Hard Evidence

“Not in this lifetime.” I tore my eyes away from his.

For a moment, I questioned if I was being unreasonable. But then rage pulled at me again. He didn’t have any rights, in my book.

He had destroyed Pop with his testimony, telling the jury and the rest of the world that Charlie had sold important police information to the local crime boss, taking huge kickbacks in return.

He’d come to Claire’s funeral when she died of cancer a week into Charlie’s trial, but he stayed in the back, aware that he was no longer welcome inside the magic circle of young adults who clustered around Charlie in a show of support and infinite sorrow.

At one point, Charlie had reached out to him, but Jack was quick enough to catch the warning glares from the rest of us. He disappeared a short time later, never making it to the graveside service.

“None of the others have mentioned you lately. Have you talked to them?” I was referring to our five foster siblings.

“The reason he hasn’t mentioned us is that we never see him,” a new voice piped in.

I turned to see Shawna, one of our former foster sisters, watching us from the doorway. She stood with both hands planted firmly on her narrow hips, a fierce expression of protectiveness stiffening the dark mahogany planes of her proud face. The thick gold ring punched through the center of her lower lip glittered in the muted lights of the room as she glared in Jack’s direction.

“Jack knows he isn’t welcome around here.”

“Good to see you too, Shawna.” Jack’s expression showed no reaction to her bristly greeting. “As disagreeable as ever, I see.”

“You ain’t even seen disagreeable, big brother.” She turned away from him and concentrated on me. “Brian told me you’d arrived. I came down right after work. Couldn’t get away earlier. Another supervisor retired, and I’ve been picking up the slack. Damn hiring freeze.”

She scowled and then moved over to stand next to me. “How’s he doing?”

“No change,” I said, leaning down to hug her. She clung to me for a few seconds, her head nestled against my shoulder as if trying to soak in some of my strength. I’d always envied Shawna her petiteness. Without meaning to, she had always managed to make me feel like an Amazon.

“The docs been in today?” she asked finally, stepping back.

“Earlier. They didn’t have anything to say. The usual grunts and nods. Which seem to be the typical way of imparting information around this place.”

Shawna nodded and rearranged the sheet lying across Charlie’s chest. Her nails, long and meticulously painted, showed bloodred against the white linen. “Drake and I are taking the night shift. He told me to tell you to go home and get some sleep. You and Courtney have day duty.”

I sighed. Did they really think I was going to leave Charlie’s bedside? “I’m fine right here.” I nodded toward the cushioned high-backed chair in one corner of the room. “I’ll catch some Z’s right over there if I get too tired.”

Shawna shook her head. “They only allow two of us in the room at a time.”

“Then I’ll sleep out in the waiting room.”

“You’re not going to do Charlie any good if you’re dead on your feet,” Jack said quietly from the end of the bed.

I bristled. “No one asked for your input.”

It was Shawna’s turn to sigh. “Look, as much as I hate to admit it, Jack’s right. You need to keep strong.”

Jack moved toward the door. “When Pop wakes up, will you at least give me a call?”

“Sure,” Shawna said.

I let her do the talking. If I had my way, he’d be the last person I called to tell the good news, but in this case I bowed to Shawna’s diplomatic skills.

He zipped his jacket, pulling up the collar in preparation for heading outside. His gaze shifted to me. I stiffened.

“Take care of yourself, Killian.” His tone had a certain softness to it, as if he were trying to connect with me. To reach out and touch the part of me that had once loved him.

“You, too,” I said curtly.

He walked out and Shawna shot me a quick look. “Still haven’t gotten over him, have you?”

I stiffened. “What makes you say that?”

“The fact that your hostility has an undeniably passionate edge to it.”

She looked me up and down and shook her head knowingly. “No doubt about it, sistah, you’re still holding a torch for that one.”

“Boy, are you living in a dream world.”

I glanced away so she couldn’t read any more of the raw emotions flickering across my face. Shawna was only three years older than me, but she had a tendency to take on the role of the all-knowing older sister, a trait that never ceased to annoy me. Basically, I hated her uncanny ability to read me.

