Saving Poughkeepsie

  “It’s a big job. Lots of little veins, important things. You can’t miss one, you know?” Beckett rolled his head on his neck, trying to get rid of the knots of stress.

  Ryan defaulted back to cursing at him while Beckett’s brain ran through the scenario that had just been put there.

  Eve was batshit crazy and brave like a tiger. He vowed then, in this darkest moment in time, to get to the bottom of this, to get Rodolfo or whoever it was, and make him pay.

  “Tit shitter…Monkey taint…Testicle junkie.”

  Dr. Ted Hartt had done this surgery a million times in his nightmares. It was always Eve, and it was always life threatening.

  But here, fully awake, with classical music playing in the background of his operating room, he made sure every move was professional. He didn’t look at her face, didn’t tear up. It was against every rule there was to operate on your own child, but he was on duty and, damn it, he was the best and everyone knew it.

  Another surgeon had been called in off the golf course, but Ted had recognized the man and shook his head when he arrived. This delicate operation would be lost in his hands. Ted was simply better, and his team acknowledged that by staying by his side.

  In his head he referred to her as the patient. He focused on the wound. He continued picking parts of her spleen out of the inside of her abdomen. He reconstructed the veins as best he could, but the lack of clotting made it difficult.

  Twice they’d lost her rhythm. Twice they’d been able to shock the patient back. He wouldn’t let it break him. Instead he’d nodded at the return of her heartbeat and proceeded, repairing the damage over and over. It was as if they were trying to bail out a boat that was destined to sink. The blood they gave her barely kept up with what was coming out.

  It had been hours. And Ted had every intention of working for hours upon hours more. This patient would live if he had to buy her soul back from the devil himself.

  4

  Amen

  Sometime after midnight, Blake took the call from Beckett on the balcony of their hotel room in Lusby, Maryland. As he listened, he knocked softly on the door of his brother’s room, and Cole emerged looking tired and concerned.

  After Kyle, Cole, and baby John—they were calling him JB now—had checked out of the hospital¸ they’d received a text from Beckett requesting that everyone stay out of Poughkeepsie a few extra days. Wanting to be together, Blake had cancelled the beach visit they’d planned before Disney to stay in Maryland. He’d also rescheduled his meeting with producers of the television show he was composing for, which he’d been so proud of himself for coordinating with the family visit to Florida.

  Grandpa John had been on the phone for most of the day. He seemed to want to go home to handle something, but he refused to say what. Blake had overheard Kathy talking him down.

  “Sweetheart, you deserve to spend time with your family,” she’d said. “There’ll always be something going wrong at work. You’re a policeman.”

  And so John had stayed, and Blake now listened as Beckett’s voice explained that the reason he’d run home so quickly was likely connected to John’s situation.

  After Blake assured his brother he would stay put and stay alert, he disconnected and filled in Cole. “He sounds horrible. She must be really bad off. He wants us to stay here, but he asked that you pray for her.” Blake shook his head. Eve was complicated, but he’d never have been able to stand in the sun so soon if it hadn’t been for her.

  Cole nodded. “Can you join me?”

  “Of course,” Blake said.

  “Dear Lord, Please protect and guide Eve at her time of recovery. Life has given her a lot of emotional wounds, and now her physical body is mirroring this pain. Please take her hand and keep her safe. Let her live to lead a life that shows her the power of your love.”

  Together they added, “Amen.”

  Blake hated that it was all they could do right now.

  Eve was pretty sure she had a cotton ball for a brain. Everything was fuzzy. She opened one eye and then the other. The lights felt like they were made of her raw nerves, and she was so thirsty.

  As she let her eyes adjust, she noted she was in a hospital room, and Ryan was passed out in a chair near her bed. He was way too huge to be comfortable in that position. He was carrying his handgun as well.

  She cleared her throat, hating herself a bit when she saw how startled he was by the noise.

  “Jesus! Fucking shitter.” He straightened himself and was on his feet. “Sorry, fell asleep. How you doing?”

