An Intimate Murder (The Catherine O'Brien Series) (26 page)

Again, silence.

“Gavin, I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. You’ll get all the gory details then.” I brushed the tear from my cheek. “I just can’t do this on the phone.”

“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes,” he said. “I love you, Catherine.”

The ache in my chest eclipsed the throbbing pain in my head.

“I know you do,” I said. “I love you, too.”

I hung up before he could say anything else. If either of us had said another word, I would have bawled like a sleepy child who’d skinned her knee.

Then I was alone. The clock hardwired to the wall above the door makes a strange humming noise that I have never heard before. The break room has never been this quiet before – at least not while I was taking a break.

A rush of panic gripped me. What if the woman who attacked me is still in the building? What if she was watching me and waiting.

A shuffle in the hallway, no more than a mouse scurry, sent adrenaline into every muscle. The effect was something close to rigor-mortis.

Get a grip, Catherine.
The voice in my head has always been one no nonsense bitch.
The first shot was a lucky one. A crime of opportunity and you know it. No one is stalking you.

I flipped open Jane’s phone and scrolled through the menu items. A small distraction but enough to keep me from losing my mind until Louise returned.

After a few minutes, footsteps in the hall sent another shot of adrenaline through me. Then I realized the sound wasn’t a single set of feet and I relaxed an inch.

“You ready to go?” Louise said as she rounded the corner with Jane and Dave Goldwin.

“Doctor Dave,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to take a look at ya’.”

His Minnesota accent seemed thicker than I remembered. Maybe because my appearance had frightened him. From the look on his face, it had.

“I’m not dead yet,” I said. “I’m not ready for the autopsy room, Dave.”

“I’m still a doctor, smart ass.”

He clicked on a penlight and waved it in my face. First my good eye and then my bad.

“I’ve been checked out already.”

He nodded. “By a paramedic who suggested you go to the hospital to be checked out by a doctor, which your stubborn butt refused.”

His fingers probed the side of my head. I winced at the sharp, burning pain that made my good eye water.

After a few follow-my-finger exercises, Dave sat back on his haunches.

“Well, she clocked you a good one, but you’re pretty hard headed.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a prescription pad and a pen. “I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. I’ll give you a prescription for some Vicodin. Without it, you won’t get much sleep.”

I doubted I’d get much sleep anyway, but I took the prescription and thanked him.

“Take the day off tomorrow,” he said. “Do your body a favor and get some rest.”

I stood.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I have a feeling my impromptu beauty makeover was connected to this case somehow. Unless I find out how, I won’t ever be able to sleep again.”

Dave helped me across the room.

“Then at least do me a favor,” he said. “Come see me tomorrow morning so I can check you out.”

I agreed with the same enthusiasm I have when I tell my gynecologist I’ll return in one year for another poke and prod.

After Louise promised to make certain I visited Doctor Dave bright and early, I went home to face Gavin.

Gavin waited for me on the front porch, his face twisted in agonized concern. Even KC seemed to be watching me with a look of worry. The light of the front porch only reached across the front steps so far. The dark purple, veil of night still cloaked me from his view. Gavin squinted and strained to see me.

“Catherine.” Louise leaned across to the passenger seat. “Don’t forget your prescription.”

She shook the waxy, white, paper bag toward the window. I leaned in the passenger window and took the prescription.

“Thanks, Louise,” I said. “I appreciate you driving me home.”

I smiled and rattled the pills. “And the prescription.”

In all the confusion, I had forgotten to grab my purse. Louise had anteed up for the Vicodin, which I had been grateful for ten minutes into the drive home.

“Any time,” she said. “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow. Call me if you come to your senses and change your mind.”

I nodded my agreement and she drove away.

When I turned back toward the house, Gavin stood directly behind me. I yelped and my heart thudded a
fast beat.

“Jesus, Gavin, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Dizziness pushed through me and I gripped his forearm to keep from falling on my ass again. He put his hand over mine.

“Who did this to you, Catherine?”

His eyes demanded answers I didn’t have. My resolve broke and tears flooded down my cheeks. No sound came from my throat. Instead, I opened my mouth, and a low click, click, click, choked out with each sob.

Gavin’s arms, strong and sure, wrapped around my shoulders and I laid the bruised side of my face to his chest. He rocked me from side to side until I regained enough composure to stand upright by myself.

“Let’s go inside and get you into bed,” he said.

Gavin helped change me into my pajamas and tucked me into bed as gentle as a mother with a newborn. His hand glided over the skin on my left shoulder blade. He let out a heavy breath.

“Catherine. . .”

Without another word, he pulled the pajama top down. I blessed him for his judgment. Now wasn’t the time to rekindle the old discussion about me changing careers. Gavin had brought up the subject each of the three times I’d been shot (two of which were only scrapes), but somehow the bruises on my face and body were worse than a bullet wound.

Though I knew the subject would come up later, I blessed him for not making me argue with him while I felt like a warm slab of ground beef.

Gavin slid the prescription bottle from its bag and turned it to read the label.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “It says take by mouth.”

A quick laugh escaped me, which made my head and my ribs ache with effort.

“Quit it.” I lay back against the mound of pillows Gavin had arranged behind my head. “Laughing hurts.”

“Sorry.”

He rolled the pill bottle from side to side again and kept reading.

