Snake Skin (43 page)

"Sounds like pretty classic brainwashing,"
he said, smoothing antibiotic ointment between her stitches as she
leaned over the sink.

"You always say there's no such thing as
brainwashing."

"I say you can't depend on information
obtained by torture. Brainwashing is a different matter. The
Vietnamese and Russians had some very effective, scientific
approaches that were reproducible."

She jerked her head up at that. "You mean
scientists studied it?"

"Decades ago, yeah. Under the right
circumstances you can make a person forget or believe or do almost
anything—if they're already inclined to forget, believe, or do
it."

"So Fletcher forced Ashley to live out her
greatest fears, got her totally disoriented, and then he convinced
her that only he has the power to save her?" She frowned,
remembering the barn and the way a short ten minutes in the place
had impacted her. "But Ashley's smart, she'd see right through
that, wouldn't she?"

Behind her, Nick shrugged as he taped a
length of gauze over her stitches. "Not if she didn't want to see.
You said she loved this Shadow World, that she drew pictures of a
girl in distress and a hero who helped save her…"

"All girls dream of that, it's conditioned
into us with every fairy tale we're told."

"Ashley felt her real life was so bad that
she'd take any possible escape. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd
considered suicide in the past." He helped her back into her blouse
and turned her around to face him. "She was damaged goods before
Fletcher ever got his hands on her, don't be surprised if she never
totally recovers from this."

Lucy wrinkled her nose at him. "Is this more
of your 'you can't save the world' philosophy? What happened to the
handsome, young idealist I fell in love with?"

"He's still here. Just now he has a wife and
child who are his world. As long as they're safe, that's all that
matters." He bent down to kiss her, his hands feathering down to
her waist, pulling her close. "I'm sorry we fought earlier. I
really needed—wanted—you to stay."

"I couldn't. I just—" Lucy glanced through
the crack in the door to where Megan lay sleeping, surrounded by
hospital paraphernalia. "I couldn't."

"Because of your father, what happened when
you were a child."

"No. Because my world is a world of
possibilities. That's how I need to think so that I don't leave any
stone unturned, I have to imagine every possibility no matter how
remote. Or how awful. And, the one fact I'm dealing with is that
the worst possible thing any parent can imagine has happened to
their child. If I sit here and open the door, even the tiniest
slit, to the possibility of that happening to my child..."

"Lucy, nothing is going to happen to Megan.
She'll be fine.

"You can't know that. Not even the doctors
can know that."

"All I can do is hope for the best. And keep
her thinking that way as well. I've seen too many patients who fall
into despair, imagining the worst, and they never climb out."

"See, that's exactly why you don't want me
here. I can't look at Megan—here, sick, helpless—without imagining
the worst and it tears me up inside."

His lips brushed the top of her head and his
hands tightened on her hips. The smell of him filled the room:
comfort, warmth, strength.

"Shhh....everything is going to be okay. I
know it is. You did the impossible, you found Ashley, saved
her."

They both knew Ashley was far from saved.
"Now who's believing in fairy tales?"

"Thank you for keeping your promise to
Megan."

She rubbed her nose against his. "You are so
very welcome."

They kissed again and Lucy was ready to take
it farther, much, much farther, injured back and small confines not
withstanding, when her cell buzzed again. "Damn."

Nick backed away, leaning against the shower
stall as she yanked the infernal machine from her belt. It was
Walden.

"Hey, boss," he said when she answered.
"Finally made it to the morgue in one piece. Got a few things for
you."

"Go ahead."

"Found ID's on all three victims. The uncle,
the ME thinks he's been dead the longest—several years. Which means
someone's been collecting his pension for him. Probably how
Fletcher and his mom paid for her hospital bills and nursing home
and everything. No signs of trauma, he could have died of natural
causes or even been poisoned. It's gonna take a while to tell, the
ME says he's been mummified."

Lucy cringed at the image that sent through
her mind, was glad Walden had pulled the morgue detail instead of
her. "And the women?"