  “Thirsty.” Eve could barely get the word out.

  He found her a cup and filled it from a pitcher close by. He added a straw and held it to her lips.

  “Drink slowly. They’ll probably cut my nuts off for doing this without asking anyone.” Ryan apologized for the tepid water. “It’s been here awhile.”

  She forced herself to take small sips, and her throat thanked her the whole time. She didn’t stop until she got to the slurpy end of the cup.

  “How long have I been here? You okay?” Eve was able to say more now that her thirst was quenched.

  “It’s Saturday afternoon now, so you’ve been here a little over a day, and I’m fine.” Ryan held up his hands. “Just don’t move. There are rules about all this stuff. And you have all kinds of drainage shit. Don’t move. Or fart. Or laugh.”

  Eve tried to smile at him, but failed. “Feels like I ate a cannon ball.”

  “That’s pretty much what you did there, Rocky.” Ryan dialed his phone. “Yes, sir, she just opened her eyes. Looking good.” He turned his attention back to Eve. “Your dad will be here in a minute.”

  “He’s going to be pissed.” Eve looked at her torso. The huge wound packing made her look pregnant.

  “Listen, you’re going to be okay. That’s all that matters.”

  Her father pushed through the door and saw her sitting up. “Thank the Father Almighty.” He exhaled audibly. “Okay, Ryan, out you go.”

  Ryan shrugged his apology and left the room. Her father went about the business of giving her a checkup. He did the nurse’s job as well as his own, taking her temperature, checking her bandages, and listening to her heart.

  “Okay, this is a button that’s hooked up to your pain medicine. You press it when something hurts.” He stood and smoothed back her hair.

  Eve hit the button twice. “So?”

  “So?” Her dad looked at her complexion and tested the elasticity of her skin to see if she was dehydrated. He was being her doctor.

  The medicine flowed into her system, and she began to have nice long lapses of semi-consciousness. “Aren’t you going to yell at me?” Her words began to slur.

  “No, just heal. That’s your job. And mine is to see to it that you do well while you take care of that. I’ll be your father later.” He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

  She was drifting off, but she could still hear him.

  “I love you so much, baby girl. Never leave this earth again.”

  “Sir, I’ve finally been able to access Eve’s medical records, and though I’m sorry we were not successful in acquiring her, I’ve discovered some disheartening things about the woman in question,” Nicholas reported, looking at the floor.

  Rodolfo tried not to let his anger get the best of him. Since the stroke, any time he did, he began to slur his words. But Nicholas was not saying things that filled him with joy.

  “I prefer being happy.” Rodolfo found his hand tingling, going a bit numb. He focused his attention on the sensation of opening and closing his left fist. “What can you do about that?”

  The messenger looked nervous, but continued. “In the car accident, when she was hospitalized as a teen, Ms. Hartt’s fetus was injured to the point that it needed to be removed.”

  “And?” Rodolfo clenched both fists now.

  “Well, after the procedure her uterus hemorrhaged. They had to perform a hysterectomy.” Nicholas shifted his weight from one foot t
o another.

  Nicholas wasn’t shaking yet, so Rodolfo held out hope the information wasn’t as completely dire as it sounded. “She’d be unable to have my child then? Is this what you’re telling me?”

  “Well, yes. After extensive searching, I was able to determine that Ms. Hartt no longer has any reproductive organs, save one remaining ovary that regulates her hormones.” Nicholas quickly went into this briefcase and pulled out his iPad. “But…”

  “Your timing is for shit, my friend. You realize with this information we could have avoided that whole fiasco yesterday? This better be an amazing but.” Rodolfo felt weary. This last thread to a viable offspring was his breath and soul.

  “One of the nurses I met with seemed to have a bit more information than she was letting on. So I increased the irritants to see what would emerge.” Nicholas turned the device around and a very exhausted-looking woman appeared on the screen. She was tied to a chair.

  “So now, what was that you were saying? I need it on video.” Nicholas’ voice was louder than hers in the recording.

