Honor (21 page)

Out in the parking lot, the lieutenant stopped by his SUV.

“Let’s take my car,” Linc said. No way was he going to get into an unmarked. He had no idea why Mike Warren had showed up out of the blue, but it wasn’t a social call.

“No problem.”

Something about the lieutenant’s manner was different. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Mind if I ask why you’re staying here?” he asked.

“It’s cheap. And it’s reasonably close to Kenzie’s apartment.”

Warren nodded. “Quieter than it used to be. We raided this place a couple of times last year. Still keeping an eye on it.”

Gary Baum had been truthful.

“And you happened to see my car, so you just stopped by,” Linc said.

“Not quite. I’ll explain.”

Linc unlocked the car and they both got in, making small talk as he drove to a park by a river, one that he’d scoped out several days ago. Not too many people and it had exercise structures and a running track—he’d hit it a few times to blow off steam and get some exercise.

The frustration of the task he’d assigned himself had been getting to him. So far, the SKC laptop didn’t seem to hold any secrets, and the clogged hard drive was excruciatingly slow.

He glanced into the rearview mirror, not seeing anything that bothered him. There had been nothing from the stalker since the roses.

“How’s Kenzie?” the lieutenant asked.

“Fine. She spends a lot of time with Christine,” Linc replied.

“I understand from Mrs. Corelli that she’s improving.”

“So I hear.” Kenzie had kept him posted on that.

He pulled into a parking space and indicated a bench under a willow tree.

It was right by the river, per training that had long ago turned into reflex. Electronic eavesdropping would be tough for anyone listening in, though not impossible.

The lieutenant matched him stride for stride as they walked to the bench.

“Nice day,” he said affably.

“Yeah,” Linc replied, irked by the other man’s seeming assumption that he had nothing to do. But then, he couldn’t explain to Warren that he had been dissecting the SKC laptop and was getting nowhere.

They sat down and watched the river flow for an idle minute.

“Guess you’re wondering why I wanted to see you,” the lieutenant said.

“A little, yeah.” Linc didn’t bother to ask how Warren had gotten his address.

“I realized last time we talked that I didn’t know your last name.”

“That would be because I never mentioned it.”

The other man chuckled. “Right. And I didn’t want to ask the Corellis. So, I, uh, ran your plates.”

That was why he’d walked them to the hospital parking lot.

“I was curious. No offense, but in this type of case you cover all your bases.”

Linc knew what was coming. He folded his arms over his chest, listening more to the birds in the willow tree than to the lieutenant.

“I got the basic screen. Full name, address, date of birth. You’re an organ donor. After that, nada. Level Five block. Access to subject information restricted.”

Linc sighed.

“That’s federal, isn’t it?” The lieutenant looked over at him. “But not the FBI. Those guys comb their hair. You with the agency? The army?”

“Want me to lie?”

“No, of course not.” Mike Warren seemed awfully pleased with himself. “I did get your last name. Nice to meet a real Bannon.”

Linc braced himself, prepared to field irrelevant questions about his brother RJ and the Montgomery case, but the lieutenant seemed inclined to stop while he was ahead.

“Look, I know your connection to Kenzie is personal. But that doesn’t mean you have nothing to contribute. Going forward, if you can help, it would be just between you and me. Totally off the record.”

Linc knew what Mike Warren was getting at. Different databases, different protocols. Not a lot of sharing. The lieutenant was way out of his league, but he had the guts to ask. Linc respected that.

“Happy to,” he replied. “But there are limits.”

“I understand.” Mike Warren got up and looked toward Linc’s car. “Okay. I have to get back to the station. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

“Sorting socks.”

The lieutenant grinned. “My apologies for the interruption.”

“Christine ... look at me,” Kenzie said gently.

The dark-haired girl rolled her head on the pillow. She concentrated on focusing, mostly on Kenzie’s face.

“Hey,” Kenzie said with a smile. Christine responded with a soft sound. “Do you want to see more pictures?”

A nod.

It seemed to Kenzie that they were making progress—it had been six days. They were halfway through the photos Christine’s mother had had printed from one of the CDs. Looking at them seemed to make Christine happy. But she tired easily and sometimes cried.

