Covet

Chapter 41

  The ambulance ride was bumpy from the speed and bright from the flashing lights. The sirens, however, came on only at intersections. Marie-Terese took this as a good sign.

  Sitting on a built-in bench beside Vin, with one hand locked on a vertical stainless-steel bar to steady herself and the other tight to his warm palm, she figured if his condition were really dangerous, the rip-snorting, high-pitched stuff would be going constantly.

  Or maybe she was just trying to placate herself.

  As he lay on the gurney, Vin's eyes were closed and his face was pale, but he was holding on to her. And every time they went over a pothole, he winced, his lips pulling back off his white teeth - which had to mean he wasn't in deep shock or a coma. And that was good, right?

  Compared to the downside potential.

  She glanced over at the medic. The woman was concentrating on the screen of a portable EKG, and her expression gave nothing away.

  Marie-Terese leaned to the side and tried to get a look at whatever readout the machine was giving. . . and all she saw was a white line making some sort of pattern against a black background. She had no clue what it meant.

  Out the back window of the ambulance, she prayed to see more street lamps on the sidewalks. . . and buildings instead of strip malls or residential streets. . . and cars parked parallel to the curb.

  Because that meant they were finally downtown.

  It wasn't just for Vin's sake.

  Shifting around and moving her butt forward on the seat, she was able to look through the front windshield, and she took solace in the fact that the ambulance ahead of them - which had Jim in it - still had its lights going. The medics had triaged both men, called for a second team, and treated Jim first - and she had stood out in the hall with Eddie as a portable defibrillator had been brought in and that wounded chest had been shocked once. . . twice. . .

  The sweetest words she'd ever heard had come from the man with the stethoscope: I have a pulse.

  She hoped they were able to keep it going up in front. The idea that Jim would have to die to save her was nearly unbearable.

  And as for Saul. . . he hadn't needed fast transport to the hospital. Plenty of time for him.

  Good God. . . Saul?

  He'd been all but invisible in those prayer group meetings, nothing but a quiet, balding man who had the sad-sack look of someone perpetually on the losing end of life's equation. She'd seen nothing from him to lead her to believe he was obsessed with her, but the trouble was. . . he was precisely the kind of man you wouldn't remember.

  Thinking back to when she'd run into him at church the night before at confession, she wondered how many times she'd missed noticing him. After all, he'd been the first car to stop when she'd had that near miss in traffic after the service today. Which suggested he'd been right behind her.

  How often had he followed her home? Had he come to the Iron Mask?

  On a cold shiver, she wondered. . . had he killed those men she'd been with?

  The whole thing didn't exactly make her glad for the kind of man her ex-husband had been. But she appreciated the precautions she'd taken because of Mark.

  From out the front windshield, the offices of the Caldwell Courier Journal flew by and she squeezed Vin's hand. "Almost there. "

  His lids lifted. Those gray eyes that had first captivated her did the trick all over again: Staring into them, she felt as though she were tripping and falling and didn't have a clue where she was going to land.

  Although that was no longer true, was it. She knew exactly the sort of man he was, and he was not the kind she had to look out for.

  He was the man she needed in her life. Wanted in her life.

  Leaning down to him, she smoothed his hair back, stroked his five-o'clock shadow, and looked into his eyes. "I love you," she said, bending down and kissing his lips. "I love you. "

  His hand cranked down on hers. "Love you. . . too. "

  Boy, that croaking voice lit her up from the inside. "Good. We're even then. "

  "We. . . are. . . "

  The ambulance bumped over something in the road and everything from the machines to the medic to Vin on the gurney got tossed up. As he sucked in a vicious hiss and squeezed his eyes shut, she went back to looking out the front window again, anxious to see the ambient glow of the St. Francis Hospital complex. . . hoping that somehow her making visual contact with their route would speed things along.

  Come on. . . come on. . .

  All at once the ambulance up ahead put its red lights out and slowed down to the speed limit, and the one she and Vin were in caught up quickly. . . then passed its leader.

  "Why did they slow down?" she demanded as the medic repositioned the EKG monitor. "Their lights are off. Why are they slowing down?

