The Dying Breath (8 page)

Read The Dying Breath Online

Authors: Alane Ferguson

BOOK: The Dying Breath
11.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Because you are my
anam cara
. You always have been.”
A click, and then the line went dead as her world turned black.
Chapter Six
“I’LL THINK SHE’S
finally coming around. Look at her eyelids—they’re moving.” The voice belonged to Justin. Through her lashes Cameryn could see his face above her, swimming into focus as she tried to adjust her mind. Point by point she could feel sensation return: rough fabric beneath her hands, the buzz of fluorescent lights, the quiet murmur of men’s voices crowding overhead. Like puzzle pieces she put the perceptions together. She was in the lobby, laid out on the institutional-style sofa as though she were a corpse on an autopsy table. Light pooled along the top of Dr. Moore’s head, his jowls more pronounced as he leaned over her, his blood-spattered apron inches away from her face. Behind him stood Ben and the sheriff. Her father and Justin were kneeling beside her head. Blinking, she pulled herself up to her elbows while the men hovered in a circle overhead, cutting off the light.
“Thank God she’s back,” her father cried. His strong arms propped her up, but she could feel Justin, too, his hand over hers, rough and warm. Patrick and Justin seemed to be jostling for position, but for now her father had won. His worried eyes searched hers while his hair, usually so controlled, stood straight up from his forehead like feathers. “Baby, are you all right?” he asked. Then the forced smile that she knew meant whatever was happening wasn’t good. “It’s all okay. You’re going to be okay. Just relax now, you’re fine.”
“What happened?” she croaked. Her throat felt dry. Justin thrust a plastic cup of water toward her. His hands were steady as he pressed it to her lips. Grateful, she drank, as the sheriff said, “You fainted. You would have landed smack on the floor if my deputy hadn’t caught you. He grabbed you right before you hit.”
“I fainted?” Cameryn felt a hot wave of embarrassment. She’d never, not in her entire life, ever done something so melodramatic. Fainting was something women in old-fashioned movies did. It didn’t happen to someone like her, not to a scientist who lived in a world of fact. She began to register the various segments of her body, the way her feet, still encased the paper booties, lay on the arm of the couch. For the briefest of seconds her mind couldn’t process
why
it had happened. And then the memory came flooding back and she took in a sharp gasp of air. Kyle. He had called her. Kyle O’Neil knew exactly where she was, which meant he was out there, somewhere, watching her, hunting. She began to shake. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her eyes so wide she could feel the strain of her skin. “I remember. Oh my God! Kyle—it was Kyle.
He knows I’m here!
” The shuddering overtook her, rocking her body like waves.
“Get a blanket,” her father commanded, and Ben obeyed. “Cameryn, are you sure? Could it have been someone trying to play a joke?”
“No, Dad, I know his voice—it was him!”
“I knew it!” Justin hissed. His hand, balled into a fist, hit the edge of the couch. “I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll kill him myself.”
“I think that’ll be
my
job,” her father shot back. “Sheriff? Can you trace the call and get a location on that bastard?”
“I’ll get right on it,” Jacobs said. He held up Cameryn’s BlackBerry, which he must have already taken from her when they carried her to the couch. “But I’ll lay money that he called her on a disposable phone.”
“A what?” Patrick asked.
“A cheap phone you buy and throw out when the minutes are up—you can’t track them. My next step is to notify the FBI and the Durango police, but before I do”—he bent close to her, narrowing his eyes—“it’s very important that you tell me exactly what he said. Can you do that, Cammie?” Without breaking eye contact he pulled out his pad and pen.
“Now?” Justin snapped. “Why don’t you give her a minute?”
“No, Deputy, we do it immediately, while it’s still fresh in her mind. Procedure, remember?”
Slowly, painfully, Cameryn repeated the nightmare conversation. Sheriff Jacobs nodded once, twice, three times, then abruptly turned to Dr. Moore. “Would it be okay if I used your office to make the call? It’ll be more private from there, Doc. If we’ve got any chance of tracing this wacko I need to move now.”
