Wicked Release (5 page)

8

R
ain stung her cheeks as Jess ducked underneath her jacket and barged through the hospital doors. After a quick check-in with the front desk, she rushed toward the elevators, hitting the button for the fourth floor as she stepped in.

“Hold the elevator!” a man called from the other side and Jess hit the
open
button just in time as Dr. Marc Moore slipped inside. He glanced quickly at Jessica, taking pause with narrowed eyes, sizing her up before pointing in her direction. “Jessica, right?” he asked. “You're working on my friend Richard Brown's murder?”

She nodded as Marc hit the button for the third floor. “I was. I mean, I'm just a photographer, so I don't really have much to do with the case.”

He shook his head, shifting his hands into his lab coat pockets. “I heard it was Richard's girlfriend who did it? And that she's here in the hospital?” He grunted something that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a cry. “I didn't even know he was seeing anyone seriously. My wife, Nancy, tried to set him up with a girl from our church. I didn't think he even liked her.”

“I'm really sorry, again, for your loss.” He and Dr. Brown were good friends from what she and Sam had discovered last week. This couldn't be easy for the doctor. “Like I said, I don't really play much of a part in the investigations after . . . well, after the initial crime scene.”

The elevator dinged, reaching the third floor. “Yeah. Well, sorry to have unloaded my questions on you. Just haven't heard much from the detectives on his case since last week.”

He moved to step out of the elevator and Jess grabbed the elevator door as it started to close, jolting it back open. “I can assure you we—they're working on it. They'll be in touch soon.”

He nodded, taking off down the hall and as she brought her hand back to her side, the elevator closed, going up one more level to the fourth floor.

Room 428,
Jess thought as she walked down the hall toward Zooey's room. Thoughts swarmed her head like a too-busy hive of bees and the noise was almost as deafening.

Zooey had survived? It seemed so unlikely, based on what Matt had told her the other day. A suicide attempt, they had claimed—but Jess knew better than to believe that. Sure, when she'd found Zooey in Dr. Brown's office, Zooey had been scared and sad . . . but she didn't seem suicidal.

A large uniformed man stood guard outside Zooey's room. He was slumped over in a chair, rolls of several chins pressed against his man boobs. Jess fumbled, pulling her ID from her wallet as she approached the room. She held it out for him to see and placed her on hand on the doorknob, waiting for him to wave her through.

Instead, the man jerked to his feet, nearly dropping her ID in the process. “Ms. Walters,” he said slowly, examining her picture.

The
rap-tap-tap
of her toe mimicked the sound of rain falling against the windowpane.

“You don't have clearance to see Ms. Devonshire.”

“What?” Jess said, grabbing her ID back from the officer. “What are you talking about?”

He jerked a chin toward her laminated ID. “It says you're a forensic photographer. That doesn't give you authority to talk to a person of interest. If anything, you're communicating with her could cost the DA his case.”

“I don't need clearance if I'm here simply to talk to a friend. You can come in with me—”

“You're simply not allowed in there. I'm sorry.” Only, he didn't sound sorry. He sounded smug. Her mind raced as she tried to think of something—anything—that she could use to get through that door, yet, not a single thing came to her.

“
She
called me. She wants to speak with me. Doesn't she have the right to request my visit?”

He shook his head. “Not unless you're family or there's an officer present.”

“Well, couldn't you come in with me?” Sure, he was kind of a jerk, but she'd rather see Zooey alongside a jerk than not see her at all.

“ 'Fraid not. Who would watch the door?”

Jess did a mental face palm. “If you're
inside
the door, no one needs to be standing guard, right?”

He bit a meaty lip, eyes rolling toward the fluorescent lights in thought. “Well . . .”

“It's okay, Acker. I can go in with her.” The familiar rumble of a baritone voice somersaulted through her. Jess resisted squirming as the tingly shiver spasmed in her core. She knew that voice. She knew that voice far too well. She knew it back in high school, when it would still crack a little when he was excited, and she knew it now. Sam McCloskey.