"You were right. One was Tzisaris. ME says
she shows signs of being beaten and strangled. Dead for months but
decomp was slowed—all the bodies were probably kept someplace cool
and dry and free of insects for a while before they were moved into
the barn. We're still working on that."

The distinctive buzzing sound of a Stryker
bone saw interrupted him. A moment later he continued. "The third
is a visiting nurse named Connie Thackman. She was reported missing
three years ago."

Right around the time Alicia went to the
nursing home. "She ever assigned to care for Alicia Fletcher?"

"Bingo. So, I'll finish up here, but they're
going slow—with the partial mummification and all, the ME's taking
his time."

"Call me when you know anything more." Then
she reconsidered—she might be fired by morning. "Actually, Walden.
Stay there as long as you can, but be prepared to take over things
tomorrow morning."

"Is it your daughter? Is she worse?"

"No, she's doing all right. But there's
going to be some fall out for what happened after I left you." She
filled him in on the debacle at the nursing home, Alicia's suicide,
and Fletcher's escape.

"Hey, you saved the kid," he said
encouragingly. "Don't sweat the rest. It will work out."

Walden was the last person she'd have pegged
as an optimist. She hung up. "Go figure."

"What?" Nick asked.

"Walden just told me not to worry, that
everything's going to be all right."

Nick wrapped his arms around her, his lips
whispering against her hair. "Smart man. Let's say we try to get
some sleep. You want the fold-out hard-as-a-rock-bed-thing or the
chair by the window?"

"I'll take the chair." It was closer to
Megan. If she thought she could get away with crawling into the bed
without setting off the damn alarm again, she'd do that.

Nick kissed her once more before opening the
door. Finally, they felt back in synch, as if Lucy's world had
regained its balance. Megan was snoring softly, one foot hanging
out from under the sheets, the oxygen monitor's green light
bouncing in time with her breathing. One hundred percent, Lucy
noted. Best you could get.

Burroughs wondered if Guardino had given him
the easy duty because she was pissed at him about Cindy and wanted
to sideline him or because she saw that he'd been pushing himself
too hard. His sugar was way out of whack—378 was his last reading
despite ramping up his insulin dose.

It always happened when he was under too
much stress and didn't get enough sleep. Or exercise. Or eat
properly. Which was about every day on this job.

Hard to complain when he was sitting on his
ass watching a kid sleep and everyone else was out chasing down
leads on Fletcher. He sighed and concentrated on drinking more
water, washing out all the ketones before they made him vomit.

The door pushed open and he sprang to
attention, one hand on his weapon. Then he relaxed, it was just
Mrs. Yeager again. He'd told her she could say goodnight to
Ashley—as long as Ashley was asleep and didn't know she was
there.

Last thing he needed was a hysterical kid on
his hands, especially when Guardino was right down the hall with
her own kid.

"It's okay," he whispered. "She's
asleep."

Melissa took two steps into the room and
stopped as if frightened of her own daughter. "The nurse said the
medicine they gave her might help her to forget—" A shudder shook
her thin body. "Forget what happened to her."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't know. She's been
sleeping ever since I got here."

"They said on the news—something about a
barn, where she was kept? Were you there? Did you see it?"

She was still a good eight feet away from
her kid, expecting Burroughs to have all the answers, make
everything right again in her perfect little world.

Half of him wanted to shake her, slap her
silly, and make her wake up to the fact that there was a damn good
reason her kid had tried so hard to escape that perfect world.

The other half felt sorry for her, saw that
she was slowly starting to figure that out on her own.

Suddenly she started crying. Not bawling her
head off, not making any noise to wake the kid, just standing
there, shoulders slumped, tears streaming down her cheeks like
Niagara Fucking Falls.

"He killed her. He killed my baby. I'll
never get her back."

Shit. He ran into the bathroom, grabbed the
box of tissues there and handed them to her at arm's length. She
had the look of a woman who needed to be held. She'd better look to
someone other than him—he'd had his full share of women for the
day, thank you very much.

Instead, he took her elbow, she was a bony
thing, and led her to the door. "Let's get you someplace private,
Mrs. Yeager."