“And here I thought you’d finally broken down for once and gone to a doctor.” He lifted his eyebrow. “What does Doctor Dave know about treating the living? I thought he only cut up the dead.”

I shrugged. “Close enough.”

Gavin removed the childproof cap, tapped out two pills, and then held them out to me.

I snaked my hand out from under the blanket palm up. He dropped two oblong pills into my hand, and then held up the green glass I keep for water on my night table.

“Do I have to?” I mewled. “I can’t swallow pills. I’ll gag.”

He tapped the back of my hand making the pills dance. “Both of them. Chew them if you have to.”

“Eww,” I said.

“Then open wide and swallow them.”

I chucked the pills as far back in my throat as I could manage without gagging them back out, and then took a swig from the glass. Gavin had given me ginger ale instead of water, and the bubbles went riotous and dissolved the pills before I could swallow.

My cheeks puffed like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter. The pain on the left side of my face flared from the pressure, and I swallowed the bits of chalky pills as quick as I could.

“Sorry,” Gavin said. “I know you like ginger ale when you’re not feeling well. I guess I should have warned you.”

“I guess.” My voice was hoarse from the pressure of soda, which bubbled its way down my esophagus.

KC whined at the side of the bed. Gavin patted the comforter and the dog leapt onto the bed. His expressive little brown eyes glanced from Gavin to me. He ducked his head and whined again.

“He’s worried about you,” Gavin said.

I had my doubts considering our history but he did look worried. KC ws probably picking up on Gavin’s feelings.

He nuzzled my hand. I petted his head. KC laid next to me with his head on my thigh. I kept stroking his fur, which was oddly comforting.

“Looks like you’re in good hands,” Gavin said.

“Go to sleep.” Gavin leaned over and kissed the side of my face. “Hopefully, you’ll feel a little better in the morning.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was sure that the attack had been my imagination, because all the pain had disappeared. Now I understood how people could get addicted to pain killers. I felt wonderful, bordering on euphoric. Doctor Dave would get a huge thank you for the Vicodin.

My eyelids drooped. My vision doubled. Everything went dark.

At five-thirty in the morning stiff, muscle pain throbbed from the top of my ass to my shoulder.

“Oh, shit!”

I tried to push myself up but the muscles in my back, ground like broken glass under my skin. KC sat up from his place still by my side. He gave a short “woof.”

Gavin rolled toward me.

“I’ll get your pain killers,” he said in a sleepy voice.

“No,” I said. “I need to be clear today. Just some ibuprophen.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Can you get it though? I need a little something to take the edge off before I can get my feet on the floor.”

He clicked on the small lamp on his nightstand and rolled out of bed. His boxer briefs wedged in his butt framed his shape nicely. I found myself wishing I felt better so I could leap across the bed and give each dimpled cheek a squeeze.

Gavin tiptoed across the hardwood floor into the bathroom. KC leapt down to follow him. Bottles clinked against the metal shelves of our old medicine chest embedded into the wall, finally Gavin returned with an industrial sized bottle of ibuprophen.

He handed me three pills. I choked them down with the flat ginger ale.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

Gavin yawned and nodded.

“You feel like telling me what happened yesterday?”

He plopped down on the edge of the bed and KC jumped up and laid next to me. The mattress bounced with their weight and I winced.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” I settled back against the pillows. “I was attacked in the bathroom. That’s all there was to it.”

“By who?”

A shuddering breath escaped me. “I don’t know.”

Gavin ran his hand along the outside edge of my thigh, a silent encouragement to continue my story.

“Whoever she was, she was smart enough to obscure the camera in the hallway. She knew me. I’m almost positive. Louise and I are going to find out if anyone we arrested has been released in the past few days.”

He stared at the wall behind my head for a long moment still stroking my leg. Then his eyes fixed on mine.

“You know I don’t want you to go to work today.”

I knew. I nodded.

“It doesn’t matter though does it?”

I shook my head.

Gavin stood and disappeared back into the bathroom. He returned with a small hand mirror and held it up to my face.

“Look at yourself, Catherine.”

The face in the mirror was hardly recognizable as my own. Purple welts had already begun to turn yellowish green in the center. Through the swollen opening of my left eyelids, I could see a brilliant crimson from the broken blood vessels around the colored part of my eye.

“Look what happened to you in the office. Imagine what could happen when you’re on the street.”

I pushed the mirror away. “I’ll feel safer on the street. My attacker trapped me in a toilet stall. Not exactly a high-noon showdown on main street.”

The pain in my back ignored, I shifted my legs to the edge of the bed, and lowered my feet to the floor.

“I was more vulnerable in that stall than I will be now that I’m on my guard.”

I stood and pain screamed from butt to shoulder. A wave of nausea gripped me. I clenched my fists and took several deep breaths until the feeling passed.

“Catherine, this isn’t a joke.” He laced his fingers through mine to keep me from walking away. “I’m worried about you.”

“I worry about you too, Gavin. That doesn’t mean we don’t get up, go to work, and live our lives. We can’t spend our life running away.”

Gavin ran his thumb across the back of my hand, sending a shiver of comfort up my arm. We always came back to this fight but neither of us was willing to budge an inch.

I’d never lied to him. He knew from the moment we met that I was a cop. Somewhere in his mind, to make the idea more palatable, Gavin had created the image of a nineteen-fifties meter maid to help him cope with what I do.