Snake Skin (25 page)

Better now than wetting herself when he got
started. Maybe she was going to die, but she'd be damned if she'd
humiliate herself for his pleasure.

If things got too bad, she'd just float away
again. Go to her quiet place.

If she was lucky, she'd never return.

Chapter 22

Sunday 9:44am

There was a line at the information desk, so
Lucy didn't wait. She jogged down the hallway, following the signs
labeled "Pediatric Emergency Department" only to find another desk
and another line.

More people waited here, clustered in small
groups punctuated by crying babies, snuffling toddlers and coughing
adolescents. An open doorway beckoned from behind a nurse sitting
at the desk, beyond it light gleamed from white tiled walls as men
and women in scrubs and lab coats hustled between rooms.

Lucy strode past the busy receptionist and
nurse, not realizing until her momentum carried her over the
threshold that the doorway was equipped with a metal detector.
Alarms blared, babies screamed, and two lumbering guards came
running down the hall to intercept her.

"Step against the wall, ma'am," one guard
said, blocking her passage as the other approached her warily from
her side.

Lucy reacted with a cop's instinct, pivoting
to shield her weapon and keep her gun hand free. Her jacket fell
back, exposing the .32 that she'd holstered on her hip after the
take down earlier.

"Gun!" the second guard screeched, his voice
so high pitched that it, coupled with his bulk and pock-marked
face, made Lucy think: steroid abuser. He fumbled at his holster,
actually drawing his gun and pointing it at her.

"Calm down," she shouted over the claxons
and the sound of footsteps and screams as the waiting room emptied,
women and children fleeing. "I'm on the job. If someone would turn
off the damn alarm."

Neither guard seemed to hear her, now both
had their guns drawn and pointed at her, their stances wide-based,
their faces creased with worry and sweat. The second one's hand was
shaking so badly and he was blinking so fast Lucy thought he might
burst into tears.

She hated to tell the rent-a-cops, but they
were both too close and standing face on, offering her big-time
easy targets if she was someone looking to do harm.

Instead, she raised her hands in surrender,
one hand on the top of her head, the other pulling her jacket open
by her lapel. "Go ahead and take it, but for God's sake be careful.
There's one in the chamber."

They hesitated and exchanged looks, neither
wanting to approach the oh-so terrifying 5-5, 130 pound menace to
society. The alarms died and they stood at an impasse in the empty
hallway.

"I'm FBI," Lucy said in a calm voice she
hoped would overcome her appearance. She'd forgotten that she still
wore the tight jeans and trailer trash makeup. "My daughter was
brought here by ambulance and they called me off a case. My
credentials are in my purse along with my service weapon."

She shrugged, allowing her purse to fall to
the floor. Both guards jumped at the noise.

For an instance Lucy thought they would
shoot her. Her pulse stuttered and sweat dripped between her
breasts. A young doctor poked his head out from an exam room,
pulled it back in again even faster.

Lucy kicked the bag to the first guard.
"Please, I just want to see my daughter. Her name is Megan
Callahan. I'm Supervisory Special Agent Lucy Guardino. My husband
is Nick Callahan. She was brought here by ambulance—"

As she spoke the guard warily crouched and
rummaged through her bag, first bringing out her Glock and then her
credentials. He flipped them open and finally nodded.

"She's telling the truth," he said,
holstering his gun. Lucy let her breath out as the second guard,
the twitchy one, followed suit.

"Sorry about that," she said, trying her
best to keep her anger from her voice. The first guard handed her
her credentials and purse. "I've never been here before, I was just
so worried about Megan."

"Yeah, well, next time you should follow the
rules, lady," the second guard said, his voice still in the soprano
range. "Just 'cause you're FBI doesn't make you special."

"We'll need to lock both weapons in the
vault while you're here," the first one said, extending a hand and
gesturing to the .32. Lucy removed it and handed it over. She felt
naked, couldn't remember the last time outside of her home that
she'd walked around unarmed. "If you come with me, I'll find out
where your daughter is and get you a receipt."

