Avenged (10 page)

CARLY RETURNED
in forty minutes with coffee. While initially she hoped to see Nick at the station, radio traffic told her he’d gone to the hospital to check on his partner. She warily hurried through the lobby, not wanting to run into Ginny Masters. Thankfully Carly didn’t see any sign of her. She did see Duncan Potter snapping photos of all the officers in the lobby. A lot of officers, both on duty and off, were here asking if they could help in any way. In these kinds of situations, the hospital often requested blood donations. Carly figured Memorial would set something up, but it would probably take time. She avoided Potter and got on the elevator.

While at the station she’d heard about the arrest of the shooter. Only fourteen years old, he was a cousin of the
Garnets, the leaders of the Playboyz. The driver of the stolen car was an eighteen-year-old Playboy with an extensive record.

She’d also learned that Londy Akins had been with the group of people Nick and Mickey were talking to when the shots rang out. That didn’t surprise her because she knew Londy considered the gang neighborhoods his mission field. He was always out there trying to talk kids out of gangs and into church. What did surprise her was the buzz around the station that Londy’s group was the target of the shots and that Mickey had saved Londy’s life and been hit in the process. She couldn’t wait until she had a chance to talk to Nick and find out exactly what happened.

When she arrived at the second floor, the group in the recovery waiting area had grown. She stopped short.

There was Nick, deep in conversation with Jacobs. She saw dark stains on his jeans and knew it was blood. He caught her eye, paused, and said, “I’m all right.”

She managed a smile. As she looked around, she recognized Ann, Mickey’s wife, and steadied herself to hand Barrett his coffee.

“Mickey still in surgery?”

Barrett sipped and nodded. “But the doc was out a few minutes ago. They were able to stop the bleeding. The bullet hit him in the gut just below the vest—” he pointed to the space there—“and did some damage, but they think they can fix it.” His face crinkled with disgust. “Cops’ luck. Half an inch higher and he’d be fine, just bruised.”

Carly shook her head. It always seemed as though a bad guy could get shot five times, all in nonvital areas, and be fine, while an officer would get hit once and it would be fatal. She sipped her coffee, feeling steadier now that Nick was in front of her, and moved to where she could hear what Nick and Jacobs were talking about.

Nick was updating him on the shooting and the search. “It was another odd deal that looks gang-like on the surface,” he said. “The shooter says he was given the gun and told to shoot up Ninjas. He was promised fifty bucks if he hit anyone and a hundred bucks if he hit Londy.”

Carly perked up when she heard this and almost blurted out “Who?” to be certain she’d heard correctly.

But Nick was still talking. “Captain, I was there. With the exception of this stupid cousin, most of the knuckleheads on both the Ninjas and the Playboyz seem to sense someone is stirring this pot. As unlikely as it sounds, they realize this fight is being orchestrated.”

“By who?” Jacobs asked.

Nick held up his hands and Carly saw the frustration in his tired face. “No one can say. I’m afraid only that kid upstairs knows, and he might not ever be able to tell us.”

Carly’s thoughts also turned to Crusher. Nick was right; Hector Macias could answer a lot of questions for Nick and everybody else, if he were able.

Carly heard the squawk of the security facilitator’s radio. She couldn’t make out the message, but immediately the facilitator was animated.

With a shrug, Jacobs looked at Barrett. “How is that kid doing? Do you have an officer on his room?”

Barrett shook his head. “Last report we got, he was in a drug-induced coma. We didn’t think he needed a guard since he’s in intensive care and not talking.”

Jacobs blew out a breath. “I want someone on him 24-7 from now on.” He pointed to Carly. “Why don’t you start us off? Better to be safe than sorry. I agree with Nick; that kid has the answers we need. He may or may not be able to tell us, but either way, we need to keep him safe.”

Carly didn’t want to babysit Crusher, especially since there was so much security at Memorial as it was. She wanted to be near Nick. But hospital security wasn’t armed, and she did agree that their only witness needed to be protected.

She nodded, glanced at Nick, then turned for the elevator.

“I’ll come up there as soon as I can and sit with you for a bit,” Nick said.

Intensive care was up one floor. Carly thought about Londy and Mary Ellen’s confidence that Crusher would wake up soon. If he did, would he be able to give them the answers they needed?

She remembered what Nick had said about Crusher’s mother. Carly knew from her own contact with Lupe Macias, when she drove Victor home, that the woman had her hands full with her other children and two jobs. She was relieved to let Londy and the police look after her oldest. The only people barred were his fellow gangsters and the press. Thinking of the press reminded Carly of Ginny Masters, which made her
cringe. She said a quick prayer that Trejo would be able to return to his job soon.

Carly stepped off the elevator and stopped, back straightening, her hand reflexively going to her gun. There stood Dean Barton and Ginny Masters. They’d been leaning over the security station, talking to the facilitator. Off to one side was Duncan Potter. When Carly entered the lobby, everyone turned her way.

