Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (9 page)

             
             
June 15, 2007

2:22 AM

Friday

11

Dan Hammer was an honorable man. But, he wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes, like everybody. Dan thought it had to do with timing. Or possibly… opportunity.

Did Dan know how taken he would be with Dr. Garrison?

Did he understand the seriousness of Angie Kessler and her violent attack? Absolutely. It would have been downright stupid to say he didn’t. After all, he was the one who played by the rules, never cheated and hardly every cussed. A squirrel was on the loose and it was his job to find him.

So, what happened?

Between arriving at Old Towne Road and the ground floor exit of the hospital, when he touched Dr. Garrison’s hand, initiating a friendly handshake. What was all
that
about?

A light rain coated the windshield of his Plymouth as he crossed the James Island Bridge. Actually, it was more like a fine mist. Fog was rolling in over the lowlands. It caused him to use his windshield wipers and drive slower than usual. He was enjoying his sudden bout of quiet time. Solitude. No radio. No static. No FM.

The hypnotic motion of the wipers kept him company. The scanner blinked from channel to channel, red pinpricks of light exploding like tiny flares inside its black metal frame. The night dispatcher was transmitting intermittent calls, each more jumbled than the next. As Dan reached over to turn down the volume, he wondered why he never played a musical instrument as a kid.
Interesting the things one thinks about when alone.

Sometimes, Dan surprised himself.

Heading west on Highway 61 en route to Old Towne Road, Dan once again reflected on his meeting with Dr. Garrison. It poked into his consciousness, like the headlights peeking through the wet murkiness from the opposite side of the median. What time was it anyway? Dan looked at his watch with its green glow-in-the-dark hands. After two. He yawned. It was that “in-between time.” “Dead time.” Like flying. That patch of space between takeoff and landing when there were no interruptions, no conversations, no cell phones. Free air. Dan craved it. It allowed him an opportunity to ruminate. Think things over. Create theories. If he enjoyed writing more, he would keep a journal. His brain was very methodical. A machine, almost. He collected information and immediately began organizing. Prioritizing. Call it “mental triage.” Columns appeared. Numbers. Tools showed up, like on a computer. He could bold, highlight, and underline…it all sounded crazy.

Dan rubbed a small circular patch on his side window. He glanced out into the darkness. Tonight, his attention was far away, far from where it should be. A monster was loose. So why weren’t his thoughts with Angie? Or Angie’s perpetrator? Her mutilated body?

His mood was mirroring the weather. And, of all things, he was reflecting on his brief encounter with Dr. Garrison. Again. And in such high definition detail. The way she wet her lips in the middle of a sentence. The sheer force of her, the stamina she exuded when explaining herself. The crease in her forehead each time her undivided attention was on Dan. Direct and focused, she listened, her interest keen. Disciplined. Facial features that didn’t require makeup, defined only by sharp lines and soft curves. She carried off both extremes very well.

Her presence stole too much of his time, too much of his attention.

Focus Dan. Keep your thoughts centered.

On Angie. Little Angie. Angie needed
all
of his concentration right now.

A rise occurred in his pants. Unplanned and disconnected from any sexual thought. Or so he thought. It just sort of happened. By itself. Masturbation was usually not an option. Okay, occasionally Dan would jack off, choke the chicken, whack-the-Willy, for medicinal purposes, only.

If you don’t use it, you lose it sort of thing...

Don’t go there, Dan.

Think about Alexandra
.

Whatever Dr. Garrison had surgically installed into his head tonight was definitely working. Overtime. His “Willy” was functioning just fine.

Shit.

He fantasized Dr. Garrison walking into the Waiting Room. Her steely green eyes were staring at him, the exact same way she had earlier. Behind them, in the hallway, the hospital buzzed with its own distinct activity. Muzak played
Addicted to Love
from a matchbox speaker. Her attention remained solely on him, and only him.

“Get on the floor,” she commanded. “On your knees.” She pointed to a space of carpet in front of her. Dan couldn’t help himself. He crawled into her space and into her fantasy, more than happy to oblige. He looked up. She was tall and overpowering. A woman of extraordinary supremacy and strength. She alone had the power to heal. She alone had the potency to save Dan. “Take off my shoes,” she said in a deep, calm voice. As Dan uncovered her smooth, lovely feet, his excitement grew. He wanted to lick her. Suck on each individual toe. The color, the smell, his very own fudgesicle.

She instructed him to untie her scrubs at the waist. They fell to the ground in a rumpled mess. She stepped out of them and stood before him. Nude. A Goddess. He reached down to unzip his pants, tugging to free his dick through Hanes briefs. There was heat. And fever as he released himself and held his circumference. A trickle of precum oozed to meet his hand midway down his shaft. She watched with idle curiosity the power she had over him. This masculine display was mildly amusing to her, to say the least.

Her intention was to never touch him. He knew that. But, she held the key to his healing anyway.

He took his left hand from off the steering wheel, long enough to open the window. He needed air. His throat was parched. Dry. Water. She refused to bring any. She stood there and watched. Her attention directed solely on his cock.

Dan could feel the air rushing in, cooling off the beads of sweat forming around the base of his neck. He held on tighter as his fantasy unfolded.