“Well, he’s gone and that’s all that matters for now.” She picked up a small package on the bedside table and slipped out a premoistened swab. She leaned over the rail to moisten Charlie’s chapped lips around the adhesive tape securing the breathing tube in his mouth.

“Jack’s been pretty decent about staying out of our way these past few years. I can’t really fault him for wanting to stop by and see Pop now.” She glanced up, her dark eyes wistful. “Pop never hated anyone in his entire life. He didn’t even fault Jack for testifying against him in court. He forgave him—told all of us to forgive him, too.”

“Guess I’m not as kindhearted as Pop,” I said. “But then, he’s always been soft when it came to dealing with Jack. In fact, he was too kindhearted toward all of us. None of us deserved him. Or Claire.”

Shawna reached up and touched my shoulder. “Save it, sweetie. He’s gonna pull through this. He’s too strong to give up.” She swallowed her own obvious pain. “Craig Gibson, Pop’s lawyer, stopped by yesterday. Charlie has a health proxy and a will. He appointed you as the executor of his estate and gave you power of attorney.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Me? Why me?”

Shawna shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that the suit who stopped by here said for you to get in touch with him as soon as you arrived.”

She glanced over at the clock hanging over the head of Charlie’s bed. “Too late now, but he wants to see you in his office tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Something to do with Charlie’s will.” She patted my arm. “Now get some rest. You need to be fresh for Pop in the morning.”

I nodded, shrugged into my oversize down jacket, zipped it up and headed for the door.

“Oh, wait,” Shawna said.

I turned back.

Her face had that worried, indecisive look she got when she wasn’t sure she wanted to share her information. Big sister syndrome—what degree of truth do you tell the little ones?

“Just say it,” I said.

“Some weird stuff has been going on.”

“Weird how?”

“People showing up in Pop’s room who no one knows. And it’s always when one of us isn’t right here in the room.”

I walked back over to the bed. “You’re talking about people who aren’t hospital staff, right?”

Shawna nodded. “One time, I came back in after going down the hall for ice and the hose from his respirator was off—just laying on his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His lips were blue.”

Fear tightened in my belly. “What did the nurses say?”

“They said the hose pops off like that sometimes. But an alarm is supposed to go off. For some reason, it didn’t happen that time.” She paused for a moment and then continued, “When I asked if anyone had been in the room, they said some guy stopped in for a quick visit. No one knew his name and by the description, it didn’t sound like anyone Pop knows.”

From her expression I could tell there was more. “Tell me the rest.”

“Well, when I came in last night, Craig was on the phone in the hall and when I walked in the room, some guy was leaning over the bed fiddling with Pop’s IV tube. Soon as I walked in he dropped it and said something about it looking fine and hightailed it out of here. None of the nurses knew who he was.”

“Have you told the police all of this?”

Shawna nodded. “They told me I was overreacting. They won’t put a guard on him no matter what any of us say.”

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and punched in a number. “Then we’ll get our own. Dickie Petrova from the old neighborhood opened his own security business. We’ll use him.”

“That’s going to cost us a mint, Killian.”

I shrugged. “I’ll pay for it.”

Dreams of upgrading my cabin in the woods on my tiny piece of heaven right outside Keene Valley flew out the window like a puff of wood smoke escaping from a cast-iron stove, but I didn’t care. Pop’s safety was more important, and he would have done it for me, for any of the kids. That and more.

Until I found out what was going on, Pop was getting twenty-four-hour protection. And his lawyer was going to have a lot of questions to answer tomorrow when I arrived at his office. Something was going on and it didn’t add up to a simple hit-and-run case.

Chapter Two

The front doors of the hospital slid open and a frigid wind whipped up Crouse Street, stirring up scraps of trash lining the sidewalk and spraying my face with small, gritty grains of dirt-encrusted snow. I reached up and brushed a hunk of hair out of my eyes.

A sense of disorientation hit me for a moment as I stood on the front walkway. I’d grown up in Syracuse, on the west side. A part of the city not many people visited. When I’d been sent to live with Charlie and Claire, I’d discovered a whole new Syracuse, one I hadn’t really known had existed—the world of suburbia.

