chemo? Any nausea, diarrhea? Excessive hair loss?" she adds carefully.

"Yes, yes and..." I hesitate because saying it out loud makes it more real. It may be vain, but losing my hair is something I've not been able to bear thinking about. In my mind it has always been my best feature and losing that is like losing myself. I swallow hard before continuing, I need to be realistic about this. "And yes, not so much the first couple of days, but I've noticed when I wash my hair or brush it that it's coming loose easily. I actually tied it back in a ponytail, naively thinking that maybe I'll keep it on my head a bit longer that way."

She doesn't say anything, but spends the next few minutes in silence, scribbling her notes before closing the binder. It takes her only seconds to find a good vein for the IV needle. She eases it in, securing it, before she hooks up two bags, hanging them on the stand. When I'm all set to go, she sits down beside me grabbing my hand. "You know—I imagine for most, the hair loss, when it does happen, is a very harsh reality check. I'm guessing it makes the cancer so much more real—visible. But I also know for those who are incredibly strong, like I know you are, it can be a badge of honor too. A sign of strength, of an ability to fight without leaving a stone unturned. The new hair that will grow eventually will be an affirmation of your victory. I really believe that." With a smile and a hand ruffling my, still present, hair, she disappears through the curtains.

I'm allowing myself to drift off a little with my eyes closed, when I hear the curtains pull back. It must be Katie, who's come back and I wait for her to say something.

"You don't look like you'll be too much trouble," the unfamiliar deep rumble stops my heart.

M
al

"How are you holding up?"

Caleb slides into the booth across from me. We're just grabbing a quick bite at a diner on the outskirts of town before Caleb heads off to meet a new client. It's been hard for me to eat around Kim, not because she has a problem with it, but because I feel guilty with every bite I put in my mouth. Her stomach has been easily upset and I've seen the weight coming off already. Not something I like seeing.

"It's tough—being so powerless—it's not something that sits well. I lie awake forever at night just looking at her, you know? Wondering—"

"Don't even go there. Don't draw comparisons to Nascha. Kim is going to beat this and you've gotta start believing it." Caleb grabs my wrist and squeezes before letting go.

"She's starting to lose her hair," I reveal, remembering the soft strands I found on her pillow when she rolled over last night. "She loves her hair."

"It's gonna grow back, Mal."

"I know..." I let my words trail off, because really—what is there to say? Rationally I know it's part of the treatment, just like the nausea and the weight loss, and yet I want to pick her up and take her away from all of this. Totally irrational, and still I feel that urge.

A cheerful waitress slides some mugs in front of us. "Coffee I assume?" she says with a smile as she dumps a hand full of creamers on the table. "You ready to order? Or do you need a minute?"

"Two eggs over hard, bacon, home fries and if you have it, rye bread," Caleb says, going first.

"No rye, but we have a nice sourdough?"

"I'll have that."

I order the same.

Caleb's phone rings a few minutes later, when I'm about to put the last of my toast in my mouth.

"Talk to me." I see his eyebrows shoot up before his eyes hit mine. "How long do you figure he's been dead? —Don't give me that coroner crap, you must have some idea."

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Who the fuck is he talking about? But his next words really concern me.

"Shot to the base of the skull can't be a coincidence. You have anything else? —Right, then let me fill Mal in. I'll be in soon."

The moment he hangs up I'm on him. "Cartel signature execution. You talking Hartnett?"

"Got it in one, little brother. Found this morning by someone chasing after their dog up in the woods on the north side of town. Tied to a chair, shot in the back of the neck. Not a lot left of his face but from a few other identifying marks they could make a good guess at his identity. At least Gomez did. Looks like he'd been dead for close to a week. That was him on the phone by the way, Gomez. Looks like his hunch about Hartnett not playing alone was dead on. With any luck this will be over for Kim now. She doesn't know anything beyond Hartnett's involvement."

I shake my head, even as Caleb is trying to convince me otherwise. "Not the way they work, Caleb. They don't leave loose ends. Never." I should know—a few years ago I got tangled up with a Mexican cartel and they were relentless in their pursuit. If not for an unexpected family connection to Katie that had them back off, I'd probably still be on the run. Or dead. At the time I ran into trouble with the cartel, Katie had been unaware she was actually the illegitimate half-sister of the current cartel boss. Something she struggled with at the time, but had not hesitated using to get me off the hook with them.

Caleb pulls out his wallet and throws some money on the table. "I best head over to meet up with Gomez. He's set up a briefing at the police station. If you could drop me off there? I'll get a ride to the hospital when I'm done, or I can call Neil."

