Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (54 page)

She started awake. A gentle hand was shaking her shoulder.

She blinked up, expecting to see Rosie. Instead, she met Mitch’s worried eyes.

“Hey, sleepyhead, let’s get out of here,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

She tried to clear her head and get her bearings.

“Where’s Rosie?” she asked, pushing herself out of the chair and reaching for her bag.

He was too quick for her. He slung the bag over his shoulder with one hand and steered her toward to door with the other.

“When the receptionist told Rosie what happened, I volunteered to get you. I have my car today, and you’re in no shape to be taking the Metro.”

He guided her along the hallway and pressed the elevator button.

She blinked painfully at the bright overhead lights.

“I’m fine,” she protested.

“You’re not fine. You almost died.”

Her mouth was cottony.
God, she was parched. She’d give anything for a glass of water.

“I don’t think it was quite that dramatic,” she managed.

He shot her a look and reached into his overcoat pocket. As if by magic, he produced a miniature bottle of Evian that he’d clearly snagged from the office kitchen.

“I thought you might be thirsty,” he said as she snatched the bottle from his outstretched hand and took a greedy swallow.

The elevator bell rang and the doors parted.

“Thank you so much. You have no idea,” she said, finishing the bottle as he followed her onto the empty elevator car.”

“Actually, I have some idea. I’ve had my wisdom teeth out. I remember how thirsty I was afterward.”

“This is normal, then?”

“The thirst? Yeah. The almost dying part? No.”

She gave him a grateful smile for the water, ignored the rest of it, and rested her head against the back of the elevator car. They rode in silence the rest of the way down to the lobby.

He offered her an arm as they walked through the front doors to the parking lot, but she shook her head. She had too much work to do. She couldn’t act like an invalid. She wrapped her scarf around her neck and scrunched herself deep into her down jacket.

Luckily, his car was parked in one of the closest spots.

She settled in the passenger seat and blew into her hands to warm them. He started the engine and cranked the heat.

“It’ll warm up soon.”

“Thanks. I’ve been cold ever since the surgery.”

“I’ll bet. So, what’s the best route to your apartment from here? Should I just go down Georgia Avenue?” he asked, checking his rear view mirror and putting the car into reverse to back out of the spot.

“My apartment? I’m not going home,” she answered slowly, not fully understanding the question. “I’m going back to the office with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Her confusion turned to irritation.

“Yes, I am.”

He put the car back into park and sighed. Then he shifted in his seat and pierced her with a serious gaze.

“Listen to me. Whether you want to believe it or not, you nearly died. The receptionist told Rosie you stopped breathing, your pulse rate plummeted, and your heart almost stopped beating. So, while it would have simply been a stupid, masochistic idea to come into the office after a routine wisdom tooth extraction, coming to work after what your body’s been through is out of the question. I’m not taking you to the office.”

She reached for the door handle.

Fine. She’d take a cab.

“And,” he continued, “Sid said if you turn up today, he’ll drag you out of there himself and take you home.”

She froze.

“You told Sid?”

“He overheard me and Rosie talking. Now will you please stop being so macho and just give me your freaking address.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her anger rising. He stared back.

She swallowed hard and tried not to cry. She was too weak to get out of the car and storm off, so she mumbled the cross streets and settled back into the passenger seat.

The truth was, she didn’t feel up to doing much more than curling up in her bed.

One day of rest,
she promised herself.
And then, it’s full steam ahead.

She realized she’d made that same promise just two days ago at Rosie’s place. Having coworkers who cared about her was starting to interfere with her productivity.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Franklin jiggled his left leg while he watched the notes populate the entry for the lawyer’s surgery in the oral surgical center’s database. The words appeared slowly, on some sort of delay, several letters at a time.

Only when the entry was complete did he allow himself to exhale.

She was going to be fine.

She’s going to be fine
, he repeated. The stomach-churning nausea that had gripped him since morning abated, and his body began to shake with relief.

He gripped his head with both hands.

He’d nearly killed her. When the device monitoring her heart rate had flatlined, he’d stared at the screen in disbelief. Then her pulse had dropped to nothing.

It had been just a blip. A moment. But the woman had almost died.

He
had almost killed her, his brain screamed at him silently.

His eyes fell on the blue and green skeins of yarn that sat on the floor in a wicker basket near his mother’s favorite chair, the knitting needles poked through the balls like chopsticks, waiting for her to start a sweater or scarf or whatever her next project was supposed to be.