  The shake of the head she got in response was not a surprise. It was a tragedy: You needed to rush only if the person were alive. Which was why no one had attended to Saul after he'd been pronounced dead.

  Death left you with an eternity to deal with bodies. No hurry there.

  Marie-Terese dragged in a breath, and as tears came to her eyes, she let go of the stable bar and brushed them away. The last thing she wanted was for Vin to crack his lids and see her upset. "ETA two minutes," the driver called out from in front.

  The medic picked up a chart. "Ma'am, I forgot to ask you. Are you his next of kin?"

  Wiping her eyes, she pulled herself together for Vin's sake and knew right off there was no way in hell she was going to risk getting sidelined when it came to his care. Acquaintances and friends got only so far when it came to ER doctors and nurses.

  "I'm his wife," she said.

  The woman nodded and made a note. "And your name is?" She didn't even pause. "Gretchen. Gretchen Capricio. "

  "You are a very lucky man. "

  Two hours later, those hell-yeah words were spoken to Vin as his admitting physician snapped off her bright blue surgical gloves and tossed the pair into an orange biohazard container.

  She was so right. All it had taken was local anesthesia and some stitches to close up the entrance and the exit wounds. No bones busted up or tendons sliced or nerve damage. That bastard with the gun had hit nothing but meat, which was gross and a good call.

  Vin had been really lucky.

  Unfortunately, his response to the good news was to curl over and throw up into the pink bedpan next to his head. And the fact that he moved his torso made the pain in his shoulder go rock-star. . . which made the vomiting worse. . . which made the pain worse. . . and around and around he went. And yet still he had to agree with the woman in the scrubs. He was lucky. The luckiest bastard on the face of the planet.

  "You cannot handle Demerol, however," she said.

  Thanks for the newsflash, Vin thought. He'd been hurling since they'd given him the shot about thirty minutes ago.

  After his latest bout of gagging lost its enthusiasm, he settled back against the pillow and closed his eyes. As a cool hand towel-wiped his mouth and his face, he smiled. Marie-Terese - Gretchen, actually - was still terrific with the terry cloth.

  And God willing, she wouldn't have to put that skill set to use on him again anytime soon.

  "I'm going to give you an antinausea injection," the doctor said, "and if the vomiting subsides, we can release you. Stitches need to be removed in ten days, but your internist can do that. We've given you a tetanus shot and I'll write you a prescription for oral antibiotics - but we have some samples here, and we've already given you one of them. Any questions?"

  Vin opened his lids and looked not at the doctor, but at Gretchen. She loved him. She'd said so, in the ambulance. He'd heard the words from her very own mouth.

  So nope, he didn't have any questions. As long as he knew she felt like that, he was good to go on pretty much everything else.

  "Just shoot me up, Doc, so I can get the hell out of here. "

  Th
e woman snapped on fresh gloves, uncapped a syringe and put the needle right into his vein. As she hit the plunger, he didn't feel a thing, which made the hurling almost worth it. "This should ease things immediately. "

  Vin held his breath, not really expecting -

  Holy shit. The effect was lickety-split, as if his belly had been blanketed in a whole lot of whoa-nelly-easy-there-big-boy. On a shuddering breath, his entire body went loose, giving him a clear idea, as if the upchucking hadn't, of exactly how green he'd felt.

  "Let's see if that holds," the doctor said, recapping the syringe and tucking it into an orange box. "Just rest here, and when I release you, we'll get you and your wife a cab. "

  He and his wife.

  Vin brought Gretchen's hand up to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with a kiss. "Sound good to you?" he asked. "Honey?"

  "Perfect. " A smile lifted her lips. "As long as you're ready to go. Dear. "

  "I so am. "

  "All right, I'll be back to check on you. " The doctor went over to the curtain that separated Vin's bay from the rest of the ER. "Listen, the CPD is asking to see you. I can tell them to contact you - "

  "Send them in," Vin said. "No reason to wait. "

  "You sure?"

  "What's the worst that can happen? I start throwing up again and use the guy's pockets instead of my bedpan? I'm willing to risk that. "

  "Okay, you got it. If it goes on too long, hit the nursing button and we'll intervene. " The doctor nodded and swept the drape back. "Good luck. "

  As the curtain swung shut, Vin squeezed Gretchen's hand with urgency, because he didn't know how much time they had.