  Pain had obviously taken her far past the need for patient confidentiality. “Her father used the time she was under to do a procedure I disagreed with.”

  “And that was?”

  The nurse looked at the camera. “This will end my career.”

  “Do you need more motivation?”

  The woman’s eyes darted to the lower left, where surely something Nicholas had used to harm her was waiting, and she shook her head.

  “I was just starting out. I came into the room, and the patient was unconscious. Her father was there—he works at the hospital—and there was a fertility woman extracting her ovary. I was dismissed from the room. Later, when they were gone, I checked on the patient, and she was still under. I never knew for sure, but I was pretty certain her father had taken the ovary without her knowledge. He was half out of his mind with concern. Now, years later, I realize I should have told my supervisors.”

  Nicholas turned off the video before facing Rodolfo. “Suffice it to say the nurse did not know the name of the woman in the room.”

  “Ask her again, then. Bring her here.” Rodolfo pointed to the spot in front of him.

  “That’s not possible, sir. But I’m confident I found out everything she knew.” Nicholas looked worried again.

  She was dead, Rodolfo surmised. “So, tell me about these ovaries and what you think that means.”

  “Well, I’m thinking the father knew that a nineteen-year-old girl might want to procreate again someday. Ms. Hartt was barely conscious for the first week in the hospital. I think her father had her ovary frozen. I’ve done some research, and it seems they’ve made some progress with this science in Europe. There’s one doctor in particular…I have his name somewhere…”

  “I don’t give a crap about his name,” Rodolfo blustered as Nicholas shuffled papers. “Just tell me what he can do!”

  “Well, at least theoretically, if the ovary truly exists, we could have it reactivated to produce mature eggs again,” Nicholas explained. “Then we could fertilize them and a surrogate could bring the child into the world. Your child. With Eve Hartt. And no messy entanglements with the actual, fairly deadly woman need to happen.” Nicholas smirked.

  “So they take my sperm and shake it up with her unfrozen woman stuff, and we can control the pregnancy? That actually—” Rodolfo smirked as well “—has potential. If—and this is a very big if—the nurse was correct and that European doctor knows his stuff. How do we find out where this frozen ovary is? Surely her father has it well protected. And let’s make that foreign doctor an offer to continue his research in a more easily accessible location.” He put his hands together, letting his shaky fingertips touch.

  “I could start canvasing fertility clinics, run a few Google searches to see which specialist might have been be involved? Who was friends with Dr. Hartt?” Nicholas repacked his briefcase. “And I can also reach out to the doctor. I’m sure a generous research stipend would do the trick.”

  “That’s a place to start, but it also sounds like it’ll take a while. I’ll give you a month to get all the pieces in place.” He waved Nicholas toward the door. “Time is of the essence, and we don’t want to tip our hand, so perhaps work on the research doctor first, as we can’t perform the trick without the magician, now can we? Then I’d suggest you talk to Dr. Hartt in a very inspiring setting. No?” Rodolfo smiled again, hating the slight droop he could feel on the left side of his mouth.

  Beckett hovered in the hospital waiting room, his anxiety level sending him through the roof, when asshole Morales finally returned, by way of the cafeteria. Asshole.

  An email had just buzzed through on Beckett’s phone from one of his guys inside the police department, and now he had some intel that changed the game. The dental records of one of the dead bodies from the accident were fairly unique: every other tooth was solid gold. Because of this, the asshole had been known as Checkers, and he’d worked for Rodolfo’s business in various capacities since his pubes had come in. He’d also spent quite a bit of time in the system, which is how Beckett’s man recognized him. Checkers always smiled funny in his mug shots so the gold would catch the light. And Vitullo’s high-priced attorney had always bailed him out. Checkers had likely been selected to impersonate an officer because he knew how it was done so well.

  Giving him the middle finger with both hands, Morales announced, “Hey, crap bag. She’s awake.”

  “Oh, thank fucks out loud.” Beckett sat hard in a plastic seat.