She spun to face him and it was as though all time stilled with that pivot. Crossing her arms over her chest, she delivered the meanest scowl she could manage. Though only a few days had passed since the party, it felt like ages. Her gaze wandered the landscape of his face, taking it in like a dry sponge in need of water. She'd felt brittle, unengaged, and not like herself all weekend. And he was just the moisture she needed to be flexible once more. Only she didn't want his water.
She didn't need it,
she told herself. She swallowed the satisfied sigh she felt deep in her chest at seeing him again. That dark wet hair that was long enough at his nape to curl a little over his ears. The day-old stubble and fresh smell of Irish Spring on his skin. And the way that button-down shirt clung to his muscled physique, holding promises of tight abs and swollen, hard biceps. Her hand itched to brush over the swell of his pecs for just one moment. But instead, she balled her hands into fists at her sides. “I didn't realize they cleared you for duty.”

His eyes connected momentarily with Officer Acker's. Otherwise becoming known to Jess as Officer Stickler.

“I'm here, aren't I?” said Sam.

“That's not really an answer.”

He lowered his voice and Jess nearly jumped as his hand landed gently on the bend of her elbow. “Do you want to get in there or not?”

She let the silence answer for her and let Sam step forward, presenting his badge. “Matt is stuck at a crime scene, so I got the call she was awake instead,” he said to Acker.

Acker nodded, jowls swinging with the movement. “Of course, go on in.” He bent to his chair, grabbing a notebook and tapping his pen to the cover. “But I'll have to note it in the logbook.”

“We understand,” Sam said, smiling. Then he turned the knob and pushed through the door. Waiting until the door was shut behind them, he said, “And that logbook will likely mysteriously disappear tonight.”

“Jess!” Zooey cried from the opposite side of the room. She jerked her arm, but the soft restraints rattled the hospital bed. Jess rushed to her, mouth dropping in horror at the sight of Zooey tied to the bed.

“Oh my God! Is that really necessary?” Jess exclaimed to Sam.

“I had nothing to do with the restraints. You said it yourself; I'm not even back on active duty, yet.”

Fury bubbled deep in Jess's belly like someone had turned on the boiler in her body. Instead of answering Sam, Jess turned to Zooey. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Zooey's eyes darted wildly around the room. Bandages were wrapped from her wrist up the length of her arm. “I-I don't know. One second, I was waiting in the hallway for you, opening Rich's letters . . . and the next I woke up here. Is this all because I pushed Rich? It was an accident, I swear. I shoved him during our fight, but I barely touched him when he lost his balance and hit his head.”

“Shh,” Jess said. “Don't talk about that now.”

“No one has said anything to me. I don't even know why I can't move my hands! Jess, I'm totally freaking out.”

Sam and Jess exchanged looks. Legally, neither of them should be talking to her at the moment. Sam held out a palm and as though responding to some sort of innate show of power, Zooey quit talking, chewing her bottom lip nervously. “You didn't try to run away? Attempt to take your own life?” he questioned.

Her eyes widened to saucers. “Take my own . . . ?
No
. And I didn't run away from you. Everything just went . . . dark.”

Sam flipped through a chart at the end of her bed, which Jess read over his shoulder. The doctors had found an overdose of a whole bunch of drugs in Zooey's system. Sleeping pills, Vicodin . . . and Biophuterol. There were contusions on her head caused by a fall. And vertical cuts from her wrist to her elbow. Whoever orchestrated this wanted it to scream of a suicide.

“Zooey, did anyone read you your rights yet? Were you officially placed under arrest?” asked Sam.

“I don't know, I don't think so. I woke up and was already cuffed to the bed.” She yanked at one wrist, causing the side of her bed to wobble.

Sam rested his hand on Jess's hip, heavy with implication and history. “This could be a good thing for her. She could get off on a technicality if she hasn't been Mirandized.”

“Yeah. But at
our
expense. We could lose our jobs over this.”