  "I want you to tell me the truth. "

  "Always. "

  "What happened with Jim? Did he. . . ?"

  The hard swallow she took before she answered told him everything, and to spare her from having to put out the words, he kissed her hand again. "Shh, it's all right. You don't have to say it - "

  "He was your friend. I'm so sorry - "

  "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to. " Vin rubbed the beating pulse at her wrist with his thumb. "I'm so glad you're still here. For your son. For me. Jim did an incredibly selfless, heroic thing, and as much as I wish he hadn't died because of it, I'm very grateful for what he did. "

  She dropped her head and nodded, her curling hair falling forward. As he drew circles over the fine bones of her wrist, he traced the glossy waves with his eyes. Jim's final action on earth had left one hell of a legacy, namely a life to be lived. . . and a son who still had his mother. . . and a lover whose heart hadn't been shattered by loss.

  A fine legacy.

  "He was a real man. " Vin cleared his throat. "That one. . . was a real man. "

  They sat in silence together, he flat on the gurney, she on a plastic chair, their hands linked tightly - just as the man who had saved her life had put them together over his chest.

  On the other side of the gray-and-blue curtain, people rush-rush-rushed along, their voices overlapping, their shoes shuffling by, their shoulders brushing the drape and causing it to swing from the metal hooks it hung from.

  He and Gretchen, on the other hand, were motionless.

  Death did that to a person, Vin thought. Stopped them in their place in the midst of the great tumble and scramble of their life, isolating them in still silence. In the instant it took hold, it changed everything, but its effect was like that of a car slamming into a wall - what was inside kept on going because the shit didn't know better. . . with the result being utter chaos: All the clothes the person had worn became some kind of history exhibit to be cleaned out by a weepy nearest-and-dearest. . . and their magazine subscriptions and account reports and dental reminders went from "correspondence" to "junk mail". . . and the place where they lived went from being a home to a house.

  Everything stopped. . . and nothing was what it had been.

  God, when the news hit that someone you knew died, you got a small shot of what the deceased was getting a whole boatload of: You stopped short and pulled out of the business of life as the ringing of the bell resonated through your mind and your body. And because humans were a pain in the ass, usually the first thought was, No, it can't be.

  Life, however, didn't come with a rewind button and it sure as fuck wasn't interested in opinions from the peanut gallery.

  The curtain pulled back, revealing a stocky man with dark hair and dark eyes. "Vin diPietro?"

  Vin jerked himself to attention. "Ah. . . yeah, that's me. "

  The man stepped inside and took out a badge. "I'm Detective de la Cruz from Homicide. How you doing?"

  "Haven't thrown up in about ten minutes. "

  "Well, good for you. " He nodded to Gretchen and gave her a little bow. "I'm sorry we have to meet again so soon. . . and under these circumstances. Now, can you guys give me a quick version of what happened? And listen, neither of you is under arrest - but if you'd rather talk with a lawyer present, I understand. "

  Mick Rhodes hadn't been called yet, and he'd no doubt advise against saying anything without him, but Vin was too tired to care - and anyway, it didn't hurt to be nominally cooperative when you'd acted within the bounds of the law.

  Vin shook his head back and forth on the pillow. "No, it's fine, Detective. As for what went down. . . we were upstairs in the bedroom with. . . " For no good reason, an overriding instinct told him not to mention Eddie - one so strong that he felt powerless to resist it. ". . . with Jim. "

  The detective took out a little pad of paper and a pen, all Columbo-style. "What were you doing in the house? The neighbors said that usually there's no one in it. "

  "I own the place and I've decided to finally do it over for resale. I'm a real estate developer and Jim works. . . worked. . . for me. We were there discussing the project, you know, going through the rooms. . . I guess I'd left the front door open and we were upstairs when it all happened. " As the detective nodded and made notes in his pad, Vin gave him a chance to get it all down. "We were in the bedroom, talking, and the next thing I know I hear this gun go off. It happened so damn fast. . . Jim jumped in front of her and took the bullet. . . I was by the dresser with my back to the door, and I went for my piece - which, by the way, is registered and I have a license to carry. I shot the guy with the gun and he went down. "

  More notations in the pad. "You shot him a number of times. "

  "Yeah, I did. He wasn't getting a chance to let loose any more rounds. "

  The detective backed through his notebook, the inked-up pages making a crackling sound. When he looked up again, he smiled briefly. "Right, okay. . . so why don't you try it again and tell me the truth this time. Why were you in that house?"