“Be my guest,” Dr. Moore replied. Suddenly, Cameryn registered the doctor’s hand on the top of her head, patting her as though she were a child. It was the first time he’d ever touched her. When she looked up into his gruff face she saw his eyes glisten with emotion. “I have every confidence that your father, the deputy, and the sheriff will keep you safe,” he told her. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed somewhere beneath the folds of his neck. “Add my name to the list. I’d never let anyone hurt my star protégée.”
“Thanks, Dr. Moore.”
“Now go home and get some rest.”
“But Joseph Stein . . . the autopsy . . .” she protested.
“We’ll manage.” He turned his gaze to her father, then to Justin. “Keep her safe. I’ve already seen what Kyle O’Neil is capable of. I never want to see his handiwork again.”
“Mammaw, I’m fine,” Cameryn moaned. “Stop hovering!”
“You call it hoverin’, do ya?” her grandmother snapped as she paced around the kitchen table where Cameryn sat. “Hoverin’, when there’s a madman out there looking to snatch you away! Hoverin’, when the next time Kyle O’Neil shows up it might be in person, and then what will you do?” Her tone shifted ever so slightly as she added, “Now I’d like you to eat. Today’s been a shock.”
Sighing, Cameryn propped her head on her hand. Steam from the bowl wafted to her face. Although it smelled delicious, her stomach closed against it. “I’m not hungry.”
“Of course you are. Take a bite.”
“Mammaw, not every problem is solved by food.”
The normally soft Irish lilt her grandmother spoke with, a legacy from her childhood in Ireland, turned crisp as she said, “This trouble circles back to you being around all that death. I’ve said all along forensics is wrong and now my words have come home to roost.” In a red Valentine sweater, her earlobes elongated by heavy plastic heart-shaped earrings, Mammaw looked like the majority of Silverton grandmothers, with her square face crowned by a wreath of short, white hair. But Mammaw was different from the other women. She was an Irish force of nature.
“Please,” Cameryn begged. “Don’t start.”
“I’m only saying you should forget this autopsy nonsense and dedicate your life to becoming a
real
doctor.” As always, her grandmother reminded Cameryn of a chicken hunting grain. Peck, peck, peck—her words nibbled away at Cameryn, a sharp tapping against her skull. Groaning softly, Cameryn dropped her head into her hands.
“Are you listening, girl? Your career choice is nothing short of crazy.”
“I’m not crazy. The voices told me I’m
supposed
to go into forensics.”
“So it’s sarcasm now, is it? You think my concerns are a joke.”
Cameryn and her mammaw glared at one another for a moment until her grandmother did an unexpected thing. Dropping back her head, she let out a great guffaw, a deep laugh that shook Cameryn up as much as anything. “I never have to worry how Irish you are, Cameryn Mahoney. You’re as pigheaded as they come. Now do your grandmother a favor and eat. For me.”
“All right, all right, I give up. No dessert, though.”
“Whatever you say.”
Sighing, Cameryn picked up a spoon and took a sip of stew. It burned her mouth but after the third bite she had to admit she felt better, and by the time she took the last swallow the knot inside had loosened. Dr. Moore had been right—home was the place she needed to be, wrapped up in its tacky, snug security, with pink and red carnations on a round kitchen table in a vase shaped like a heart. Today the walls were laced with cutouts featuring cherubs floating on ridiculously small wings. Handmade Valentines from Cameryn’s preschool days had been stuck to the refrigerator with magnets shaped like lips. Her grandmother bustled about, trying to look busy, but Cameryn could sense there was more she wanted to say. After wiping a spot on the counter for a third time, Mammaw drew in a sharp breath and said, “Lyric came by earlier—she wanted to know about the case. While she was here she told me some interesting news about you and Justin. That Lyric is a talkative girl.”
“News?” Cameryn felt her internal alarm register at full alert.
“News.” Her grandmother tossed the dishcloth onto the counter and crossed her arms over her chest, obscuring a large embroidered heart. “And don’t be going after your friend just because she was kind enough to bring me up to speed on the goings-on in your life. She claims to have known all along you and the deputy were going to be together through some kind of spirit mumbo jumbo, but even I can see you and Justin have been eyeing each other for months. Is he thinking of you as his girlfriend?”
