Hearts Awakened (18 page)

Stepping closer to the isolette, she pinned him with a look. “His name is Lee. Don’t you dare saddle him with some odd moniker.”

“Lee?” He tilted his head to one side and studied Tick’s son. The thin little chest moved with the mechanical rhythm of the hushed respirator. With tape holding the ventilator tube in place, looking for resemblances in his tiny face was impossible, although the way he wrinkled his forehead was pretty reminiscent of Falconetti’s expression when she was thinking through a challenging case. IV tubes invaded his body and various monitor wires marched over his torso. “As in Troy?”

“What are you…?” Shocked horror widened Caitlin’s eyes. “Oh my God, don’t say that to Tick. He’ll want to change his name.”

A spurt of welcome humor rumbled up from Mark’s chest. Caitlin looked less than amused and he felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his emotions, so he let the laughter die a quick death. He rested a palm atop the plastic box. “He’s something, Falconetti.”

“Isn’t he?” She slid a hand inside one of the circular openings to caress a wrinkled knee. “Two miracles in as many days. He’s here and Tick’s going to be all right.”

“Yeah.” Some of the pressure holding his lungs hostage evaporated. Seeing her with Tick’s baby, witnessing her unabashed elation in this child…that made facing the demon of his own thwarted fatherhood easier. She’d survived the loss and pain in her own history; she’d moved beyond that to life and joy.

Just like Tori was moving beyond her past, even if it was without him. She’d be okay, she’d find that life and joy. In going forward, she’d dragged him out of the hell of his own past.

And going back wasn’t an option.

Now he simply had to figure out how to move on without her.

Mark tilted the bottle back, the beer’s icy bitterness trickling down his throat. He and Chris had commandeered the back corner booth at the Cue Club and Chris was hunched over Jenny’s file, twirling his longneck in a slow circle on the tabletop. A handful of twenty-something girls laughed through a line dance on the tiny dance floor, their backdrop a mournful George Strait song. At the other end of the building, the pool tables were full and couples took up most of the booths and smaller tables dotting the long, narrow room. Cigarette smoke and chatter rose in a hazy cloud.

Mark took another swallow. This was just what he needed tonight, something to keep his mind off Tori.

“Wow.” Chris looked up, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Well, this explains a lot.”

That assessing semi-scowl left Mark feeling like a bug under a microscope. He shifted in the seat and set his beer aside, next to his uneaten half of the Cue Club’s signature sandwich, a massive chili-cheese dog known as a Big Cheesy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chris rested an arm along the seatback. “Nineteen years is a heck of a long time to carry something like that around.”

The sympathy in the words and lurking in Chris’s blue eyes made him more uncomfortable. He shrugged. “Everybody has something they carry around.”

Chris’s gaze dropped to the reports again. “Yeah. They do.” He cleared his throat. “So why are we looking at this again? I mean, it appears this Rigsby guy was pretty thorough.”

“He was.” Mark lifted the witness list and scanned it. “But a cold case can always benefit from a fresh pair of eyes looking at it.” He glanced up at Chris. “That’s you. And experience can make a difference, too.” He pointed to his own chest. “That’s me. I know a lot more now about investigative technique than I did back then.”

Chris reached for his longneck. “Why now? Seems like you and Tick would have already tackled this.”

Because he hadn’t been ready before now. Mark rubbed a hand over his jaw. This wasn’t even about Tori, although she’d definitely been a catalyst. He needed to know. He needed to be able to say he’d done everything he could. He needed this so he could live again. For what, he wasn’t sure. The emptiness of his life outside of work stretched before him.

He met Chris’s serious gaze. “It’s just time.”

Nodding, Chris regarded the stacks of photocopied reports and statements with the expression of someone faced with a particularly appetizing and hearty meal. “So where do we start?”

“At the beginning. Rule of twenty-fours. The twenty-four hours before death, the twenty-four hours after.”

Chris shot him a look, an eyebrow quirked. “But we don’t know for sure she’s dead.”

The words sucker punched him. Mark took a deep breath. “I know for sure.”

