Edge of the Heat 3 (4 page)

“Hawk, you look exhausted,” Emma said.

Hawk scrubbed his face with his hand. “Yeah, I haven’t gotten much sleep lately. I’m trying to figure out if Norman is really playing ball, or if he is just stringing me along.”

“What’s his story?” Craig asked.

“Well, he was very careful. He gave me some names and dates of some people who were threatened and had their car and house taken away by a judge he says is on the take. But he wouldn’t say who is paying the judge, and he says he can’t show me proof unless I get him a computer. He also wouldn’t say anything about working for Senator Oberlin.”

Craig grunted. “So he’s talking, but he’s not saying much.”

“Exactly. He told me something he knows that somebody else did, and not about the things we really want to know about. I think I may have to actually have him put in general population and then tell him I’ll pull him out but he has to answer my specific questions - not just tell me random stuff.”

“Yeah, and we need to find something before Senator Oberlin just finds someone else to do his dirty work. That man is dangerous,” Craig added.

Hawk didn’t say anything, but he nodded, his eyes focused on Vivian and Dennis.

N
orman lay in his bed, as always, but today something was different. He fantasized he could feel something in his left foot. He closed his eyes and focused. It was an incredibly strange feeling. He thought he could feel the bottom of his left foot where it met his toes. But he couldn’t feel anything else. It was like his foot, but floating out in space somewhere. He took a deep breath, scared to try, but eager to try at the same time. Could he move it? He moved his head to the right, reminding himself how to move his body. Then he sent the impulse to his foot.

Nothing happened.

But it felt different. Like something had changed. He tried again. The sensation in his foot changed, like maybe his toes had wiggled and they were in a different position now?

He opened his mouth to scream for a nurse - anyone to come watch him try to move his foot and tell him if it really moved or not - when a deep, dark, long-forgotten voice in his head said
don’t do it
.

He shut his mouth closed with a snap and squeezed his eyes shut against the voice.

Don’t do it
, the voice commanded again.
Don’t give up your advantage. If they know you aren’t paralyzed anymore, you lose your advantage.

But I am still paralyzed,
he said to the voice.

Not for long.

***

T
he next day, Norman lay in his bed, contemplating what a return of function to his body might mean. He didn’t dare think about maybe escaping, that seemed like too big of a dream, but being able to sit up, and feed himself, and maybe walk, were all grand accomplishments in his mind right now.

He heard footsteps in the corridor. Strange footsteps. Light and clipped. He snapped his eyes opened and watched. He was facing the door already and saw her as soon as she turned the corner.

She wore a long white coat, a red skirt, and red high heels, with a stethoscope around her neck. Blond curls bounced around a pretty face and red-lipsticked mouth.

She stopped at the door and knocked on the outside of it. When she saw him looking at her she smiled. Norman hadn’t seen a smile in over a month.

“Mr. Foster? Hi, I am Dr. Thorpe. I am the California prison system’s Neurologist. May I come in and examine you?”

Norman wasn’t sure what to say. Someone was asking his permission? Treating him like a human being? He nodded.

Dr. Thorpe walked in the room, bringing the scent of vanilla with her.

She walked to his bedside and put her hands on his side.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Like shit.”

Dr. Thorpe didn't raise an eyebrow but pushed on. “I’ve read your file and you have no feeling or movement in your arms or legs, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you can shrug your shoulders?” She lay a cool hand on his neck, where it met his shoulder. Norman shivered at the kind touch.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to roll you onto your back for this exam. Is that OK?”

Norman nodded, swallowing around a lump in his throat.

Dr. Thorpe removed the pillows from behind Norman’s back and started to help his body gently roll that way. Her eyebrows furrowed and she stopped and lifted up the side of his gown.

“Oh my Lord,” she exclaimed. “Do the nurses turn you Mr. Foster?”

“Yeah, in the morning.”

“They only turn you once a day?” Her gaze locked on his, and he saw fire in her eyes. But it wasn’t meant for him. It was about him.

“Yeah, just once usually.”

