Книга - Code of Justice

Code of Justice
Liz Johnson


Follow the drugs. Her sister's last words shake FBI agent Heather Sloan to the core.They also convince her that the helicopter crash only Heather survived wasn't an accident. Sheriff's deputy Jeremy Latham is assigned the case - he's the one who can help Heather find the person responsibleonce she convinces him they should work together.As they dig for the truth, they learn to trust and care for each other. Will they lose it all when the killer targets Heather? She's willing to risk her life to find her sister's killer - but her code of justice could cost her the chance to win Jeremy's love.







What if she couldn’t figure out what had happened?

What if she physically could not bring the person responsible for Kit’s death to justice?

Latham had leaned back into his chair, his gaze thoughtful, arms folded across his chest. His eyes seemed to look right through her, focused on an unseen target. Heather recognized the look on his face. He was solving a case deep in the recesses of his mind.

And with a bum leg and strict orders to steer clear of the investigation, she’d never crack the case before he did. At least with him, she’d have access to all of his connections, research and mobility.

Suddenly she wanted to tell Latham everything she knew. Tell him about the crash and Kit’s worries. Tell him that she knew this wasn’t an accident. But what if he wasn’t willing to help her? She had to get his word, had to get him to agree.

Swallowing thickly, she closed her eyes for a moment. “There’s more,” she said.




LIZ JOHNSON


After graduating from Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff with a degree in public relations, Liz Johnson set out to work in the Christian publishing industry, which was her lifelong dream. In 2006 she got her wish when she accepted a publicity position with a major trade book publisher. While working as a publicist in the industry, she decided to pursue her other dream—becoming an author. Along the way to having her novels published, she wrote articles for several magazines and worked as a freelance editorial consultant.

Liz makes her home in Nashville, Tennessee, where she enjoys theater, exploring her new home and making frequent trips to Arizona to dote on her nephew and three nieces. She loves stories of true love with happy endings.




Code of Justice

Liz Johnson








He has showed you, O man, what is good.

And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy

and to walk humbly with your God.

—Micah 6:8


For my sisters.

Hannah, I could not have written a book about sisters without knowing the magnitude of that bond firsthand. Here’s to another thirty years of laughter, tears and pedicures.

Beth, I’m so glad you chose to become part of our family. When you married Micah, I truly gained another sister.

Your sacrifices are countless.

Your examples are inspiring.

Your friendships are matchless.

Thank you.




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION




PROLOGUE


“Ladies, you better make sure you’re buckled up. Now!” the pilot said. The sightseeing helicopter gave a vicious lurch and started losing altitude. “The cyclic isn’t responding! We’re going down!”

Heather Sloan jostled the belt around her waist until it was secure, then grabbed across the seat for the hand of her sister Kit, the only other passenger.

Kit’s green eyes eclipsed the rest of her thin face, which was even more pale than usual. Her grip was devastating, and Heather quickly lost feeling in three fingers. Their eyes remained locked as the pilot growled frantically to himself.

“What’s happening?” Kit’s words were so soft that Heather couldn’t even hear her through the headset and had to read her lips.

“I don’t know,” she said with a shake of her head. She tried to squeeze the other woman’s hand, but the aircraft dropped then bounced as if attached to a rubber band as the engine wheezed and the rotor went silent. Stomach lodged firmly in her throat, Heather blinked at the tears that formed in the corner of her eyes. Tears that mirrored her sister’s. As an FBI agent, Heather was used to danger. But when she was on a case, she knew to be prepared for what she might face. She wasn’t prepared for this. How had a simple day trip with her sister gone so wrong so fast?

“Hold on! Tight!” growled Jack DeWitt, the grizzly man in front of them, as he madly punched red, flashing buttons on the dashboard. “I’ve lost all control! Something’s wrong with the back rotor!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Heather spied the strangely slanted horizon on the other side of the wide window. But it wasn’t the horizon that was off. It was the angle of the helicopter as they plunged toward the forest below.

Wrestling to maintain control, Jack grunted, sparing a glance over his shoulder to confirm that his only two passengers were belted in. He offered them a curt nod before returning to the problem at hand. Grabbing the small black radio at the corner of his mouth, he yelled something that was lost behind the rushing in Heather’s ears.

“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, more to herself than Kit. Then for all of them, she sent up a quick prayer for safety. “Lord, please let us walk away from this.”

The seats began shaking with the force of Jack trying to keep the aircraft aloft. It felt as if the doors were going to rip off and the paneling would simply disintegrate.

“Heather, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Kit.” Her little sister’s dark hair and green eyes were the opposite of her own fair complexion, but their features were the same, and for an instant Heather couldn’t help but wonder if her own face reflected the same terror.

“I meant to tell you—” The floor panels rattled, drowning out Kit’s words. “Heather,” she tried again, her white hands squeezing even tighter. “I needed to tell you—”

And then there was nothing but the crashing of trees crunching and scrape of wood against metal—worse than fingernails on a chalkboard.

Heather’s head jerked to the side, slamming against the window, making her bite her tongue, and she cried out.

The helicopter rolled to the right, and then the left, tossing the two helpless passengers at its whim. Light seemed to come and go as brush covered the windows, disappearing as quickly as it arrived.

Heather had no time to think, no time to react. She could only watch as the lightweight aircraft shuddered and the door farthest away from her peeled away. Tree limbs battered Kit, and no matter how hard she tugged, Heather couldn’t get her sister away from the brutal abuse.

It seemed to last for hours.

It was over in a flash.

Finally, the plane came to rest on the ground. From the cockpit, Jack had gone silent. Beside Heather, so had Kit. Panic started to build. Fighting the pain growing behind her temple from where she’d hit her head, Heather scrambled to reach Kit’s side. Pain shot through her left leg and right shoulder, from which hung her useless arm.

Ignoring it all, she reached for her sister, brushing long brown strands from her nicked and bruised face. A pool of blood on Kit’s left thigh grew rapidly.

“Kit? Kit, can you hear me?”

Green eyes, filled with pain, opened to half-mast. “I meant to tell you…”

“Shh. It’s okay. Help will be here soon. It’s okay.”

“Heather. Please. Drugs.”

“I don’t have anything for you. I don’t have anything for the pain.” Kit’s grip relaxed slightly, and Heather clung to her hand, holding it to her chest. “Please. Hang on.”

“Follow…”

“Shh.” A teardrop splashed on their hands, but it was several moments before Heather realized that it was her own.

Kit closed her eyes, swallowed and tried again. “Follow the drugs,” she breathed.

Heather couldn’t let go, even though she knew her sister had. She clung to Kit’s hand as darkness consumed her.




ONE


Heather’s mind had been mostly foggy with only a brief respite for days. The medication the doctor had given her made it hard to remember how many days had passed or who had been to visit her since she first arrived at the hospital. Had it been three days? Maybe four?

She couldn’t be sure when she had last been awake, but as the haze rolled away this time, her brain felt less fuzzy, and she was able to concentrate on the sound of footsteps on tile. Then a gentle touch on her arms and leg. Then searing pain in her left leg. She could manage only a whimper. Then there was a prick on the back of her hand and a voice she didn’t recognize. “She pulled it out again.”

None of the past days made any sense, no matter how hard she tried to pull them all into focus. Her brain felt like mush, her memory hibernating.

Soon the pain ebbed, and she sighed, sinking a little deeper into the pillow beneath her head. Light flashed before her closed eyes, and she tried to open them, but they refused to respond.

After several minutes another set of footsteps entered the room, this one lighter and punctuated by the staccato taps of high heels. The steps quick and purposeful. A gentle voice said, “How’s she doing?”

She knew that voice.

