Bound by Suggestion (27 page)

There were two people Richard would trust with his life: Jeff was one, Michael was the other.

“I need some computer slight-of-hand, something that won’t be traceable.”

“I know just the person to do it,” Michael said, smug. “What do you need?”

“Anything you can dig up on Krista Anna Marsh, MD.”

“Who is she, and why are you after her?”

A reasonable question.

“She just may be one of the bad guys.”

“They do come in both genders.”

“Malpractice and ethical misconduct at the least. Criminal charges if applicable. I want to know where she came from and what she’s done in the past.”

“Is she messing with one of your patients?” Michael guessed.

“Someone I care deeply about.” Richard gave Michael Krista’s address and license plate number, knowing the New York DMV would be a good starting point for the info search, and told him she’d last practiced in Indiana.

“Piece of cake. When do you need this?”

“Yesterday.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Michael offered.

“Just as good.”

“You got it. I’ll e-mail you a full report. Listen, Richard, you didn’t have to leave L.A. If you ever want to come back, you know I’ve got connections. I can hitch you up with something. Just say the word.”

Richard leaned back in his chair. “Thanks, but no. I’ve got my kid brother here, and Brenda’s pregnant again.”

“So Bonnie said. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. We’re making it work.”

“I envy you. You got to go home . . . .” Michael’s voice trailed off. The resulting long-distance silence lengthened.

Michael cleared his throat. “Sorry I have to cut this short, but I’ve got a golf game in half an hour.”

“Golfing? You?”

“These days, I make more deals on the course than I do in the office. The fact that I play so badly only helps.”

“Give Bonnie my love,” Richard said. “And thank our favorite computer guru for me.”

“You got it.”

Richard envisioned the smile on his friend’s face.

No sooner had he hung up the phone when it rang again.

“Richard!” It was Maggie’s voice, frantic.

“Maggie. What’s up?”

“Where’s Jeff? I’ve been trying to reach him. Is he all right?”

“I haven’t seen him today. He was okay last night.”

“Oh, Richard, you know he wasn’t. Go over and check on him, will you?”

Richard frowned. Where did she get off acting like she cared? Where was her concern two weeks ago when she’d dumped the poor guy?

“Jeff gave me the impression you were no longer interested in his welfare.”

A lengthy silence followed that pronouncement.

“I care enough to know when something’s wrong,” she said.

Richard fought the urge to speak.

“You can’t know—you can’t understand,” Maggie said, “but he calls to me. I could be a million miles away, and I’d still hear him when he thinks my name.”

“That must make it awkward now that you’ve moved on.”

Again, silence.

Damn. He hadn’t meant to twist the knife, but she had hurt Jeff.

“Richard, please go over and make sure Jeff’s okay. If something’s happened, I’d never forgive myself—or you.”

He deserved that.

“Okay. Do you want him to call you?”

“No. But if you could let me know later . . . .”

“Sure,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Silence descended again.

“I know you won’t believe this, but I do love him. It just wasn’t working out.”

“I’ll call you later, Maggie,” Richard promised.

A click, and then the line went dead.

Richard hung up the receiver and stared at the phone. Maggie was probably over-reacting. But then she and Jeff had shared something unique.

Then again, if their relationship was that special, why had it soured?

Rising from his chair, Richard headed for the kitchen and the back door.

Brenda stood at the counter, spatula in hand, a tub of store-bought icing beside a lop-sided cake on a milk-glass pedestal plate.

“It doesn’t look too good, does it?” she said.

“You used a mix, right?”

She nodded.

“Then it should taste okay. Jeff won’t care. He’ll love it because you made it.”

Brenda frowned, her shoulders slumping. “When are you going to stop doing that?”

“Stop what?”

“Insinuating that your brother and I are involved. We’re not.”

Richard pursed his lips.

“When that nut-case came gunning for me last year, Jeffy saved my life. It was a frightening, powerful moment. But that’s all it was—a moment.” She set the spatula on the counter and planted her right hand on her hip. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I married you—not Jeffy. I’m having your baby. Not his. I love him, but not in a sexual way. If you can’t accept that, then you’re the one who needs a shrink—not him.”

“Jeff doesn’t need a shrink, least of all Krista Marsh. And I’m sorry. I have been a bastard lately.”

“A behavior you’re going to stop, right?”

Richard took her in his arms. “Yes. Now, can we kiss and make up?”

“Well, okay.” She gave him a quick kiss. Then she kissed him again, slower this time. And again. Coming up for air, she pushed him away. “I’ve got to finish this cake.”

Brenda turned back to the counter and picked up a pastry bag, plopping a blob of pink tinted frosting into it. She twisted it until it leaked from the other end. “I wish Maggie was doing this. She does beautiful work.”

“That was her on the phone a few minutes ago. She wants me to check on Jeff.”

“Good idea.” Brenda squirted icing on a square of waxed paper, turned it, squirted, turned it again and again until a limp mass formed that might have been a rose. “Drag him over here, will you? I don’t like the idea of him lying around up there all alone and depressed.”

“All right. But, couldn’t I have one more kiss?”

Brenda sighed. “A woman’s work is never done.” She set the pastry bag aside and turned. “Pucker up, baby.”

Do it
do it do it do it do it do it do it!

Hands clamped over my ears, I willed the waves of self-destructive forces bubbling through me to go away.

Leave me alone.

Get the hell away from me!

The force cranked up the volume.

I jumped up from the couch, pacing the floor. I needed something.

