A Raging Dawn (32 page)

Too many questions. But first…check in with Ryder and then see Jacob.

I paused at the restroom door and swung back to Devon. He’d loved once, loved so powerfully he’d sacrificed everything, including leaving Jess and Esme behind in order to keep them safe.

If there was no cure, and if these few weeks, months, were all I had, could I ask Ryder to suffer through that with me?

I knew Ryder’s answer. He’d made that clear. Just as Jess would have risked everything to go with Devon eleven years ago.

But… “When you left Jess, was it worth it? All those years apart?”

“Yes.” Devon didn’t appear surprised by the question. Didn’t hesitate in his answer. As if it was something he thought of constantly, weighed with each passing moment. “It kept her safe. And Esme. It’s the one decision I’ll never regret.”

His stare was heavy with the pain that decision had cost him—never seeing the woman he loved again, missing the first decade of his daughter’s life. But he bore the pain, carried it until it became a part of who he was.

Eleven years Devon had lived with his choice. I’d be lucky if I had eleven months. More likely eleven weeks.

My panic must have shown.

“He’s a big boy, doc. Ryder can handle it.” He glanced at the ICU entrance across the lobby from the restrooms. “I’ll check on Jacob, see if we can get in to see him now. Meet you in a few.”

I pushed through the door to the ladies’ room, glad for some privacy. Maybe Ryder could handle what was coming, but could I?

And yet, knowing that the fatal insomnia might have been manmade had awakened a small spark of hope, one I could not ignore.

Tiny, fragile hope. Was it enough to risk Ryder’s future on?

INSIDE THE WOMEN’S
room, I called Ryder. “Just wanted to let you know that it might be a while before I make it over to Jimmy’s Place,” I told him. “I’m going to sit with Jacob.”

“Is he doing any better?” His voice was filled with honest concern.

“I’m not sure. They were doing a procedure, so I haven’t had a chance to check on him.”

“You know, and I don’t mean this in a bad way, but a dying ex-husband trumps a family dinner.”

“Sweet of you to try to give me an excuse to avoid my family, but they love Jacob as much as I do. Tonight will be about him, honoring him. But you don’t have to go—” I held my breath. Wasn’t sure I could make it through the night without him.

“Of course I’ll be there. He’s my friend as well.” He paused, and I sensed a shift in his mood from grim to playful. “Besides, that way you’ll owe me.”

“Owe you?” I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “Owe you what?”

“We do Christmas Eve with your family, then Christmas Day with mine. Well, not the whole day,” he hastened to add, no doubt sensing my hesitation. “Just dinner.”

“Meet your parents?” It was something I’d avoided these past three weeks.

“And my sister and brother, assorted nieces and nephews, my grandfather, and a great-uncle.”

“Do they know who I am? That I’m the reason you got shot last month?”

“That you’re the doctor who saved my life last month. Dinner’s at four, so you’ve plenty of time to chicken out.”

Except how could I? He’d done so much for me, tolerated my crazy family.

“I’ll sweeten the deal.” His voice dropped, becoming languid and sexy. “Know what we’ll be doing after dinner and two servings of my mom’s world-famous chocolate bourbon pecan pie?”

“Sit on the couch in a pre-diabetic stupor, watching football?”

“Oh no. I have plans for you, young lady. Testing your knowledge of the male anatomy.”

That sounded promising. “Really? Want to be more specific? Is this an oral exam or practical?”

“Both. I’m going to—” His phone beeped, cutting him off. “Damn. I have to take this. I’ll see you at your uncle’s. Remember, you stick with Price.”

“Promise.” And he was gone. Despite the trauma of the past week, I felt better than I had in ages. Other people might not understand the need to joke and banter in the midst of death and destruction, but I’d needed the light Ryder cast into the darkness surrounding me.

I washed my face, the cold water sparking against my flushed skin. That man…just the sound of his voice, much less the promise of being in his arms. Despite everything, I couldn’t help my smile when I caught my reflection in the mirror. Grinning like a silly schoolgirl who’d fallen in crush. In lust, was more like it.

Maybe even … in love?

Could I dare fall in love? Now?

Ryder had already seen me at my worst. And it hadn’t stopped him. I circled my fingers around his pendant, caressing the amber. It was so very old and fragile, and yet still so full of life.

Maybe how many days you had left to be in love with someone wasn’t as important as what you did with the time? To love so powerfully that a death sentence became meaningless. Could Ryder and I have that?

At least I’d die trying. A hopeful sigh born more of nerves and fear than joy escaped me. Focus. There were kids dying out there, kids I could maybe help. And Jacob. I had to pull myself together before seeing him.

I straightened as the door opened. A flash of black at the mirror’s edge grabbed my eye. Before I could react, the man was on me, shoving me hard against the sink, pinning my face against the mirror as he leaned his weight against me.

His gloved hand circled my neck, squeezing so hard he cut off blood flow to my brain, enough so that red spots flared in my vision. His breath was hot against my ear as he whispered, “Jacob has a message for you. If you want the cure, call us after you talk with him.”

Jacob was awake? There was a cure? Joy collided with my fear, a clash of emotions careening through my brain.

The man in black tossed a cell phone onto the counter, the sound a clatter of thunder as I strained to breathe, to stay conscious. Whoever he was, one of the Brotherhood, Littleton’s mysterious partners, he knew his anatomy. Could a doctor be involved in their twisted games? The thought sickened me. I kicked back, my foot hitting nothing but air. He didn’t react other than to squeeze harder until the world became a haze of gray.

He released me. I collapsed forward onto the sink, hitting my chin on the porcelain bowl as I slumped to the floor.

By the time my vision cleared, the door had swung shut behind him.