I don’t have a choice,
he told himself. The words dug into his skull like claws. He had no choice.

He and his mother were entirely at the mercy of the faceless, nameless monster who had grabbed her. And that meant Aroostine Higgins was, too.

Think.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. He just needed to think of a way out of this. He reminded himself he had a fine analytic mind. If he attacked it like a puzzle or a math problem, he could solve this impossible dilemma. He had to.

The shrill chirp of the prepaid cell phone interrupted his musing. And his nausea returned like a punch in the gut.

“Hello?” He couldn’t keep the dread out of his voice.

“Hello, Franklin.”

The man waited.

“Um, what can I do for you?” Franklin asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“A report, you idiot,” the man finally huffed. “I’m calling for a report on the surgery.”

“Oh.” In his panic, Franklin had completely forgotten to call in. Now, his fear spiked. “I’m so sorry. I was just about to call you.” The words tumbled out in a desperate rush.

“It’s no matter,” the man said in an oddly soothing tone. “Your mother’s fingers should heal fine.”

“Her fingers? Heal?” He couldn’t make sense of the words so he simply repeated them.

“Yes, her broken fingers. You should have called me two hours ago. You did not. And now, your mother has two broken fingers.”

Oh, God. No.

“I’m afraid so.”

Franklin hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until the monster on the other end of the phone answered him.

“Can I … can I talk to her? Please?”

“She’s indisposed.”

“Please!”

“Let’s focus, shall we? What happened with the attorney? Did you do as I directed?”

Franklin’s mind spun. He took great gulps of breath and tried to ignore the image that his brain had constructed of his mother cradling her hand, two fingers sticking out at odd angles and grimacing in pain.

“Yes. Yes, I did. According to the surgery notes, the interruption caused her body to go into shock. She’s going to be fine. She was released with instructions to go home and rest. She hasn’t used her card to access the office, so, apparently, she followed doctor’s orders.”

“Very good.”

Franklin’s stomach turned at the satisfaction in the man’s voice.

“She could have died.”

“That’s not your concern.”

Not his concern? Was he joking?

“It’ll be my concern if I’m an accomplice to murder. Maybe I should turn myself in now, before someone else gets hurt, or worse,” he shot back before he could stop himself.

He gripped the phone and waited for the explosion he was sure would come.

Instead, the man laughed. When he finally spoke, he sounded genuinely amused.

“Accomplice? Accomplice to whom, Franklin? I’m no one. A ghost. A specter. What will you tell the police—the mystery man on the phone told you to do it? You might as well blame the voices in your head. No, Franklin. You can wipe the idea of involving the authorities from your mind. And rather than worrying about some attorney who is a stranger to you, your energy would be better spent thinking of the woman who gave you life and raised you, don’t you agree? Your mother’s survival is in your hands.”

Franklin’s stomach pitted as he considered the man’s words. He was trapped. He was a hostage, no different than his mother.

“May I please speak to her?” he croaked through suddenly dry lips.

“Perhaps tomorrow. If you earn the privilege.”

The sudden
click
of the call disconnecting echoed in his ear like a shot. He stared blankly at the wall. He was caught in a nightmare with no way out. He had to create an exit. Somehow.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tuesday afternoon

Aroostine tried to still her trembling hands and stared down at the words swimming on the paper a process server had just shoved at her as she exited the elevator.

Her day had started out lousy—she’d forced herself into the office at her usual time, despite her aching mouth—only to find that Judge Hernandez had summarily denied her motion
nunc pro tunc
almost the instant Rosie had filed it. That news had stunned her, but she’d told herself at least her day had nowhere to go but up.

Judging by the document in her hands, she couldn’t have been more wrong. She blinked as if the words might change:

Joseph C. Jackman v. Aroostine Higgins
,
Complaint in Divorce.

Her stomach lurched.

Don’t throw up, don’t throw up,
she told herself as she worked up enough saliva to swallow.

Joe was divorcing her? Joe was divorcing her.

She leaned back against the wall across from her office door and blinked as hard as she could to stem the tide of thick tears that threatened to fall at any moment. If she could just get inside, she could have her impending breakdown in private.

She took a deep breath, put her head down, and stepped toward her door on unsteady legs.

Her legs buckled under her and she felt herself riding a wave of humiliation toward the floor.

Great. Just great.