Blind Eye (26 page)

“The colors are especially beautiful this year,” he said, though he hadn't even noticed until just now.

She let go of his hand and laid her fingers on the leaf with utmost gentleness. She took another deep breath and this time lifted her chin and closed her eyes.

Sid took a deep breath, too. The autumn air felt good in his lungs.

He stared at her. Because of her, he was remembering to look at the simple joys of life.

“We have two more patient transfers today,” one of the men grumbled, breaking the serenity of the moment.

“We're not going anywhere until her bag comes,” Sid told him in a sharp tone.

Luckily, Jennifer stepped out only a minute later. Sid had every intention of making them wait, though, if it had taken another hour.

The nurse was teary-eyed when she said goodbye to Amelia. She promised to come and see her by midweek. One of the cops gave instructions to the driver regarding the exact route to take to Wallingford. Sid climbed into the ambulance first and the two men moved Amelia in next.

He saw one of the medics was about to climb into the back, too.

“That won't be necessary,” Sid told him. “I'm her physician. You can sit in the front with the driver.”

The two paramedics looked at each other and then one shrugged. “Sure, Doc. Whatever you want.”

One of the cops was standing behind the medic, who was reaching for the door.

“I'll get it,” the cop said, taking hold of the door. He was a tall, burly guy with the ruddy face of a guy who spent a lot of time outdoors. He looked at Sid. “What kind of trouble do you expect?”

“I wish I knew. Did anyone tell you what happened last night?”

“Yep. I'm just wondering if we should have arranged for a couple of cruisers.”

Sid would have felt better if they had.

“We'll be okay. It's a straightforward stretch of highway, and we're traveling midday.” The officer was talking himself out of it. “We can always call for help if we need it.”

“That's right,” Sid replied. “Just keep an eye open.”

“That's what we do,” the cop said cheerfully. “We'll see you in Wallingford.” He closed the back door of the ambulance.

Sid took his seat on the bench beside the gurney before he looked at Amelia. She was casting anxious glances around the enclosed space. He laid his hand next to hers, and she immediately clutched his fingers. He tried to remember the last time he'd ridden in the back of an ambulance. It had to be when he was an undergraduate student, doing an internship with an EMT corp.

He looked around him, imagining what it would be like to see all of this for the first time. Even more frightening, he supposed, if he were unable to speak or move the way Amelia was now.

The ambulance jerked slightly and they were underway.

“These are just supplies,” Sid told her, motioning to the shelves next to her. “Nothing to do with you.”

Amelia looked where he'd pointed. A sharp turn caused everything to rattle. Her grip tightened even more.

“Jeez,” he said with a smile. “Must be a new driver.”

A divider with a cabinet at the bottom and a sliding window at the top separated them from the driver. Sid was tempted to reach over and tap on the glass, reminding them that there were passengers in the back and the patient was stressed enough as it was. To do that, though, he'd have to free himself from Amelia's grasp. He decided against it.

He didn't know how much of her memory Amelia had gained back. Memory recovery in patients covered a wide range. Some never recalled anything of the years they'd been in the MCS state, while others reported details of that gap immediately. What she would remember of the time prior to the accident was also unknown at this point, but Sid knew that she remembered her sister, at least. It wasn't until she regained the use of her voice or improved the motor skills needed to write or type clearly that they could test her on those things.

As far as her involvement in their research study, he knew he needed to proceed very slowly. All of the ethical issues that factored into a patient's family's decision not to participate were now a reality with Amelia. Still, he wasn't going to worry about that for now.

The ambulance was weaving through traffic, with more occasional rattling of equipment. He glared over his shoulder at the driver. The dividing window was closed. Through it, Sid caught a glimpse of the highway. The traffic appeared to be light.

Sid felt Amelia's fingers let go of his. He looked at her hand. She was trying to trace letters on the blanket.

He looked up at her. “Good, I'd much rather carry on
a conversation with you than worry about this crazy driver.”

Her fingers continued to move.

He looked around him for something she could write on. Digging into his bag, he took out a pad of paper and a pen. Amelia's left hand was next to Sid. He already knew she was right-handed. He undid his seat belt and stood up, looking over the gurney. The fingers on her right hand were moving, too.