“No—” Her voice cracked, but she tried again. “Nora?” The sound was barely audible, but immediately a warm hand slid into hers.

“Heather. I’m here.”

Slowly, her mind started to clear through the haze of the drugs they’d given her. Nora. Nora James. Who was engaged to Nate Andersen, her supervisor at the Bureau.

“Do you want some water?”

She nodded, but was met with resistance under her chin. The neck brace. The leg brace. They had repaired her torn ACL, which had been shredded in the crash.

The crash.

It all hit at once and tears leaked between her closed eyelids, running down the sides of her face. A smooth knuckle slid along her temples, wiping the drops away. Then a plastic straw pushed against her lips. She drank several long sips before Nora pulled it away.

Fighting the pain that wanted to keep her eyes closed and brain turned off, she opened them a crack. Nora’s kind features and long blond hair were blurry but unmistakable.

“How are you doing, sweetie?” She squeezed Heather’s hand. “Do you need anything else?”

Heather opened her mouth, but couldn’t push another word past her throat. Was Nate here, too? She didn’t want him to see her like this. Please say he hadn’t already been to visit.

And then the footfalls that had walked past her office for nearly three years entered her hospital room. “Sorry I’m late, ladies.” Nate stepped up to the bed, leaning over just enough so she could see his ever-present five o’clock shadow, which looked longer than usual. He rubbed it with one palm as he pulled up a chair closer to her bed. “Just had another phone call with Mitch. He’s worried about you, kid. Everyone at the office is.”

“I’m fine,” Heather managed just before another wave of pain from her shoulder stole her breath.

Nate wrapped his arm around Nora’s waist but seemed to lean in closer to Heather, even if she could barely see him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s good to see you. You look good.”

Liar.

She looked awful, and she didn’t even need a mirror to know it.

And she looked weak. She felt weak. She just didn’t want Nate to see her in this state. Would he think she couldn’t handle an assignment after seeing her like this?

“Nate.” She sighed, finally offering him half of a smile. “You’re a good boss, but I wish you wouldn’t have come.”

He chuckled. “You’re on a lot of medication. You’ll think otherwise when you’re back to normal.” Picking and choosing what he heard had always been his way with her.

She managed a tiny shake of her head, despite the neck brace and heavy fog threatening to roll back in. She blinked again, trying desperately to make her mind return to its normal speed.

“We were here yesterday with Mitch and Myles and Kenzie, too. You just didn’t have the decency to wake up to greet us.”

She had woken up yesterday, though not while her friends or family were there. She wished her timing had been better. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if she’d been told by her parents or friends that she was the crash’s only survivor—that Kit was dead.

Still she offered the obligatory apology that she knew Nate was waiting for. “Sorry.”

He chuckled again and squeezed her hand briefly before letting it go.

“The nurse said you were talking about your gun in your sleep last night,” Nora said. “I think you were looking for it and pulled out your IV instead.”

Nate’s shoulders jostled as a broad smile spread across his face. Since he’d returned from his last assignment where he met Nora, he’d been smiling and laughing a lot more than usual. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. But don’t worry about it. I’ll keep it safe until you’re released.”

Heather scowled, her hand searching for the cool handle of her Glock out of pure habit. She pleaded with her eyes for him to give her back her gun, but Nate shook his head. “Nope. You’re on way too much medication, not to mention the amount of oxygen just sitting next to your bed. When they let you out of here, you’ll get it back.” He smirked at the glare she shot his way.

She swallowed again, forcing her vocal cords to recall their job. “How did you get it?”

“Your mom gave it to me. I guess the hospital had it with your clothes and other personal affects.” He tugged Nora a little closer and whispered in a mock-conspiratorial tone, “Apparently she had it with her in the helicopter. Because, you know, when I go on a strictly sightseeing tour of Mount Saint Helens and Mount Hood, I always bring my weapon with me.”

Nora shoved her fiancé’s shoulder. “Give Heather a break.”

Heather shrugged, then cringed as pain shot through her shoulder. Twisting as much as her multiple braces and injuries allowed, she turned toward Nate. “So where are my parents? Does the hospital only allow two visitors at a time?”

He looked away then brought his steel blue eyes back to meet hers, all teasing aside. “Listen, Heather, I’m sorry.” He swallowed thickly, and her stomach turned with a sudden knowledge.

“Kit’s funeral?”

“It was this morning. Nora and I skipped the grave-side service. Your mom wanted someone here when you woke up.” He studied the spot on the floor between his shoes, and she realized that he was dressed in his best black Hugo Boss. They’d worked together for almost three years, and she could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him wearing the slick suit.

When he brought his gaze back up to meet hers, all she could see was the pain there—all traces of humor gone. He just shook his head. “I’m sorry you couldn’t be there. Your parents wanted to wait, but the doctors don’t know how long you’re going to be in here. And your dad’s unit was called back overseas. He ships out right away, so one or the other of you would have had to miss it. And the funeral home couldn’t wait indefinitely, so the director suggested just going ahead with the service.”

Through the fierce ache in her shoulder, Heather lifted her hand to her eyes, brushing away two unruly tears.

She’d missed her chance to say goodbye to her little sister. And she didn’t have any idea why any of this had happened. Why their helicopter had gone down. What Kit had meant about following the drugs. None of it made sense.

Yet.

But she would figure it out. Kit was far too special to just let go without a reason.

Reining in her emotions, Heather cleared her throat. “I’ll bet my parents told you not to tell me all of that.”

“They said they weren’t sure you could handle it just yet. I knew otherwise.”

“Thank you, Nate. It’s better to know. Right?”

“Right.”

A yawn caught Heather off guard and made her two friends smile.

“We better get going and let you get some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Nate said before squeezing Heather’s hand and standing at the same time as Nora. Hand in hand they took a step toward the door before Nate suddenly stopped.

“Heather, I need you to promise me something,” he said over his shoulder.

“What?” The word was more of a croak than anything else, but he seemed to understand.

“It’s going to take you a while to recoup. Give it some time.” His brow furrowed, his mouth turning stern. “Don’t try to push yourself too hard.”

After a long pause, she conceded. “I won’t.”

He nodded and gave her a knowing look. “And let the police do their job. Stay out of this investigation.”

Nate’s face softened.

She didn’t respond, and he took a firm step toward her, his face a concoction of sharp angles. “I’m not kidding, Sloan.” He didn’t usually call her by her last name unless he was tired or she was being obstinate. “I need you to focus on getting better. Nothing else. You won’t get involved in this case beyond answering whatever questions the investigator has. That’s a direct order. Understood?”

She had no other choice but to agree. “Yes.”

“Have the nurse call me if you need anything,” Nora called from the doorway just before they disappeared. “See you tomorrow.”

The way Nate had rested his hand on Nora’s back mirrored the familiar actions of Clay Kramer, Kit’s fiancé. Except now he wasn’t engaged to her anymore. Because she was—

Heather closed her eyes, willing the image of Clay and Kit laughing together the night before the crash to vanish. It faded slightly, leaving only an imagined likeness of the pain Clay was enduring, his handsome face twisted in agony. How could he survive with the love of his life gone? How could she ever think of having a happy life with her sister gone?

Beyond questions of her own happiness lay more sinister inquiries that were painful just to ponder. Had someone really wanted to hurt Kit? Why would they want to kill someone everyone loved? Was it possible that Heather’s own life could be in jeopardy, too?

These questions haunted her as she fell into a fitful sleep.



Heather heard the rattle and click of the turning door handle before she was consciously awake. Her brain still foggy from sleep and the pain medication, she struggled to open her eyes, wondering if she was having another visitor. Her parents had been by earlier, but she’d insisted they go back to the hotel. She could see how drained they were after the funeral.