Mercy Medical Centre is clear on the opposite end of town and since Katie used their vehicle to take Kim this morning, Caleb drove into town with me. We settle in the truck when an uneasy feeling that started in the diner quickly grows into an anxious sense of urgency.

"Call Neil," I tell Caleb as I turn the key in the ignition and pull out of our parking spot into traffic. I can feel his intense glance in my direction.

"What are you thinking?"

"Just call him."

I listen to Caleb dialing and wait.

"No answer. Reception could be bad in the hospital. Let me try Katie."

Again I hear him dial, my knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

"Hey little one, are you with Kim?—Okay. Look, we've had some development. Hartnett was found dead this morning.—Yes. It looks execution style.—You've got it. Anyway, I can't get a hold of Neil.—Please. Call me when you're in the room with her."

We stop at a traffic light and I look over at him. "And?"

"Katie was grabbing some breakfast. She left Neil outside the door to the room and the nurse was just getting Kim set up."

Our eyes lock just for a moment before Caleb simply nods. No words needed. I slam the gas the moment the light turns green and with squealing tires I yank the wheel, making a U-turn in the middle of the intersection under a concert of honking. Caleb is already dialing and I vaguely hear him talking to Gomez, but my focus is on getting to the hospital. The closer we get, the tighter the cold fear squeezing my chest.

K
im

The tall man standing in front of me, casually lifting his shirt to display a gun tucked into the waistband of his scrub bottoms. He looks nothing like a doctor on closer inspection. The scrubs and white coat might do the trick at a quick glance but his appearance is almost regal. Dark, with an olive complexion and distinguished grey threading through the almost black hair by his ears. The laugh lines around his mouth and by his eyes put him somewhere between forty and fifty, but it's his eyes that look ancient. Dark, black and devoid of any emotion. The mild amusement shifting over his face doesn't seem to reach his eyes. He exudes cold power and that is more frightening than the weapon in his hand.

"I'm afraid we'll have to take a little trip, my dear," he coos, his voice soft and deadly silk with only a hint of an accent. "The good news is, you won't need that any longer." He gestures to the IV pole and the bags hanging from it.

"What do you want?" I manage to squeak through an airway constricted with fear. My eyes flit to the door, wondering why Neil isn't barging in.

"I'm cleaning up. Our Texas oil baron was kind enough to provide me with your name. A simple search by a talented information expert is all it takes these days to flag anything with a name attached, floating around the ether. It took him two days to follow a trail of medical reports here. It's so—"

A sharp intake of breath from the direction of the door has the man swinging his gun around, and without even thinking, I am out of the chair and duck down behind it like a shot, accidentally yanking the IV from my wrist.

"Ernesto!"

I'm confused when I hear Katie apparently call the man by name.

"
Hijo de puta
! Ekatarina..."

"You were the force behind Hartnett, weren't you?" Katie says, accusation thick in her voice. "I thought you'd vowed not to set foot in the US again? You're taking a big risk coming back here."

"
Mi hermana
, don't involve yourself in this."

I don't remember much Spanish, but I know
hermana
means sister. Katie is this man's sister?

"That woman is my family. She's going to be my sister-in-law."

"
I'm
your family, Ekatarina.
Tu hermano.
Don't you forget that."

"Half-brother, and I never knew of your existence until a few years ago. We are on opposite ends of the law, always have been, always will be. No amount of blood between us is going to change that. But what binds me here to these people—to my chosen family—is love. And guess what, Ernesto, love is much, much thicker than blood."

"
Madre de dios.
I cannot risk leaving loose ends."

I'm surprised to hear exasperation in the man's voice where before it was flat, and a small niggle of hope that Katie is getting through to him surfaces. 

"Listen." I hear her say in a strong voice. "This woman is Malachi's and you and I both know that if anything happens to her, he will not rest until he has you six feet under, and my husband will be right behind him closing the hole."

"Jesus fucking Christ! Of course that
hijo de puta
has to be involved. I should've killed the bastard when I had the chance."

"Hey!" I stand up and yell. "Mal is not an
hijo de
whatever the hell that is and you don't stand a chance of hurting him."

The man, Ernesto apparently, turns around and looks me up and down, but I stand my ground. I even ignore Katie when she softly pleads for me to stand down. Instead I lift my chin, tuck Mal's grandmother's afghan around me and look him straight in the eye. To my surprise he drops his shirt back over the weapon in the front his scrubs, straightens the white coat over top and chuckles softly, the smile reaching his eyes this time.

"Figures that son of a bitch found himself a little
bola de fuego
."