I needed someone.

Maggie!

Brenda!

Richard!

No one would come. No one could know,
feel
the icy fingers picking at my will, urging me to—

I marched past the dining table, heading for the bathroom, and tripped over Herschel.

The black cat turned glowing eyes on me, hissing, his back arched like some kind of Halloween cliché.

He knew. And he couldn’t stop me.

I made it to the bathroom and flipped on the light switch. The cabinet door was ajar, just as I’d left it. I took out the first bottle of pills and struggled to remove the child-proof cap. Why couldn’t I find the strength to dump them down the toilet?

The pills spilled into my palm. Pink ones. Eight left. I remembered the time I’d lost count and took six in one morning—how sick I’d been.

I shoved them in my mouth, struggling to swallow. No good. As I filled the plastic tumbler with water, I crunched a few of them to bitter powder, then drank until it all went down.

The second bottle had four tablets. I dumped them in my mouth, drank again, and swallowed them whole.

I lost count of the pills and ran out of water by the time I got to the last vial.

The misery that had filled me for so long was suddenly, wrenchingly gone, leaving me an empty husk. Even the pesky voice in my head ceased its chatter.

I closed the medicine cabinet door. A haggard stranger looked back at me from the mirror. Drawn face, red vacant eyes, stubbled chin.

I looked away.

Someone banged on the door. Herschel flew across the hardwood floor to my bedroom.

“Jeff? It’s Richard. Open up.”

I stood frozen. A dribble of water ran down my chin.

“Jeff!” he called again.

Absently, I wiped at my mouth.

I heard the door jerk open. He had a key, too.

“Jeff! Where the hell are you?” Richard yelled, sounding panicked.

“In the bathroom.”

“Hurry up,” he said, this time sounding more calm. “I want to talk.”

I ran the tap, enough to fill the glass an inch, and choked down the last of the pills. With great care, I set the tumbler on the side of the sink.

I walked out of the bathroom, only slightly unsteady on my feet, feeling like a drunk under a cop’s scrutiny. I made it to the couch, flopped down, trying to give the impression of fatigue, which didn’t take phenomenal acting skills.

Lecture time, and Richard looked psyched to give one.

“Maggie called a few minutes ago.”

My head jerked up.

“She was frantic,” Richard continued. “You said you were in trouble.”

How could she know? Oh, God, did she still care?

Oh, fuck—it was already too late.

I looked away. “I’m okay.”

“Jeff, what the hell is going on with you?”

I looked up at him, feeling like a bad little boy. Yeah, I was that. His penetrating gaze bore into me, causing the guilt to swell. “Nothing. I’m . . . just a nothing.”

The birthday card stood at attention on the end table. I reached to turn it over, didn’t want him to see it. My throat tightened with emotion. I didn’t—couldn’t—look at my brother. Regret, angst—you name it. Right about then, I was feeling just about every negative emotion known to man.

“What’s with you lately?” Richard pressed.

“Nothing that very little time won’t cure.”

“Don’t give me that crap. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. And that stunt you pulled last night, walking home in the rain—”

“I couldn’t stay any more. But I won’t put you in that position again.”

Richard paced up and down in front of me, filled with nervous energy, which wasn’t like him. “Come on, you can come up with something better than that, can’t you? How about what’s really eating you?”

“Okay, I’ll level with you.” I took a breath, feeling shaky. I didn’t realize it would hit me this fast. “I’m tired of it—all of it. I can’t take these visions anymore. Can’t take knowing how everybody else feels when nobody knows—or cares—how I feel.”

“Don’t give me that, I’ve spent the last year trying to convince you to get some help—to investigate the problem. You’ve got no other choice but to learn to live with it.”

“I have a choice,” I muttered. Taking a breath, I spoke deliberately. “And I’m taking it.”

Richard frowned. “I know you’ve been depressed since Maggie left, but you’ve got to get past it. She wouldn’t want you tearing yourself apart like this. I want to help, Jeff. Let me.”

“You can’t bail me out with your checkbook this time.” I couldn’t look him in the eye. This wasn’t Richard’s fault. None of it was his fault and I was damned if the last thing I ever did was to lay a guilt trip on him. He’d feel bad enough.

Shit. I hadn’t thought this whole thing out—hadn’t remembered to leave a note. He’d always wonder. And Herschel—who’d take care of him? Dammit . . . why hadn’t I thought this through?

A wave of giddiness came over me. I had to say something while I still had time—while I could still think.

“Rich—”

The room took a nosedive. Gasping, I fell back against the couch. “Oh . . . hell.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t . . . feel so good.”

He crouched before me, cupped my chin, and looked me in the eye. “How much have you had to drink today?”

“Nothin’,” I said, my words already beginning to slur. “Prob’ly all those pills.”

Sudden terror filled his eyes. “What did you say?”

“Not your fault.” I tried to pat his shoulder, but missed. “‘s okay, Rich . . . it’ll be okay.”

Richard straightened, stalked off for the bathroom. I thought about all those empty vials standing on the back of the sink. Then he was back, his eyes wide with fury.

“Jesus, Jeff—what the hell did you do?” He grabbed me by the yoke of my shirt, hauling me to my feet. “How much did you take?”

His grasp kept me from reeling. “All of it.”

Richard yanked me across the living room, knocking over a lamp, the pottery base shattering in a hundred pieces.

He dragged me to the kitchen sink, shoved his finger down my throat, pressed hard on the back of my tongue.