A Heartbeat Away (25 page)

39

The sensation of being cold, hands beneath her armpits pulling her toward cool air, the scrape of her back against a shard of glass. Someone dropped her on the grass and disappeared again.

A minute later, she looked up to see a man dragging a large sack through a window. She shook her head. It wasn't a sack; it was a body, pulled along the ground and cast as a log beside her.

A man knelt to listen to the body's face. He placed a finger against his neck and then began chest compressions.

Slowly she emerged from a cloud of confusion, a world where images and words were slow and uncoordinated.

She looked at the body the man was working on.
Phin?

No!

He wanted to tell me something!

She struggled to sit.

“God, please,” she gasped.

The man doing compressions looked over. “Dr. Taylor.”

She nodded.

Phin gasped and coughed.

She heard the warble of a siren somewhere in the night.

She moved so that she could see Phin's face. It was blackened by ash. She put her fingers against his neck and felt for a carotid pulse.

The man dropped his jacket around her shoulders. “Here,” he said. “Cover up.”

“He has a pulse,” she said.

Her mysterious rescuer wiped his forehead. “Is there anyone else inside?”

She thought about Bundrick. “A policeman was there,” she said. “I'm sure he's gone.”

“Bundrick? He left thirty minutes ago.”

“Who are you?”

“Gene Davis. I'm with the FBI.”

She looked up to see a trio of rescue-squad personnel running toward them.

In minutes both Tori and Phin were on stretchers, wearing oxygen masks and covered in warm blankets.

“My back,” she said.

A female paramedic nodded. “Roll over so I can see.”

Tori cooperated.

“Ooh, you've got a nasty cut.”

“My fault,” the FBI agent said. “There was some glass left on that bedroom window.”

Tori coughed. “No problem.” When the coughing spasm passed, she reached for the agent's hand. “How did you find us? How did you know we were in trouble?”

“Gus Peterson called me this afternoon. We used to work together before I joined the Feds. He told me he'd tried to reach Phin's phone and how worried he was in light of the other threats and the death of the psychiatrist.” He shrugged. “I owed Gus a favor. He took a bullet for me.”

“Sounds like Gus.”

“I followed the pings of Phin's cell phone as it communicated with the cell towers, so I knew the general direction you were moving. Meanwhile, Gus did some checking and found out that Captain Ellis had left a money trail. He thought his tracks were covered—he'd set up a dummy corporation and used an offshore account. But his corporation made a major real-estate purchase last spring, and the amount caught Gus's attention.” He held up his hand toward the house. “You're looking at Ellis's beach house. Not in his name exactly, but his, nonetheless.”

“Whoa. A police officer with a second home?”

The agent nodded. “Exactly.” He paused. “This place was pretty well hidden from his staff back in Baltimore.”

Tori understood. Ellis was no dummy.

The FBI agent pointed at the wooden fence. “I've had the house under observation from that vantage point for the past hour. I saw Bundrick leave. A few minutes later, I saw the smoke and realized what he had done.”

Phin struggled up on one elbow. “Where are we?”

“A place called Gibson Island on the western shore of Chesapeake Bay.”

Tori nodded and looked up to see firefighters dragging a large hose across the lawn.

Tori and Phin were placed in separate rescue vehicles and rushed toward the nearest hospital. On the way, Tori counted four additional fire trucks heading toward their little Gibson Island hideaway.

Once they were in the hospital emergency department, chest X-rays were taken and blood tests for carbon monoxide confirmed that the pair had significant smoke inhalation. They were admitted for high-dose supplemental oxygen.

A surgeon repaired Tori's back laceration.

Two hours after their ordeal in the bathtub, they were admitted to the same room on the second floor of Anne Arundel Medical Center.

Gene Davis entered their room with another man wearing a dark suit. Gene smiled. “Glad to see you two alive and breathing.” He nodded at the man to his right. “This is Special Agent Andrew Lightner. He will be assisting in this investigation.”

“Where are we?” Tori said.

“A hospital in Annapolis. For obvious reasons, we didn't want you taken back into Baltimore. I've talked to everyone involved in your care, including the rescue-squad personnel. You've been admitted under the names John and Jane Doe for your own protection.”

