In The Enemy's Arms

If she had been a serious drinker, she might have stopped in at Josie’s for a couple of belts before heading home. Even though Mari wasn’t on call tonight, the idea of parking her butt on a barstool while she inhaled secondhand smoke and listened to some boring drunk expound on his political views didn’t tempt her in the least.

Gradually the businesses were replaced by small houses. Some were run-down, with dirt yards full of junk and old cars. A few houses were neat and tidy. Children played in the dust or on the sidewalk. Their parents sat in the shade of deep porches and sagging steps. A radio blared. Dogs lazed in the heat. A row of sunflowers added color to the washed-out scene. Oak trees, maples and dogwoods cast long shadows as the sun sank lower in the sky.

The houses got bigger, surrounded by greener lawns, nicer fences and fancier flowers. The cars in the driveways were newer and the trees looked more stately.

Finally the cab driver slowed, turning onto Mari’s street. Half a block down, he pulled up in front of a brick building tucked between a white oak and a walnut tree. Four blue doors, one for each two-story condo, were trimmed with identical ornate brass knockers. White shutters framed each window. Matching planter boxes sprouted red and white petunias and dark blue lobelia, and a flag was displayed proudly.

After Mari paid the driver and entered her end unit, she dropped her purse onto the floor of the foyer and sagged with relief against the ivory wall. Lennox, her cat, looked up from the paisley couch where he liked to nap, ignoring his wicker bed.

Jumping down to the carpet with his ringed tail twitching, he meowed a greeting.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?” Mari asked as he rubbed against her leg.

She was about to drop her keys into a pottery bowl on a small table when she remembered that her car was still parked at the clinic. Her hand closed around the key ring and she swung back toward the door.

The quick spin made her feel slightly dizzy. What she needed right now, more than wheels, was something to eat. She’d splurge and call another cab in the morning.

Steadying herself, she bent down to pat Lennox. The gray tabby butted his head against her leg, purring loudly. He looked up with adoring green eyes.

He was the perfect roommate. His love was unconditional. He’d been fixed and—despite having six toes on each white paw—he hadn’t yet figured out how to work the TV remote.

When Mari headed for the kitchen, he followed. All she wanted was to toss something frozen into the microwave, pour herself a glass of wine and watch a mindless reality show on television until it was late enough to curl up in bed with her cat and fall asleep.

She filled Lennox’s fish-shaped bowl with food, gave him fresh water and nuked her own meal. When it was heated, she sat at her dining-room table, studying the vase of pale yellow roses from her grandmother’s garden. They were starting to droop and to lose their petals.

Mari felt pretty droopy herself.

As soon as she was done eating her pasta and shrimp, she disposed of her dish and settled onto the couch with her wine. Her feet were propped on the old trunk that served as a table. Normally the condo was her haven. She had done the decorating herself, using warm, rich tones and filling it with items she loved. Tonight, despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t relax.

Ignoring the television, she turned on the stereo. The soothing sound of cool jazz filled the room as she released her hair from its untidy bun and rested her head against the back of the couch. Lennox jumped up and settled onto her lap, rumbling with contentment. Eyes closed, Mari stroked his fur with one hand while she clutched her wineglass with the other.

She sipped her Merlot while she reviewed in her mind every procedure that she had followed in the neonatal unit earlier. It was terribly frustrating that her best hadn’t been good enough to save the Jenkins baby.

Until she was able to line up the necessary funding and build her new research center, the more critical cases in Merlyn County would still be at risk. Babies would die and families would grieve.

As Lennox slept peacefully, Mari let her mind shift gears, going from work to the investigation. Maybe she should have insisted on talking to Bryce and getting it over with, instead of fleeing like a rabbit that had been unexpectedly freed from a snare.

Orcadol was a controlled substance, an opiate and a powerful painkiller. In the wrong hands, it could be extremely dangerous. Whoever was stealing it needed to be stopped.

Until now, despite all the signs, it had been hard to convince herself of Bryce’s willingness, his obvious determination, to pin the recent thefts of Orcadol on her. After today, she had no choice but to accept that he would. At least she knew that he couldn’t possibly have any proof to support his accusation. She was innocent. In time, he would have no choice but to leave her alone and to pursue other leads.