A moment later, Devon came rushing in. “Are you all right? When I came out of the ICU, I saw a man leaving—”

“He was one of the men who attacked Jacob.” My voice was hoarse, but my mind was clearing. Devon helped me to my feet. “He gave me this phone to call him. Think you can use it to find him?”

The phone was a prepaid cell, but in addition to his street contacts, Devon had access to technology beyond the law. He grabbed the phone. “I’m on it.”

We made it to the door, and he held it open for me. I stumbled to the wall beside the elevator, leaning my weight against it, still feeling shaky. “I have to check on Jacob.”

“I’ll take care of these bastards. I promise you won’t ever have to worry about the Brotherhood again.” The glare in his eyes was more dangerous than the man who’d attacked me.

“Call Ryder,” I told him. “He can help.”

Devon didn’t answer as he turned and ran to the stairs, leaving me at the ICU doors. I rushed inside, anxious to see Jacob awake, to learn what he had to tell me that was so vital that the Brotherhood had gone to such great lengths to learn it. Had Littleton told Jacob something covered by attorney-client privilege?

Why beat him almost to death, poison him with PXA, and now two days later, tell me to play messenger? It made no sense.

The ICU was made up of several treatment areas. One pod had six special isolation rooms designed for patients at risk for infection. The main area was an open space ringed with beds for post-op patients who needed overnight monitoring but not long-term care, and in the back was a row of cubicles with walls on three sides and a privacy curtain in front. These were for the long-term patients and ones needing an advanced level of care.

Heaven’s waiting room, I’d heard a medical resident call it once. The lights were always dim, the sounds hushed, even during a code. This was where I found Jacob.

The curtain around his cubicle was open, a hemofiltration unit parked at the foot of the bed. He was still on the ventilator, couldn’t breathe on his own, much less talk. But the man had said…

I stopped, my pulse beating so hard in my throat I couldn’t swallow. He said Jacob had a message for me. That I needed to talk to him if I wanted the cure.

I glanced over my shoulder, certain the man was there, watching me. No one except a nurse, busy charting, and Tommaso, Louise’s neurology fellow, both unlucky enough to pull the Christmas Eve shift. Neither seemed to notice I was there.

My vision wavered as I realized how wrong I’d been. This wasn’t about Jacob. It never had been. This was about me. Me and my damned fatal insomnia.

How could the man in black have known? My body trembled as I stepped closer to Jacob. No. It was impossible. There was no way the Brotherhood could have any idea about my ability to talk with people in comas.

Except…The PXA they’d injected Jacob with, sealing his fate, that couldn’t have been intended solely to test me, could it?

Maybe he’d meant some other kind of message? I scoured the area around Jacob’s bedside, looking for anything the man could have left. Nothing. Except Jacob.

He appeared shrunken—so strange for a man who always seemed larger than life. Skin pale, hair plastered to his scalp, making his face seem cadaveric. As if he’d already left this world far behind.

I sank down into the chair beside his bed, taking care not to touch him. His brain waves danced across the monitor above him, neon glows translating every nuance of consciousness. Or lack thereof. Jacob’s brain-wave pattern was filled with theta spindle bursts—a pattern exhibited by patients near death or exposed to PXA. The kind of brain waves my Swiss-cheese, prion-riddled brain could communicate with.

The Brotherhood
had
put him into this specific kind of coma on purpose. The beating was just to get my attention. It was the PXA they’d used as their
coup de grace
that was the real reason behind Jacob’s attack.

They wanted me to contact him inside his coma. I extended my hand toward his but pulled it back. No. I couldn’t.

Worse than trespassing, it was an invasion. Every memory, every hope and dream, every sin, every guilty thought exposed. Every secret. I couldn’t do that to Jacob. He deserved more from me, so much more. It would break us both.

The man in black’s words hammered at me.
If you want the cure
, he’d said.

If the Brotherhood had done this to Jacob, were they now offering a chance to save him? Turning Jacob into their proxy, a performance piece in one of their sick fantasies? I didn’t understand what that would accomplish. Except, if they knew of my abilities, maybe it was me they were after. Maybe I could barter my life in exchange for the cure for Jacob.

A lot of maybes.

Could I risk it?

How could I not? I placed my hand over Jacob’s and let myself fall into his black dream.

THE CHILDREN, YOUTH
, and Family Services offices were deserted by the time Ryder arrived. No wonder, it was almost five o’clock on Christmas Eve. But Nancy Worth, the social worker who had handled Eugene Littleton’s case years ago, had said it was the only time she could meet. That gave him just enough time to shower and change.

“Nancy Worth?” he asked the gray-haired woman he found in a cubicle, typing furiously on a laptop, the keystrokes rattling through the otherwise quiet office. She was spindly thin, all angles, no curves. Except for the smile lines bracketing her lips. She waved a hand at him as she finished typing, then looked up. He saw how she’d earned those wrinkles; her smile was deep and engaging.

“If we can put men on the moon and supercomputers into the palm of our hands, why can’t we find a way to eliminate paperwork?”

He smiled back at her. “Wish I had an answer to that. I’m Matthew Ryder. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes, Detective Ryder. It’s so nice to meet you.” She closed her laptop with one hand and gestured him into the chair beside her with the other. “You wanted to know about Eugene Littleton.”

“As I told you, we haven’t been able to unseal his juvenile records yet, but I was hoping for deep background. Personal insights. Nothing that would violate any confidentiality imposed by the courts.”

She considered that, then gave him a nod that reminded him of his third-grade teacher. “I think we can have a conversation within those parameters. Most of the story is public record anyway.”

He settled in, prepared to listen. “What can you tell me?”

“Such a tragic family. Parents both in and out of either prison or rehab, yet somehow they managed to have three children born within three years. Because of Mom’s history, we were involved almost immediately.”