Nameless (23 page)

Sculpted from the peaks and valleys of the Appalachians, Oxmoor Valley offered picturesque forests, countless creeks, and rigorous elevation changes for the truly dedicated golfer. The Valley Course provided beautiful rolling fairways with a dramatic finish at the eighteenth hole, a 441-yard par-4 fondly dubbed “the Assassin.”

Sheer ecstasy for Kurt Trenton.

When on the green with his favorite driver in hand, he let go the stress of life-and-death situations. Valve repairs and heart transplants were far from his thoughts.

But Martin thought of those things often.

Very often.

He and Deirdre had discussed every article written about the great Dr. Trenton and his astounding medical feats. Even on Sunday afternoons while he watched Dr. Kurt Trenton prepare for his one o’clock tee time, Martin thought of those miracles. And he pondered the hazards of the journey.

UNOS, United Network for Organ Sharing, was not as fair as it could be when it came to doling out those life-saving organs. It wasn’t supposed to be so, but there were ways to get your name higher up on the list. All it took was money and the right connection. Part of the problem was that the number of needed organs far exceeded the number of donors. A sad, sad fact. If a patient was fortunate enough to survive until his or her name came to the top of the list, then all hope shifted into the capable hands of the surgeon.

As with all else in life, one generally got what one paid for. Some surgeons were mediocre while others were quite good. And, once in a great while, a truly gifted surgeon like Kurt Trenton came along.

Martin had done his research, as he did in all things. Trenton was the absolute best, bar none, in the entire country. If a patient were lucky enough to have been granted that golden second chance with a call from UNOS, having Dr. Trenton perform the surgery was guaranteed success. A rescue from the very clutches of death.

As dedicated and esteemed as Trenton was he still had his faults. Along with his fame had come a kind of arrogance that had hardened his heart … perhaps rendering him in need of a new one. Martin often mulled over that notion as well.

At nine tomorrow morning the illustrious Dr. Trenton was scheduled to perform one of his miracles on the honorable Donald Shelby, one of Alabama’s most beloved former governors. As Ronald Reagan had been to California, Donald Shelby was to Alabama. The whole state would be watching the news tomorrow for word on his condition. Prayers would be offered, but no one would really be worried about his survival. Dr. Kurt Trenton never lost a patient.

Before he left the elite clubhouse today Trenton would receive an unexpected call urging him to rush to the prestigious UAB Hospital where his wife hovered near death after a tragic car accident.

Trenton would, of course, dash to his Cadillac XLR-V, forgetting his beloved tee time.

He would arrive at the hospital and no one would have the foggiest idea what he was talking about. He would call his wife’s cell phone and discover that she was fine, shopping with the children at the Summit Mall. Then, bewildered and angry, he would return to his car left where he always parked in the dimly lit basement garage. His emotions would prove far too distracting … he wouldn’t see the danger until it was entirely too late.

Trenton had a date with destiny. As Martin’s grandmother would have said, the good doctor was in sore need of a humbling experience. For as much as he would love to believe otherwise, he was not God. Yes, he made life-and-death decisions every day, except Sundays, but he most assuredly was not the Almighty. He needed to learn that … he needed a simple lesson in how it felt to be vulnerable and helpless. His fame and wealth had long ago relegated those two emotions to a place so distantly out of sight and mind that he had completely forgotten they existed.

Tonight he would remember both well.

His lesson would prove a truly newsworthy challenge for McBride. The timing was, as usual, perfect, though Martin had been forced to move things up one full day. Martin had simply worked around tee time. The world would be watching. Would McBride be able to save Trenton in time to perform that rare, life-saving surgical procedure on the beloved Donald Shelby? So much would be at stake. Those FBI rats would surely see just how badly they needed to have Agent McBride on their team once more.

The world needed heroes so very desperately.

Perhaps Martin and his dear Deirdre would have a special place in heaven when the time came, for proving what a great man McBride was.

For now, it was time for Martin to do his part.

Time to show them all.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

7:15 P.M.
Ashland Drive

Vivian couldn’t take it any longer. She had to go home and shower. Not that having McBride’s scent indelibly imprinted on her was such a bad thing. But it had been immensely distracting all day, a constant reminder of the mistake she had allowed to happen. Diving right into work as if nothing had happened had been essential. Allowing Worth to pick up on even the slightest hint that she had crossed the line … would be a total and complete disaster.

Work had allowed her to forget for a while, but waking up from the twenty-minute power nap she had stolen at her desk around six had snatched her right back to those minutes she wanted to pretend hadn’t happened. Her mind had first and foremost become aware of that subtle scent of his clinging to her skin and clothes.

Then and now heat flushed her face.

Rushing through her condo, she stripped off her jade suit and black blouse. By the time she reached her bedroom she was wriggling out of her felonious silk panties. She kicked them aside. And the shoes. She would never, ever be able to wear those shoes again without thinking of him … and sex.

After setting the water’s temperature in her shower, she gathered a towel and pinned her hair up out of the way. There was no time for washing, drying, and styling that mane. This had to be a fast wash-away-McBride’s-scent and, if she was lucky, the memory of his touch.

Worth wanted her back at the office as quickly as possible. She felt that urgency herself. Not only did she not want to miss anything, she didn’t want to risk someone else taking her place. As selfish as that sounded, in her work world it was every man for himself—even though she was a woman.

She stepped beneath the hot spray of water and relished the relaxing feel of the heat. Her muscles instantly loosened. Rubbing the soap over her skin had her remembering the way McBride had touched her … and the place he had found that prompted an orgasm in under ten seconds. Unbelievable.

Orgasms had never come easy to her. Hadn’t come at all in a really long time. She knew the ugliness with Nameless had left her damaged goods in the sex department. But she had worked diligently to overcome those awful memories. She’d had sex plenty of times since.