She still didn’t understand why he had changed his mind so abruptly today, first holding her in his arms in a clumsy attempt to comfort her and then treating her like a common criminal. Taking her into an interrogation room, but then letting her go without asking a single question about the case. If his plan was to confuse her, it was working!

Mari finished her wine, catching the last drop on her tongue. Once upon a time she had believed Bryce to be a compassionate man—one who would stand by her and believe in her for as long as they lived.

That man, the one she had loved with all her heart, would have known without asking that she wasn’t capable of doing anything as heinous as stealing drugs in order to sell them illegally. He wouldn’t have doubted her, not even if he had been confronted with a mountain of proof.

She set her empty glass on the trunk she’d found at a flea market, tipped back her head and closed her eyes. She had certainly been wrong about Bryce, drastically so. Could it be possible that right now he was staring at whatever evidence he’d gathered and thinking the same thing—that he had been wrong about her?

As the liquid notes from Kenny G’s saxophone faded into silence, the phone rang. It startled Mari and woke the cat, who leaped away like a launched rocket. She let the machine take the call, but when she heard her brother’s voice, she grabbed the receiver.

“Geoff! How are you?”

“Right now I’m a little upset,” he replied. “Someone I know saw you going into the courthouse with that detective who’s been harassing you. I don’t figure the two of you were down there applying for a marriage license, Mari, so what gives? And why didn’t you call me?”

“I was going to,” she fibbed, picturing her brother pacing with his free hand clamped on the back of his neck. He did that when he felt pressured. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner and irritate Cecilia,” she added, trying to placate him. “You’re still on your honeymoon.”

“Cecilia would understand.” He spoke briskly, impatiently. “She knows how important you are to me. Now quit dodging the issue. What happened today?”

Quickly, Mari filled him in on the aborted interview.

“What can I do to help?” he asked. Despite Geoff’s many responsibilities at Bingham Enterprises and his recent elopement, he took his family duties seriously. In fact, until he’d met Cecilia, he had always been a bit of a stuffed shirt. Mari didn’t know the details, but she knew the other woman had turned his well-ordered life upside down.

“Well, you could give me a ride to the clinic in the morning,” Mari replied. “I left my car there this afternoon.”

“No problem, but you know that wasn’t what I meant when I offered to help.” His voice was edged with frustration.

“What did you have in mind?” she teased. “Assaulting an officer? I know you’ve been trying to loosen up your image, but getting arrested would be a little extreme, don’t you think? One felon in the family’s enough.”

“It won’t come to that, sis, but it’s time that we hired you an attorney. I know several good ones.”

Mari massaged her temple, willing away the headache she could feel coming like a thundercloud building up on the horizon. “I told you before, I don’t need an attorney,” she said quietly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He released a huff of breath that signaled his impatience. “Hiring an attorney isn’t an admission of guilt. You’ll need—”

Mari cut him off. “You said that before, but what I need is a ride to work tomorrow. That’s all for now, okay?” How could she explain that she just wasn’t ready to take that step? Not yet.

From everything she had heard about him, Bryce was a good detective. Despite whatever personal ax he might have to grind, sooner or later he would talk to a witness or uncover new evidence that would make him realize he had been looking in the wrong direction. When that happened, Mari’s personal nightmare would be over.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning on one condition,” Geoff said. He was a skilled negotiator, trained by their father to deal with important clients. Even though Geoff was younger than Mari, when the two of them were growing up he’d always managed to manipulate her into giving him what he wanted.

“What’s the condition?” she asked warily.

“Let me line up the best defense attorney I can find, just in case. You don’t have to worry about the bill.”

“That’s not the point. I don’t need—” Mari began.

“But your family needs to do something, okay?” Geoff said. “Something more than playing taxi while we wait for your detective friend to crack the case.”

She wanted an aspirin. “Okay.” Surely this mess would be cleared up soon—any day now—and her life would return to normal.