At the same moment that the door opened, her eyelids raised enough that she could see through her lashes.

A short, round man ducked into the room, looking over his shoulder as though confirming that he wasn’t being followed, before silently closing the door behind him. When he turned to face her, she could make out only his ratty, gray jacket and violently shaking hands. She’d never seen anyone’s hands shaking that badly—except drug addicts going through withdrawal.

But what was an addict doing in her hospital room?

He spun around slowly before shuffling toward her bed. She flexed her hand, feeling around for her gun. Which Nate still had. Maybe she could reach the call button on the side of the bed without tipping him off that she was alert—if somewhat groggy. Before scaring him off, she needed to know what he wanted.

A wave of body odor nearly sent her to the floor gagging, and she quickly adjusted to breathing through her mouth.

“Put the tube in the line,” the man mumbled. “Put the tube in the line. Then get the fix.”

What tube? What line?

The fix was easy enough to understand.

Suddenly he grabbed the IV line attached to the back of her hand, almost tugging it out. She forced her eyes to open all the way, looking into the face of a man with glassy eyes, long white hair and several days of patchy beard growth.

“What are you doing?” she asked, carefully keeping her tone soft, if scratchy.

He didn’t look at her, just continuing his chant. “Need to put the tube in the line. Then I get a fix.”

“What are you doing?” she asked again, putting more force behind her words as she reached for the call button, praying it would bring help right away. Her words made him glance at her, but it didn’t make him pause, as he pulled a small medical vial from his pocket and tried to connect it to her IV. “Stop! Don’t do that!”

Even with the tremors in his hands, he moved quickly, slipping the vial into place to feed whatever was in it into the line. She tried to roll to the side to stop him, but the sudden burning in the back of her hand was excruciating.

The man shuffled a step toward the door, as she clawed at her hand, trying to pull the tubing out.

“What is this?” she cried as the fire raced up her arm.

It took her another moment to realize that the blood-curdling scream filling the room came from her own throat.




TWO


Even after Jeremy Latham flashed his Sheriff’s Deputy badge at the pretty blonde nurse at the station next to the elevator, she wouldn’t tell him the exact condition of the survivor of the helicopter crash that had claimed two lives. Something about confidential patient records. No matter. If she was conscious, he would get Heather Sloan’s statement and piece together the events leading up to the crash. But as he approached the door he’d been directed to, a scream sent him running toward the very room the nurse had indicated. As he neared it, a woman shouted again.

Hoping the door was unlocked, he crashed into the solid wood. It flew open as he twisted the handle, sending him to his knees on the slick floor.

A pair of very old shoes and an unpleasant odor shuffled past him as he scrambled to his feet. He caught only a glimpse of the back of the man’s head before screams from the bed grabbed his attention.

“Get it out. Get it out! It burns!”

The cries from the woman on the bed made it clear what took priority. She needed help. Now. Jeremy ignored the other man as he scrambled to her side.

Putting one hand on her forearm, Jeremy said, “Where does it burn?”

“Right arm,” she managed between gritted teeth, her eyes rolling back in her head.

This was no time to pretend he had the kind of medical training needed to help. He pounded the call button over and over, following it up with shouts of his own. “Nurse! Nurse! I need help in 411!”

The young woman screamed when he picked up her arm, but he had to get a closer look at the crimson stripes making their way toward her elbow. She must have pulled the dangling tube from the back of her hand, but the redness definitely started beneath the tape still holding an IV needle in place.

The red lines were nearly to the crook in her arm when he realized that he had to stop whatever was causing them from getting any farther. Yanking the IV cord from its bag he wrapped it around her biceps and jerked it into a crude knot. The slick plastic didn’t want to stay in place, so he held it there, calling again for help. “Nurse!”

The woman whimpered, and he put his hand back on her forehead.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re all right.”

Just then, the same blonde nurse who had told him Heather was in room 411 entered at a run, and her presence made Jeremy breathe a little easier, despite her curt tone. “What happened in here?”

“I don’t know. I was in the hallway, and I heard someone screaming. There was another man in here. I think he put something in her IV. She said that it was burning her. I tried to stop it from going any farther up her arm.” He raised his hands to show her the makeshift tourniquet.

The patient groaned, her eyes still clamped shut. And the nurse immediately took control. “Keep holding that,” she said, pointing to the tubes in his hand. “I will be right back. Heather, hang in there.” She raced out the door and in an instant her voice came over the hospital’s PA system, calling for help in Heather’s room. It finally sank in for Jeremy that this was the woman he’d come to see—the survivor of the helicopter crash who had, it seemed, been attacked near fatally again. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Heather Sloan?

In a flash the blonde nurse was back, followed by two other nurses in pale green scrubs. One of the new nurses glared at Jeremy for a moment, before taking the IV tubing out of his hands and holding it in place. The other nurse poked buttons on the machine on the other side of Heather’s bed.

He opened his mouth to ask what he could do before realizing he was useless in a hospital. But he did know what needed to be done. With the victim secured, it was time to go after the attacker. Sprinting for the door, the voice of the other nurse stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just leave. The police will have questions for you.”

“I’ll have questions for them, too. As soon as I get back.”

Spinning out the door, he raced toward the stairs. Someone like the man who had been in Heather’s room would be noticed riding in a crowded elevator or strolling through the crowded halls of the hospital. He’d look for a deserted escape route.

Following the path Jeremy assumed the other man had taken and trying to keep his shoes from sliding on the freshly buffed floors, he skidded into the stairwell. As he raced down the steps, he tried to remember any distinguishing factors about the other man. He had been on the floor when the attacker passed, so his observations were limited, but based on the condition of the black boots he’d worn and the terrible stench that followed him around, Jeremy’s best guess was that he was homeless. And his hair was silver and matted. That was a pretty slim description.

Now he could kick himself in the pants for not getting a better look at the would-be…killer? But was he really trying to kill Heather? Why else would he have put something into her IV line?

But what could their connection possibly be?

Could it be related to a case she had been working?

Four flights later he ended up in a storage room piled with stacks of clean laundry. Metal shelves lined the walls, and additional rows filled most of the floor-space, so he dropped to the ground, peering through the six-inch gap below the bottom of each shelf. Palms flat on the cold floor, he craned his neck in search of those black boots.

Satisfied that he was alone, Jeremy jumped back up and hurried to the door, which led him into a hallway next to the E. R. Straight ahead was the ambulance entrance. Stopping quickly at the nurses’ station, he flashed his badge and asked, “Did you see a homeless man go past here a couple minutes ago?”

The young man behind the desk nodded. “Sure. White hair and gray jacket?” He pointed toward the glass doors. “He looked like he was in a hurry.”

“Thanks.” Jeremy followed the old man’s path, hoping he wasn’t too late.

The sun hid behind a cloud as he stepped into the fresh air, looking around the parking lot. A woman with a broken leg rolled her wheelchair past him, and a flashy black Mercedes peeled out of the visitor’s parking lot. No sign of the old man.

Jeremy’s shoulders sagged as he headed back into the hospital, opting this time to take the elevator instead of the stairs. Glancing at his watch, he wondered how long his useless chase had lasted. Had he missed out on clues in the hospital room that could have helped him?

As he approached Heather’s room, the frantic sounds of saving a life continued. A deep voice had been added to the mix, but its tone was just as concerning as the others.

Turning away, he walked toward a small, deserted waiting room on the floor, images of Heather writhing in pain still flashing behind his closed eyelids. It was too familiar, knowing a woman was in pain and being completely helpless.