A car approached from the rear, blinking bright lights and honking. Dan’s awakening to total consciousness was sudden and brutal. He was going fifteen miles per hour in a fifty mile per hour speed zone. No wonder the driver was pissed off!

He swerved to the shoulder of the road. Gravel spit at the sides of the car. He slowed down, and then came to a complete stop. He was panting like a played out dog, working very hard to catch up with himself. With his Master. Ahead of him, red taillights faded in the murky haze.

He landed.

In fact, he exploded. All over his pants and himself. Tension released. He zoned out for a brief, blurry second. His first thought was to lie down on the front seat and take a nap. Stretch out like a big, fat Tomcat. He knew he couldn’t. He checked the rearview mirror. Nothing. The same, up ahead. He sat there. A complete mess in his lap. He remembered a certain vacation he took with Gina, before the baby. Before the trouble. It seemed like a past life now. They were traveling from Los Angeles to Carmel, and Gina was intent on giving him a blowjob in the car. While he was driving, no less. So, of course he was more than happy to oblige, being younger at the time and performance-oriented. Gina didn’t complete the task and he never came. Maybe that should have been an omen. A metaphor for what was to come. Then again, who thinks of omen’s when driving on Pacific Coast Highway, a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean to your left and picturesque Carmel in your not too distant future?

Fantasy complete, semen laced Dan’s pants. He began contemplating his next plan of action. He felt frozen, unable to move for fear of contaminating dry spaces. He wasn’t as focused as usual. The life of a lonely detective.

In the trunk were beach towels for when he visited Alexandra. He laughed at the irony. He jumped from the car and popped open the trunk. Any car passing him would think he was some arthritic creature from the swamp. The black lagoon. He rubbed some water from off the roof onto his hands and dried himself off. Repositioning himself back into his pants, he laughed aloud.

He hoped nobody would want to shake his hand.

He entered the car and slowly gained equilibrium and speed.

Sectioned off and lit up with red and blue flashing lights was a piece of highway. Orange flares marked the side of the road. A real Fourth of July celebration. Parked helter skelter alongside the road were five or six squad cars. An ambulance was idling, nose pitched head first into the ditch. The area had been roped off with the usual yellow and black police tape. Dan pulled over and grabbed his ID from his jacket pocket, just in case he didn’t know somebody. Charleston was small. State wouldn’t be on site yet, would they? He slammed the door and noticed the used beach towel tossed on the front side of the passenger floor. Evans approached Dan. His voice was unusually aggressive.

“Je-sus Christ, Dan. Where the hell have you been?”

Dan cleared his throat. “Just left the hospital. Why? Whatcha got?”

In the background, another car pulled over onto the shoulder and screeched to a halt. A blonde woman exited. She neglected turning off her headlights and barreled toward the perimeter.

“Who’s she?”

Evans turned to look, he shrugged his shoulders.

“Reporter?” Dan asked.

“Don’t know. Don’t think so.”

“She doesn’t look familiar.” Dan sized Evans up. He appeared visibly shaken, an uncharacteristic attribute for somebody his size and build. “Shit, Dan. About half a mile in. There’s a clearing. Body’s been there for some time, man. It’s a fucking mess.”

“Guess that’s why there’s a convention going on out here?” Dan pushed through the yellow tape. Madden was sitting in the back seat of one of the squad cars. He glanced up at Dan resignedly. “This the place Madden found the other girl?”

“Yeah. We called dispatch. We had to get the Coroner out here. This one wasn’t so lucky. The Coroner pronounced her. Didn’t have to go too far in to determine it either.” Evans clamped his nose shut. Dan got the hint. “We tried radioing you.”

Dan leaped over the shallow ditch filled with saltwater marsh and prickly weeds. He misjudged the last step and sank in up to his ankle. “I’m on a roll this evening,” he said, as he pulled his collar up tight against his neck. The light drizzle felt cold against his skin. Evans just nodded and followed. They passed by a borderline of trees, mostly large, timeless oaks. Spanish moss hung down from enormous limbs, kissing the ground and swaying like gossamer. Flashlights filtered in and out of the dense thicket of trees, a cavalry of voices reverberated up ahead.

“What’d the Doc say?” Evans tagged a few steps behind. He tried catching up with Dan’s brisk stride. The long stretch of silence was difficult for Evans to deal with. Some people hated silence. Evans was one of them. Dan kept walking, his thoughts were mounting, jumping through hoops, straining to make sense out of the scenario. Organizing. Prioritizing. Kicking himself in the ass. Why didn’t he speak to the parents?
Does Dr. Garrison have a boyfriend?
This girl..? Is it a girl? Make a call to the precinct. Get recent reports of missing children. Rudely, for no reason, Dan said, “Shut the fuck up, Evans.” What he
really
wanted to say, was
shut the fuck up
to himself.  Stop the banter, the endless loop of thoughts loitering in his head, repeating themselves, over and over again, one tireless mill, and going absolutely… nowhere.

They entered the clearing. Evans went to light up a cigarette. Dan turned and snatched it from out of his mouth. He stuffed it into his pants pocket. “Where the hell were you planning on putting that thing out?”

Evans shrugged.

“I’m sure there’s an ashtray out here, just for you, dickwad.” Silence. “In case you forgot, Evans, this is a crime scene. And, unless I’m mistaken there
is
NO SMOKING at a crime scene.”