Suburbia had been a place with elegant Tudor-style homes, tiny, manicured front lawns and neat wooden porches with wide, comfortable porch swings. Fussy potted plants and starched white lace curtains sat in the front windows, and antique boards painted with cute little sayings about angels and sunflowers hung on the front double doors. Claire had worked hard to keep up with the neighbors. No one had outdone Claire when it came to decorating.

I breathed in the familiar grime and reminded myself that living in a city needed some getting used to. It wasn’t suburbia and it sure wasn’t the Adirondacks.

Even though it was early evening, the temperature had already dropped down into the low teens. A frigid night in Syracuse. Now there was a big surprise.

I found myself wishing I was back on Giant Mountain, sitting under a canopy of stars, next to a roaring campfire and listening to the cold north wind rustling the pines.

It took a minute to get my bearings, but finally I turned right and headed across the street toward the parking garage. Snow crunched under my hiking boots.

My head was a little woozy, no doubt from the stuffiness of Charlie’s hospital room and then the sudden exit into carbon-monoxide-polluted air. Breathing crisp mountain air for the past few years had its advantages.

Of course, the fact that I was still recovering from sharing the same breathing space as Jack O’Brien might have something to do with my current respiratory difficulties. I’d gotten out of his breathing space just in time.

Unfortunately, I had spoken too soon. The deep rumble of an idling Harley sounded from the left and a second later, the front tire of the powerful machine nudged my left toe.

Steeling myself, I glanced over. Sure enough, Jack sat in the saddle, his legs spread wide to balance himself, his helmet sitting between his legs. The expectant expression on his face told me he’d been waiting for me.

“Most sane people know when to put their cycle away for the winter, O’Brien,” I said, stepping around the front of the bike, determined to get to the garage and my car.

He laughed agreeably. “Gets harder and harder for me to do every year.”

“Yeah, arrested development can do that to a guy.” I shot the comment over one shoulder as I tried to push past him.

“Killian, wait.” He caught my elbow and whipped me around easily.

I shrugged his hand off. “We said what we needed to say to each other inside.”

“I just wanted to try and get you to reconsider your plans to stay at Pop’s place.”

“Where I stay isn’t any of your concern.”

I started to turn away again, but he reached out again, stopping me.

I folded my arms, hopeful that it would provide protection against the flush of awareness that shot through me when those long fingers clamped on my forearm.

Damn, I hated my body and its immediate reaction to his touch. It was like a memory of him, of his hands on my body, had been scorched into every cell and nerve ending of my being.

“I’m willing to sacrifice my couch in your honor. You know the west side isn’t a place for you to be hanging out.”

I almost laughed at that. Yeah, right, I had only cut my razor-sharp baby teeth on the goings-on over on the west side. Jack knew that only too well.

I’d lived on West Belden Avenue most of my life. Until Social Services stepped in, anyway, yanking me out of my heroin-addicted, straight-vodka-swigging mother’s custody and plunking me down on the porch steps of Charlie and Claire’s rambling, historic house. For me, it had been like landing on Mars.

Thirteen years old, ornery and disagreeable, smelling like pot plant, dog slobber and dirty laundry. But Claire hadn’t blinked an eye. She’d simply opened her door wide and welcomed me into that huge, rambling house of theirs.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Speaking of which, did you know that Shawna and the others suspect that someone has been coming into Pop’s room uninvited, possibly fooling around with his life support equipment?”

“One of the nurses mentioned that they made a complaint.”

Yeah, when you were flirting with her, no doubt. I gritted my teeth. “Well, I believe Shawna and respect her concern. I’ve hired on Dickie Petrova for added security.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ah, jeez, Killian, Dickie Petrova? You know he can’t find his way out of a paper bag. Would you please let me take care of things?”

I moved past Jack. “You had your chance and you blew it. I’m taking care of things now.”

I crossed the street to the parking garage and Jack didn’t follow. I didn’t even bother to glance over my shoulder as I stepped onto the elevator.