They set a time for him to pick her up in the morning, she asked that he give his bride her love and they said goodbye. After she hung up and took some aspirin, she turned on the television. Perhaps watching a tribe of ordinary people attempt to outplay, outwit and tearfully eliminate each other on some deserted island would put her own life back into perspective.

Chapter Three

“Collins! Phone call on line two,” shouted the uniformed deputy filling in for Christine while she took a break.

Bryce was sitting at his desk with his notes about the Orcadol case spread out before him, but he couldn’t concentrate. An hour had passed since Mari stomped out of the office. He might as well leave, too, for all the work he was getting done.

Disgusted with himself for letting her walk away, he picked up the receiver and punched the button that was lit up.

“Detective Collins.”

“Hey, bro! How ya doin’?”

His mood dropped another notch. From the giggle that followed Joey’s question, Bryce figured that his younger brother was either high or drunk. Unfortunately, Joey had never met an addictive substance he didn’t like.

“Hi, Joey. What’s new?”

“Oh, not much. Just figured I’d check in with my law-abiding big brother.”

Bryce could hear laughter and rap music in the background. Joey seemed to collect no-good bums and losers. No matter how many times Bryce told himself that he wasn’t responsible for his brother’s behavior, it didn’t wash.

“You okay?” he asked reluctantly.

In his opinion, Joey was never okay. The coal mine accident that left their father paralyzed when they were kids had somehow crippled Joey, as well. He had been in and out of juvy for small stuff. Between losing or quitting every job Bryce got him, he’d been arrested for a DUI, shoplifting and possession.

“Right as rain.” He giggled again.

“I’m at work, Joey. You must know that, because you called me on the department number. Why didn’t you ring my cell phone like I’ve asked?”

As soon as the words were out, Bryce winced. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. It wasn’t Joey’s fault that his own day had gone so badly.

“Sorry, bro. I, uh, I lost your cell number.”

“No problem,” Bryce replied, struggling for patience. “Let me give it to you again.”

He rattled it off and then he made Joey repeat it back. Maybe he’d keep it this time. The way he was headed, he’d probably need Bryce’s help.

“I’m about done here,” Bryce said. “You want to get a bite? We could go to Melinda’s. I’ll buy you a steak.”

Joey was as gaunt as a greyhound and usually in need of a haircut, but Bryce didn’t care how his brother looked. Perhaps he could talk some sense into him.

Melinda’s was Binghamton’s version of fancy. The decor was a little dramatic, but the food was reliable. On weekends, the live music alternated between country bands and classic rock, but it would be quiet tonight and they could talk.

“Nice of you to ask, bro, but I’ve kind of got something going here already. Rain check?”

Bryce felt a mix of disappointment and relief that added to his guilt. Where had he failed his only sibling?

“Sure thing. I’ll catch you next time.”

“One of these days real soon, I’ll be the one picking up the check.” Joey’s voice was hyped. “You wait. Maybe I’ll buy you a car, some fancy wheels to replace that piece of crap you drive now.”

Joey’s bragging barely registered. He always had some deal going, some shortcut to wealth that never amounted to a hill of black-eyed peas.

Once again a corrosive mix of guilt, regret and resentment sloshed around in Bryce’s gut like cheap whiskey. “That would be great. Make it red, with a good stereo, okay?”

“You never listen!” Joey’s mood flipped abruptly, as it often did. “Don’t you p-p-patronize me! I’m gonna show you! I’ll show everyone!”

Before Bryce could say anything more, the phone slammed down in his ear. Damn, he thought as tension zinged his brain. Another warm and fuzzy Collins family moment.

He slid open the drawer of his desk, found the battered aspirin bottle clear in the back and shook out two pills. He swallowed them with the rest of his cold coffee. As he shuffled the reports on the Orcadol investigation back into the folder, Hank sidled up to his desk like an overweight crab.

“When you gonna crack the Orchid case?” he asked loudly, jingling the coins in the pocket of his pants. His free hand rested on his gut as if to hold it up. “Got any leads yet?”

Hank’s interest was puzzling until Bryce saw that Sheriff Remington’s office door sat open.

“Save it, Butler,” Bryce replied with a jerk of his thumb. “He’s not paying attention.”

Hank flushed an unhealthy shade of red.