Pushing memories of the other woman out of his mind and focusing on the one he could still help, he slumped into a seat and pulled out his cell phone. Dialing an old friend, who he’d worked with on two unrelated drug cases when he started with the sheriff’s department years before, he said, “Hey, Tony.”

“Latham. How’s everything in the sheriff’s office?”

He shrugged out of habit. “Good. We’re keeping busy.”

“Yeah, I heard about that chopper crash. You working it?”

“Always.” His experience as an FAA agent supposedly made him an asset in situations like this, but the end of his time there had made it clear that he didn’t bring nearly as much to the table as the sheriff thought.

“So what can I do for you?” The tone of Tony’s voice relayed that he remembered that he and the PD owed Jeremy a favor for a tip on a case two months before.

“There was a situation at Immanuel Lutheran Hospital today.”

“You mean the one about five minutes ago?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know about it? I’m not even sure that our guys have made it down there yet.”

Jeremy ran his free hand through his wavy brown hair in desperate need of a trim. “I know. I’m here now. I was coming to talk to the crash survivor. An old guy—I think maybe homeless from the smell of him—was in her room and put something into her IV. The doctor is still working with her. I’m not sure what he dosed her with or what’s really going on, but the guy got away.” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice.

“Whoa.”

“I know. So listen, I need you to do me a favor and keep your eye out at the jail just in case someone brings in a homeless guy with white hair, a gray jacket and black boots.”

“But that could be anybody. How would I even know if it’s your guy?” Tony sounded stumped.

“Just call me. I’ll come down and check it out.”

“Okay. You got it, man.”

Jeremy hung up his phone and walked back toward Heather’s room. The voices inside continued at a slightly less rattled pace, but Heather clearly wasn’t out of danger yet.

Back pressed against the wall, Jeremy slid to the floor, adrenaline leaving his system like a flood. Resting his forearms against bent knees and his chin against his chest, he sighed. God, please save Heather. He barely knew the girl—hadn’t even had a real conversation with her, but something was going on. And she needed all the help she could get.



Heather’s eyes refused to open yet again, but for the first time in forever she felt human. The fog had lifted in her brain, and she was able to quickly take account of the situation.

The beeping monitor to her left and firm pillow beneath her head told her she was still in the hospital. Her leg still ached from the surgery.

Her shoulder felt significantly more normal than it had the last time she was awake, and a quick rotation provided only a minor twinge.

And the burning in her arm was gone. It tingled a little bit, but she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just a memory of the pain of whatever had been injected into her arm.

All seemed normal. Now. But it hadn’t been that way.

Before.

How long had she been asleep? When had that homeless man been in her room? What had he done to her? And why had she been his target?

Why hadn’t she responded better? Years of training had gone down the tubes with a little bit of pain medication that made her feel blurry. She’d been useless. Like she had been during the crash.

A phone rang, and a hand pulled out of hers. Had someone been holding her hand? She turned her hand over, squeezing it into a loose fist, trying to recall the shape and size of the absent hand.

From the far corner of the room, came a deep voice. She recognized it, but couldn’t place it.

“Nate?” she called, while trying to pry her heavy lids apart.

The voice ended suddenly before resuming by her side. “No. It’s not Nate. It’s Jeremy.”

Finally her eyes opened, and she looked into a handsome, if only moderately familiar, face. She’d definitely seen him before, but where? Suddenly a wheezing cough racked her body. He reached for a glass and held the straw to her lips, so she could greedily sip at it. When she finally leaned back, he put the cup back on the table and scooted a chair closer to the bed.

“Jeremy Latham,” he said, reading the confusion in her eyes. “I’m a deputy with the Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Have we met before? You look so familiar.”

He shook his head. “I’ve been here a couple times, but you’ve always been out. Except last time.”

“When the homeless man was here.” It was a statement, not a question, as the veil covering that memory finally lifted. She nodded slowly, but it was like trying to put a puzzle together with missing pieces. She’d lost hours…maybe even days. “When was that?”

He bit the corner of his mouth and leaned forward over his knees. “Two days ago.”

“And I haven’t been awake since then?”

“No.” His dark curls bounced as his head moved, but his eyes remained steeled against whatever he had to say next. And she was certain there was more to come. As silence reigned, she waited. He didn’t move, only stared at her with that unwavering gaze.

“So why have you been coming to see me?” A swift glance at the window proved the sun had set long before. “And after visiting hours, I’d guess.” A longer look at the window, and she realized that her neck was free of the annoying brace she’d been wearing since the crash. She tested her strength and mobility with a couple of gentle stretches.

“Are you stiff?” he asked.

“Not too bad, actually.” She glared at him, then looked away, still testing the strength of her neck. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

He followed her gaze toward the opposite wall, as a frown punctuated his mouth. “I guess it is getting late.”

“You obviously know who I am, so you must know what I do. What do you want with me?”

He tugged on the hair at his temples, his forehead wrinkling. His eyes moved back and forth, looking for anything else to focus on. “Well, as I said, I’m with the sheriff’s department.” He pulled out the badge attached to his belt. Probably a force of habit for him like it was for her. “I’m investigating the PNW Tourism helicopter crash.”

Now it was her turn to avoid the topic at hand. “What did that man put in my IV? It burned.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

His dark brown eyes softened. “I heard you screaming.”

Heat rose up her neck, and she brought her hand up to her cheek to cover the embarrassing blush. How could she have been so weak? Trying desperately to change the subject, she asked again, “So what was it?”

“That, I don’t know. The doctors wouldn’t tell me much. As best I can figure, it was a lethal combination of street drugs. The guys in the police lab have already started analyzing the sample, but they don’t have a final report yet. You did good pulling that tube out.” His admiration was genuine, and she felt the redness returning to her cheeks. When had she become such a ninny?

A yawn cracked her jaw, but for the first time since the crash, she was able to fight off the tiredness. Pressing a button on her bed elevated her head until she felt less likely to doze off in the middle of their conversation. It also added an extra measure of pressure on her leg, and she groaned.

“Is something wrong?” Jeremy’s eyes filled with concern, and he reached out to touch her arm. The familiar weight of his hand gave her small start.

“Were you holding my hand?”

Now it was his turn to look embarrassed. His deep tan kept his cheeks from turning pink, but his gaze bounced around the room. “The nurse said that it’s good to let someone know you’re there, even if they’re asleep. I was just…letting you know I was here.”

“How long have you been here?”

Jeremy glanced at his watch. “Not long. A couple of hours.”

She couldn’t contain the snicker that came out of her mouth. “What have you been doing for a couple of hours?”

“Thinking mostly.”

“About what?”

His lips pursed to the side, his eyes narrowing. “Just wondering what brought that helicopter down.”

She stared directly into his eyes, wondering if they were thinking the same things about the crash. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t heard Kit’s last words, so how could they be? But what if he had other information? He’d probably seen the helicopter after the crash. He was looking into the reasons behind it. Maybe he could be useful.

The leg in the brace spasmed violently beneath her blanket, reminding her of her own weakness. But it didn’t matter. She was going to find out what happened, what caused her sister’s death. After all, Heather had done nothing during the crash to save her sister. She’d been useless. And Kit deserved more than that. Solving this case was Heather’s only way to begin making up for that failure.

What if she stayed away from the investigation like Nate had ordered and they never found out why Kit had lost her life? What if they lost crucial time thinking it was nothing more than an accident? What if they never named a true culprit?

Heather couldn’t live with herself if she let that happen. And the only way to make sure it didn’t was to do her own investigating. Kit was too important to leave it up to someone Heather didn’t know.

“How much do you know about the crash?” He looked around the room, trying to keep from meeting her gaze, so she pushed again. “I’m a big girl. I deserve to know the truth, don’t you think?”