“How about if we make this a little easier?” Reaching over, he carefully placed the pad of paper under her right hand. Holding the pen upright, he wrapped her fingers around it.

Watching her face, he could see she was concentrating very hard, but her motor skills were already improving. The first letter was easy to recognize.

“‘B,'”
Sid repeated.

She blinked. He grabbed hold of an overhead safety bar as the ambulance veered again in the traffic. They were really moving.

“What the heck?” he complained, glancing up at the window. The driver or the other guy had closed the privacy cover on the divider.

Amelia's fingers continued to move on the paper. Trying to maintain his balance, Sid looked over.

“‘Bad,'”
he repeated what she'd written down.

She blinked again and was already writing on the pad again.

“Wait.” He repositioned the pad so that she was writing on a clean space. “Okay, go ahead.”

Sid focused on the paper as she wrote. She had trouble with these letters but in a matter of seconds what she'd marked became clear.

“‘Gun?'”
he asked.

She blinked. The pencil dropped onto the blanket.

“Bad…gun,” he said.

She was staring at him like he was an imbecile.

“Gun…where would you see a gun?” He tried to think why she would think of that word now. “The cops…the police officers by the building. They had guns.”

She again just stared. Sid sat down as another weaving movement of the ambulance nearly threw him against the side wall. He couldn't understand the reason for driving like this. He watched Amelia's eyes move upward…toward the front of the ambulance. She tried to lift her head, but she couldn't, lying flat on her back. She succeeded in slightly pulling herself against the straps holding her, and raising her eyes to the window again, before she dropped back down.

“Do
they
have gun?” he asked.

She blinked.

San Diego International Airport

A
fter four flight changes and eighteen hours of travel, Shawn Dunlap was bone weary by the time the plane touched down in San Diego International Airport. As soon as the okay came through from the pilot to use electronics, Shawn had his cell phone open and was dialing Helen's number.

She didn't answer.

Shawn dialed the number for Cynthia's condo next. The answering machine picked up there. He didn't leave a message.

He'd tried to take a nap on the last leg of the flight, but he couldn't sleep. He was too worried about Cynthia. He'd spoken to a doctor in the intensive care unit at the hospital while waiting to get on the plane in Gaborone, the capital of Botswana. The information he'd been given then was vague. They didn't have the results back from a number of tests that had been done on her. The prognosis so far was not good. That much was clear.

He'd tried to call Helen from Johannesburg, South Africa, then again from Dakar, Senegal. Each time, there'd been no answer. He'd tried the hospital again at
every flight change, as well, but hadn't been able to get any of the doctors on the phone, until his last flight change at Dulles in D.C. Her condition was still touch and go. She had sustained internal bleeding. They were in the process of deciding if they should go ahead with surgery or not.

Shawn knew how Cynthia had always struggled with her mother. Their relationship had reversed at some time when she was in high school. The daughter had become the parent. Helen was definitely the dependent one.

He would have thought that in a situation such as this, Helen would pull herself together and stick by her daughter until he arrived. Maybe she was doing that, Shawn told himself as he followed the line of people leaving the plane. Optimist that he was, he wanted to think that perhaps Helen was back at the hospital, and she had her cell phone off because of hospital regulations.

Shawn didn't wait for his luggage before heading toward customs. Because of the standby status at every leg of the trip, he'd been warned that it might take days before his suitcase arrived in San Diego. He couldn't care less about that now. They'd hold it for him.

He was ahead of the crowd going through customs. A quick swipe of his passport by the immigration officer, and he was heading for the doors to get a cab. Cynthia had dropped him off at the airport when he'd left on this trip.

A line of people stood waiting at the sidewalk for taxis. He decided to call the hospital again. Maybe by now the doctor he'd spoken to would have more definitive answers for him.

He asked for the physician. Shawn was told that the
doctor was gone for the day. He asked for the physician in charge of Cynthia's care at the moment.

“I can connect you to the nurses' station on the floor the patient is located,” the operator told him.

“That's fine.”

“The name of the patient?”