Jack seemed to get the message that I didn’t want his help, and he made no attempt to follow. For that I was thankful. Thankful, that is, until I stepped off the elevator onto the third floor of the parking garage.

Damn! The lights were out on this end of the garage. A sprinkling of glass shards among a few rocks laying beneath three of the closest light poles told me that some punk, bored with having to wait around for his family, had taken a couple of pot shots at the overhead lights.

I looked around. The inside of the garage was murky and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. My training kicked in, making me instantly cautious.

I walked down two rows and found my grime-encrusted car tucked in between a silver Lexus and a black Cadillac Escalade SUV. My sturdy little electric-blue Neon looked pretty lonely among all that luxury.

I pulled my key out but before I had it in the lock, I felt, rather than heard, someone come up behind me. I stiffened.

“Don’t scream and don’t turn around,” a voice whispered in my ear.

I tightened my hand on the key. At this point, it was my only weapon. I shrugged and allowed my purse to slide off my shoulder. I shoved the purse back toward the disembodied voice. “Here,” I said. “I don’t have a lot of cash, but whatever’s there is yours. And you’re welcome to the credit cards, too.”

I didn’t mention that the cards were almost maxed out. Let the jerk find that out for himself.

A hand grabbed the purse but immediately heaved it onto the pavement. Concern shot through me. When a robber didn’t want your purse, that was not a good sign. If he wasn’t looking for cash, then there was only one other thing he’d want from a single woman in a dark parking garage. I wasn’t about to give that particular item up without a fight.

As inconspicuously as possible, I shifted my weight onto my toes. But the guy seemed to anticipate the move and he hit me hard between my shoulder blades, sending me stumbling forward against the hood of the car.

I used my hands to keep myself from hitting face-first. He pressed against me with his bulky body, pushing my head down until my cheek rested against the cool metal.

“Don’t even think about running,” he said.

“I wasn’t,” I lied.

My heart pounded against my rib cage and fear thickened in the back of my throat. The guy wasn’t going to make this easy. He was a pro, someone who had done this before. He knew what to look for.

“What do you want?” I asked, desperately trying to keep myself from panicking.

“We want what belongs to us.” His hand held me tight against the car. I couldn’t move.

“Tell me what it is and if I have it, I’ll give it to you. I’m not looking for trouble.”

“We want the key and the package.”

I shoved my key chain in his direction. “Here, take them. Take the car. Just leave me alone.”

He took my keys but I heard them hit the pavement alongside my purse. “These aren’t the key or the package we’re looking for.”

“Well, they’re the only ones I’ve got,” I said.

He snorted in exasperation and grabbed my collar, hauling me to my feet. Reaching around me, he yanked open the door of the Escalade. “Get in and push over behind the wheel.”

I locked my knees, digging my heels into the pavement. Don’t ever let an abductor take you to a new location. I’d heard that particular warning more than a few times from Charlie, Jack and every other police officer I’d ever worked or trained under.

“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” I stalled.

He didn’t answer, but instead crowded in behind me, using his thickly muscled body to nudge me into the car. “I said to get in and get behind the wheel.” He shoved me between my shoulder blades, sending me stumbling against the open car door.

I stepped up and bumped my head on the door frame. A stinging pain shot across the top of my scalp. I swallowed against the tears that sprang to the corners of my eyes and slid across the seat.

I reached for the opposite door handle, but before I could grab it and jump out, a hand reached across the front seat and clamped down on my shoulder, anchoring me firmly to the seat.

I jumped, and my fear hit a new high. My abductor had an accomplice. My chances of escape had just taken a rather significant nosedive.

“Don’t even think about jumping out,” a voice said, the sound low and grating, like granite stones rattling in a metal cage.

How had I missed that there was someone else in the car? I was getting careless. Too many years living in the mountains and not enough time keeping my city radar switched on high.

I grabbed the wheel and peered into the rearview mirror. The shadowy figure in the backseat wore his cap low on his forehead, shading his features. His shoulders were wide and bulked up beneath the expensive leather coat. He used two fingers to flick the back of my skull, sending another flash of pain shooting through my head.