He darted a look over his shoulder. Ashley
hadn't moved, was dead to the world. He'd only be a minute. He
escorted Mrs. Yeager down the hallway and past the nurses' station
to the other wing where the family lounge was located.

She was still weeping, eyes puffy and red,
tear tracks like silvery icicles marring her blush and makeup. He
tried his best not to look at her, it was embarrassing to see her
reserve break so completely, and pushed open the lounge door.

Waiting on the other side was Cindy
Ames.

"Mrs. Yeager," she said brightly, ignoring
the wad of tissues in Yeager's hand to pull her into the room.
"It's so nice to see you. I figured you might end up here."

Burroughs stood at the doorway, his palm
resting on his weapon, half-tempted to simply shoot the reporter
before she could do more harm. Cindy flashed him a triumphant smirk
and he came dangerously close to easing his Glock from its
holster.

She'd taken time to change into a navy
pantsuit and new blouse, this one gold with fabric draped at the
neckline. New shoes as well, he noticed. She wasn't walking like a
drunken sailor with her broken heel any longer.

"I'd love to hear your side of Ashley's
story," Cindy said, drawing Yeager down to sit beside her on the
loveseat. "Tell the world about your experiences so that hopefully
no other family ever has to go through this again."

Melissa nodded uncertainly, dabbing her face
with the tissue and glancing at Burroughs as if he were the one in
charge of what she said and did. Good. Because last thing they
needed was Cindy fucking things up more than they already were—or
worse, getting the mom to agree to an exclusive with Ashley. He
shuddered to think of what the rapacious reporter would do to the
kid's fragile and damaged psyche.

"Cindy, I don't think this is a good idea.
Why don't we give Mrs. Yeager some privacy?"

"Detective Burroughs, I don't really believe
it's up to you, now is it?" She focused on Yeager with a greedy
gleam in her eye. "I have my cameraman downstairs, you wouldn't
even have to leave the building. I'm sure you want everyone to
remember you as Ashley's advocate, someone concerned with her
recovery."

Melissa jerked her head up at that. "Of
course I'm concerned, who said I wasn't? I'm her mother."

Cindy patted Melissa's hand. "Exactly my
point. I'm so happy you agree." She inclined her head at Burroughs.
"You can leave now, Detective. I can handle everything from
here."

Lucy jerked awake. Fear choked her throat,
adrenalin revved her heart into overdrive. She blinked, her vision
adjusting to the dark hospital room, one hand automatically
reaching for her weapon.

The light snapped on. "Don't make a move,
Lucy."

Fletcher sat on Megan's bed, one hand
holding a forty caliber Glock to her head. Megan's eyes were wide
with terror, searching her mother's out. Expecting Lucy to save
her.

"She'll be dead before you can reach your
gun. Your other gun," Fletcher said with a chuckle. "Or before
either of you can finish screaming."

Lucy fought the truth in his words. Her hand
clenched with the urge of blowing a fist-sized hole through his
face. Anything to get the monster away from her little girl. She
found enough saliva to swallow and faced him. "Where's Nick?"

"Called away. Patient emergency. Or so he
thought. I think he left you a note on the table."

Nick was alive. Lucy felt the knot in her
throat relax a millimeter or two. Enough so she could breathe.
"What do you want?"

"Where's Ashley? You took her away from me."
He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "That wasn't very nice of
you."

"I doubt Ashley would agree."

"No. She's mine. I saved her." His voice
rose, not loud enough to reach the hallway, but loud enough to
startle Megan.

She flinched, pulling away from him. He
tapped the barrel of the gun against her skull and she clamped her
mouth shut, gulping down tears.

"Let her go. I'll do whatever you want.
Please, just let her go." Breaking every rule of crisis
negotiation, Lucy pled for Megan's life. To hell with the rules.
What good were they if they couldn't protect her daughter?

"Will you? Do whatever I want? Without
question?"

Lucy latched onto the opening. "Yes.
Absolutely. Let her go and I'll help you escape—take you to Mexico,
Canada, wherever you want to go."