Mrs. Corelli held up another. It was the photo of the two young women out for a day on the water, paddling toward whoever was taking the picture.

“What do you see?” Kenzie asked.

Christine studied the picture, her lips moving without a sound. Her eyes brightened as she suddenly answered. “You. Me.”

Mrs. Corelli’s eyes widened over the top of the photo. “Very good. That’s right.”

Kenzie wanted to shout, pump her first in the air. Real words—the first Christine had spoken since they’d started.

Dr. Asher had told them not to expect much at the beginning. But he’d been all for it. In less than a week, Christine had improved enough in other ways to leave the ICU soon and transfer to a neurological rehab center.

Recovery from brain trauma was a complex process that involved the help of many. Basics first.

With the help of a physical therapist, Christine had managed to get out of bed and find her balance. Then she’d taken a couple of wobbly steps before sitting back down, exhausted but triumphant.

Kenzie had watched, desperately wanting to help, not knowing enough to do it right until her next try on the following day. Slowing down to Christine’s pace made Kenzie stumble sometimes. Mrs. Corelli was a lot better at it.

The number of steps increased each day. The therapist explained that walking was critical to avoid muscular contracture. They’d taken turns massaging her legs before those first steps.

Fine motor control was aided by allowing her to feed herself when the nutritional IV was removed from her arm. They improvised and they figured things out. Small chunks of cheese beat pudding when it came to getting a grip. Liquids—milk, juice—really did find their own level. Spoons flipped like acrobats and landed on the floor. But Christine was getting the hang of it, little by little.

The mental exercise of image and word recognition was by no means the easiest of all.

Mrs. Corelli was still holding the photo so her daughter could see it. Kenzie looked at Christine, who’d sat up straighter, leaning forward.

“Canoe,” she said suddenly. The word came out a little garbled.

“Yes.” Kenzie fought to keep from bawling. “That is definitely a canoe. And you and me. On the river a year ago. We can go again.”

Mrs. Corelli put down the photo and took her daughter’s hand. “You are amazing, do you know that?”

Christine yawned, her eyes half-closed. Her mother and Kenzie had to smile. A few seconds later, the nurse came in, glancing at the chart and making a note on it.

“Hello, everybody. How are we doing today?”

Kenzie looked toward her friend. Maybe, just maybe, Christine could answer that for herself.

“Fine,” she said clearly. The single word echoed in the quiet room. Christine nestled back into the pillow and closed her eyes again.

“How about that.” The nurse looked from Kenzie to Mrs. Corelli with a pleased expression. “Keep it up, you two.”

They got Christine settled in for the night and were packing up to go. Alf was on his way.

The Corellis felt a little easier about leaving their daughter these days. But Kenzie knew they still coordinated the times of their departures and arrivals carefully. There was never more than half an hour between one leaving and the other arriving.

Mrs. Corelli picked up a tote bag stuffed with unopened cards and letters. “Oh my. I was going to put these around the room. Maybe we should save them for the rehab center.”

“Good idea. I can open them,” Kenzie volunteered.

“Would you? Thanks so much.” She handed her the tote bag.

“There must be a hundred letters in here,” Kenzie said.

“I didn’t count. But maybe there are.”

They both paused in the doorway of the room for one last look at Christine, who had been sleeping through their low-voiced conversation. Then they moved down the hall to the elevators.

“She’s really doing well, Mrs. Corelli.”

“I know. But she’s not out of the woods yet.”

The elevator arrived before they even pressed the button and Dr. Asher got out.

“Hello, ladies. Heading home?”

They didn’t answer, but launched into an immediate report on Christine’s progress instead. He laughed.

“That’s wonderful news. Thanks for filling me in. I’ll stop by and see her.”

Mrs. Corelli warned him that Christine might be asleep as they got into the elevator. They rode down to the lobby and parted affectionately, heading for different parking lots.

Home was still at Hamill’s. Kenzie hadn’t worked up the nerve to go back to her own place yet. She’d had the mail held at the post office and she could pick it up anytime.