“Keep your eyes front and center,” he ordered.

“What do you want?” I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. “My boyfriend is going to be here any minute.”

Mr. Biceps laughed, and it wasn’t anything light or airy. More like the low rumble of a diesel truck. “You ditched O’Brien down below. Ain’t no one coming to your rescue, little sister.”

He knew Jack. Apparently Jack was still hanging with an interesting crowd.

The shooter slammed the passenger side door closed and shifted around to face me. He had a fleshy nose with a boatload of nasty-looking moles and other assorted blemishes spread out across his cheekbones and neck. The guy was in serious need of a dermatologist.

He wagged the gun in the direction of the ignition. “Start it up. We’ll go somewhere a little less public to conduct our business.”

He glanced over his shoulder at his buddy. “The Bay Street exit, right, boss?”

The figure in the mirror nodded and then settled back, apparently content in his belief that Mole Face had things under control. I let him think that as I leaned forward and started the engine.

“Back it out nice and slow,” Mole Face instructed, settling his own shoulder back against the passenger side door, a small smile puckering his full lips.

“Where are we going?” I put the car in reverse and backed out. The bottom of my foot itched to floor it, but something told me I needed to bide my time, pick my opportunity carefully.

My passengers had the attitude of thugs who’d done this drill before. Something told me that there wouldn’t be any second chances. It was now or never.

Up ahead, I could see the ramp leading to the top of the parking garage. Patrons of the garage had to go up to the roof to start back down again. I eased the SUV into Drive.

“Take the back exit,” Mole Face ordered, resting the butt of the revolver on his right knee. He was feeling pretty confident, sure that I was frightened enough to do what he asked.

I shifted my left leg closer to the door and carefully slid my left hand off the wheel, resting it on my thigh. I nodded my head agreeably. “Whatever it is that you two want, I’ll give it to you as long as you don’t hurt me.” I put a little extra plaintive pleading into my voice, hoping they’d concentrate on that rather than the fact that my left hand was now resting on the door handle.

“Just shut up and drive,” the backseat thug said.

I headed for the ramp, bracing my left foot against the frame of the car as I stamped my right foot down on the accelerator. The car engine roared, and the vehicle jumped as if goosed.

Both men fell back against the seats, and the gun flew out of Mole Face’s hand, hitting the dashboard. With a grunt, he scrambled to reach it. But the revolver slid to the floor, skittering across the floor and settling beneath my feet.

“Slow down!” Mole Face shouted.

“It’s stuck,” I said, pretending to pry at the bottom of the gas pedal with my foot but instead stomping on it harder.

Mole Face bumped up against me as he blindly groped along the floorboards for his gun. I ignored him and jammed the accelerator flat to the floor. The engine screamed and we hit the top of the ramp going sixty-five.

Come on! Come on! I chanted inwardly, my fingers gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grasp. I willed the car to go faster.

The engine roared, building up more speed. Seventy. Eighty.

We raced across the top level of the parking garage, directly toward the opposite end and a line of cars.

I aimed for the tiny red sports car and when the SUV hit the back end, it reared up and over the little car’s trunk. In seconds, we were airborne.

I yanked open the driver’s side door, tucked my chin and threw myself out sideways. Blackness closed in around me as I twirled and spun in midair.

There was a whirlwind of flashing lights and then pain as I struck the pavement with my left shoulder. Lucky for me, my oversize down jacket provided me with some extra protection.

I rolled and then hit something hard but with a little give to it. Pain shot through my entire body and then darkness settled over me.

GROGGY, I blinked and opened my eyes. I was laying up against the rim of a tire. It had broken my fall, probably keeping me from getting seriously hurt.

Cautiously I sat up and looked around. The Escalade had gone over the side. There was nothing left except the smashed sports car with the M.D. plates. Some doc was going to be royally ticked when he came out after a hard night’s work to find his little plaything a total wreck. Guess more than just his malpractice insurance would go up this year.

I pulled myself to my feet, grimacing a bit when I moved my left shoulder. I’d taken my full weight on it when I fell. It was going to be more than a little sore.