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” he blustered. “I’m just trying to help out.”

A rookie might have been taken in by Hank’s innocent expression and his helpful tone, but Bryce had been around long enough to know better. The other detective had a reputation for easing into a case after the legwork had already been done so he could hog part of the credit.

Bryce had already been pointedly rude to Hank today and the other detective still had juice with a couple of old-timers in county government. Hank’s other connections were mostly petty criminals and snitches, but antagonizing a fellow cop was never smart. You never knew when you might have to count on him to watch your back.

“I appreciate the offer.” Bryce kept his expression bland. “Let me get back to you.”

They exchanged phony smiles before Hank lumbered out to the vending machine in the lobby. Just watching him was enough to sink Bryce’s mood even further.

Was he seeing a glimpse of his own future? Hank’s wife had divorced him years ago and moved away with their daughter. Now he lived alone in a beat-up rental, waiting either for his pension to kick in or a heart attack to drop him—whichever came first. In the meantime, Hank closed enough routine cases to avoid becoming a blip on the sheriff’s radar.

“Detective Collins?” As if he had read Bryce’s mind, Sheriff Remington stood in the doorway of his office. “Got a minute?”

Bryce blinked and refocused. “Sure thing, Sheriff.” He got to his feet and dragged up another smile, one he hoped was convincing. “What can I do for you?”

“Bring the Orcadol file.” He went back inside.

Folder in hand, Bryce felt like a kid who’d been summoned to the principal’s office. He took the plain wood chair facing the sheriff’s desk. Among themselves, the deputies called it The Hot Seat.

“Have you got anything new to tell me?” Remington sat back, his hands steepled and his fingertips grazing his mustache. He gave Bryce his full attention.

“No, sir.” Bryce knew from painful experience how pointless it was to jerk his boss around. “I wasn’t able to interview Dr. Bingham today like I planned, but I will.”

The sheriff’s gaze narrowed, but he didn’t ask any more questions. Instead he removed a folder from a drawer and slid it across his desk. “This came in a little while ago. It’s the analysis on the handwriting recovered from the drug raid.”

Bryce itched to open the folder and read the contents. When they’d paid the dealer a surprise visit, they’d confiscated a variety of illegal substances, as well as what looked like torn prescriptions with Mari’s name. The signatures were illegible, but the department had ordered a comparison with a sample of her handwriting obtained by its office.

“The handwriting isn’t Dr. Bingham’s,” Remington said. “It wasn’t even a good forgery.”

Bryce was surprised by the relief that flowed through him. What he should be experiencing was disappointment, since the findings of the report made his case a whole lot tougher.

“I see,” he said stupidly.

Remington narrowed his piercing blue eyes. “I’ve been taking a lot of heat from the mayor’s office on this, and I’m damned tired of seeing my name in the Mage.”

He was referring to the town newspaper, which had run several editorials questioning the sheriff’s priorities. His re-election campaign had included a promise to clean up the county and get illegal drugs off the street, but the arrests they’d made so far hadn’t yielded much in the way of either drugs or useful information.

He ran a hand through his white hair. “Last week a reporter from a TV station in Lexington called. She was looking for an interview.” Clearly the request hadn’t made him happy. “I’m starting to feel like a duck in a shooting gallery, Detective. What’s your next move?”

Bryce tapped his finger on the report. “Whoever is responsible for switching Orcadol at the clinic with a different painkiller has got to work there. I’ll need access to their personnel records.”

The sheriff frowned thoughtfully. “Do you have a plan?”

“I’ve got an idea that I’m pursuing,” he replied, hoping the sheriff didn’t ask for details.

The sheriff tapped his fingers on his desktop. “Let’s not rule out the doctor yet as a person of interest. She may be connected somehow, since I doubt this is a solo operation. If you lean on her, she may crack.”

“Yes, sir.” Bryce picked up the folder. The idea that Mari might have sold or given out illegal prescriptions for Orcadol had never made much sense to him, despite how much his bitter, angry side wanted to believe it. Illegal drug trafficking was a damned risky way to get the money for her research center. Now he was back to square two, looking for the link to the Foster Clinic.