Lucy meekly followed, irritated by the
additional delay. From the hostile stares greeting her from the
exam rooms as well as from the staff and patients trickling back
into the waiting room, she decided it wouldn't do any good to
protest.

Luckily the guard actually seemed to know
what he was doing when it came to paperwork. He locked both guns in
a small safe behind the security desk in the main office, printed
her a visitor's badge and found Megan in the computer. "She's been
admitted," he told her. "Fourth floor, room 402."

"Thanks," she told him as she clipped the
badge on. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"Most excitement we've had around here in
years. Hope your daughter is all right."

Lucy rode alone in the elevator, a steel box
that moved haltingly as if afraid to startle anyone with excessive
speed. She slumped against the rear corner, swamped by the
adrenalin rush of being held at gunpoint twice today combined with
fear for Megan and guilt that she hadn't been with her. A cold
sweat slicked her skin, making her healthy tan appear sallow in the
overhead fluorescent light and her headache had locked her jaws
tight.

Breathe, that's what Nick was always telling
her. Just breathe. Easy to say but not so easy to do when your
lungs felt wrapped tight in duct tape and your heart was pounding
so hard it gagged your throat.

Being in a hospital wasn't helping. Too many
memories of when she was Megan's age—she'd practically lived in her
father's room while her mother was at work that summer. The nurses
turned a blind eye as she'd roamed the halls, fetching newspapers
and magazines for her father and other patients who made quick use
of her mobility. And of course there were the countless trips to
the market across the street. Their little secret, her father had
said, a twinkle in his eye that made Lucy feel grown up and
reckless and brave.

Her stomach lurched as the elevator halted
and the doors opened. "Fourth floor, pediatrics," a disembodied
voice told her.

She stumbled out, planted one hand against
the wall and straightened. Breathed in, breathed out, pressing her
palm flat against her stomach to force the air out, trying in vain
to exhale her fears with it. Megan needed her. No time for memories
or weakness.

When she found room 402 the bed was empty.
Nick sat in a recliner beside the window, idly thumbing the remote
for the overhead TV. Lucy paused in the doorway, watching, gauging.
Nick was always calm, so it was no surprise to see him sitting
instead of pacing like Lucy would be. But he was definitely
worried—hence the mindless channel surfing.

"I got here as fast as I could," she said.
He looked up, dropped the remote so that it dangled by the cord
connecting it to the big hospital bed. "Where's Megan? What did the
doctors say? Is she going to be all right?"

"CAT scan. They wouldn't let me go with
her." He stood.

"CAT scan? Why? What's wrong with her?"

"The doctors said it was just a fainting
spell. But she had a fever again when we got here—"

"A fever? Didn't you check her before you
went out?" She hated the anger that bled into her voice but was
powerless to stop it. She had to lash out at someone and Nick was
her only target.

"Of course I did. She was fine." His voice
was irritatingly calm. "They need to do more tests before they know
for sure what's going on."

"Tests? You mean they don't know what's
wrong with her?" Panic wove into the anger.

Nick approached her. Wrapped his arms around
her. Held her tight, too tight. Despite his level voice, she felt
the waves of tension cascading from his body. "They said," his
voice cracked, "they said one of the things they're checking for is
cancer."

"Cancer? Jesus, Nick! Why didn't you call
me? No, it can't be—" The word struck her harder than a slap,
suddenly there were tears in her eyes, the room spinning out of
control, collapsing around her.

"They're not sure, said they just want to
rule it out. Be on the safe side. I did try to call you but my
phone died and by the time—" He stopped, a puzzled look on his face
as he pushed her bangs away from her forehead. "Is that blood?
Christ, were you hurt?"

She feathered a hand through her sticky,
plasticized hair. There was a goose-egg forming where she'd head
butted Ivan but she didn't feel any bleeding. "I'm fine. How long
before they bring Megan back? I want to talk to the doctors—"

He kept a hand on her waist, steering her
away from the bed and into the bathroom. "They've been very good
about updating me as soon as they know anything. Your charging in
isn't going to help."