“What are you doing here?” Carly ignored Masters and glared at Barton. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Potter begin to snap photos. She thought about the bomb at Half Baked but hadn’t heard what else was going on or how that investigation had progressed.

Barton smirked, pointed at Carly’s gun hand, and said to Masters, “See that? She’s ready to shoot me. What did I tell you about police brutality?”

Forcing herself to relax and ignore the photographer, Carly dropped her hand. “Answer my question.”

“He’s not doing anything wrong. You have no right to question him.” Masters folded her arms and stepped between Barton and Carly. “What are
you
doing here?”

Carly took a deep breath, willing her anger to calm so she could think clearly. But it chafed that Barton was able to irritate her like this. “Miss Masters—”

“Ms.”

“Ms. Masters. You’re not supposed to be here either. I believe hospital policy bars reporters from intensive care.”

The facilitator, a middle-aged, heavyset woman, piped
up as she stood. “They wanted me to let them in to see the young man who was shot in the head. I was trying to tell them the same thing. I cannot let them in.”

Carly didn’t miss the threatening look Barton shot the woman. But the facilitator stood her ground. “My supervisor is on the way up.”

“Look, I am a credentialed member of the press. I have a right to access. That boy in there might have a story to tell. What are you trying to hide?” Masters stamped her foot for emphasis.

Carly sighed and ignored the question she knew was meant to bait her. “Your access is not my problem. You need to take that up with hospital administration. And I doubt anyone is in the office this time of night.” She directed her attention back to Barton. “You’re not press. What’s your interest here?” She pulled out her handheld radio and keyed the mike, asking for Jacobs.

Barton cursed, clearly livid. “I don’t have to tell you jack. But maybe I’m a friend of the kid’s mother. What about that?”

“Captain, I have Dean Barton and Ginny Masters up here. Do you know if ATF wants to talk to Barton?”

“Your frame-up didn’t work,” Barton sneered while Carly waited for an answer. He grabbed Masters’s hand. “I was with my lady all night, not setting up a bomb.”

The radio cackled, and Jacobs told her the investigation was ongoing, but she could let Barton go.

Carly refused to look away from Barton, irritated that she couldn’t arrest him, and doubted that he was a friend of
Hector’s mother. She started to speak, but before she could answer him, the facilitator said evenly, “You all need to come back during normal visiting hours if you have permission to visit the boy.”

The woman was so brave now, Carly could have hugged her. But the tension in the room thickened, and she wondered how far Barton would push her. Just then the elevator opened and two more hospital security people stepped off. Carly recognized the older one as a graveyard supervisor. He’d helped her break up a fight in the ER once.

“Officer Edwards, thanks for coming to help,” the supervisor said, interpreting her presence as being there by request, “but we have everything under control. I’m not sure how these people got up here, but I’ll be happy to escort them back to the lobby.”

Masters sputtered, but the supervisor hit her with some legalese that a lawyer would’ve been proud of. Potter even stopped taking pictures. Carly made note of the fact that Barton kept silent. Finally, after losing her fight with the supervisor, Masters turned to the tattooed parolee.

“Come on, Dean. We can find our own way downstairs.” She jabbed the elevator call button with a wicked fingernail.

“That may be,” the supervisor replied calmly, “but it’s our job to show you out.”

Carly stepped aside for Barton to get on the elevator. She held his dark eyes as he shot her a hate stare to end all hate stares.

“This ain’t over,” he muttered as he walked past.

CARLY SAID NOTHING
as Ginny Masters, Dean Barton, and Duncan Potter entered the elevator and the doors closed.

“You came in at the right time,” the facilitator said, sounding relieved as she sat at her desk again.

“What were they saying when I walked in?”

“The man—boy, he sure gave me the creeps—he was trying to tell me that they just wanted a minute to see the boy and that no one would know. I tried to explain about policy, but neither of them cared. Then you walked in.” She straightened her shirt and closed a book that was open on her desk. “Are you here about that kid?”

Carly nodded. “I’ll probably be sitting with him for the rest of the night. We’ll be watching him 24-7 for now.”

“Good,” she said. “Glad to know you’ll be around.” She hit the buzzer to open the door to the intensive care ward.

Once inside, Carly blew out a breath, wondering what on earth Barton or Masters would want with Crusher and what unholy alliance the reporter had formed with him. She lowered the volume on her police radio, respectful of the quiet atmosphere in ICU.

Lights were dim in ICU. The nurse at the main desk looked up, and Carly recognized her as a friend of Andi’s—Robin. When she saw Carly, Robin pointed to the room to the right of her station.

Carly walked there and looked in on Crusher from the doorway. Tubes and wires were everywhere. His face looked swollen and puffy.

Robin came to stand next to her. “He’s holding his own.”

“Will he wake up?”

“Well, he’s healing, his vitals are good, and the swelling has been controlled, so now it’s a matter of wait and see.” She shrugged. “Those two who come to visit him said they saw him react the last time they were here.”

Carly remembered Londy telling her he thought Crusher had squeezed his hand.

Robin continued. “They said he twitched when they reminded him his mother loved him. If he does wake up, we’ll have a better idea of how well he’ll recover.”