A little wobble of his head followed his shrug. Still not looking into her eyes, he said, “My contact at the FAA says it looks like the wires to the cyclic were disengaged.”

“The cyclic?”

“The joystick-type thing that controls the helicopter. It’s called a cyclic, and the wires to it appeared to be partially severed.”

The pilot had said something about the cyclic losing power, hadn’t he? Apparently Jeremy knew about helicopters, and he had a contact with the FAA. Two things she didn’t have. Yes, he could definitely be useful.

But how to get him to share his information? The sheriff’s office probably wouldn’t like an FBI agent poking around in the case…especially since she didn’t actually have authorization from the FBI to investigate.

She choked on an unexpected breath, at the memory of Nate’s last words to her. She was supposed to let Deputy Latham and the FAA do the investigating on this case.

Not likely.

That was her sister who had been buried. And she wasn’t going to back away quietly. No matter what Nate said.

He just didn’t need to know. Which meant he didn’t need to know about the attack by the homeless man either. He’d go into overprotective mode and insist on having her guarded around the clock. She’d never get any investigating done that way.

“What are you thinking about the crash? Do you think those wires were cut on purpose? Was the chopper sabotaged?” she finally asked.

As though she hadn’t asked the last questions, he said, “I’m wondering why that homeless man was in here. Targeting you.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“Did he say anything?”

Heather dove into the foggy recesses of her mind until she could see and almost smell the man next to her bed. His lips moved, but what had he said? “Put the tube in the line. Get the fix.”

“Put the tube in the line? Get the fix? As in put the tube of drugs in your IV line and he’d get a fix?”

“His hands were shaking really badly. He had to have been in withdrawal. Someone must have told him that if he gave me the overdose, they would get him more drugs.”

Jeremy nodded in agreement. “That sounds about right.”

A coughing fit caught her off guard, and she wrapped her arms around her middle. The searing pain in her shoulder as she tried to reach for the water cup on her bedside table made her groan, and Jeremy jumped to help her.

“Here. Drink this.” He pressed the straw to her lips, and she gulped greedily. His hands belonged to someone who worked hard, and she studied his knuckles, worn and weathered. “Better?” he asked, pulling the straw away, but keeping it at the ready in case she needed another swallow.

“I think so.” She only managed a mumble, angry with her inability to care for herself. Her knee throbbed, and suddenly she ached all over. Bruises that she’d successfully ignored until now screamed at her. And her brain nearly mutinied under the pressure that was growing beneath her temples.

What if she couldn’t do it? What if she couldn’t figure out what had happened? What if she physically could not bring the person responsible for Kit’s death to justice?

If she couldn’t solve the case, she didn’t deserve to be an FBI agent. And she certainly didn’t deserve to be part of her family. A family still in mourning.

Until she brought justice to Kit’s killer, she didn’t deserve to grieve. And if she never grieved, her heart might never heal.

Latham had leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful, arms folded across his chest. His eyes seemed to look right through her, focused on an unseen target. Heather recognized the look on his face. She’d seen it from Nate and Myles, another FBI coworker. She’d probably even made it herself a few times. He was solving a case deep in his mind.

And if she didn’t join him, she’d fall too far behind to ever take the lead.

With a bum leg and strict orders to steer clear of the investigation, cutting herself off from most of her resources, she’d never crack the case on her own. At least with him, she’d have access to all of his connections, research and mobility.

And he needed her. Needed her insight into Kit, and what she said after the helicopter went down. They could help each other.

Suddenly she wanted to tell Latham everything she knew. Tell him about the crash and Kit’s worries. Tell him that she knew the helicopter going down wasn’t an accident. But what if he wasn’t willing to help her? What if he didn’t want an injured agent trailing after him for weeks or maybe months? She had to get his word, had to get him to agree.

Swallowing thickly, she closed her eyes for a moment. “There’s more,” she said.

“What is it?” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, an eager light filling his eyes.

“First I have to get your word that you’ll help me.”

His eyebrows clenched together, and he sat back into his chair. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not the way that you mean. My sister died in that crash.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

Heather swallowed again, the sound seeming to fill the whole room. “I owe it to her to see this investigation through. I need to know what happened, I need to know who’s responsible.”

His face relaxed. “Sure. I’ll keep you in the loop every step.”

“That’s not enough. I want to be at the front of the investigation.”

He glanced at the enormous brace covering her leg, and when his gaze lifted, his eyes filled with bewilderment as he let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding, right? How could you possibly be on the ground investigating? You’re not exactly mobile.”

“I know,” she conceded. “That’s why I’ll need your help. You could help me get around, take me whenever you’re going to be looking into anything related to the crash. In exchange, I’ll give you all the details from the crash, and tell you anything you want to know about my sister.”

“So you think the crash had something to do with your sister?”

“I’m sure of it.” She reached out to touch him, ignoring the sting in her shoulder. His forearm jumped when her fingers brushed the dark hairs growing there. “I can help you. I need to help you.”

He scrubbed open palms over his face, eyes still squinting. “No. You need to be at home recovering. You’ve been through a traumatic experience. I get that.”

“No, you don’t! What would you do if it was your sister?” Desperation made her voice jump half an octave, and she took a calming breath.

His nose wrinkled as he took a deep breath as well. Something like regret flickered across his face and disappeared in an instant. “I understand. Please trust me. I do. But this isn’t healthy for you, physically or emotionally. You need to recuperate. Do something to keep your mind off your sister.”

“Like helping you with the investigation.”

His shoulders rose and fell, but the sigh was silent. “Like reading a book.”

“Please. I can help you. I have information that might be helpful.”

Frown lines crinkled around his eyes. “You know I could arrest you for hindering an ongoing investigation if you don’t tell me what you know, if you don’t share with me whatever it is that makes you so sure this crash was about your sister.”

“I know. But I also know that you need me. And I need you.”

He stood, pacing the small room with purposeful strides. “I just don’t know.” He sighed, running long fingers through his hair. Head bowed, he turned slightly to look at her.

“I know what I’m asking. I know it won’t be easy. For either of us. But I have to do this for my sister. And you need the information that I have. Besides, when I tell you what I know, I think you’re going to have a bigger case than you realize.”

“But you’ve just been through major surgery.”

“I’m also a special agent with the FBI. I can handle this. I won’t slow you down. Much.”

“Why don’t you just ask your friends in the Bureau to get involved?” he asked. “I bet they’d work with you. Give you the information you want. Help you launch your own investigation.”

“I can’t.” She couldn’t hold his gaze when she continued. “My Special Agent in Charge told me to rest. He ordered me to stay out of it.”

Latham’s face turned smug. “Smart guy. Listen to him.”

She squinted at him, praying that he would understand her heart in just that moment. She’d been broken. This was her only hope at healing. “You know I can’t. Let me help you. We’ll solve this case together.”

He remained silent for several moments, running his palms over his cheeks and stretching his facial skin. Finally he nodded. “All right. Tell me what you know.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat and pushing the pain in her heart to the side, Heather said, “Kit was a Deputy D.A. here in Portland. She handled some pretty major cases.”

“I know.”

“After the chopper crashed, Kit was still conscious.” Jeremy suddenly looked very interested. Sliding back into the plastic chair, he leaned closer. “She told me—” Heather swallowed thickly again, blinking away the moisture threatening to pool in the corners of her eyes. “Just before she died, she told me…to follow the drugs.”

“What drugs?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe she was getting ready to prosecute a case involving drugs. But whatever drugs she was talking about, she believed they had something to do with the crash. She was convinced of it or she wouldn’t have said anything. I’m sure of it.”

