A Blind Eye (24 page)

The girls turned and went down the hall toward the front of the building, Katie tugging Scarlett along.

“What do we do now?” Dr. Wyden asked in her cotton-fluff voice.

“You drop your gun, and I call the police. Now where's that roll of duct tape?”

She chuckled, but her eyes were bricks. “I don't think so. You got Scarlett. There's no reason to kill me.” She bolted through the door.

I threw a quick glance behind me. Scarlett and Katie were gone. I followed Wyden through the door. She climbed into a car and threw it in reverse, backing out like a maniac and then grinding her engine when she slammed it into gear.

She sped down the driveway. Something smacked across my head, and the world went black.

* * *

Not again
, I thought in the haze of waking. I expected to open my eyes and find the ceiling tiles, feel the chill of the refrigerated room in my bones. I didn't. I opened my eyes and found myself face-to-face with Detective Scott Parker.

“He called for help,” I said, my voice shaky.

Parker nodded. “He did.”

I was sitting in one of the plush chairs in the lobby, a paramedic holding a cold compress to my head. Red and blue flashes of light circled the room from the ambulances and police cars outside.

“She got away,” I said.

“Who?” Parker asked.

“Dr. Wyden. She got away.”

The detective shook his head. “We got her.”

“Good.” I grinned at him. “You know, you really need to work on your timing. Always five minutes too late.” I leaned my head back against the wall and breathed deeply. My shoulders ached, and a steamroller slowly crushed my head. I looked at the paramedic. “Where's that morphine I had last time?”

It wasn't the same guy, and he didn't smile.

“I got this,” I said, taking the cold compress. He walked away. My gaze fell on Parker, meeting his eyes. “I shot two people.”

“I know. Gary Wyden is dead.”

So there it was. I killed a man. I thought I should feel worse about it than I did. Maybe it would hit me later, when the vision of Scarlett being prepped for death surgery cleared from my mind. At the moment I'd pulled the trigger, I'd known it was the right thing to do.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

It was Parker's favorite question.

I recounted the events, starting with my visit to the grave. Parker was impressed that I'd figured it all out while his men were still scouring the clinic. I told him I hadn't figured out anything. I'd been doing what I do best—wandering aimlessly—when I happened to notice the Tahoe in the driveway. “Providence,” I said. He asked about Dr. Wyden's experiments. And that's when it hit me that something was missing.

“Where's Scarlett?”

Detective Parker shook his head. “Sorry, slugger. We didn't find Scarlett. Or Simon Lawrence.”

Christian vs. The Second Half

“No.”

“I'm sorry.” Parker looked tired. It was the middle of the night, and he was still out chasing murderers and telling kids the people they loved were dead. Well, gone, and most likely dead.

I slowly paced the carpeted floor of the entrance, limping. “How can that be? I shot him. I watched Scarlett and Katie get away.” Maybe I didn't injure him as much as I'd thought.
Note to self: Aim to kill.
“What about Katie?”

“He got a few rounds into her. They already took her to the hospital.” Parker shook his head. “It doesn't look good.”

Why would Simon take Scarlett and leave Katie? Katie was the genius. The chosen one to help bring sight to the world. Did Simon really have a thing for Scarlett? Maybe he had once. Apart from his wife for months at a time, a man can get desperate. I'd assumed they'd chosen Scarlett instead of a local blind person because of her dreams, to keep her from telling. Now everyone knew his crimes anyway. It didn't make sense.

“I shot him in the operating room,” I said again. “I saw him go down. And you're telling me he got away with Scarlett?” She would have fought back, right? Now that she knew who Simon really was.

“We've searched the entire place, top to bottom. I've got men combing the grounds. She's not here.” Parker laid his hand on my shoulder.

I jerked away. “No. He didn't get her.” I pointed a finger at him and yelled. “He did
not
get her again!” I threw my cold compress to the ground. It smacked with a hollow thunk against a cupboard at the base of a large end table.

Remembering the bathroom at Shari's and the garbage can at Mount Hood, I opened it. Empty.