She hadn’t for the last three days, just too busy.

Back at her room, she greeted Beebee, who grunted in his sleep, blissfully happy that he was allowed on the new bed. She had bought a fuzzy blanket for him to protect the coverlet.

Kenzie gave him a pat and reached for a DVD. The movie was lightweight and forgettable, exactly what she needed. She slid it into the DVD reader of the funny little TV she’d bought for herself. Jim hadn’t been kidding about keeping the direct deposits going.

She clicked the remote and watched for a while, then dozed off.

Beebee’s dog dream woke her—he must be chasing flying hamburgers, his legs twitching in his deep sleep. She moved, realizing she’d been lying on the remote. The movie was over and the TV screen was blue. Kenzie switched it off.

She was definitely awake. But it was too late to call anyone, even to chat.

For something to do, she reached for the tote of get-well cards for Christine. It was better than opening real mail. No bills, just good wishes.

Most of it had come to the Corelli house, though a few had been sent directly to the hospital. She would save the envelopes. She wasn’t sure which addresses Mrs. Corelli had.

She’d opened at least twenty when she came to one with something in it about the size of a credit card. But the envelope was the square shape of an expensive greeting card and addressed by hand. Probably someone had sent along a refillable coffee card or something like that as a gift.

The handwriting was a little hard to read and feminine—it was from someone named Mary Dee. She glanced at the return address somewhere in Maryland. Kenzie didn’t know the person or the town.

She opened the envelope and a small laminated card with rounded edges fell out onto the bed.

Christine’s face was on it, smiling in a small photo next to gray block letters that Kenzie had seen before. SKC.

Had she left her ID at a friend’s house? Nervous, Kenzie pulled out the greeting card the wrong way, looking at the empty white back with puzzlement before she turned it over to the front. The art was tasteless. The words
Let’s Get Wrecked
danced beneath a drawing of a smashed-up car.

Feeling sick, Kenzie opened the card.

Give the ID back to the bitch. She should be more careful.

Carefully, she closed the ugly card and set it aside even though she wanted to rip it to shreds.

She and the Corellis had agreed not to talk about the stalker unless it was absolutely necessary. For nearly a week after the roses there had been nothing.

Not that long, she thought. The letters must have been in the tote bag for a couple of days. The stalker had sent the card a day or two before that. She looked at the return address. Mary Dee. M.D.

MD was the postal abbreviation for Maryland. The street address wasn’t legible and the town was probably bogus. Dropped in a box somewhere in the state. The postmark was real. The whole thing looked believable enough to get someone to open the envelope without thinking.

He had sent it to the Corellis’ home address. The stalker seemed to know more and more about where to find anyone who was close to Christine.

She curled over, her stomach in a knot of anger and fear, clenching her fists. Beebee, still half-asleep behind her, was aware that she’d moved, and he shifted position. Kenzie collapsed next to him. His broad back was warm against hers. The sleeping dog felt like an island of safety.

Kenzie didn’t want to turn off the light. She wouldn’t sleep. She stayed right where she was.

Linc woke up late, feeling groggy. The SKC laptop sat on the desk where he’d abandoned it after midnight, its screen dark. He was half-tempted to give it back.

Let Mike Warren take a crack at it. But, he thought irritably, he would have to tell him about the possible SKC connection to X-Ultra if he did. The lieutenant didn’t have the clout or the manpower to investigate a company that size. By Linc’s guess, Warren was about five years away from full retirement. Figuring out what the hell was going on at SKC could take ten.

The accident scene tape hadn’t generated anything he would call solid data. Kenzie had said she’d look at it, but he didn’t have particularly clear images yet. He’d picked it completely apart, retrieving the embedded geotag coordinates to identify the location of the wreck. But after this much time, he knew investigating the site of the accident was a lost cause.

Why in hell had he thought he could do it by himself? He was going to have to rethink his strategy.

He pushed the coverlet halfway down his body and crossed his arms behind his head. Linc stared at the overhead fixture, his new best friend for the last several days—he’d actually felt like talking to it a few times.