Peril (9 page)

Would he ever get over first thinking about Teagan's death when he entered this unit? Would Morgan?

Chapter 8

Morning, Friday, July 13

T
YLER FLIPPED THROUGH THE
nurses' notes and reviewed Amy Kent's information—a now-active, healthy child begging her mother to bring her to the playground every day. Post-op transplant visits were some of Tyler's favorite patient appointments. A child who once buried dreams now had all the hope of growing into adulthood.

Both the child and the family.

He knocked twice and then popped inside the room. It had been one month since Amy's surgery, and it was a blessing to see the family on this side of things. Happy. Peaceful. Starting to get past the feeling of the dark cloud constantly looming.

Which was why Tyler frowned when he saw the distressed look on Joanna Kent's face.

The new crop of worry lines aged her ten years.
What's going on?
He reached to shake her hand in greeting. When he tried to release his grip, she held firmly, and tugged gently so he would look at her. “Can we talk somewhere private after her exam?”

His heart sunk. That type of “talk” was just like a girl saying
We need to talk
 . . . when she was just about to break off a relationship. It was the asterisk of preparation in something that Tyler didn't want to hear.

He was sure of that.

Medically, Amy was vibrant. Her color was pink. Distal pulses easily palpable. No puffy ankles. Strong, steady heartbeat. But Amy's countenance echoed the sense of foreboding that her mother had. She perched herself on the end of the exam table, tense fingers digging into the vinyl.

“Amy, you look great. How have you been feeling?” Tyler asked.

The child shrugged her shoulders. Joanna stood from her chair and simply said, “Now.”

Not a question. A statement of urgency. Tyler patted Amy's knee. “Your mom and I are going to talk outside. Be back in a jiffy.”

The girl nodded but momentarily reached for him as if to clasp his hand, then dropped her arms back to the table.

Even before Tyler could fully close the door and walk the mother down the hall a few paces, the words tumbled out of Joanna like dice rolled onto a table. “She's having nightmares.”

Relief washed through Tyler. His heart rate calmed. “That's not unusual considering what she's been through. All the anticipation of waiting for the heart, the actual surgery, can be traumatizing for patients.”

She shook her head. “No, that's the wrong word. They're not dreams . . . they're memories.”

A nurse walked by, one eyebrow raised at those words. He laid a reassuring hand on Joanna's shoulder. “What I said still applies. She's been through a lot. It's just her mind processing the events.”

Tears ran down Joanna's cheeks. “You don't get what I'm saying.” She pushed his hand away. “She's having memories of Zoe Martin's killer.”

Tyler's stomach flipped and he leaned a shoulder into the wall to steady himself. “What makes you think so?”

“She describes the attack.” Joanna fumbled for a crumpled tissue in her handbag. “I want to go to the police. Do you think they'd believe her?”

The sobs overwhelmed her. Tyler was rarely in a position where he was the one to provide comfort. Usually in this situation, post-transplant, families were never in such a grieved state unless there was concern the organ was being rejected. He glanced around for a little feminine support. When he found none, he wrapped one arm around Mrs. Kent and she fell into his chest like he'd rescued her from drowning.

Tyler patted her back to calm the intensifying trembles. “We'll figure it out. It's going to be all right.”

“She's not my little girl anymore.”

“Of course she is.”

“No!” Her eyes widened at the rise of her voice. She inhaled deeply. “Amy's not sleeping. She was always so happy. I called her my little piece of sunshine. That joy is gone. Every night, I wake up to the sound of her screaming. She's a shell of who she once was. It's terrifying.”

“Okay, let's set up a consult with a psychologist versus going to the police. Get her talking about things. See if that helps.”

“I want her back on the list.”

Tyler eased back. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to cut that heart out of her chest and bury it with Zoe's body. It's the only place it should be.”

Chapter 9

Late Morning, Monday, July 30

T
HE INTENSITY THAT RADIATED
off Joanna Kent was partly contained rage and partly fear for her daughter's safety.

“You're sure she's going to be all right?” she asked, choosing to pace in front of the two-way mirror instead of sitting in the chair Brett offered her.

“Amy's safe in there. If what you say is true, it won't be any worse than what she's been going through. I trust these two. They'll get to the bottom of this.”

“What if he knows? What if he finds out that she's a witness?”

He being the murderer.

“I don't think that's possible. Let's not worry about things we can't control.”

This was one of the strangest meetings Brett had ever participated in. Last week came the call from Dr. Adams. Honestly, after getting the good doctor's alibi for Zoe Martin's murder, Brett never thought he'd hear from him again. Not that Brett ever suspected Adams of any real wrongdoing, but after working with Nathan on the Lilly Reeves rape case, Brett had learned to keep his mind open to unexpected possibilities. Even when they flew in the face of all logic and reason.

Needless to say, the call from Dr. Adams shocked him. The physician claimed that the girl who'd received Zoe's heart was having memories of her donor's murder. Could even provide a description of the assailant.

At first, Adams had reassured the mother that nothing insidious was going on. What she termed “memories” were likely just dreams, or some strange form of post-traumatic stress. He explained that no matter how her mother tried to protect her from the story, Amy likely heard of Zoe's case and was smart enough to infer she was the recipient of her heart. It was conceivable considering Zoe's parents were on the news most nights
trying to keep Zoe's case fresh in the minds of the press. What better way than to highlight the fact that part of Zoe was still alive through the transplant they'd agree to give?