Not at first. Those initial two years afterward had been a situational trial and error. Lots of therapy and slow progress with physical intimacy. She had known that in order to get past the fear she would have to take it slow and get back into the game. Then she had gone a little overboard, mostly to prove she could do it. Lots of lovers her senior year in college. Despite the embarrassingly high number she had always practiced safe sex. Maybe a little too safe. Not only had she insisted on the use of condoms … she had stretched an invisible shield around her emotions.

Vivian’s hands stilled, the soap clutched against her abdomen. McBride had been right about the whole disappearing act. That was exactly what she had done. She never allowed herself to feel any of it. The decision wasn’t conscious … more instinct than anything. Self-preservation instincts.

This was the first time she had admitted that to herself. Having sex with McBride was the first time she had permitted herself to drop her guard and get so lost in the moment that she had come, over and over again.

All those other times she hadn’t been fooling anyone but herself. No man had been able to give her the big “O” since before Nameless. The few she had experienced had been through focused masturbation, which didn’t require the presence of a man, just a little patience and concentration. She had begun to think that she would never feel anything that intense with the opposite sex again.

The possibility that normal sex could still be a part of her life was a surprise and a tremendous relief.

If one could call what she and McBride had shared in that stall “normal.”

Smoothing the soap over her skin, careful of the tender spots that hadn’t been worked so thoroughly in so long, had her nipples standing at attention and her body heating unexpectedly. Or maybe it was the fact that she had allowed him into her head just now.

Going with it, she closed her eyes and moved her sudsy hands over those parts still hungry for human touch. Her breasts in particular needed lots of attention. She squeezed, massaged … then moved lower, to her labia. She shivered when she slid one finger along that channel and then dipped inside. Heat flared. She moaned softly.

She recalled the way he had touched her … kissed her, and then of him moving in and out of her. Her body aching for it now, she searched for that special spot where he had worked such satisfying magic.

There.

Oh yes.

Soon the waves of completion were flowing over her, inside her. She sagged against the tile wall and let it happen. But it wasn’t the same without McBride to do the job right.

That was when she recognized just how much trouble she had gotten herself into.

Her eyes snapped open and she gave herself a good swift mental kick. This was more than just a mistake on a personal level, this was her career.

She had worked too hard to get here. Had big plans for her future.

No mistakes.

With a quick rinse, she hurried through the drying process and got dressed. When she returned to the office, she would do so with a new attitude. Back to business.

All business.

No more falling victim to his rugged charm.

No more sex, no matter how amazing.

9:30 P.M.

1000 Eighteenth Street

Vivian grabbed her notes from her desk and hurried to the conference room. Everyone else was already there. The shower had helped tremendously. She felt human again. And ready to focus.

“Let’s talk about what we have,” Worth suggested, his comment directed at McBride.

“I’d like to hear what Aldridge has come up with on the scenes.” McBride rested his attention on the older man. “Anything new on that?”

“Possibly.” Aldridge glanced over his handwritten notes. He was old school, no PDAs for him. “Oak Hill Cemetery,” he said “is the final resting place of the steel magnates who put Birmingham on the map. It holds a prominent position in our city, right downtown.”

McBride nodded. “So the cemetery represents the upper crust of Birmingham’s society.”

“Right,” Aldridge agreed.

“What about Sloss?” Worth asked.

Vivian’s attention swung to him. The SAC wasn’t unaccustomed to sitting in the background. But he, along with everyone else in the Birmingham office, had been given strict orders by the director to work with McBride. To get this done fast.

“The working man … blue collar,” Aldridge said about Sloss. “Hundreds of men died there, laborers, totally expendable.”

“Katherine Jones worked at Wal-Mart,” Vivian said, the idea seeming to go along with Aldridge’s response. “Low salary base, serving the public in a manner of speaking. Just another clerk in a blue vest, easily replaced.”

“The lower class, the invisible,” McBride deduced.

Exactly. No specialized training required, just hard work.

“No connection between the vics yet,” Pratt added during the lull that followed. “The Byrnes don’t shop at the Wal-Mart on Hackworth Road, if they even shop at discount stores at all. Not related by blood or marriage, even distantly. Don’t travel in the same circles, social or otherwise. No church or community connections. Nada.”

“Nothing from Schaffer yet,” Vivian said when McBride turned to her, before he could even ask. Just having those blue eyes linger on her had her nerves jangling.
Focus
,
Vivian.

Lila Grimes, Worth’s secretary, rushed in and whispered something in the SAC’s ear. Vivian was thankful for the distraction. But the visible shift in Worth’s posture cued her in that this was not a call from his wife to find out when he would be home.

This was bad news.

“We have another communication,” Worth said, his gaze connecting with McBride’s.

McBride pushed out of his chair and moved to the computer set up for tracing anything incoming. Vivian followed. There wasn’t supposed to be another communication today. This was the Lord’s day, Devoted Fan had said. They were supposed to have a few more hours.

McBride took a seat and opened the mailbox.

There it was, new mail.

It was him.

One click and the message box opened.

McBride, my friend,

Unfortunately, an unavoidable glitch has forced me to move forward ahead of schedule. You have my sincerest apologies, but this challenge will not wait. It will prove how right I have been all along.

Kurt Trenton worships his fame and his own arrogance. He holds life in his hands, giving it, likewise taking it away. For this reason he must be humbled. You see, Trenton needs to remember how it feels for his life to rest in the hands of another. He is not God. This he will learn quickly as he awaits death, just as the One he would pretend to be once suffered so selflessly. Oppression is evil.

Find him, McBride, before it is too late. Remind him that justice is everywhere and threatens injustice anywhere. You have twelve hours … starting now.

Your Devoted Fan