Loose Ends (21 page)

“Pansy,” said Danny.

“I'm impressed you were able to convince her to leave her life on the street,” said Natasha. “Most street kids I've met are either too addicted or too caught up with the excitement of this whole new world to ever be convinced to leave.”

“Uh … well, actually, it was Danny who took a chance and talked to her. It was a shot in the dark, but it appears to have worked out well.” He turned to Danny to change the subject. “Did you talk to Louie this morning? Does he suspect anything?”

“I told him you decided to take a few days off and go fishing.”

“Fishing! God, you're a lousy liar.”

“So I've been told, but he didn't say anything.”

“I don't think I could stand any of his lectures right now. I'll wait a few days and then let him know we've got a new game plan.”

“A new game plan?” asked Danny.

“Time to take the gloves off,” said Jack. He gave Danny a hard look. Danny caught the message and didn't pursue it.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Everyone took a sip of coffee, then Natasha got up and said, “Well, let's take a look at you.”

Jack felt her fingers gently remove his dressings.

“The wound across your shoulder blade and the hole punched through your biceps look good, but infection
could still set in. I'm still worried about damage to your rib cage. You're definitely not going anywhere for a day or two.”

Jack waited until she finished placing clean dressings on him before standing up. He saw Danny give Natasha a knowing look.

“Well, thanks, Natasha,” said Jack. “I really appreciate what you've done for me, but I need to be going. Don't worry, I'll be careful!”

“I told you he would be like this,” said Danny.

“So, if I can just have my clothes back I'll be out of your hair. I'm sorry for the inconvenience I've caused. I'd like to call you in a day or two. I owe you at least one dinner, not to mention new sheets. I bled on them during the night.”

Natasha scowled and didn't respond for a moment. Then she said, “Your clothes are in the bedroom, but you're a fool for not listening to me!”

“I probably am,” he admitted, slowly making his way to the bedroom.

Moments later, Jack returned to the kitchen where Natasha was sitting alone.

“Did you say my clothes were in the bedroom? I couldn't find them.”

“Danny has them.”

“Where is he?” asked Jack, glancing around.

“He's not here. He left.”

“He left! I'm supposed to go with him!”

“No.”

“What do you mean,
no
?”

“What part of that statement don't you understand?”

Jack looked down at the towel he was wearing, then back at Natasha.

“Now, I'm going to make you breakfast and then you're going back to bed. You lost a lot of
blood last night and I'm going to see to it that you get some rest.”

“But … what about my clothes?”

“If you behave yourself and do what I tell you, then I'll let you keep the towel.”

Jack paused to think about the predicament he was in.

“Are you angry?” she asked, out of idle curiosity.

He paused, then said, “I'm being held hostage by a beautiful woman who's stolen my clothes and is demanding I sleep in her bed. I think I can live with it for now.”

Later that afternoon, Jack wrapped a blanket around himself and plodded out to the kitchen. Natasha was preparing dinner, so he sat at the kitchen table.

Their conversation was light, which relieved him. She wasn't the type to be nosy and ask many questions, although he knew she was probably curious as hell.

After supper they sat on the sofa and Jack talked about Marcie and how great Ben and Liz were to look after her. He said that the four of them had a long talk. Ben and Liz agreed to take her in on a trial basis. Marcie agreed to start seeing a psychologist and go to school.

He also told her about Maggie and Ben Junior. He confessed he was having nightmares where they were calling out to him for help and he all he could do was sit there, unable to move.

“Do you always have the same nightmare?”

“Lately, I do.”

“Often?”

“Quite often.”

“Does it bother you to talk about it?”

“Not with you, for some reason. Maybe because you're a doctor. It feels good to be able to talk to someone about it.”

“You were talking in your sleep last night. You repeated the word
dirty
.”

“I said that?”

Natasha nodded. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be listening in on your private dreams, but I was concerned you might be getting an infection and I was checking to see if you had a fever.”

“No, it's okay. I didn't realize I talked in my sleep.
Dirty
was what Maggie printed in the last page of her sketchbook, just before she was murdered. It's been bothering me ever since.”

“Maybe whoever killed her was dirty or perhaps was using foul language?”

“I don't think so. She was really talented. You should see some of the drawings she did. They're incredible. She could really draw what she saw.”

“Meaning?”

“She was too talented just to print the word
dirty
. I think it has more meaning.”

The security buzzer announced Danny's arrival, and Natasha let him in.

“Well, big guy, are you going to tear a strip off me for leaving you here this morning?” asked Danny, while placing two photo albums on the coffee table.

“I don't know whether to yell at you or thank you.” Jack stole a quick look at Natasha and added, “But I think maybe I'll thank you.”

“I should be home by five tomorrow,” said Natasha. “I'll check on you then. If you're okay, you can go, provided you take some time off and don't go back to work for a while.”

“Maybe by then I won't want to go.” Jack caught the sparkle in her eye and thought how good she was for him — and not just as a doctor.

“So what's this? Your family photo albums?” asked Natasha.

“Pictures of Satans Wrath,” replied Danny. “See if Jack can put names to who did this.”

Jack opened the binder to the picture of Wizard. He knew it well but wanted to look again. After turning a few pages, he recognized another picture.

“That's the driver. His forehead looks like someone performed a frontal lobotomy.” Jack looked at Natasha. “Your work?” he asked.

Natasha snickered and lightly squeezed his leg.

Danny took a look. “Lance Morgan. Okay, that's two out of three. See if you can recognize fat boy.”

Jack took a few more minutes to identify him. “His name is Roland Leitch.”

Natasha went to the kitchen and Danny whispered, “We got a computer kickback on Red this afternoon. She's dead. The landlord found her body. Looks like an accidental overdose. The needle was still hanging off her arm and there was a deck of heroin nearby.”