Sam shook his head. “You're here as her friend . . . not as a member of the Portland Police Department. And I'm here as chaperone because as of right now, they aren't allowing non-family members in here alone. But likewise, that probably means you won't be allowed near this case. Especially not now that Dr. Brown's murder is officially connected to Cass.”

Jess's stomach turned. She'd known for a while that Dr. Brown was connected to Cass. She'd discovered as much at the crime scene and it was even further confirmed when his prescription pad showed up at the masquerade on Friday night. “That's okay,” she said. “I understand.” Then she turned back to the frail, ghostly girl in the hospital bed. “Zooey, I can't tell you what I know about the case—or why you're handcuffed. But what I can tell you is that I'm on your side. Okay? You have to trust that I'm trying to do right by you. Sam, too.”

Zooey nodded, her eyes darting back and forth between Sam and Jess. Her black bob hung against her chin in stringy wisps. So unlike her normal sleek, silky cut. “I'm so scared.” She held up her wrist in front of them. “I did not do this to myself.” Red circles framed her swollen eyes. “And whoever did do it will probably not be happy that the job isn't finished.”

“There's an officer stationed outside your door. No one will be coming in here except for doctors, police officers, and your family. You're safe here,” said Jess.

“I wasn't safe here last time,” Zooey said, referring to how her abduction had happened right on the third floor of this very hospital.

Jess squeezed Zooey's hand. “Do you need anything? Need me to call anyone for you?”

Zooey shook her head. “No. My mom will be here soon. I should get a lawyer, right?”

Jess paused for a moment before giving a jerky nod. “Most definitely,” she agreed. “I'll be back to visit you soon, okay?”

Zooey flashed a weak smile. “Thanks, Jess.”

Sam and Jess left quickly, with a nod to Officer Acker, both walking silently toward the elevators. The static quiet was painful and left an itchy feeling on Jess's nerves, not unlike steel wool being rubbed on her arms.

“You're still here,” Sam said, diving his hands into his front pockets.

His deep azure eyes studied her as they walked. Each footstep was loaded with pure concrete as it grew harder to move. Why did he have to stare at her like that? Like he was cataloguing her every motion, as though he could see right into her thoughts.

“I am,” Jess said. “You're feeling better?” She lifted her hand to the little corner of a white bandage that poked out from beneath his hat. “You look a lot better,” she said, and damn if her voice didn't crack as the words came out.

“Thanks. The pain's going away slowly.”

“Are you going to need any therapy? Rehab?”

His face scrunched and she could almost hear his
Jess, please
in her mind. “No, no rehab. Just some pain medicine until I'm back to one hundred percent.”

Soft music played through a loudspeaker and the quiet beat of a drum in the background mimicked Jess's thrumming heart. She managed to look into those midnight blue eyes, fighting to keep her expression casual rather than reflect on how she really felt in the moment. “Be careful with those,” she joked. “We can't have you pulling a Rush Limbaugh and getting hooked on them, now.”

“Oh, please. If you must compare me a celebrity painkiller addict, at least let it be Elvis.” Even though he joked, the smile was merely a quick flicker at the corner of his mouth before it straightened back into his brooding stare.

He was exhausting. She'd spent so long trying to figure him out, trying to determine why he had abandoned their friendship in high school after her parents died. And as he kept securing the walls around his heart, she swung her sledgehammer, constantly trying to tear those walls down, but never succeeding. At best, she made little cracks in the surface, which awarded her small glimpses as to what was behind. But just as she had made peace with the wall and learned to live with it, Sam set it on fire, thrusting her into the blazing inferno right along with him. And she couldn't breathe.

The longer she stood here in his presence, the more likely she was to get burned.

She slammed a finger so hard onto the elevator button that it hurt. But she didn't care the least bit. If she focused on the pain, maybe it could act as a reminder of this man and all that he brought into her life. He was bad for her. Terrible things happened when Sam McCloskey was around and dammit, Jess needed to remember that. Not the way his silky touch would float over her body. Or the tension that pulsed between her legs every time she was near him.