  "I told you - "

  "There was salt poured everywhere and incense in the air and the window upstairs in that bedroom had been broken. The sink on the second floor was filled with some kind of solution, and there were empty bottles of things like hydrogen peroxide all over - and the circle drawn on the floor in the middle of that bedroom you were in was also a nice touch. Oh. . . and you were found with your shirt off and no shoes on, which seems like an odd wardrobe if you were gum-flapping about business. So. . . although I'm inclined to believe you about the shooting part, because I can trace the paths of bullets as well as the next guy, you're full of crap about the rest of it. "

  Right, pin-drop time.

  "I think we should tell him the truth, honey," Gretchen said.

  Vin looked over at her and wondered, Exactly which truth would that be, dear?

  "Please do," the detective said. "And look, I'll tell you what I believe, if it'll help. The guy you killed was named Eugene Locke, alias Saul Weaver. He's a convicted murderer who got out of prison about six months ago. He was renting the house next door and he was obsessed" - the detective nodded at Gretchen - "with you. "

  "This is what I can't understand. . . why - " Gretchen stopped. "Wait a minute,
how do you know that? What did you find at his house?"

  The detective looked away from his notes, focusing on a middle ground. "The man had pictures of you. "

  "What kind of pictures," she asked in a flat tone.

  As Vin rubbed her hand, the detective met her eyes. "Wide-lens, telephoto stuff. "

  "How many. "

  "A lot. "

  Gretchen's palm tightened against his. "You find anything else?"

  "There was a statue upstairs. One that actually had been reported stolen from St. Patrick's Cathedral - "

  "Oh, my God, the Mary Magdalene," Gretchen said. "I saw it was missing from the church. "

  "That's the one. And I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but she looks a lot like you. "

  Vin struggled with the urge to kill the guy all over again. "Could this Eugene. . . Saul guy. . . whatever his name was, be responsible for those deaths and beatings in the alleys?"

  The detective flipped through his book. "Since he's dead, and therefore there's no chance of maligning his reputation. . . I'll tell you that I think I can tie him to both incidents. Right now, the man who was wounded in the head last night is still hanging on. If he makes it, I believe he'll identify his attacker as having dark hair, because when we went through Locke's house, we found a men's brunet wig with fine traces of blood splattering on it. The CSIers are already running tests, and I believe that the residue is going to match one or all of our victims. We also have a shoe print from the first scene which happens to look a helluva lot like what Locke was wearing tonight.

  "So, yeah, pulling this all together. . . " More with the flipping through, then another glance at Gretchen. "I'm thinking that Locke was targeting men you'd danced with or for at the club, and that explains those attacks. And it was a stroke of luck - or misfortune was more like it - that he happened to live in the house next to where you guys were tonight. Because he didn't know that place was yours, right?"

  Vin shook his head. "I'd been there like one other time in the last month, and before that. . . I can't recall. And I don't think he knew my name to search the real estate records. Besides, how long had he lived next door?"

  "Since he was released from prison. "

  "Yeah, she and I didn't meet but. . . three days ago. "

  De la Cruz made another note. "Okay, I've been candid. How about returning the favor. . . ? You want to tell the truth about why you were there?"

  Gretchen spoke up before Vin could. "Do you believe in ghosts, Detective?"

  The man blinked a couple of times. "Ah. . . I'm not sure. "

  "Vin's parents died in that house. And he does want to do it over. The problem is. . . there's a bad spirit in it. Or was. We were trying to get it out. "

  Vin popped his brows. Holy crap. That was fantastic, he thought.

  "Really?" the detective asked, his brown eyes going tennis-match between them.

