Obsessed (The Lizzy Gardner Series) (4 page)

Lizzy shook her head. “Talk to anyone you need to.”

“I’ll get cameras set up at McBane’s house, too. Anything else?”

“There is one more thing.”

Hayley waited.

“I was wondering if you would do me the honor of being one of my bridesmaids?”

Hayley rubbed her forehead as if she were trying to completely erase the question from her mind. When she dropped her hand, she let out a moan. “You’re serious?”

Lizzy nodded.

“Do I look like the bridesmaid type to you?”

Lizzy nodded again.

“You know how I feel about you and Jared, but I don’t know the first thing about being a bridesmaid. Would I have to do anything? Do I have to wear one of those god-awful dresses?”

“Not sure about the dress yet, but no, you wouldn’t have to do anything, I promise.”

“When is this thing happening?”

“December 20, two months from today.”

“Who else is going to be in it?”

It was Lizzy’s turn to smile. “My sister, Cathy, and Brittany and Jessica.”

The hiss that came out of Hayley’s mouth sounded like a leaky gasket. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“No problem,” Lizzy said. “Take your time.” She headed down the stairs, stopping when she reached the landing. “You’ll stop by the office next week to give me an update?”

“Sure.” Hayley was about to disappear inside when Lizzy called her name again.

“Sorry, one more thing. Would it be possible for you to come by the office on October 30 at two o’clock to help me interview another assistant?”

“What happened to Lucy?”

“During her last surveillance, a man came out of the house with a camera and took a bunch of pictures of her. It freaked her out and she quit.”

“That’s three people in less than a year.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Sure, I’ll come.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Lizzy turned to walk off and nearly knocked into someone. It took her a minute to recognize Hayley’s friend Kitally, from the detention center. Every time Lizzy met the girl, she looked different. The last time she’d seen her, she’d shaved her head bald except for a long, inch-thick dreadlock that hung down her back. Today, her sleek black hair hung an inch past her ears. The dreadlock was still there, but it had been dyed the colors of a rainbow. The girl definitely had her own unique style. She wore a short black sheath dress and ankle-high black boots. A huge leather bag was strapped onto her left shoulder. The three-inch heels put Kitally at about five foot eight.

The two of them stared each other down. With her square jaw and high cheekbones, Kitally was an exotic creature. Her dark brown eyes bore into Lizzy. “Is that your dog barking in the car over there?”

Lips pursed, Lizzy turned and headed for her car without answering. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about the girl that bothered her, but something about her rubbed Lizzy the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that she’d done time and Lizzy still didn’t know why. Maybe it was her high-octane energy, the way she flitted around like a hummingbird, darting this way and that, never holding still.

If she were honest with herself, Lizzy would acknowledge that the reason she didn’t like Kitally was quite simple: she didn’t think the girl was a good influence on Hayley. But that wasn’t fair, and she knew it.

Kitally jogged up the stairs. “Your boss lady is strange.”

“She’s fine.”

“Did you tell her that I’ve been helping you out? Am I on the payroll yet?”

“That’s not how it works,” Hayley said as she went back inside her apartment. “There’s actually an opening, but you’ll have to apply for the job. Interviews will take place on October 30 at the downtown office at two o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“You’re always late.”

“Because Lizzy knows she can count on me.”

“Not fair. I know how all of this private eye stuff works.”

“Lizzy has no idea you’ve been helping me out. This is all new to her. And no gum chewing when you come in for the interview,” Hayley added. “Lizzy hates that.”

Kitally blew a bubble, then used one finger to pop it and stuff the pink wad back into her mouth. “I’ve never understood why people give a shit about stuff like that.”

Hayley shrugged.

“Anything new on Brian?”

“No. Every lead has turned to shit. It’s as if he never existed.”

Kitally waved at the kid who was now sitting at the table eating cereal before she hovered over Hayley to see what she was doing. “So, what are we working on next?”

“Did you bring your laptop with you?”

Kitally plopped into the chair where Lizzy had sat earlier and pulled a sleek silver laptop from her bag.

“Is that new? Another gift from Dad?”

“Yeah, he’s still trying to buy my love.”

“I thought the gifts and money he gives you were to stop you from telling your mom about his mistress.”

“Yeah, that too.”