The sheriff reached for his phone. “Keep me informed.”

“How are you feeling?” Mari asked Milla as they left the clinic for the day and walked toward the employee parking lot. “Nausea all gone?”

Milla blushed prettily as she glanced up at the man beside her. Mari was sure Milla’s high color wasn’t just because of the temperature, even though the day was especially warm.

There wasn’t a breath of air to stir the tree branches overhead. Even the last of the summer flowers bordering the sidewalk appeared wilted.

“My ankles are a little swollen,” Milla confessed. “Other than that, I’m fine.”

Milla’s fiancé and the father of the baby she was carrying, Kyle Bingham, took her hand in his as he made a point to peer down at her legs in loose-fitting uniform pants and thick-soled white shoes.

“You have the ankles of a gazelle,” he told her with a straight face.

Kyle was a resident at the hospital, as well as Mari’s cousin. Although Uncle Billy had never gotten around to marrying any of his numerous lady friends, he’d managed to father several children, including Kyle, before perishing in the crash of his plane. Each of Billy’s descendants had a different mother. Adding to the confusion, the boy who Kyle was helping Milla raise, named Dylan, was another of Uncle Billy’s progeny. Young Dylan was Kyle’s half brother.

Despite the dinner that Mari had recently hosted to introduce Kyle into the Bingham family, she hadn’t known him well until he’d met Milla. He had done the right thing when Milla got pregnant, but he’d also rescued both her and the clinic in another way.

During a recent home visit, Milla had discovered a new mother dead of a drug overdose and her baby girl in critical condition from ingesting contaminated breast milk. Milla called Kyle and together they managed to save the baby’s life.

As fate would have it, the baby’s aunt and uncle were the same couple who had filed a malpractice suit against Milla and the clinic for sending their own newborn to intensive care some months ago. When they saw Milla treating their niece, they confronted her.

Kyle overheard the loud exchange and leaped to Milla’s defense. He explained to the Canfields that without her quick thinking, the tot wouldn’t have survived. He didn’t mention his role in the rescue, instead giving Milla full credit. By the time he was through talking, he’d convinced the Canfields that no midwife as caring as Milla deserved to have her career damaged by a lawsuit.

Now she radiated with happiness, despite her swollen ankles and the fact that the day had been a hectic one. Love, Mari thought with a little curl of envy, must do that for some people.

Milla must have read something in Mari’s expression, because her smile faded. “This is all so unfair,” she exclaimed. “I wish there was something I could do to help the police find out who’s really been stealing Orcadol, so they’d leave you alone.”

Patting her shoulder, Mari felt the sudden tension. Milla didn’t need this kind of stress, not in her condition.

“You’ve both been wonderful,” Mari said. “Milla, I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate everything you did yesterday.”

Milla had quietly dealt with Mari’s patients after Bryce hauled Mari to the sheriff’s office. She had made excuses, rescheduled appointments and fielded questions from other staff members.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” Milla said, clearly embarrassed. “I was honored to help. I could never repay you for all your support.”

“I think we’re more than even.” Mari smiled at Kyle. “Do you realize how lucky you are, cousin?”

With a wide grin of his own, he leaned over to kiss Milla’s cheek.

“Absolutely. Having Milla, Dylan and a baby on the way has made me happier than winning the megastate lottery,” he replied.

To keep her thoughts from sliding back to her own problems, Mari tried hard to focus on the other couple’s obvious joy. Surely someday she, too, would find a man to care about, one who would support her career and help her to finally forget about her first painful love.

Milla’s happy smile faded again as she glanced past Mari. “On, no,” Milla groaned. “What can he possibly want this time?”

Mari glanced around to see who Milla was talking about. Her entire system jolted when she spotted Bryce leaning against his car, arms folded as he watched them. Despite the muggy heat, he was still wearing a lightweight jacket with his tan slacks, but his folded-up tie was sticking out of his pocket and his shirt was open at the neck. His hair was damp and slightly disheveled, as though he had been raking his fingers through it in the same way he used to do when they studied together. It gave him a youthful air she hadn’t seen in a long time, but the gravity of his expression spoiled the effect.