“Cynthia Adrian,” Shawn said. There were two groups before him to get a taxi. There was a traffic jam of cars waiting for travelers, and an airport security officer was directing the traffic in front, allowing only one taxi to pull against the curb at a time.

“Can you spell the name?”

Shawn gave her the spelling. There was a considerable pause on the other side. He figured she was probably transferring the call. He was wrong. The same woman's voice came back on line.

“I'm sorry, sir. But we have no patient under that name at this hospital.”

He turned away from people waiting in line. Now he was getting pissed off. “I suggest you check again. My fiancée has been a patient—”

“Mr. Dunlap?”

Shawn turned around and looked at the two men standing a few feet from him. One of them already was holding out a badge.

“Mr. Dunlap?” the man asked again.

“Hold on,” Shawn said into the phone before answering. “Yes?”

“Sir, I'm Special Agent Mendoza and this is Special Agent Sirnio. We're with the FBI.” The other one took out his badge, too. “Could we have a word with you, sir?”

Shawn could feel the eyes of everyone around them in line.

“Of course.”

As an attorney specializing in international law, Shawn had, for most of his career, simply worked on closing foreign business deals. There hadn't been too many times when he'd had to deal with law enforcement officers. He checked their identification.

“Does this have to do with Cynthia?” he asked, guessing.

The one who'd made the introductions nodded.

“She's okay. Isn't she?” he asked. Shawn noticed that his cell phone was still open and the operator was saying something on the other end. He closed it. The agents were not answering, and their faces were serious, giving away nothing.

“Would you come with us, sir? We need to talk privately.”

“Why?” he protested. “I want to know what's happened to my fiancée. Is she okay? Where is she?”

“We'll take you to her,” Agent Sirnio said quietly.

A minute ago, he'd been told that Cynthia was no longer at the hospital. Shawn shrugged and walked with them to the curb. Immediately, a dark SUV pulled in front and Shawn climbed into the backseat with Sirnio.

The vehicle pulled into traffic.

“What's going on?” Shawn asked impatiently. “Where's Cynthia?”

“We had to move her to another location for her own safety,” Agent Mendoza said, turning in the front seat to look at him.

“Her own safety?” Shawn repeated. “What happened to her Sunday morning wasn't an accident, was it?” It wasn't a question.

“We don't believe so.” The man turned back in his seat, staring at the traffic.

Shawn waited for either of the agents to say more. Neither did. The driver had said nothing, either, since they'd left the terminal.

“Why Cynthia? And how is it possible that the intensive care unit at a hospital isn't safe?”

More silence.

“Are you going to explain to me what's going on?” Shawn barked. He was too tired to care how they took his tone.

The driver stared at him in the mirror. The agent sitting in front finally turned around.

“We're at a critical stage of a major investigation. No names or events can be released at this time,” Mendoza explained. “I can tell you, though, that we had a call from another field office that there could be a possible threat on your fiancée's life. Local law enforcement determined that the details of her ‘accident' were suspicious, to say the least. In light of the call we received, we took over this end of the investigation. We set up our own security for the wing of the hospital where she was located. As expected, there was a security breach that could have been part of an attempt on her life. The perpetrators were not apprehended, but we are following leads right now. With regard to your fiancée, the decision was made to move her to a safer location.”

Shawn felt he still was in the dark. “The last time I spoke to her doctor, they were contemplating surgery to release some of the pressure building up from internal bleeding in her brain. Was she in any condition to be moved?”

“Yes, she was. And she's already been operated on and our understanding is that a stent was put in. That's all we know.”

They were taking Shawn to her. He decided he could
ask his medical questions of the doctor who was looking after Cynthia's care. He rubbed his neck. He was upset, but at least he now felt closer to the situation.

“Helen Adrian,” he said, remembering Cynthia's mother. This explained why she hadn't been answering her phone. “I assume she's with her daughter.”

“No, she isn't,” Sirnio answered. “We've been trying to contact her.”

“Did you send someone to Cynthia's condo? She might be there. She can't have just disappeared.”

Sirnio shook his head. “She wasn't there. Actually, we were hoping you might know where she is.”