“Not exactly,” she replied, making a mental note to throttle Lyric the next time she saw her.
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean? Exactly.”
Shrugging, Cameryn chewed on the edge of her lip. “He said he liked me. It’s no big deal.”
She knew how her grandmother felt about Justin, that she was fond of him but he was almost twenty-two and twenty-two-year-old men were not to be trusted.
“And your father? What does he have to say?”
“Dad’s been cool with Justin for a while. Um, you know, maybe I will have some dessert after all,” Cameryn said in a desperate attempt to deflect her grandmother’s steely gaze. “Even though I’m a disaster in the kitchen I think I might give cooking another shot. Since Irish is my heritage and all.” Her voice trailed off. She could see by her grandmother’s expression it was useless.
“Although I still feel he’s too old, the fact that you’re in danger means it might be a good time to have a more mature person offering you protection. But if you do enter these waters you must be cautious, Cameryn. Things can happen.”
“Mammaw!”
“There are certain pitfalls that can come with dating someone older. What I’m trying to say . . .” Mammaw hesitated and then, clearly uncomfortable, said, “You
do
understand the position of the church in these matters.” Red flamed at the tips of her ears. She was actually blushing.
“All he said was that he
liked
me,” Cameryn cried. “I’m not getting married or anything!”
“These days marriage and—the rest—don’t necessarily go together.”
“Mammaw!”
“The older one in the relationship always has the power.”
“Will you stop! We—he’s not like that. I cannot believe we’re having this conversation. I’d rather talk about Kyle killing me.”
“What you have with Justin poses a different kind of danger, girl.”
Now it was Cameryn whose skin flushed. She could feel the warmth spread from her cheeks down her neck until it touched the skin on her chest. “Look, I’m not planning to do anything Father Pat wouldn’t approve of, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good,” Mammaw said, her voice once again crisp. “Now, here’s your Irish raisin cake, which I made
without
the whiskey. I’m glad of it since I hear a truck in the driveway. The deputy’s truck, if I’m not mistaken.”
Cameryn jumped out of her seat as she registered the familiar sound of Justin’s engine. “He’s here?”
“It appears so.”
“What if he heard us? I will
die
if he heard what you were saying.”
“Don’t be silly, girl, no one has ears that good. Besides, he should know that I’ll be watching.”
“Mammaw, you need to go.” With a hand on each of her grandmother’s shoulders Cameryn pushed her mammaw toward the living room. “Turn on the TV or sew something.”
“Offer him some food, Cammie. Men are always hungry,” her grandmother called over her shoulder.
“Yeah. ’Bye.” Cameryn’s grandmother had just disappeared when she heard his footsteps. It annoyed her to realize how her body turned against her. Her heart skipped beats as he trod up their back steps, stomping twice to shake off the snow. This reaction to Justin’s presence was absurd. How many times had they shared the same space, working forensic cases side by side? Hadn’t they just gone to the autopsy together? But tonight seemed different somehow, probably because of her grandmother’s pointed conversation and the images that conversation had stirred up.
Get a grip,
she commanded as Justin’s tall, lanky form loomed dark behind the gauzy kitchen curtain. Three sharp raps announced his arrival.
“Hey,” Cameryn said, opening the door.
“Hi, Cammie. I thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”
“I’m fine. Come on in. Sit.”
Justin peeled off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair, then straddled it as if it were a bar stool, while she sat in a chair next to him. He’d changed into different jeans and a navy cotton turtleneck that brought out the blue in his eyes. Thick lashes heightened the color—doll’s eyes, her mammaw called them. He placed his hand on hers and squeezed. “Besides checking up on you, I’m here on business. Kyle used a disposable phone, just like Jacobs thought, so there’s no way to trace it. The scary part is that he got close. Kyle”—he spat the name—“knew you were in the morgue. Which means he must have followed you.”

Other books

Silence by Mechtild Borrmann
Judith Stacy by The One Month Marriage
Murder in the Smithsonian by Margaret Truman
Rivals by Felicia Jedlicka
Haven Magic by B. V. Larson
Apartment Building E by Malachi King
1865 by Cojacker Verdi