What prompted Dr. Adams to call Brett was the urging of his wife. Morgan Adams had a long history with Amy through her frequent visits to the pediatric ICU, and Joanna had called Morgan when Dr. Adams had dismissed her worrying. These visions Amy was having were beginning to affect her health negatively, and Morgan worried that Amy's body would reject the heart transplant if the amount of stress the girl carried wasn't reduced in a hurry.

After talking it over with Nathan, Brett had taken his partner's suggestion and called Derrick Vanhise, a Boulder-based psychiatrist. Vanhise suggested having Keelyn Watson interview the child, too. Keelyn was a body language expert and forensic interviewer and was developing quite a reputation for getting kids to disclose the heinous things done to them. Keelyn had special insight into police protocols as her husband, Lee, was a SWAT commander.

Small world.

So, now Dr. Vanhise, Keelyn, and Amy sat in a police interrogation room, not for the fear factor but for the use of the recording equipment. Keelyn wanted to review the tapes afterward, so she could slow down body movements for analysis.

Vanhise sat next to Keelyn, his thin frame smartly dressed in khaki pants and a bluish-green plaid shirt. Brett was surprised he hadn't shown up in his usual beachcomber attire, which, even for Boulder, bordered on strange. His black hair was combed and graying beard trimmed. For a young girl, his dress would exude the quiet calm of a professional there to help.

Keelyn's brown hair was pulled up into a sloppy bun. The harried readiness of a mom with a toddler at home. Keelyn's hazel eyes sparkled joy behind her reading glasses. Her black skirt and teal pullover seemed too warm for summer. Then again, she didn't have any extra fat on her to help maintain her temperature.

Eight-year-old Amy seemed so small slumped in front of them. Blond hair in a ponytail and dressed in denim shorts and a glittery t-shirt with a unicorn on it. A blue-black hue tinged the skin under Amy's eyes. Joanna said they were from environmental allergies and a complete lack of sleep.
Allergic shiners. Amy's hands were folded in front of her. Eyes warily scanning the room as another officer finished hooking up the recording equipment.

Vanhise nodded toward Brett through the two-way glass signaling it was time to begin recording. In his hand, Brett held his field notes and Zoe Martin's file so he could do some fact-checking against Amy's story.

“Amy, my name is Derrick, and I work with people when they are having trouble. Although I am a doctor, I don't work with people when they are sick like when you needed your heart to get fixed. I work with people like you, Amy, when they are having trouble sleeping because they are remembering something bad that's happened to them.”

She nodded her head but kept her eyes downcast.

Vanhise motioned to Keelyn. “Amy, this is my friend Keelyn. She's here to help me talk with you because she's a girl, and you know sometimes boys don't get what girls think. Plus, she has a little girl at home, too.”

Amy looked up. “You do?”

Keelyn offered a warm smile. “I do! Her name is Sophia. She's a lot younger than you though. Hasn't started preschool yet. How's your summer been?”

“Not good. I don't feel like doing anything.”

Keelyn nodded. “I bet that's very hard for you. I'm sure you miss your friends.”

The girl kicked her feet out in response. Vanhise looked Keelyn's direction.

“Amy, who lives at home with you?” Keelyn asked.

“Me, Mom, Dad, and my brother.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“Just one crazy dog.”

“Oh, I'm jealous. I always wanted a dog. Why is yours crazy?”

Amy looked up at Keelyn with a little brightness in her eyes. “He always steals my shoes!”

“No kidding!”

“We call him the Shoe Thief. You just can't leave them anywhere. You'd think he'd have grown out of it by now.”

“That does sound silly. What's your dog's name?”

“Muffin.”

“Is he a small dog or a big dog?”

“Mmmm . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “Medium, I guess. He's a cocker spaniel. Looks like chocolate, but dogs can't have chocolate, which is weird to me.”

“Why is that weird?” Keelyn asked.

“That something people can have can make someone else sick. Like my heart is making me sick.”

Derrick and Keelyn exchanged glances. Vanhise cleared his throat. “Can we talk about that, Amy? Why do you think your heart is making you sick?”

“Because I wasn't having nightmares before I got my transplant.”

Vanhise crossed his legs. “Can you tell me about the dreams?”

The girl hugged her arms around her body, clasping her hands on each shoulder. “I don't think it's a dream.”

“Why not?” Keelyn asked.

“Because I see him when I'm awake.”

Brett settled his hand against the wall as acid roiled in his gut.

“What happens?”

“It's like I'm not me anymore. I'm in someone else's body. Her world.”

Brett eyed the man at the recording equipment. “Some sort of flashback?”

The officer gave a contemplative nod. “Could be, I guess.”

Keelyn's voice drew his eyes back. “Can you describe what the world changes to?”

Amy grabbed onto both sides of her chair, as if she sensed an earthquake coming. She began to kick her legs out, mimicking stationary swinging. “I'm running in a park. I don't even like running.”

“Do you recognize where you are?” Vanhise asked.

“No.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “That's what makes it all really weird. That it's not like it's me doing these things. It's like someone is taking my body and I'm just along for the ride.”

Brett massaged the taut muscles in his neck.

“So, you're running in the park and then what happens?” Keelyn prompted.

“Something shoves me off the path. At first, I don't know what it is. It feels like what must happen to my brother when he plays football. He's a quarterback, you know.”

“That's great. You watch his games?” Keelyn asked.

“All the time. It was just like that. He'll be getting ready to throw the ball and someone he can't see kind of sneaks up on him and takes him down.”