Phin's eyes widened. “Okay.”

“We're just at the beginning of an investigation of the Baltimore PD on the basis of our communications with Gus Peterson. I'm going to need your cooperation.”

Feeling safe for the first time in days, Tori smiled. “Sure.”

“First things first,” Gene said. “You're dead.”

“What?”

“Well, not actually dead, but pretend dead. We've talked to the fire department, and they are releasing a statement for the media that two bodies were found at the Gibson Island residential fire.”

Phin frowned. “Two bodies, Tori and me?”

“Right,” the agent said. “The bodies were described as charred beyond recognition. We want the police responsible for this to think their little plan worked. They will assume you're dead, so no reason to look for you. We think the corruption goes beyond just Officer Bundrick. Certainly it involves the captain, but beyond that, we don't know.”

“Ellis told us that Emily Greene had uncovered a drug ring involving some free clinics, palliative-care nurses, and maybe a dirty cop.”

“Perhaps his only honest statement, something he wouldn't have done unless he was sure you'd soon be out of the way.” Gene took a deep breath. “So here's how we play it. We put Bundrick and Ellis under investigation and watch their movements carefully. They may get sloppy if they think everyone who can implicate them is dead.”

“So what about us?”

“You stay here until you're recovered. Then we talk about you hiding out somewhere other than Baltimore or Richmond.”

“You're not going to release our names to the media as dead, are you?”

“We don't have to. Bundrick and Ellis will be comfortable that you're dead based on the account we've given of finding the burned corpses.”

“Okay.”

“It's getting late. We'll need more information from you. We can do that tomorrow. There'll be a guard just outside the door.”

The agents excused themselves, leaving Phin and Tori alone.

In a few minutes, Phin slipped off on the opposite side of his bed. He unlocked the wheels and rolled it up against Tori's. Then he crawled back into bed and rested his head on his pillow. “I thought we were dead,” he said.

“Me too.”

He smiled. “What a way to die.” He laughed.

“It's not funny.”

“It's kind of funny, knowing we didn't die.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, isn't that every man's dream, to die in a Jacuzzi in the arms of a lovely woman?”

Tori giggled. “You're hopeless, you know that.” She shook her head. “Bundrick must have wanted everyone to think that we died in bed together.”

“What's the last thing you remember?”

She looked at him and felt her eyes brimming with tears. “I remember you putting your arms around me. I remember the smoke. I couldn't get my breath.” She sniffed. “You tried to talk, but you couldn't.”

“I wanted to say something before I died.”

“Looks like you've got your second chance, cowboy.”

He reached over the edge of his bed. She did the same, and they interlocked fingers.

She gazed in his eyes.

He took a deep breath, coughed once, and wiped his mouth. He touched his oxygen mask. “Look at us, both on life support,” he said.

“This isn't exactly life support.”

He smiled. “Whatever.”

“What did you want to say?”

He brushed back a tear from his eye and looked above her head to a cardiac monitor that recorded the rhythm of her heart. It was steady
beep, beep, beep,
right at 80 times a minute. He squeezed her hand. “Tori Taylor, I love you.”

The monitor verbalized her response.
Beep, beep, beep,
but now at a new rate, clipping happily along at 96.

40

Christian's encounter with Dakota in the small Asian grocery brought him both clarity and more questions.

Emily recognized me. She's putting on an act.

But why?

What has happened to the Emily Greene that I knew and loved?

His heart warmed to the memory of her. Was it possible that he had really known true love at such a young age?

No one else has stirred my heart like she did.

He lay on his bed in his small apartment, wishing for another chance. He needed to meet her alone, with no one to interfere.

In the grocery, she had seemed to be putting on an act, not for him, but for the few others in the store.

He looked at his clock and sighed. It was past midnight, and he had early rounds in the ICU in the morning.

Maybe in the afternoon, he'd try to find out her apartment number and visit with her alone.

Maybe she was just embarrassed because of how bad her life has turned. Maybe she didn't want me to recognize her. She didn't want the others to know.