“You can’t. Come on, you’re the one who wanted to get to the bottom of this. Are you going to ignore a line of investigation because you don’t like the possibility? Face it. She might not be dead. We have to explore that.”

Mark dragged a hand over his face. “All right, but we still start with those twenty-fours.”

“Then what?”

“Identify and interview witnesses. Identify possible suspects.”

Chris nodded. “Under different circumstances, you’d be at the top of that list.”

“Yeah.” Mark crossed his arms over his chest. Chris was right. If Mark was starting this same investigation cold, he’d put the husband at the top of the list too. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, though.”

“What confidence? Rigsby verified your story.”

“Funny. How many night shifts did you say you wanted to work next week?”

Unperturbed, Chris tilted his beer for a long pull. “So you said you wanted to start at the beginning. The twenty-four hours before she disappeared. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah.” Mark lifted a photo of Jenny from the file, sun glinting off her golden hair, her smile wide and happy. “I remember. Like yesterday.”

Restlessness dogged him once he and Chris parted ways. Town was quiet and making two rounds of the blocks adjacent to the sheriff’s department did little to settle him. Finally, he took the right onto the one-way street that ran alongside the hospital. Inside, he retrieved a guest pass and caught an elevator up to the surgical-care unit.

To his surprise, no family member sat in the vinyl chair by Tick’s bed. Mark pushed the door closed behind him. The room’s only illumination came from the fluorescent light over the bed, the blinds closed against the bright halogen lamps in the parking lot. However, the dim glow was enough to illustrate the pallor of Tick’s face, the way pain seemed to stretch his skin too tight over his features.

At the bedside, Mark paused and studied the monitors. None of it made sense except the steady blip of Tick’s pulse. That soothing rhythm let him relax. The guy might be a stubborn ass, but they were still partners. Falconetti was right; he was going to be okay. Mark had simply needed to see that for himself.

He straightened, ready to leave, but Tick’s eyelids flicked, lifting for a second, dipping and coming back up again. His dark gaze, dulled with pain and medication, tracked over the ceiling to land on Mark’s face. The corners of Tick’s mouth hitched. “Hey.”

The monosyllable emerged slurred and garbled. Mark rested his forearms on the bedrail. “Hey. How do you feel?”

“Like hell. Worse than getting shot.” With a heavy hand, Tick gestured across his chest, right to left, from his pecs almost to his hipbone, the movement loopy and uncoordinated. “Cut me here…to here.”

Mark nodded. “I saw the kid earlier.”

Awed pride lit the murky depths of Tick’s eyes. “He’s…great.”

Fingers laced together, Mark twirled his thumbs, following the slow circle with his eyes. He cleared his throat of the lump that seemed to have wedged itself there most of the day. “I’m glad for you, Tick.”

“Thanks.” Tick’s eyes closed, a pained grimace twisting his mouth. After a moment, his lids rose. “Need to talk…about Tori.”

“No, we don’t.” To his relief, his voice came out steady and even. “You don’t need to get worked up and she came to her senses today, just like I told you she would.”

Disbelief twisted Tick’s eyebrows into a crooked line. Mark shrugged before Tick could speak. He didn’t want to indulge in a postmortem. He made himself put on the old devil-may-care grin. “You should be proud. She dumped my ass cold.”

Tick’s frown didn’t clear, his clouded gaze fixed on Mark’s. He rolled his head in a slow side-to-side motion. “Nothing ’gainst you. Can’t let her…be hurt—”

“She’s fine.” Mark eyed the spike on the heart monitor. Coming here had probably been a bad idea. “Calm down and stop worrying. I told you she’d wise up and she did. She’s fine.”

Behind him, the door opened with a soft swish. “Tick, are you…”

Tori’s quiet voice trailed away. Mark stiffened, realized Tick still watched him and forced his muscles into relaxation. He inclined his head in Tick’s direction. “I’m going to get out of here and let you rest. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He darted a quick glance in Tori’s direction where she hovered just inside the door; she looked everywhere but at him, her expression tight and miserable. Again, he found himself wanting to do whatever necessary to get that look off her face. If his being around made her unhappy, he’d remove himself from the equation. He cleared his throat once more. “Good night, y’all.”