Carly looked at Robin, whose expression was thoughtful.

“He’s the same age as my son, and he has a lot going for him. The bullet did enter and exit, but the damage
was minimal. And he’s young, strong, and help got to him quickly.”

“Is that a yes?”

Robin smiled. “Head injuries are difficult. Only time will tell. I heard that you did some first aid for him on scene. You probably saved his life.”

Carly flushed. “It’s my job. Couldn’t let him bleed out at my feet.”

“Not every cop would have done that for a gang member,” Robin said over her shoulder as she returned to her station.

Carly pulled up a chair and took a seat outside the room. She thought about that night when she and Joe had rolled up to the shooting. Stopping the bleeding had seemed like a small thing considering Hector’s wound, and she admitted to herself that at the time she didn’t think he’d make it.

“He’s come this far, Lord,” she prayed. “I have to believe you’ll bring him all the way back.”

She’d been sitting for about an hour when she heard someone enter the ICU area. Sergeant Barrett walked toward her.

“Barton give you much trouble?” Barrett asked as he shoved an unlit cigarette into his mouth.

“No. I just hadn’t heard how his involvement in the bomb investigation had panned out.”

“He’s still a suspect, but they have no hard evidence linking him—or anyone for that matter—to the bomb. ATF is all over it.” He pulled up a chair. “Apparently he has an alibi for when they think the bomb was set. Now that they’re certain the thieves who stole the C-4 are in Las Playas and
ready to use the stuff, there are likely to be more ATF agents in town than cops soon.”

“Have they figured any connection? I mean, it makes no sense for someone—even Dean Barton—to steal all that stuff just to blow up a coffee shop.”

“Nick might know more about it than I do. He and Mickey were point men with the ATF. He’ll be up later.” He shook his head. “I hate it when a cop goes down. Seen it too many times in my career.”

Carly nodded in agreement, so thankful that Nick was okay.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. “You don’t need to hang around,” Carly said finally, gesturing toward the door. “No one is going to get in here.”

“I wanted to talk to you for a minute,” Barrett said, looking at the cubicle where Crusher lay.

Carly shrugged and followed his gaze. The place was quiet but for the beeping of machines.

Barrett faced her, elbows on his knees. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and played with it as if he had a pen in his hands, rolling it between his palms.

Carly wondered what he wanted. As the minutes ticked away, fear rose that he wanted to talk about Andrea. She prayed that wasn’t his concern.

Finally he looked up—not at Carly, but toward the nurse’s station. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something. It’s a little personal, but I hope you’ll talk to me.”

Carly sucked in a breath and braced herself. “Talk about what?”

Sergeant Barrett seemed as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him. She’d had a problem with him ever since his affair with her friend. She knew Barrett was married with five kids, and it made her angry that he treated his wife so shabbily. She’d confessed to Nick that when Joe had told her Barrett had been suitcased, she’d decided he’d gotten what he deserved.

He studied his feet. “It’s just that I know what happened with you and Nick. I mean—” he sat up—“I know he cheated on you and you divorced him but then took him back even though you knew all about the affair. I just wondered . . . what did he do to convince you to take him back? It must have been difficult . . .”

Carly relaxed immediately. She had no problem talking about the reconciliation. It was a huge blessing, the biggest in her life to date. “Yeah, it was difficult, but Nick and I are Christians now. We’re different people. I forgave him because I believed him when he told me he was sorry and it would not happen again.”

“Him going to church—that changed your mind?”

“It wasn’t just church. I could tell that he’d really changed. I changed as well. And I knew he regretted what happened with the other woman.”

Now Barrett met her eyes. “My wife wants a divorce. She kicked me out—I’m sure you’ve heard—and I probably deserve it.” He rolled his shoulders as if he had a stiff neck. “But I miss my kids. I hate how they look at me . . .” His voice broke.

Carly turned away, hoping he wouldn’t start crying. She
couldn’t dredge up much sympathy. She’d been in his wife’s shoes. When she had found out about Nick’s affair, she thought she’d die.

After a minute Barrett composed himself. “I see Mickey and think that could happen to me. I don’t want a cloud hanging over my marriage or my kids.” He cursed. “I don’t know if I can change her mind, but I’ve got to try. I haven’t been to church since I was a kid. Would it be okay if I came to your church?”

“Of course.” Carly resisted the urge to pat his shoulder. “You’d be welcome at church. In fact, why don’t you talk to the pastor, Jonah Rawlings? He’s a great guy; you’ll like him.”

“Did he help you forgive Nick?”

“By the time I talked to Jonah, I had already forgiven Nick. What he helped me with was the spiritual change in my own heart and life.”

Barrett shrugged. “I’m willing to try anything.”

Carly told him where she and Nick went and gave him the service times. While she was happy to hear that he seemed completely sincere, she was relieved to see him go. After praying for Sergeant Barrett, she leaned back to think about her own problems and dilemmas, thankful that none were as serious or painful as Barrett’s at the moment.