Christian sighed and wished for sleep. When it remained elusive, he reached for the leather-bound book on his nightstand.

He flipped on the light and whispered a prayer. “God, help Emily Greene.”

Two days after being dragged from a burning building, Tori met Gus Peterson face-to-face for the first time.

She let herself be enveloped in his strong arms, and for a moment, she rested her chest against his and wondered just what stories the heart of his donor was speaking.

“Your new rental car is in the B lot,” he said. There are two suitcases there, one for Phin and one for you.” He smiled. “Packed 'em myself.”

Phin laughed. “This ought to be interesting.”

He dropped a plastic Wal-Mart bag on the bed. “Here's some clothes for today.”

Tori lifted a pair of jeans, a white blouse, and a pair of sandals. “Not bad, Gus.”

“It was easy to find clothes for you,” he said. “Your drawers are neat. Everything's folded. But this guy,” he said, pointing at Phin. “Haven't you ever heard of actually folding your shirts?”

Phin protested. “I'm the only one who sees.”

“Until now.” Gus sat in a visitor's chair beside Tori's hospital bed. “So what's next?”

“We're going to the Eastern Shore. I want to see Emily's parents.”

“Be careful,” he said. “What does Gene think of that?”

“He's okay with it, as long as they understand that they can't tell anyone they've seen me alive.”

He handed her a phone. “Use this. It's a pay-ahead cell that I picked up on the way. You can't use yours if you're dead, can you?”

They stood, and she hugged him again. “You think of everything.”

Tori moved to the bathroom. “I'll change in here,” she said. “I'll be glad to shed this hospital gown.”

When she came out again, Phin had changed into jeans and a green polo.

“Let's go,” Gus said. “I'll show you to your car. You'll have to drop me at the rental place so I can get mine.”

It was nearing 1:00 p.m. as Tori used the rental car's navigator to search for seafood restaurants. They selected the Watermen's Inn in the small town of Crisfield, Maryland. It required a small detour, but Phin convinced Tori that Eastern Shore seafood wasn't to be missed.

He was right. She had she-crab soup followed by a hot crab dip served on French baguettes. Phin had shrimp-stuffed mushrooms followed by an oyster sandwich.

They had a relaxed meal overlooking a small inlet of the bay.

“Okay,” she said. “Where has this food been all my life?”

“Right here,” Phin said, sighing and wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. They ate, talked about meeting Emily's family, and walked hand in hand toward the car.

Forty minutes later, they approached a gravel lane turning off to the right. The navigator spoke, “Arriving at destination. On right.”

Tori flipped off the navigator. “Here we are.”

She'd called the day before and kept her comments vague. “Would you be willing to talk to me about your daughter, Emily? I'm a doctor, and I am interested in finding out about her life and work.”

Carolyn Greene had been pleasant and seemed surprised, but was open to a visit. “Could you come in the afternoon? My husband will be home then as well.”

Tori looked out over the strawberry fields. “Wow, look at all those berries.”

They approached the white farmhouse hand in hand. They were met at the door by an elderly couple. The man extended his hand. “I'm Billy Greene. This is Carolyn. We're Emily's parents.”

“Tori Taylor,” she said, taking his hand. “And this is my friend Phin MacGrath.”

“Shall we sit on the porch? It's such a nice day.”

They sat on wicker furniture, and Carolyn served Southern sweet tea. “You said you were interested in Emily's work. What's this about?”

“Actually, although we aren't law enforcement, we are assisting the FBI in an investigation. I'm, well, let's just say I'm considered a witness for a case against the Baltimore PD.”

Tori watched for a reaction. Other than a few nods, there was no indication of hesitancy.

“We understand that Emily was working undercover as a police officer.”

“Yes. We are quite proud of her.”

“Before—” Tori hesitated. “Before the accident,” she continued, “we think that Emily was working on busting up a drug ring and think she may have been collecting evidence that implicated members of her own police department. Did she tell you about her work?”

“Her undercover work was so secretive,” Carolyn said. “She could speak about it only in vague terms.”

Billy sipped his tea noisily. “She sent us a picture of herself from her phone. Didn't look a thing like her. Short hair. Dark.”