Once Kitally had her computer set up, Hayley handed her the Owen Santos file. “Here, start with this one. I need you to find everything and anything you can about this man. Three months ago, Owen Santos disappeared, leaving behind his wife and two teenage daughters. If we can find him within thirty days, there’s a bonus.”

“What kind of bonus?”

“Five grand.”

Kitally shrugged, unimpressed. She needed five grand about as much as she needed a second asshole.

“Most people in the real world work for money so they can eat and keep a roof over their heads,” Hayley informed her.

“God, I don’t know how you people do it. Day after day, doing shit you don’t want to do. That would suck.”

Hayley had no comment.

Kitally went to the kitchen and spit her gum in the plastic trash can under the sink. Seconds later, she returned to the chair and sat down. “I came by yesterday morning, but you weren’t here.”

“I went to see Jessica.”

“The one who’s afraid of her own shadow?”

“She’s changed since I saw her last. She’s pissed off.”

“At who?”

“A few weeks ago, a random bullet came through the front window of a home and killed a twelve-year-old girl who happened to be the daughter of a friend of Jessica’s. Jessica wants the name of the shooter. Because of the tattoo on your elbow, she thinks you might be able to help.”

Kitally rubbed her elbow. “Are you serious? I’m not getting involved in any more gang shit.”

“Any more?”

Kitally waved the subject off.

Hayley sighed. “Just tell me where the leader of the Franklin gang lives and I’ll do the rest.”

Kitally laughed. “They’d kill you just for asking for directions, much less who the shooter was.”

Hayley knew that wasn’t true, since Jessica had asked them and still had her head intact. She searched through the pile of papers for the photo Jessica had given her and handed it to Kitally. The twelve-year-old girl who had been shot had big green eyes and a sweet smile.

“Nice touch.” Kitally dropped the photo on the table in front of Hayley. “You might be interested to know that you’re not the only one who wants Brian dead.”

“Is that so?”

“Brian Rosie and his foot soldiers have been cutting into Wolf’s territory for years. Bad blood between those two.”

“Wolf?”

“He’s the leader of the Franklin gang.”

“Good to know.”

“So,” Kitally said. “When do you want to go?”

“How about tonight”—she glanced at the kid eating quietly a few feet away—“after I figure out where the kid’s mom ran off to.”

CHAPTER 7

Seth walked through the emergency room entrance and made a right at the first corridor, just as he had hundreds of times before. And yet this time it felt different. He had killed a man. Nothing would ever be the same. The cornucopia of hospital smells was suddenly overwhelming: antiseptics, blood, and the pungent smell of decaying flesh.

After making the usual rounds, checking on his patients, as he liked to think of them, he entered the break room reserved for staff and used the hot water to make himself a cup of tea. Although he considered himself to be a male nurse, he’d been demoted a few years ago. He’d heard whisperings from his coworkers; he knew some considered him to be nothing more than a volunteer, but Janelle assured him he was much more than that. She needed him. His patients needed him. Hell, the hospital was lucky to have him.

The relentless whirring and beeping of the ancient refrigerator grated on his nerves. He picked up the remote and pointed it at the television set high in the far corner of the room, then switched the channel to the local news. Still no mention of the missing dead man rotting away in the trunk of his rental car. He’d been researching areas where he could dump the body. A wooded area, somewhere he could go and dispose of the body late at night.

He rubbed his head as if that would make all of his problems go away.

At times he felt proud of what he’d done: ridding Madeline of a menace qualified him as a hero of sorts. But then there were moments like this one where he felt the walls closing in and didn’t quite understand why he’d killed the man. There were also times when he would jolt upright in bed, in the middle of the night, convinced he hadn’t killed Chris Porter at all. He would then hurry into his garage, unlock his toolbox, and see the wallet. That’s when he knew it was real. He’d taken a life. He was a killer. There was no going back now.

Overcome with dizziness, he held on to the counter for support. He glanced at the clock on the wall—ten minutes until Madeline’s radio show. He was usually home by now. Today had been a very long day.

A clean-cut male nurse in his thirties—Tom or Tim (Seth could never remember his name)—entered the room and proceeded to flip on every light switch, filling the room with a bright fluorescent glow that made Seth’s eyes hurt.