“So you think the chopper was tampered with to cause a crash to kill your sister so she couldn’t prosecute this case?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, but his face remained unreadable. “What about you? Do you think that poisoning attack with the IV was connected to Kit’s case?”

“Well, it could be a coincidence that a guy stumbled into my hospital room and tried to kill me with a mess of street drugs while talking about getting his own fix just five days after I almost died in a crash—a crash that killed my sister, who believed the reason behind the crash was illegal drugs.”

“But…”

“But I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Me, neither.” His eyes turned a softer shade of brown, and he squeezed her hand. “You’re in some serious trouble.”




THREE


“Mom, I’m fine. Really. You can take off. Nora is going to come by and check on me every day after work.”

“But what about during the day? What if you need something? Shouldn’t I stay a little longer?”

Heather looked into green eyes so much like Kit’s, and a pang of sadness shot through her stomach. She almost dropped the half smile she’d pasted on her face. Reaching for her mom’s hand, she squeezed it gently. “I’m okay. I have crutches to get around the apartment. A couple kids from the church youth group are going to pick up food and groceries for me. There’s really nothing else I need. I’m really glad that you came, but you have a life back in Sacramento.”

And I have a case to solve.

Her mom’s gray hair bobbed around her ears, as she gave her oldest daughter a solid once-over. “I wish your dad didn’t have to get back to the base to get his unit ready to deploy. He’d talk you into letting us stay.”

The corner of Heather’s mouth lifted slowly. “No he wouldn’t. He’d tell you that you raised a tough girl and that I’ll never get better if you coddle me.”

Her mom nodded and chuckled. “You’re probably right.”

Heather’s eyes locked with her mom’s, and she squeezed the older woman’s hand. “I love you. Both of you.”

“We love you, too, sweetie.” Her mom leaned down to kiss the top of Heather’s head, softly patting her hair. “If you need me, just call. I don’t mind coming back. Whatever you need.”

“Have a safe flight. Thanks!” Heather called from her seat on the couch, just before her mom disappeared behind the closed door. Her leg propped on the cushions beside her and head resting on the back of the sofa, she stared at the ceiling. She’d been home from the hospital just two days, but already the walls were beginning to close in.

She had to get out of the condo and start working on the case. Thinking about Kit’s killer walking around free was driving her crazy. The trouble was she hadn’t heard from Jeremy since he’d agreed to help her.

Apparently she was going to have to make the first move. Reaching for her phone, she nearly rolled off the couch when it rang at ear-piercing volume before she touched it. Apparently her mom thought her injury also made her deaf.

“Sloan.”

“Well, that’s some greeting,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Nate? What’s going on?”

Her supervisor’s tone was a little too light when he said, “Just calling to check on you. Nora said I have to make sure that you’re doing okay, especially since your mom left today.”

“She’s been gone literally five minutes. I’m fine.” She sounded grumpier than she meant to, but something told her he wasn’t just calling to check in. “Now spill it. Why’d you really call?”

In typical Nate fashion, he switched topics the moment the questions were directed at him. “I talked with personnel today. You’re going to have to be inactive with the Bureau for anywhere from six weeks to three months.”

“Three months! You’re kidding, right?” He was teasing. He had to be. There was no way she could spend three months on the couch. At least she’d have time to wrap up Kit’s case.

“Sorry, kid. It might only be a few weeks, but you’ll have to do a lot of physical therapy and then be cleared by the doctor to be reinstated.”

But what if the case wrapped up in just a few weeks? How would she fill her three months then? “Can’t I at least get behind a desk? I can still do paperwork. I have two fully—well, mostly—functioning arms. I can write reports. Do research. Man the phones. Whatever you need. I just can’t sit on a couch for that long.”

“I know this isn’t any fun. It’s not fun for me either. I’m going to have to put up with the coffee that Myles or James makes for who knows how long. That’s just rotten. I may even have to go out looking for a new barista agent for the office just to get some good joe.”

Heather knew her laugh was exactly what he wanted, but she couldn’t hold it back. “Or you could make your own coffee.”

“What’s the point of being the SAC if I have to make it myself?”

Just in case they were on the edge of getting too familiar, every so often, Nate would throw out a reminder that he was the Special Agent in Charge of the Portland office. “As always, excellent point, sir.”

“Nice try. No amount of brownnosing is going to get you behind a desk any sooner.” He paused, and she could almost see his face turning serious. “Just take care of yourself, okay? Lay low. Get some rest, and get healed. We need you back in the office. Functioning at a hundred percent.”

“Sure. Okay.” Or not so much.

“I’m serious, Sloan.” His tone took on a quality not unlike her mom’s angry voice.

“Yes, sir. I’ll keep my head down and I won’t take any unnecessary chances with my health.” And that’s the truth. Any risks I take to find Kit’s killer are entirely necessary.

“Good. Nora will be by tonight. She broke our date to make sure you’re okay. I hope you appreciate the pain that I’m going through so my fiancée can check up on you.”

She chuckled again before hanging up. She could feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at her. The drugs made her so groggy, but she couldn’t seem to sleep soundly. Maybe a nap would help.

Immediately her phone rang again, and she nearly chucked it across the room, which would have been torture to retrieve. Fumbling it between stiff fingers, she managed to flip it back open. “Yes?” she said, nearly out of breath.

“Heather?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Latham—sorry—Jeremy.”

“Do you have any news?”

He paused for a moment, and she thought she could hear a voice coming through the radio in his car. “I just got a call from my friend Tony with the Portland P.D. He thinks there may be a body in the morgue that’s of interest to us.”

“Really? How so?”

“I’m not sure. He just said there’s a guy there I should see. The last time I talked to Tony was right after you were poisoned in the hospital.”

“You think it’s connected?”

“It’s worth checking out. Where do you live? I’m coming to get you.”

“But I was just—” She stopped herself. She was the one who had asked him for help. Just because her eyelids drooped and her brain called for a rest, didn’t mean she had to give in to them. “I live off of Fifth.” She quickly gave him directions to her town house.

“I’m not far. I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

She looked down at her jeans, one leg split to the top of the gray brace, and faded blue T-shirt. She wasn’t sure she could muster the energy required to change clothes, so she looked around for a sweater or something to pull over the old shirt. Finally she grabbed her crutches from where they rested against the head of the couch. Pulling herself carefully to one foot, she moved slowly across the room to her bedroom. A black pullover sweater lay on the foot of the bed, and she leaned against the mattress to pull it on.

Just as she finished adjusting it, loud thuds landed on her front door.



“Coming.” Heather’s voice sounded on the other side of the door as Jeremy tapped his foot on the cement step. There were only a handful of steps, but he wondered how she had managed to make it up them. Moreover, how was she going to make it back down?

For about the hundredth time, he questioned his decision to bring her in on the investigation. Yes, he sympathized with her loss, with her sense of helpless-ness—sympathized more than she knew—but was she really up for this.

“You okay in there?” he asked.

“Yes,” she yelped, as she swung the door open. Her blue eyes eclipsed her pale face, and wild, yellow curls broke loose from her ponytail, framing her cheeks. Then she turned and looked at the kitchen counter on the other side of the living room. “I forgot my keys.” She made a move to go for them, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Let me.” He crossed the room, snatched the small key ring from the counter and handed them to her as he stepped back outside. “Ready?”

She followed him out the door, then turned to lock it. He watched as she took the first clattering step, analyzing her movements. Given the way her arms maneuvered the metal supports, he’d bet that normally she was pretty graceful, but the enormous brace and crutches made every motion awkward. It was entertaining to see her mulish determination to master the steps…but on the other hand, they were on a tight schedule.