“That was no accident. She was a connection to them. Dig up everything you can on my three friends from the alley.”

“Will do. Also got a response on the Volvo.”

“Stolen?”

“Yup. The owner was out of town. He reported it stolen last night when he returned.”

“Speaking of returning home. Come back in the morning and bring me some clothes! It's time I got out of here. With this blanket I'm beginning to feel like a monk!”

“Don't give me that!” replied Danny. “I saw how you two snuggled in with each other when you were looking at the pictures! Besides, you've been through those pictures a dozen times. It should only have taken you seconds to find them!”

“Well … I had to make sure I picked the right person.”

“Oh? Well, I hope she is the right person,” retorted Danny.

Jack didn't respond, so Danny asked, “What did you mean when you said the gloves were coming off?”

Jack's face hardened. “I've got a plan. Might get a little violent.”

Natasha saw Danny out the door and then returned to sit with Jack on the sofa. Earlier, she had studied his face as he spoke. He seemed intense, yet he was quick with a smile. She had watched his eyes as he related his past experiences. His long, dark eyelashes made his blue eyes take on a deeper shade, but at the same time he had a boyish, wide-eyed look of innocence. The type who had freckles as a kid, she decided.

Considering his experiences, she knew he was far from naive. Briefly she felt irritated to think other women had probably fallen for his boyish charm. Still, he was compassionate. He hadn't become hardened and callous, like so many people who deal with life and death.

Maybe it was the intensity and openness of his conversation, or the realization that they both dealt with grief and sorrow, but it occurred to her that she felt closer to this man in the short time she had known him than any other man she had ever met.

Right now, with a blanket wrapped around him, he looked cute. But earlier today, when he was wearing only a towel, she had felt aroused. There was no denying that. She had only ever kissed him once. That was in a men's room. There was no denying what she had wanted to do then, either.

Enough fantasizing! I'm a professional. I've got to behave like one.

“Okay, you're still my patient. Turn around on the couch and lower the blanket so I can have a look under those dressings again.”

Jack did as he was told. She carefully removed the dressing covering the wound across his shoulder blade. She gently ran her hand over the smooth skin on his back, lightly probing with her fingers. She felt his muscles tense under her hand and noticed he held his breath.

“I'm sorry, does it hurt?”

“No,” he replied softly, “it feels good.”

Neither spoke as Natasha put on a fresh dressing.

“Turn around and let me take a look at your arm.”

His eyes were intensely fixed on her face. She pretended not to notice as she peeled off the dressing.

“This looks fine, too! You're really doing well.” She picked up a fresh roll of gauze and wrapped the dressing around his arm. The closer she came to the end, the slower she wrapped.

When she finished she said, “There! All done,” in a voice she hoped would sound perky.

He stared at her eyes, their faces almost touching. He didn't move or speak. She tried to smile but felt her lip tremble and quickly looked away.

She felt his other hand on her back, guiding her toward him. She closed her eyes and felt his warm lips on hers. It was much different than their first kiss. This was long and gentle. She felt herself drawn against his naked chest, where she remained a moment before pulling away.

She cleared her throat. “Get in there and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning before I go to work.”

“Are you going to sleep on the sofa?”

She stared at him for a moment without speaking, then answered, “Yes … but I want you to kiss me once more before you go.”

It was mid-morning when Jack let Danny inside Natasha's apartment.

“Louie wants to talk to you!” said Danny, handing Jack a bag containing his clothes.

“I'm not surprised. We'll go back to my place and I'll call him from there.”

“I was supposed to wait until Natasha looked at you. Maybe we should leave a note.”

“She's working until four-thirty. I found a spare key on top of the fridge, so I'll be able to lock up. I'll talk to her later.”

Danny stared at Jack, then said, “She's a smart girl — and damned attractive.”

Jack looked at Danny, then said, “I noticed. Now take me home. We've got work to do!”

Back in his own apartment, Jack looked at the information that Danny had found on Wizard, Rolly, and Lance. Wizard was forty-five years old and had four convictions for trafficking in drugs: fines on the first two, thirty days in jail for the third, and six months of house arrest for the last time. A month later he was charged with armed robbery, but it was dismissed. Jack pointed to the report and said, “Why?”

“Lack of evidence,” said Danny. “The only witness was killed in a hit-and-run accident. Wizard is also a suspect in three murders. Those victims were all drug dealers.”

“Probably a little tardy in their payments.”

“He changes addresses and girlfriends about as often as you'd change your shorts.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“He maintains a pretty high lifestyle,” continued Danny. “Most of his apartments have been penthouse suites. He also drives a Ferrari.”

“Does he work?”

“Fisherman. He owns a crab boat out in White Rock. It's paid off, too.”

Jack looked at Rolly's file. “Thirty-seven years old. Convicted for drug trafficking, break and enter, armed robbery, assault causing bodily harm, extortion … a regular pillar of society.”

“He owns an older-style house on a double lot in North Van.”

“Mortgage?”

“Nope. He paid it off one year after moving in. Lists his occupation as a mechanic. Spends two days a week at one of the bike shops owned by the club. He's been living with some stripper for the last two years.”

“Another boy not smart enough to hide his money.”

Jack then picked up the file on Lance Morgan. “This is interesting: he's thirty-nine years old and his record is mostly for auto theft, fraud, false pretences, impaired driving, and one charge of trafficking, which was dismissed.”

“He was caught with two kilos of cocaine in a rental vehicle,” Danny explained. “He took the stand and gave the usual story that someone who rented the car previously must have left it in there. The judge said it was enough for reasonable doubt and dismissed the case.”

“He only served a one-month sentence for auto theft, strictly provincial. He's never seen the inside of a federal pen.”