Dr. Thorpe walked around to the other side of the bed and peeked under his gown there. She sucked in her breath. Norman didn’t even want to know what it looked like.

Someone walked by the room. Dr. Thorpe spun around and ran out, calling for the person. “Hello, guard? Nurse?” She caught up to him in the hall. Norman could hear pieces of the conversation.

“Bedsores ... horrible ... he deserves ... you must take care ... I insist... I’ll be filing...”

Norman stared at the ceiling, miserable in his waiting. How did things go so bad for him? Where did he go wrong? He had been a police officer. He had been married to a lovely, sweet woman. He’d been respected and even liked. And now he was here, in a hole, shot by that lovely, sweet woman, charged with kidnapping and attempted murder, and covered with bedsores that made a prison doctor gasp.

The doctor walked back and gave him a sweet smile. Norman read the truth in it, read her pity and heartache for him, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. In his former life he would never have stood for pity from anyone, but then he’d never needed or taken anyone’s help either.

“Mr Foster, I’ve spoken to the nurses. You are to be turned every 2 hours when you are awake, without fail. It may take a few days for all of them to get the message, but I will ensure they do.”

He nodded, knowing he should thank her, but unable to bring himself to do it.

She walked back to the bed and started her examination. She grasped his hand and did something to it that Norman couldn’t see.

“Can you feel that?”

“No.”

She talked as she worked. “Mr Foster, you are scheduled for an EMG to see if there is any electrical activity left in your limbs at all. Your spinal cord was not severed, just injured, so it is possible that someday you could regain partial function in at least some of your limbs. The 5 Western state prisons have to share one EMG machine, and it won’t rotate over here for 2 more weeks. But when it gets here, we will bring it to you.”

Methodically, she checked all four limbs. When she got to his left foot, Norman felt wings of excitement beat in his chest. He could feel something! He could! A strange pressure. He knew she was touching his left foot.

Dr. Thorpe clucked her tongue and said “Hmmmmm
”.
Then she asked, “Mr. Foster, can you feel this?” Norman felt conflicted. He’d never had a problem lying in his life, but suddenly he didn’t want to lie to this pretty doctor who’d been kind to him.

“No,” he finally said, hearing the final bar in the cell of his mind crash closed.

S
enator Frank Oberlin sat at his desk, eyes squeezed shut, sweat running down his back even though the room was cold. He was lost in thought, trying desperately to think his way out of this mess. His cell phone buzzed. He glanced at it. His wife wanted to know where he was.
Working late
, he texted back to her.
Don’t wait up for me
.

If she had any idea what kind of trouble he was in she would be mortified. She would divorce him in a second, he knew she would. She had known he had his eyes on the presidency 20 years ago, when she’d married him, but she had never had any idea what kind of things he would do to get it.

She didn’t understand - no one did. People don’t become the president of the United States because they are good at their job or because most of the country wants them to. People become the president of the United States because they are in the right place at the right time and powerful outside forces decide they are the most likely candidate to get elected.

Frank Oberlin was doing everything in his power to be in the right place at the right time and everything he could do to be the most likely candidate to win the vote in the upcoming election. He couldn’t stand the thought of another 4 year wait. This had to be his year.

He looked down at his desk at the collection of coded notes he’d gathered. He couldn’t write anything down that anyone else could read, or put anything in his computer, because that would be evidence. Evidence some high and mighty FBI agent could use to connect him to something.

FBI agent Holden Kinkaid III. Hate filled Oberlin at the thought of Agent Kinkaid and his tenacity in the investigation of Norman Foster. If he could go back in time and undo his order to Foster to kill Lucy Kinkaid he would do it in a second. He would have found another way to ensure the information that Lucy unwittingly discovered never saw the light of day. For the hundredth time he wondered if Kinkaid suspected who was behind Foster’s actions yet. For the hundredth time he wondered if Foster was talking in that prison hospital yet. For the hundredth time he racked his brain to figure out what he could do to stop this threat - this double threat.

Foster was the biggest threat, because Foster could tell anyone all of the jobs he had done for Oberlin. He would be incriminating himself too, but sometimes people did stupid things.