Outside in the hallway, he dragged both hands down his face and exhaled sharply. God help him. He almost wished she’d left him mired in the past. At least there, he knew how to cope.

She would move on, find someone Tick considered suitable. With that thought, Mark’s chest tightened further. She’d be happy and he wanted that for her, even if it meant seeing her with another man. If he kept telling himself that, maybe sooner or later, he’d believe it.

The sickly sweet smell hit her as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose. What on earth…

The fruit. She froze, staring at the stoneware bowl on her counter, holding the bananas Mark had bought for her days ago. Black areas marred the yellow skin and a couple of fruit flies danced above the bunch. A wave of ridiculous tears pricked her eyes and she tunneled a hand through her hair, nails raking her scalp. Stupid, to get so wound up over a handful of rotten bananas.

Blinking back the moisture, she strode to the counter, grabbed the bowl and carried it to the trashcan in the pantry. She dumped the contents and stopped. Hugging the empty bowl, she gazed at the items Mark had added to her pantry—extra-virgin olive oil, rice vinegar, an array of spices. She was never going to use any of this stuff. If she had any sense at all, she’d pack it up and take it to her mama or Caitlin. Someone who cooked. Someone who would use it. Why she insisted on hanging on like this was beyond her.

Holding the bowl with one hand, she snatched a packet of microwave popcorn and backed up, closing the pantry door with more force than necessary.

“Get over it, Victoria.” Her shaky voice was loud in the small kitchen. “You did the right thing.”

Hadn’t she? It was never going to work. Breaking it off, whatever
it
was, had been the best thing, the only thing. Mark wasn’t any the worse for wear. He’d accepted her dictate more easily than she’d expected. Tick seemed relieved the flirtation was over. She was safe from getting hurt.

So why did she feel so lousy?

She needed to forget the whole thing. Thinking about it, chasing the what-ifs around in her head, would get her nowhere. She had plenty to focus on right now—research for her dissertation, the ever-present budget concerns at the center, helping out with Caitlin and Tick. She didn’t have time to worry about what might have been with Mark Cook.

Buoyed by her self-talk, she tossed the popcorn packet in the microwave. While the kernels fluffed and popped, she changed from her slacks and sweater into yoga pants and a T-shirt. She avoided looking at the bed. Memories of lying with Mark came too easily and sleeping, or trying to, had become a chore.

The phone rang and she picked up the cordless unit on the way to retrieve her popcorn. “Hello?”

“I hope you haven’t gotten comfortable,” Layla said, her tone harried and completely unapologetic. Tori closed her eyes. Lord, not a rape victim. Not tonight. She couldn’t deal with it tonight.

With a deep breath, she opened them again. If she had to deal with it, she would. End of story. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got Maggie Stinson in the ER again.”

“Bad?”

“Unfortunately, yes. She asked for you.”

“Okay.” She left the popcorn in the microwave and hurried to her bedroom. “I’m on my way.”

She scrambled back into her office clothes, grabbed her keys and jogged downstairs to her car. Maggie, asking for her. The other woman might finally be ready for help, ready to begin the process of escaping the hell of her life with Jed Stinson. They might even be able to persuade her to press charges this time.

Charges. Which Chandler County deputy would be on hand? Tori couldn’t remember if it was Mark’s night to work—his Blazer had been gone from the lot when she left, so maybe. The idea of seeing him sent a thrill through her and she flattened it. That was over.

Cars crowded the small parking lot outside the emergency center. Tori squeezed the Miata into a space that really wasn’t a space and hurried toward the ER. Three Chandler County patrol cars, including the K-9 unit, lined one side of the one-way street. Tori frowned. That was really unusual.

Inside, people milled about the waiting room, a low hum of irritation building. Troy Lee stood at one end, scribbling on a clipboard while a woman talked, waving her hands. Tori went to the reception window. “Hey, Lorraine. Layla called me about a patient. Can you buzz me in?”

A smile split Lorraine’s round face. “Sure thing, sweetie.” She waved a hand toward the waiting area. “It’s been wild around here tonight.”