  “She was lucid and talking, you hairy prick gurgler.” Morales smiled. “And she didn’t ask about you once. How you like that, tampon muncher?” Morales turned back toward Eve’s room and continued to give Beckett the finger behind his back.

  Beckett shook his head. He hated that guy. He’d made sure to point out that Beckett wasn’t related to Eve so he couldn’t go into the recovery room. Morales had insisted he was on police business and needed to speak to her as soon as she was conscious. Apparently he also had an in with Ted. Of course the cop who saved your daughter from the clutches of the evil villain would be your fucking favorite. He texted the news to Blake and Cole and received jubilant replies. Morales was a fucker with a filthy mouth, but at least he’d had the decency to keep Beckett informed.

  Beckett closed his eyes for a few moments, and suddenly it was hours later. He knew he should get after solving this problem, or at the very least pick up poor G, but he didn’t want to leave without seeing Eve.

  Twenty minutes later Morales came out, looking as haggard as Beckett felt. “She’s awake, dildo biscuit. And she wants to talk to you.” He used both his middle fingers to point Beckett back down the hallway.

  Beckett ignored the insults and powered down the corridor. He opened her door, and there she was. He stopped for a second and let his knees get back under him. Seeing her beautiful goddamn eyes was all he needed. “Hey, killer. Looking like you’re in pain.” Beckett came in and kissed her on her mouth. She pinched her lips shut.

  When he sat down, puzzled, she explained, “No toothbrushes yet.”

  “Like I care about that. Kiss me for real.” He leaned in for another light kiss, and this time she kissed him back.

  “Thank you so much for being alive. I was killing myself every five minutes out there.” Beckett picked up her hand.

  “Remember, Romeo was an asshole. Don’t pull that shit.” She squeezed his hand.

  “How bad was it?” Beckett hated to hear, but he had to know.

  She shook her head. “Without Ryan I was a goner. He caught me with his truck when I jumped.”

  “You’re so badass. Seriously. Never do that shit again.” Beckett kissed her hand and her wrist.

  “Don’t ask that of me. You know how this works.” She hit a little button next to her.

  “Did they say anything?”

  “No. Hit me with a tranquilizer before I could get anything out of them. They looked convincing as
cops, though. Convincing enough, anyway. And I couldn’t fight back on the street, you know? It was broad daylight. Great set up. Fuckers.” She was getting agitated.

  “Settle down. Just take a few deep breaths.” He rubbed her gently on the leg. Her stomach was bloated and bandaged. They’d gotten her good. A gunshot there should have put her six feet under.

  “You can’t retaliate.” She looked concerned. “You don’t even know who it was. And besides, I told you Mike Simmer was a stupid idea, and it blew up in both of our faces. So maybe listen this time?”

  “And slicing Mary Ellen’s throat was Mensa material?” He touched her cheek.

  “Let’s try not to respond to this like brainless assholes. Wait until we can figure it out together.” Her gaze grew cloudy.

  Surely she was ready to rest again. No need to put any of this on her now, Beckett decided.

  “All right. I’ll get proof and ammunition,” he promised. “But that’s only because I love you. I’m already working on it.” He leaned down and gave her another quick kiss.

  “Speaking of murder, my dad will kill you if he sees you in here. You better go. But thanks for staying.”

  Beckett nodded. She was right, and he didn’t want to make the situation tense for her.

  “I got it, baby. No worries.” He stood and leaned over her. “I fucking love the hell out of you.”

  She smirked, eyes getting droopy, “I love you back.”

  And with that, he left her, though it felt like he’d pulled his heart right out of his chest and left it lying next to her in the bed.

  Morales was waiting on the other side of the door. “Queef sucker.”

  “Listen, according to her I owe you one.” Beckett leveled his stare at the man.

  “Suck my nut juice. The only thing you owe me is walking out that damn door and not coming back.” He pointed to the exit with his middle finger.

  “She loves me, so you know.” Beckett headed for the door.

  “Anus jockey.” Morales shook his head with disgust.