Kinkaid was the second biggest threat, because even if Foster somehow disappeared tomorrow, Kinkaid could continue the investigation, and possibly discover some threads that led back to Oberlin.

Somehow, he had to eliminate both parts of this threat. He had an idea of how to eliminate Foster, but Kinkaid? That was the hard part. No matter how many ways he thought about it, ordering a hit on Kinkaid seemed like a bad idea. Besides, who would do it? Now that Foster was paralyzed, Oberlin didn’t have anyone to turn to anymore. He needed a new contact.

Oberlin thought back to how he had found Foster. He’d needed a job done and he’d told his nephew, the one who ran books in Vegas. Then Foster had called him.

Oberlin felt hope bloom in his chest for the first time in a month. Maybe there was a way out of this double mess he was in. Maybe he could put his head together with a new contact and get some boots on the ground to help him figure this out.

Senator Frank Oberlin pressed his lips together in a bloodless smile and started chewing up his notes.

V
ivian’s phone rang. It was Craig wanting to know if she could come down to headquarters so Hawk could take her DNA sample and send it off to CODIS.

“Ok, I’ll be there.” Vivian took down the directions and hung up the phone. Her belly fluttered at the thought of seeing Hawk. She wondered if he would say anything to her.

She grabbed her purse and headed out into her car, hoping the traffic would be light.

As she pulled up to the building, the butterflies in her belly started up again. She bit her lip and said a silent prayer that he would be nice. She didn’t know if she could take anymore attitude from him.

At the building she pressed the button at the front door. Craig answered in a light voice, “Come on in Vivian, just keep heading straight down the hallway.” The door buzzed and Vivian pushed it open.

At the far end of the hallway, Craig stuck his head out and waved her in. Her footfalls in the empty corridor made her feel nervous. Like she was walking towards some horrible fate.

Once inside the large, open room, she blinked at all the electronics. The far wall was lined with monitors that looked like they were watching several different rooms with people going about their business in them.

“Wow,” Vivian breathed, taking it all in.

Craig smiled. “Sit down,” he told her, indicating an office chair.

Vivian did, looking around for Hawk. She didn’t see him.

“Hawk is getting a test kit, he’ll be right back.”

The door behind her opened and Vivian smelled him before she saw him. She couldn’t place his cologne, but it always appealed to her. It smelled warm, and strong. He wore just the right amount. Just enough to make her knees weak.

He came around the chair and nodded at her. “Vivian.” It was a statement.

She smiled a small disappointed smile and said “Hi Hawk.” Apparently he wasn’t thrilled to see her today.

In his hands was a small, blue kit. He put it down on the desk and pulled two cylinders out of it.

“I just need to get some, uh, saliva and tissue from the inside of your cheek.”

She nodded. She knew what this entailed. First he’d scrape a little wire brush on her cheek, and then he’d rub a big q-tip in there. She knew it wouldn’t hurt.

He came close with the cylinders in his hands and knelt on one knee before her. She watched his powerful muscles move underneath his shirt. The butterflies in her stomach did somersaults at the reality of Hawk being close enough to touch her.

She opened her mouth for him, her brain suddenly filling with erotic images. She felt her cheeks flush red and between her legs flush warm.
Quit it quit it quit it
she admonished her body and mind, shame making her blush.

He uncapped the first tube and gently rubbed the business end in her cheek, being very careful not to touch her, then did the same with the second tube.
Nice
, she wailed inside her mind, closing her mouth.
You’re lusting over this man who won’t touch you or even hardly look at you. What is
wrong
with you
?

“That’s it,” he said. “We should have results in a week.”

“Ok, thanks a lot.” Vivian stood up, eager to get out in the sunshine and away from this man who made her feel like a silly teenager with no control over her hormones.

H
awk pulled out into the road, squinting against the afternoon sun, glad to be on his own for a bit. He loved Craig like a brother, but Craig was always so damn happy, so damn upbeat. And he talked constantly. Sometimes Hawk just wanted to be silent and hear his own thoughts for once. Not that they were pleasant. But still, they were his, and sometimes he wanted to hear them.