Tori could see that. The woman talking to Troy Lee raised her voice and he motioned to a nearby chair, his voice dropping to a calming tone. At the deep buzz, Tori swung the door open. Once inside the ER area, she glanced at Lorraine again. “What’s going on?”

“Car accident on the highway, and a brawl out at that dive bar on Route Three.” She cast another disgusted look at the waiting room. “And everyone wants to be seen first.”

Tori shoved her keys in her pocket. “Layla said Maggie Stinson wanted to see me. Where can I find her?”

Lorraine lifted her Mega-Gulp cup, ice rattling, and pointed over her shoulder with the other hand. “Curtain three.”

“Thanks.” Tori stopped outside the pastel plaid curtain. “Layla? Maggie? It’s Tori Calvert. Is it okay if I come in?”

“You can come in. It’s okay.” Pain congested Maggie’s voice.

Making sure no one could see in with her entrance, Tori ducked into the cubicle and stopped short. Mark was here, seated on the rolling stool, clipboard balanced on his knee. With his left hand, he held a bloodstained handkerchief to his forehead. Her chest tightened. He was hurt. His shuttered gaze flickered over her and back to the clipboard. When his expression didn’t change, Tori pulled her attention from him and directed it where it should be—the woman who’d asked for her help.

Maggie hunched over on the exam table, her face a bruised, battered mess. Tori’s heart thudded once, hard, against her ribcage. If she’d tried harder to help Maggie, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this.

Tori stepped forward and laid her hand across Maggie’s thin fingers. “Hi, Maggie. Layla said you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah.” With her other hand, Maggie tugged her hair forward, hiding behind her bangs. Her chest heaved with a deep breath and tears glittered in her right eye, the one not swollen shut. “I should have called you before now.”

“You called me now. That’s what’s important.” She glanced at Mark, her stomach lifting and dropping in a rapid swoop. “Did I interrupt your statement to Investigator Cook?”

Maggie pulled her fingers away from Tori’s. She picked at the hem of her sparkly shirt, the silver material dotted with blood. “I don’t know why I have to give a statement. I’m not pressing charges.”

Tori nodded, although she really wanted to beg the other woman to file a complaint. What Maggie needed most was safety and a sense of control. “That’s your choice, but please think—”

“You don’t have to press charges,” Mark said. Cloth rustled and the stool squeaked, but Tori didn’t look back, aware simply by the tingling of her nerve endings that he’d risen and now stood behind her. “Jed’s going to jail anyway. There were witnesses this time, but I’d really like to have your story, Maggie.”

“I can’t tell you. Jed’ll find out and…” Maggie pressed a hand over her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Tori spun, seeking a bedpan, trashcan, something. Mark opened the cabinet over the sink and pulled down a plastic tub.

“Oh God,” Maggie moaned, her voice weak and strangled. Tori snatched the tub from Mark’s easy grasp, meeting his sharp gaze for the briefest of moments. The icy lack of emotion there chilled her.

“All right, Maggie—”

Violent retching stopped the words cold in her throat. Tori held the tub steady while Maggie hunched over it, emptying her stomach. The other woman’s hair fell forward. Juggling the container with one hand, Tori tried unsuccessfully to pull Maggie’s hair back with the other.

Mark’s clipboard clattered on the counter. “I’ve got it.”

His hands steadied the tub, and Tori flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks.” She smoothed Maggie’s hair back as more heaves wracked her thin frame. Blood-tinged mucous poured from Maggie’s nose. Tori glanced up at Mark again. He’d dropped the handkerchief and blood oozed from a cut bisecting his eyebrow. “Where’s Layla anyway?”

He shrugged, not looking at her. “I think she and Jay are still tied up with the kids from the accident.”

Maggie’s retches faded into rough coughing and she straightened, tears flowing down her face to mix with the blood and mucous. Tori stroked her hair once. “Let me get something to wipe your face, okay? And maybe some water to rinse your mouth.”

A tiny nod served as Maggie’s reply. Unable to find a towel, Tori pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and dampened them with warm water. About to smooth them over Maggie’s features, Tori checked the movement and held them out instead. “Here you go.”