Carolyn leaned forward. “And all those extra earrings.”

“We saw her the weekend before the fire,” Billy said. “She was troubled, only stopped in for a few minutes and said she'd have more time soon.”

“It was odd,” Carolyn said. “She wouldn't stay for lunch, and I had prepared a strawberry shortcake and everything.”

“Did she have anyone else close to her that she may have confided in, a boyfriend perhaps?”

“No, no boyfriends, at least none recently.”

“I need to tell you something. I don't want to upset you,” Tori said. “But I really want to find out the truth for Emily's sake. She put a lot of effort into her work, and I wouldn't want to see it go to waste.”

“Of course.” Billy patted his wife's wrinkled hand.

“I don't believe the fire was an accident. I've come to believe that it was an attempt to cover up a murder.”

“A murder?”

“I believe Emily may not have jumped that day. I believe she was pushed or thrown from the window, and the fire started to cover it up.”

Billy cleared his throat. “We don't know much about that.”

“Did you know the man who jumped with her?”

“Christian? Oh, yes. Chris and my Emily were high school sweethearts. The curious thing is, we hadn't heard she'd had any recent contact with him until after the fire and we heard about his death. It's so sad. Hopefully Emily will tell us someday what was going on.”

Phin and Tori exchanged glances. She nodded. “Of course.”

“Would you like to see her room? We've kept things much the same since she left for the academy.”

“Sure.”

Tori and Phin followed the couple through the front room and into a hallway to Emily's old room.

“She loved this room,” Carolyn said. “Every time she came home, even the last time, when she stayed only a few minutes, she spent time here.”

Tori looked at the collection of sports letters and photographs decorating the walls. A shelf of track ribbons and trophies sat above a small wooden desk. A picture of Emily in her blue police academy uniform hung on the wall by the door. Along the far wall was what appeared to be a series of gym lockers, one tall one in the center and three square ones on each side, each labeled with an initial, A through F. On the front of the long locker, beneath the number 91, was a sticker with what appeared to be a black-and-yellow hornet. On the emblem were the words
Northampton Yellow Jackets.
“Emily was quite an athlete, I see.”

“The lockers were from her old high school before the renovation. They offered to give them to the varsity athletes. Just a keepsake.”

Tori nodded. “Sweet.”

“She loved to run.” Carolyn wrapped her arms across her chest as if protecting a heart that had been broken by the loss of her daughter.

Somehow, being in this room, Tori felt warmed. Somewhere inside her, she felt
love
for Emily. Not just because she respected her work. It was something much deeper. It was just there. Almost tangible like something you could hold in your hand and treasure.

She
loved
Emily.

“I should tell you something else. She saved my life.”

“What? Emily saved you? She was always downplaying her role. But we know in her police work, she helped a lot of people,” Billy said.

“Not in her police work,” Tori said. “By her heart.”

She looked at Carolyn, who seemed to be struggling with understanding. Tori had felt it best to approach the subject of her heart transplant slowly. She reached for Carolyn's hand and pulled it toward her own chest. “Would you like to feel you daughter's heart again?”

Carolyn pulled her hand away. “What are you saying?” Her face was etched with alarm.

“Mrs. Greene, when your daughter died, she donated her heart to me.”

Carolyn backed up a step, shaking her head. “Y-you … what are you saying? Is my daughter dead?”

“Surely you knew—” Tori locked eyes with Phin, and her hand covered her mouth. “Oh, Mrs. Greene, I'm so sorry. I thought you knew.”

But Mr. Greene stepped forward and put his arm around his wife in support. “Now hold on. These things don't happen without people being told. Emily isn't dead. We'd
know
that. I saw her just Friday morning.”

Now Tori stepped back. “I don't understand.”

Billy shook his head. “Emily didn't die in that fire. She didn't even die jumping from that building. She's here on the Eastern Shore at Oyster Point Rehabilitation Hospital, just like she's been every day since her release from Baltimore City.”

Tori slid down and sat on the bed. “Emily's alive?”

Phin stood silently, mouth agape.

Tori put her hand over her chest. “Then whose heart do I have?”