Glancing down at his watch, he said, “The morgue closes in thirty minutes.”

“I’m hurrying.”

He chuckled to himself before jogging back up the steps, tucking his arm around her waist and swinging her crutches over his forearm. “Hang on,” he said, as he scooped her up. Her arm immediately wrapped around his neck, like she was trying to choke him. “Maybe not quite so tight.”

She blushed, moving her arm to his shoulder, as he maneuvered them back to the street and the cruiser parked at the curb.

“Be glad all you got was an arm around the neck.” Her tone was only half joking, and he took the hint. He wasn’t going to be able to push her around.

Her body stayed rigid until he set her gently on one foot as he opened the back door. “I think you’ll have to sit in the back. I doubt your leg will fit in the front seat.”

“You’re probably right.” She sighed, as he helped her scoot across the seat, keeping her injured leg elevated.

As he pulled out into traffic, he glanced in his rearview mirror. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine, I guess.” She slumped against the back of the seat with her shoulder, and her nose crinkled in distaste. “It smells bad back here.”

“Sorry about that. I guess I’ve had some unruly guys back there lately.”

“Is that what you normally do? Lock up the bad guys in the back of your car?”

He laughed loudly, resting one arm on the center console. “I am a sheriff’s deputy. It pretty much comes with the job.”

She seemed content to ignore his last comment and stared out the window as they moved from residential neighborhoods to a more commercial area. She crossed her arms over her chest, and he could almost see the barrier she pulled around herself. He knew that pose, that need to put up a shield so no one else could see the pain. He’d been there. Pulled his own shields so close he’d nearly cut everyone else out of his life.

He hadn’t lost his sister, but he knew what it was like to lose a loved one—a fiancée. Only in his case, it had been his own fault.

As he pulled past the police station and into the parking lot reserved for cops, he shot up a quick prayer for the woman in the backseat. Heavenly Father, would You please comfort Heather? I don’t know how much help I can be, but if there’s something I should say, give me the words.

He turned off the car and jumped out from behind the wheel. When he swung the back door open, he leaned one arm on the roof and ducked his head into the car. “You ready for this?”

She wiggled along the seat, always keeping her leg carefully protected. “Of course.”

She reached the edge of the seat before he remembered that he’d picked up a present for her. “I almost forgot! Sit tight.” He jogged to the trunk of the car and popped it open.

“What is it?” she called.

He put the wheels on the ground, closed the trunk and ran back to stand in front of her. “Your chariot, madam.” He offered an awful British accent and some silly hand flourishes to present the old wheelchair that he’d borrowed from the sheriff’s office.

He wasn’t sure if it was the chair or his strange behavior that made her smile, but he took an uncanny joy in watching her face change and her lips curve upward. Her eyes softened, and she held out one hand. He clasped her wrist and pulled her to her feet, helping her spin on one foot and settle into the creaking leather seat.

After propping her foot on the leg rest, he pushed her toward the small building next to the police department and held the door open for her as she rolled into the office. Flashing his badge at the man behind the front desk, he said, “Deputy Latham with the sheriff’s office. The medical examiner is expecting us.”

The bald man nodded toward a clipboard on the counter, waited until Jeremy signed it and turned back to his computer without a word.

Jeremy returned to Heather, pushing the wheelchair down a long hallway. They stopped at a large set of double silver doors, and Jeremy pushed one open, poking his head in.

“Rob?” He stepped farther into the bright room that broke every stereotype for a morgue. “You in here?”

“In the back. I’ll be right there.” The voice came from the other side of a mostly closed door, which probably led to a storage closet. Sure enough, just as he wheeled Heather through the door, Dr. Robertson walked into the room carrying several boxes. His white eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead when his eyes landed on Heather, but he didn’t say anything.

Jeremy offered quick introductions. “Heather this is Dr. Robertson, M. E.—Rob, this is FBI Special Agent Heather Sloan.”

Heather shot Jeremy an annoyed glance, but offered Rob a gentle smile as she held out her hand. “Rob Robertson?”

“Nope.” He offered a Cheshire cat grin as he tucked his thumbs beneath his ever-present suspenders.

“No one knows his first name,” Jeremy filled in at Heather’s wrinkled forehead and pursed lips.

“A man of mystery. I like it.” Then her smile dazzled, white teeth flashing in the bright lights. “So, Dr. Rob. Jeremy tells me that you have something that might be of interest.”

“Well, Special Agent Sloan—”

“Oh, no,” she cut him off. “There’s no need to be so formal. Call me Heather.”

Rob smiled like he’d never been in the presence of anyone so charming before, and Jeremy had to hand it to the woman. She had brought them right where she wanted to be without having to answer any questions about her leg or why the FBI might have an interest in the man on the slab.

“All right, Heather.” Rob cleared his throat and tipped his head toward a gurney behind him. “That guy was brought in four days ago. He was classified as a John Doe, and the city requires that I determine a probable cause of death for any unidentified bodies.

“I ran a tox screen and came up with a concoction of street drugs that I’ve never seen in almost twenty years with the city.”

Reminding them that he wasn’t invisible, Jeremy asked, “What made you tip us off?”

Rob did indeed look surprised when his gaze jumped back to Jeremy. “I ran the drug mix by the boys in the lab upstairs. They said your friend Tony Bianchi had dropped off an identical sample just the day before.”

Jeremy glanced at Heather out of the corner of his eye, instantly catching her sideways peek. She nodded at him, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. They didn’t even have to look under the sheet to identify the dead man.

“Where’d you get that sample you gave to Tony?” Rob asked.

Jeremy shrugged in response, but it was Heather who took control of the conversation again. “I think we should see if we recognize him.”

Rob immediately turned his attention to Heather, apparently forgetting the question that he’d just asked. “Are you sure? He’s been dead awhile, and he was on the street at least overnight.”

Holding out her hand to the doctor, she said, “I’m sure. Will you help me up?”

Jeremy flipped the brake on the old chair and offered her his arm as well. She placed her left hand on his forearm and held fast. When Rob pulled the sheet back to uncover the pale face and ragged features of an old man with long, matted silver hair, Heather’s grip intensified for a moment, but her face never flickered. She squeezed again, as if confirming that she knew this man.

The old man’s face wasn’t familiar to Jeremy, but that wasn’t surprising. He’d only seen the back of the homeless man’s head that day in the hospital.

“You know him?” Rob asked them both.

“I think so,” Heather responded. “When did he die?”

“It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, as he was in the elements for at least one night. But as close as I can tell, five days.”

“And where was he found?” Jeremy offered this question, hoping Rob would answer it even if it didn’t come from Heather, his new favorite person.

“About two blocks east of Immanuel Lutheran.”




FOUR


“I know what you’re thinking.” Heather stared at Jeremy through the reflection in the rearview mirror. “Just say it.” He shook his head before letting off the brake and easing through the four-way stop.

Well, if he wouldn’t verbalize it, she would.

“Whoever hired that John Doe to kill me, killed him to keep him quiet.”

Not meeting her eyes again, Jeremy nodded. “Why would someone be after you?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. Leaning back, she tried to relieve some of the pressure in her head by rubbing slow circles in front of her ears.

“Are you sure this is all related to Kit’s drug case? Were you working on any cases that this could be linked to?”

“No. I’ve been on desk duty for months. I had hip surgery, and I’d just been given the go-ahead to return to regular duty when I took a couple days off to spend some time with my si-ister.”

She hated that her voice broke. Hated that tears threatened every time she even thought about Kit. The ache in her heart felt like it would never subside, never even dim.

He cleared his throat, keeping his head facing forward, as he turned on to her street. “Which hip?”