She squinted in the bright lights; there
were flecks of dried blood on her face and forehead. Wordlessly, as
if she were a child, Nick ran a washcloth under water and began to
wipe her face clean of blood and layers of sweat-caked makeup. She
released herself to his attentions, too shaky and agitated to make
a good job of it herself.

"What happened?"

"A subject got a little frisky so I broke
his nose." She edged her hips onto the countertop, avoiding his
gaze, but couldn't block out the sound of his sigh as his fingers
found the swelling on her scalp. "With my head."

"I thought the whole idea behind this move
and your promotion was that you'd be supervising, out of
danger."

"Nick—" They'd had this conversation too
many times in the last three months. She was in no mood to return
to it now.

"Lulu, I can't be worried about both you and
Megan." His voice dropped to a low rumble, his Virginia accent
stronger. It was the closest to upset Nick ever came.

She intertwined both her hands around his,
ignoring the wet washcloth pressed between their palms.

"Hey," she said, tilting her head to face
him dead on. "I promise. You don't ever have to worry about me.
Everything I do is so I can come home to you and Megan."

A small furrow of doubt creased his brow,
making his boyish features appear suddenly older and wiser than his
thirty-nine years. She kissed his forehead, her lips following the
trail of freckles down the bridge of his nose, finally coming to
rest on his mouth. The washcloth fell to the sink with a splash as
his arms wrapped around her.

This was why she did what she did, why men
like Burroughs were distant shadows compared to Nick. Their bodies
pressed together, a silent communication of need and sharing, two
hearts racing, vibrating in concert, draining her fear away.

Her jaw released its death grip, her head
stopped its throbbing, her shoulders relaxed their hunched posture.
Nick was her touchstone, her anchor. When she was with him, she
could face anything—they could face anything.

Fourteen years and it hadn't changed. Their
very first kiss had sparked this same passion, a passion that if
anything had grown over the years.

When they parted a few moments later, she
felt more in control than she had since getting his message. She
clung to him, cherishing his strength as she assessed the
situation. "Does Megan know?"

Nick made a sound that was half way between
a chuckle and a sob. "She's the one who asked the doctors," he
said, his chin resting on her head, his fingers pressing into her
shoulders. "They took her blood but then came back talking about
more tests—I was blind, all I could think about was that they
wanted to stick her again and I got angry that they had to do it
again. But Megan, she looks up at them and says, 'if I have cancer
can I shave my head before my hair falls out?' Just like that."

"Sometimes I think she's smarter than both
of us," Lucy confessed, wiping her tears on his shirt. It was his
favorite white broadcloth, butter-soft from being washed so many
times. And now it was stained by tears and cheap mascara.

"Well, the good news is the doctors said
that there are a lot of other things it could be besides cancer.
Said that was near the bottom of their list, but they need to be
certain, so they're checking everything."

"Megan was okay with that?" Lucy asked
because she sure as hell wasn't.

"Yeah. After the doctor explained that the
CAT scan didn't involve any more needles, all she was worried about
was soccer."

Typical one track mind. Sometimes Lucy
worried Megan took after her a little too much. She slid from the
countertop, her butt wet from the splashing water. Another few
breaths and she could trust her voice. "Megan will want her pj's
and clothes, maybe her iPod—"

"Your mom's at the house now, packing bags
for all of us." He followed her back into the main room.

Oh Lord. Her mother poking through all their
things? Not that she had anything to hide from her mother, but
still—a pang of long-instilled childhood guilt chimed through her
as she tried to remember if she'd picked up her dirty clothes from
last night. Almost laughed at the automatic thoughts, the least of
her worries. She slumped onto the edge of the bed. "So there's
nothing to do except wait."

That coaxed a smile from Nick who was all
too used to her essential lack of patience. He sat beside her,
wrapping an arm around her shoulders and nuzzling the still wet
skin behind her ear. "We could always neck some more."