  "Really," Vin and Gretchen said together.

  "No shit," the detective murmured.

  "No shit," Vin replied. "The salt was supposed to create a barrier or some crap, and the incense was to clean the air. Listen, I'm not going to pretend I understand all of it. . . " Hell, he still wasn't clear on everything. "But I know what we did worked. "

  Because he felt different. He was different. He was just himself now.

  De la Cruz flipped to a fresh page and wrote something. "You know, my grandmother used to be able to predict the weather. And there was a rocker up in her attic that moved by itself. What got thrown out the window?"

  "Would you believe it broke on its own?" Vin answered.

  De la Cruz glanced up. "I don't know. "

  "Well, it did. "

  "Guess whatever you did might really have worked. "

  "It did. " Vin rubbed his eyes with his free hand until his shoulder let out a holler he couldn't ignore and he had to stop. "Let's fucking hope it keeps, though. "

  There was a pause and then De la Cruz looked at Gretchen. "I have a follow-up question for you, if you don't mind. You stated to the medics that your name is Gretchen Capricio, but I have it down as Marie-Terese Boudreau. Would you feel comfortable helping me out a little about that?"

  Gretchen did a thorough explanation of her situation, and as she spoke, Vin stared at her beautiful face and wished he could take all the pain from the past and the stress from the present away from her. She had shadows in her eyes and under them, but as he'd come to expect, her voice was strong and her chin up.

  Man, he was in love with her.

  The detective was shaking his head as she finished up. "I'm really sorry about all that. And I understand completely - although I do wish you'd been up-front in the beginning with us. "

  "I was afraid of the press, mostly. My ex-husband's in prison, but his family connections are all over the country. . . and some of them are in law enforcement. After what happened with my son, I don't trust anyone - even those people with badges. "

  "What made you decide to come clean tonight?"

  Her eyes shifted to Vin. "Things are different and I'm leaving town. I'll still let you know where I am, but. . . I have to get out of Caldwell. "

  "After all this, I understand it - although we're going to need to be able to reach you. "

  "And I'll come back anytime you need me. "

  "Okay. And look, I'll talk to my sergeant. Giving a false identity to the police is a crime, but under the circumstances. . . " He put his notebook away. "I also heard from the staff here that you told them you were his wife?"

  "I wanted to stay with him. "

  De la Cruz smiled a little. "I did that once. My wife and I were dating and she sliced her finger open with a knife cutting up a salad for dinner. When I took her to the ER, I lied and told them we were married. "

  Gretchen lifted Vin's hand to her lips and kissed it briefly. "I'm glad you understand. "

  "I do. I really do. "

  The detective nodded at Vin. "So you two just started dating?"

  "Yeah. "

  "Guess your previous lady friend didn't like it, did she. "

  "Yeah. . . I had the ex-girlfriend from hell. " Literally.

  In a rush, Vin thought back to the mess his duplex had been left in and the lies Devina had told the police. "She's vicious, Detective. Worse than you can imagine. And I did not hit her, not once that night, not ever. My mother was abused by my father, and I don't pull shit like that. I'd walk out and leave everything I own behind before I ever struck a female. "

  The detective's eyes narrowed and that eagle stare locked on Vin. After a moment, the guy nodded. "Well, we'll see. I'm not handling that side of things because it's out of my department. . . but I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't find there was more going on, like a third party or something. I've looked into the faces of a lot of wife beaters and you're not one of their kind. "

  De la Cruz put his notebook and pen away and glanced at his watch. "Hey, check it out. Now you haven't thrown up in almost a half hour. That's a good sign - maybe they'll let you blow this Popsicle stand. "

  Vin extended his free hand even though his shoulder didn't appreciate it. "You're okay, Detective, you know that?"

  A solid palm met Vin's and they shook. "And I hope you two are going to be all right. I'll be in touch. "

  After the guy left, the curtain flapped back down in place and Vin took a deep breath. "How long do you suppose I have to wait before I can go?"

  "Let's give it another half an hour, and if they don't come to check on you, I'll go find that doctor. "

  "Okay. "

  The trouble was, being powerless and waiting like a good boy had never sat well. Within five minutes, he was getting ready to hit the nurse-call button, except then the curtain parted again.