With a grateful nod, Maggie wiped her face. Mark cleared his throat. “I’m going to get rid of this. Be right back.”

The curtain swished closed behind him. Maggie crumpled, holding the paper towels to her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just…I’m sorry.”

Tori eased the sodden paper towels from her, dropped them in the large flip-top waste bin and offered fresh ones along with a plastic cup of water. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I feel so stupid,” Maggie whispered, twisting the towels around her hand. She rubbed the back of her hand over her nose and winced and Tori gave her the box of tissues from the counter. “This is all my fault. Lord, my heart is racing.”

“Take a deep breath.” Tori smoothed Maggie’s hair back once more. “What’s all your fault?”

“This whole mess.” Maggie waved a hand in the air. “I knew better than to let that guy talk to me. He just wanted directions, but I shouldn’t have stopped to give them to him. I knew it would make Jed jealous if he saw me talking to someone else, but I didn’t think…” A shuddery sigh ran through her body. “I tried to tell him it wasn’t nothing, but he kept calling me a stupid whore, and then…and then he hit me. He’s never done that before, not in public, and he just kept hitting, over and over.”

The tears spilled and she took a deep breath, fisting a handful of tissues. Tori clenched her hands together, heart aching for the woman before her. “Maggie, listen. I need you to hear me, okay?”

Maggie lifted her pain-filled gaze and Tori smiled. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No.” Maggie shook her head, a wild side-to-side motion that sent her hair flying out to cling to her face. “I knew better—”

“Maggie.” Tori dared to reach out for the thin, trembling hands. “You did nothing wrong. All you did was give someone directions. You tried to help someone. That’s not wrong. Jed was wrong. Do you hear me? Jed was wrong. Not you.”

Maggie’s shoulders heaved, her gaze filled with a desperate need to believe. Fresh tears welled. “I don’t want him to go to jail. I just want to go home and have everything the way it was when we first got married.”

“Jed needs help, and we need to make sure you and the children are safe. That’s our first priority—your safety.”

“She’s right.” Mark ducked through the curtain again. Maggie tensed, slowly relaxing as he didn’t move forward but remained just inside the plaid fabric. “You deserve to feel safe, Maggie. Your kids deserve that too.”

“Safe.” Maggie’s small laugh reeked of bitterness. “You’re putting Jed in jail and I’m supposed to feel safe. Do you know what he’ll do when he gets out? He’ll blame me and if I try to leave, that’ll only make it worse. You don’t know what he’s like, how mad he gets.”

“Maggie?” Tori kept her voice firm yet gentle. “Let’s worry about tonight. We have ways to ensure your safety once Jed is released from jail, but he’ll probably spend the night there.” She looked to Mark for confirmation and he nodded. “Do you want to go home tonight or stay somewhere else?”

Maggie darted a look at Mark. “He’ll be there all night? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” Easing into the cubicle, Mark picked up his handkerchief and pressed it to his cut again. “He won’t be arraigned until tomorrow morning at least.”

“If you want to go home tonight, I can call you in the morning before his arraignment begins,” Tori said. “Then if you wanted to stay somewhere else, I could help arrange that.”

“Okay.” Maggie nodded, her hands twisting the tissues into a crumpled mass. “I can handle that.”

“Great.” Tori tugged a card from her pocket and glanced around for a pen. Mark extended his and she reached for it. Their gazes met and clung for a second before he looked away. Tori scribbled her cell and home numbers on the back of the card. “Here are my numbers. You need anything, you call. Do you want me to stay while Layla checks you out?”

Maggie took the card, her fingers clutching it with white knuckles. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Tori flicked a glance at Mark’s impassive face. “Do you think you could give Investigator Cook a statement now?”

A harsh intake of breath moved Maggie’s thin shoulders. “I can do that.”

“Knock, knock.” Jay Mackey’s voice preceded him through the plaid curtain. Layla followed. He held Maggie’s intake folder and flipped through the information before examining her face with a gentle gaze and touch, his tone soft while he talked to her. “Layla, X-rays to make sure nothing’s broken. You know what to do from there.”