“Is everything all right, Seth?”

“I’m fine.” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, but still couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs.

“Look at this.” The guy bent over and showed him a large knot on his head. “What do you think? Am I going to live?”

“It doesn’t look like much. Talk to Janelle if you’re really worried. She’s around here somewhere.” He could feel his lips moving; he knew he was still talking, but the words coming out of his mouth sounded robotic, as if someone else were doing the talking for him—as if he were having an out-of-body experience.

Strange—and yet familiar, too.

It was happening again, he realized. The first time he had experienced this very sensation was in the fourth grade, in Mr. Newman’s classroom, not long after his accident. Chaos erupted in the classroom that day while he glided around in his own little world—a giant floating bubble. After the bubble burst, he found himself under his desk and saw that all his classmates were gone. It turned out there had been a fire drill. His teacher was concerned by his failure to respond to the piercing sound of alarms. The episodes, as his mother referred to them after that day, began to occur more frequently after that. His teachers tried to work with his parents, who didn’t give a damn, to figure out how to help him concentrate and stay focused in class. His doctors insisted his problems had to do with the injury to his frontal lobe during his skiing accident when he was ten. He was given medication, which helped. Eventually, he outgrew the need for pills altogether.

That was . . . until recently.

He raked his fingers through his hair as he recalled following Chris Porter into the alleyway. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember how the knife came to be in his pocket. And yet, with amazing clarity, he remembered stabbing him again and again.

He had killed a human being.

Perspiration drenched his brow.

Not only had he killed a man, he had enjoyed it.

How could that be?

He was no monster. He didn’t belong behind cold steel bars with all those freaks and lunatics. He knew the difference between right and wrong. He was awash in remorse. He’d hardly slept since that night. Always waking soaked in sweat. Twice now, Janelle had asked him about his sleeplessness. She said he was talking in his sleep, too, saying he was sorry for what he’d done. She figured he was apologizing to her for being unable to forgive her for betraying him. Everyone makes mistakes, she often reminded him. He pretended to go along with her theory, since he had no intention of telling her what he’d done. As Janelle had done many times since her affair, she told him she loved him and was worried about him.

He didn’t believe her.

He raised a hand to his eyes to shield them from the bright light and that’s when he saw a name tag: Tim. That’s right. Tim, the resident pervert. Janelle had told him about the guy and how all the nurses complained about him. A few weeks ago, they’d caught him inside the women’s bathroom.

Tim was holding a brown paper bag that he hadn’t had with him when he first entered the break room. The pervert stopped at the door and turned back toward Seth, his fingers rubbing his jaw as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he should say what he was about to say. He raised the bag higher. “Thanks for this. And don’t worry about breaking down. I understand. I really do. My ex-wife deceived me, too. Difficult times,” he said with a shake of his head. “Things will get better for you, though. I’m certain of it.”

And then he was gone.

Don’t worry about breaking down
?
What was he talking about? Did I have an episode without even realizing it?
He walked to the mirror hanging above the sink area. His eyes were red and watery, his face pale. Damn. If he could get some sleep, this never would have happened. But it had, and he had zero recollection of having any conversation with Tim. His hands shook as he reached into his pockets. They were empty. He’d given Tim the drugs he’d stolen this morning. How could he be such a fool?

The erratic beep of the ancient refrigerator in the corner of the room screamed like sirens. He covered both ears and rushed out of the room. He went to his wife’s office and took a seat in front of her computer, starting to feel better. Janelle’s shift would last another hour at least. He pushed a few buttons and turned up the volume.

The sound of Madeline’s voice instantly calmed him.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in the ergonomic chair with the built-in lumbar support, and exhaled. “Talk to me, Madeline.”

He had a burning desire to call her and ask her a question, but he knew he needed to be patient. It was still too soon.

“I wish I had never been born,” a caller said. “My mother was right when she said I was better off dead.”

“No, she was wrong,” Madeline assured her.

“You’ve never met me, how would you know?”

“This is Kimberly, right?”

Silence.

“I’ve been hoping you would call back,” Madeline told the girl. “I’ve been worried about you.”

Sniffling.

“You are not alone in this. I am here for you.”

Seth was certain Madeline was talking to him and no one else. His shoulders relaxed, his breathing calmed.