“Hmm?”

“Which hip? The same one as your knee?”

She let a soft sigh escape. “Thankfully not.”

After parking the car and walking around to her door, he cocked his head to the side, as if asking permission to assist her. She lifted her hand to wave him off, but thought better of it and offered him a quick nod.

As his broad arms wrapped around her waist to help her out of the car, she braced her hands on his shoulders, admitting that once upon a time being this close to a handsome man might have sent her heart racing. But it kept a steady rhythm, just another indication of its brokenness.

He handed her the crutches and walked behind her as they made their way toward her home. She unlocked the door and shuffled through, making a beeline for the couch, immediately propping her throbbing leg on the pillow.

Jeremy followed her in, closing the door behind him and perching on the edge of the overstuffed chair near the foot of the couch.

“Listen, Heather. I’m worried about you.” He rubbed his hands over his face, ruffling the short curls at his forehead.

“I can take care of myself.”

He shook his head. “I know you can. I saw you in there with Dr. Rob.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She tried to keep the pleasure out of her voice. He might have meant to chide her, but she took it as a compliment to be recognized for controlling the conversation as she had.

He let out a soft laugh, meeting her eyes with humor. “Let’s just say, I think I could learn a few things from you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But that doesn’t change the fact that someone is after you, and you’re not…shall we say, moving at your normal speed?”

She crossed her arms in front of her and glared at him. “I can get around just fine.”

“Is that with or without the wheelchair?”

Her lip curled, and she glared at him, wishing he would go. Wishing he were wrong. He didn’t say anything, just held her gaze with a look of assurance. “Fine. All right. Maybe I’m not at normal speed. But I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Against someone who’s sending people to kill you? And then killing the would-be assassins?”

She groaned, covering her face with her hands and shaking her hair over her shoulders. “Let’s just say I conceded the point. What can we do about it?”

“You need someone with you twenty-four seven.”

“Like a bodyguard?” She shook her head.

His head rocked side to side, lips pursed to the left. “More like a deputy protector.”

“Nope. No way.” She shook her head violently, lowering her hands to look into his brown eyes. “You’re out of your mind. We already agreed that you’d take me along to investigate the crash, so I’ll already be with you most of the time.”

“Yes. But this way, I’ll tag along wherever you’re going outside of the investigation, too.”

Was he serious? “What on earth do you think you can do that I can’t?”

“This very moment? Run. Walk normally. Drive a car.”

She harrumphed and tried to seriously injure him with her eyes, but his annoying smirk stayed in place. Why did he have to make so much sense? She wanted to do this on her own. As much as she could while recovering from major surgery and without the aide of her Bureau connections. Having to count on him to help figure out why the chopper went down was bad enough. Letting him tag along on every errand? Unacceptable.

“If I say no?”

“I’ll take care of the investigation on my own.”

“But we had a deal.”

“The rules changed.” He rubbed his palms over his knees. “I’m not saying that watching you try to maneuver those crutches isn’t painful even for me, but I don’t want to see you killed, either. What if your sister had more info than we know now? I might need some help getting ahold of that. I need you around.” His mouth quirked into half a smile, and she knew he was teasing her.

She punched the pillow supporting her back. “Can’t we just agree that I won’t leave my home without telling you?”

Jeremy lifted his hands in what she quickly realized was a faux surrender. “Sure. We’ll just leave a note for the perp that you’ll be home alone from eleven to eight every night.” He rested his hands on his knees and leaned toward her. “He knew where to find you at the hospital. I’m not willing to bet that he doesn’t know where you live.”

A chill ran across her shoulders, and despite the scowl she gave Jeremy, she knew he was right. She might need more protection than she could give herself at the moment. And no matter what, she couldn’t risk Jeremy backing out of their agreement to let her help with the investigation.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, she grumbled, “All right.”

He smiled. “Great. When should I move my stuff in?”

She nearly choked on a simple inhaled breath, coughing making her double over in pain. Jeremy leaned in and patted her back. She sucked air into her lungs between gasps, never taking her eyes off his impish grin.

When she could finally speak, she muttered, “What do you mean move your stuff in? You can’t stay here.”

“Of course I can.” His tone turned firm, less jovial. “You need someone with you all day every day. I happen to be available.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your evenings other than babysitting me? Friends you want to spend time with? Family? Girlfriend?”

Pain flashed across his expression for a moment, instantly making her feel guilty. Clearly she’d hit a raw nerve. “I…I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off. He was kind enough to ignore the half-hearted apology.

“Listen, Heather,” he said, all humor gone from his face. “I know this is tough for you, but I’m not going to let you stay alone.”

“But I barely know you!”

“Ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know. So you pretty much have two options. Me…” He pointed his thumb at his chest and quirked one eyebrow. “Or someone from the Bureau. Your call. But I’m not about to leave you on your own to face who knows what’s out there.”

“Ugh.” She turned, crossed her arms and looked away from Jeremy as he leaned back into the chair, already too much at home. He knew she couldn’t go to her office for help without revealing what she was up to.

His grin returned full-force. “Good. I’ll pick up my stuff tonight.” Pulling out a little notebook from his pocket, he asked, “So where do you think we should start?”

Without even a thought about what he was asking, she said, “Kit’s office.”

His forehead wrinkled, and his dark eyebrows pulled together. “What about the wreckage from the crash? There isn’t someone responsible if it was an accident. Shouldn’t we start there, to confirm that the cyclic controls were actually tampered with?”

“If it was an accident, then why is someone trying to take me out of the picture?”

He pursed his lips. “Valid point. But are we certain that it’s not related to a past case of yours?”

“It’s not. I just know it. Kit said to follow the drugs.” Heather swallowed loudly.

“But if we wait to investigate the wreckage, evidence may disappear.”

She hated that he made sense. Why did he have to be good at his job and so frustrating at the same time?

“What if we have to know what Kit knew to make any sense of the crash or the rest of the investigation? Shouldn’t we start there?”

He stared straight at her injured leg for several long seconds, pressing his fingers together, making a triangle with his thumbs. “Fine. We’ll start with Kit’s office in the morning. But then we’re immediately going to check out the chopper.”

She nodded. “Good.”

Suddenly her front door vibrated under the force of three solid thumps.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

She shook her head, her heart already in her throat.



Jeremy jumped, reaching under his jacket and adjusting his shoulder holster. Just as he reached the door, Heather chuckled.

“I just realized that assassins don’t usually knock.”

He laughed, too, as he peered through the peephole. She had a good point. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. A man with dark hair stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of black slacks. “Can I help you?” Jeremy asked after cracking the door open.

“Who are you?” the other man demanded, leaning in toward the door and trying to push past Jeremy’s firm stance.

He couldn’t help the scowl that followed the man’s rudeness. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m Clay Kramer.” The man’s eyes turned to slits, his gaze never wavering. “Where is Heather? If you’ve hurt her, I’ll—”

“Clay, it’s okay!” Heather yelled from the couch. “Jeremy, let him in.”

A quick glance over his shoulder proved that Heather was indeed as exasperated as her voice sounded. Reluctantly Jeremy stepped back; Kramer just a blur as he ran into the room and straight for Heather. Kramer’s suit wrinkled as he knelt before the suddenly teary-eyed Heather, who wrapped her arms around the intruder and tucked her face into his neck.

Why hadn’t she told Jeremy that she had a boyfriend? It seemed like it should have come up in their discussion about his staying on her couch.

A jealous boyfriend was exactly what he didn’t need to get this case solved. He’d be slowed down, and Heather would inevitably be distracted. And those were absolutely the only reasons why he felt something drop in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Heather nestling so naturally in another man’s arms.





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