“She's here,” I said. “I know it.”

“We've looked everywhere.”

“No. This is what she does. She hides. And she doesn't come out. No matter what.” She was here. “Scarlett,” I called.

I walked the halls with Detective Parker at my side. I think he thought I might collapse any minute, and he was probably right. Every part of me ached. “Scarlett!”

I checked every room, opening cupboards and looking under desks and rows of pews.

“She's gone,” he said again.

I turned on him and roared, “She's not gone!”

He stepped back, and his eyebrows rose.

“Sorry.” It wasn't his fault; it was mine. If I had done anything right, Scarlett would be in my arms right now. “This is what she does. I'll find her. She'll only come out for me.” I hoped.

I checked the operating room. Gary's body was gone, but blood covered the floor. “Scarlett! You can come out now. I promise it's safe.”

Nothing.

I thundered down the stairs, back to the refrigerated embalming room. She wasn't there either.

I rounded the corner and headed toward the doors where I'd first entered the building however many hours ago that was. I searched Gary's office, pulling books and files from every possible hiding place, my desperation rising with every empty closet. She wasn't there.

I went into the viewing room. “Scarlett! If you don't come out right this second—” I didn't finish the threat.

The lid to the coffin rose a few inches.

I ran over and flung it open.

She was there.

Somehow, she'd climbed the metal scaffolding of the rolling table, scrambled into the casket, and worked her way under the lining. If you glanced in quickly, you wouldn't see anyone there, just an empty coffin.

I ripped the silky white padding all the way off and lifted her out, ignoring the searing pain in my body. “You are in so much trouble.” I hugged her as hard as I could. “We had a deal.”

“'Bout time,” she said. She held on tight, her arms around my neck and her feet dangling a foot off the ground.

The paramedics came in after us, wanting to take Scarlett to the ambulance to be checked out. I wouldn't let go. Not again. She put her hand in the crook of my arm. I loved it there.

After another half hour of probing by the medical personnel—and questioning from Parker—I was pronounced banged up, but okay. Parker said we could go. Actually, what he said was, “You look like a cat in the blender. I'll take you home.”

He confiscated my dad's gun for evidence and said he'd come by tomorrow to see how we were. He loaded us into the back of a police cruiser.

We were home in ten minutes. Lights shone from my dad's study, even though the green digital clock on Parker's dash said two a.m.

Parker walked us to the door.

“Thanks,” I said to him. “I owe you my life. And Scarlett's.”

“That's twice now.” He grinned. “Let's not make it a third, all right, cowboy?”

“All right.”

I opened the door and stepped inside. I'd never been so tired in my whole life. My head pounded, and my ribs burned. I'd been shot and beaten up and had some kind of medical prop broken across my back. All I wanted now was to go upstairs, take one of every pill on my nightstand, and sleep for at least twenty-four hours. And then—shower.

My dad stepped out of his study. His steely gray eyes locked on me. I looked away.

I whispered into Scarlett's ear, “He's waiting for me. You go up. I'll be there in a minute.”

“Okay.” She climbed the stairs and disappeared into her room.

I took a deep breath and then lifted my gaze to my father's. He'd always been so tall, taller than me by a good two inches. Tonight, his shoulders drooped, and he seemed old and tired. Worn out. Afraid. Probably how I looked too. He didn't speak, waiting for me to say the first words.

“Parker said you called.”

He nodded. “When you didn't come home, I worried.” His voice broke, and he pinched his lips together.

“Thanks. If he hadn't shown up . . .” I didn't need to finish. We both knew the ending.

“Are you all right?”

I could see the effort it cost him to keep his eyes on mine. He wanted to look away, relieve the tension.

I felt the same way—encumbered by guilt and shame for my cruel words. Those were hard things to face eye to eye. And he had so much more to face than I did. I shrugged with my good arm. “I didn't get shot, so that's good.”

He huffed a feeble laugh then rubbed his eyes. “Son, I am so sorry.”