  "Perfect timing - " Vin frowned. Instead of a nurse or a doctor, it was Eddie, looking as grim as a guy who'd just lost a friend and fallen out of a second-floor window.

  Go. Fig.


  Vin's first instinct was to sit right up, but that didn't go over well at all. As his shoulder let out an opera-singer scream, he had to close his throat up to keep from vomiting all over the front of himself - but at least it wasn't from the Demerol.

  As Gretchen lunged for a fresh bedpan and Eddie held up both of his palms in the universal language of whooooooooooooa, Vin tottered on the edge of losing it.

  Thank fuck the tide receded and his stomach eventually loosened up.

  "Sorry 'bout that," he said roughly. "I'm having issues. "

  "No probs. No probs at all. "

  Vin breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. "I'm sorry. . . about Jim. " Gretchen went up to Eddie and gripped the guy's massive upper arms. Standing in front of him, she was both tiny and fierce. "I owe him my life. "

  "Both our lives," Vin chimed in.

  Eddie hugged her briefly and nodded once at Vin. Clearly, he was the type who controlled his emotions - which was something Vin could respect.

  "I appreciate it. And now, why I've come. " Eddie reached into his pocket, and when he brought out his palm, in the center of it was the diamond ring and the gold earring. "Adrian did what he had to and got them away from her. You're both completely free, and the way it works is you're now off-limits to her. You don't have to worry about Devina coming back. Just hold on to these, okay?"

  As Gretchen took the pieces and hugged him again, Vin let her embrace say everything he wished he could, but didn't dare. He was getting a little choked up, and not because his stomach was rolling into another evac: Sometimes sharp gratitude had the same effect on the gut as nausea. The thing was, he just couldn't figure out what these men had gotten from helping him and Gretchen. Jim was dead, Eddie looked like shit, and fuck only knew what Adrian had done with Devina.

  "You guys take care of yourselves, okay?" Eddie murmured, turning to leave. "I've got to go. "

  Vin cleared his throat. "About Jim. . . I'm not sure if you were planning on claiming his body, but I'd love to give him a proper burial. Nothing but the best. Straight up. "

  Eddie looked over his shoulder, his odd red-brown eyes grave. "That would be cool - I'll leave you in charge of him. And I'm sure he'd appreciate it. "

  Vin nodded once, the deal struck. "You want to know when and where? Can you give me your number?"

  The guy recited some numerals, which Gretchen wrote down on a piece of paper. "Text me with the details," Eddie said. "I'm not sure where I'll be. I'm taking off. "

  "You don't want to be seen by a doc?"

  "No need to. I'm fine. "

  "Ah. . . okay. Take care. And thank you. . . " Vin let the words drift because he didn't know how to say what was in his heart.

  Eddie smiled in an ancient way and held his hand up. "You don't have to say anything else. I feel you. "

  And then he was gone.

  As the curtain flapped shut, Vin watched under its hem as those shitkickers turned to the right, took one step. . . and disappeared into thin air. Like they'd never been there in the first place.

  Bringing his right palm to his face, Vin rubbed his eyes. "I think I'm hallucinating. "

  "Do you want me to get the doctor?" Gretchen came over, all worried. "I can use the nurse's button - "

  "No, I'm okay. . . Sorry, I think I'm just really overtired. " For all he knew, the guy had simply moved over to the left and was now, at this very moment, striding out of the ER and into the night. Vin tugged Gretchen down next to him. "I feel like it's over now. This whole thing. "

  Well, over except for the fact that his visions were back to stay - at least according to Eddie. But maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Maybe he could find some way of channeling them or using them for good.

  With a frown, he realized he'd found a new purpose. Only this one would serve others, not himself.

  Not a shabby outcome, all things considered.

  Gretchen opened her hand and the jewelry, especially the diamond, gleamed. "If you don't mind, though, I'm going to put these in a safety-deposit box. "

  As she shoved them down deep into the pocket of her jeans, Vin nodded. "Yeah, let's not lose those again, shall we?"

  "Nope. Never again. "