I think I would have been okay if he had said anything besides
son
. But he didn't. He said it like he meant it, like he was proud to be my father, and I lost it. I broke down, my body shaking as I tried to get back in control. I was a kid again. A child. Not the guy who'd shot a man to save the girl he loved but the one who needed saving.

I lowered myself onto the stairs, sitting with my head in my hands, blinking hard. He came and sat beside me, putting his arm across my shoulders, squeezing, pulling me close. I let it all go—leaning my head in and crying like I hadn't cried since I'd watched my mother die.

“Dad,” I said.

After a few minutes, he said, “It's late; you should get to bed. You look terrible.”

“So I've been told.” I stood up, climbing the stairs with my last reserves of energy. I flung the covers back and slid into bed, too tired to take any medication.

What would things be like tomorrow? It had been a long day, and we were both exhausted. Eight years couldn't be fixed in five minutes. I knew that. I figured we had some awkward months ahead of us, followed by more only slightly less awkward years. But that was okay. It would be worth it.

* * *

I woke up with the sun streaming through my window and my body on fire. And someone knocking softly on my door.

“Yeah?”

The door opened, revealing Scarlett. She looked like she'd just woken up too. Her pink hair formed a fuzzy tangle around her face, and she was wearing sweat pants and a Barry Manilow T-shirt that could have come only from Gloria.

“Can I come in?” She brandished her mischievous grin. “I don't want to muck up your boundaries.”

Nice to know Scarlett was okay. “You can come in.”

She sat on the edge of my bed. “I guess you're the hero now.”

“I don't know. Maybe.” I had managed to save her, but I would have felt a lot better if Jenny was still alive.

Scarlett lifted the hand of my nonbullet-hole arm and placed it on the side of her face. “Thanks,” she said, her voice suddenly serious.

I pulled her close and kissed her. “Well, someone has to look out for you foreigners.”

I tried to scoot up in the bed so I could sit, but the muscles in my arm didn't cooperate. A new selection of water bottles had appeared on my nightstand. I opened one and drank it, along with a small handful of Ibuprofen.

“I thought you'd come in and say good night,” she said.

“I meant to, but I barely made it up the stairs. One extra step would've been my last.” I should've gone in, but I was a mess and not quite ready to talk about it yet. “What happened?” I asked. “What happened after you left here with Simon?”

She shuddered. “Christian, I had no idea he was married to her. I can't believe I was so thick. I thought he was a nice guy. Just goes to show, you can't trust anyone.”

“You can trust me.”

“I know.” She touched my face, her fingers soft and light, impossible to resist.

I managed to push myself up so I was sitting this time, leaning back against the headboard. She told me how Simon took her straight to the mortuary. Turned her over to Dr. Wyden without any hesitation. They had planned to do the surgery that night, but Katie said the nanocamera wasn't ready. She stalled but could put them off only for one day.

“I heard you trashed her clinic,” Scarlett said, laughing.

“I don't know if that's what I'd say exactly. But I went to her office to find out why Connor and Gary kept following me even after you were gone. They tried to kill me at school that morning. At the clinic, the receptionist—Jenny, remember her?”

“The appointment girl?”

“Right. She helped me search Dr. Wyden's office. That's when I found a photograph of Dr. Wyden, Simon, and their daughter. I knew then you'd been taken. They found me at the clinic. Connor shot Jenny.”

“He killed her?”

“Yes. For no reason. Another casualty of Wyden's freak-tastic plans.”

“It's because she saw them. Simon told me if I hadn't had my dream, none of this would've happened.” She was quiet for a moment then said, “It's over now. And Dr. Wyden is locked up. No one else will get hurt. Everything worked out fine.”

“Fine? A girl is dead; Katie is in the hospital; I have a bullet hole through my arm and probably a concussion. Or two.”

She wanted to feel the damage from Connor's gun. I pulled up my sleeve and found the bandage soaked. I hadn't changed it last night, and all the exertion had kept the blood flowing.

I undid the tape, pulling it off gingerly, then unwound the long strip of gauze, exposing a mass of dried blood and gunk. Was I supposed to have it checked today? I didn't have the energy to leave the house for anything.