The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,63
of them. Catheter, feeding tube, the whole nine yards. People came, and then they left. Real quick.”
I saw tears, hard ones, like diamonds. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“But I was there every single day. And I made deals with God—bring him back and I’ll stop smoking. Don’t let him die and I’ll give ten percent to the church. You find God real quick in ICU, let me tell you.”
He blinked, and the tears disappeared. “The only thing is, I don’t know if my prayers were answered or not, because he didn’t die, but he sure as hell didn’t come back.”
He was waiting for me to argue, and I started to say something, then decided I had no right. So I got up and walked out. I paused at the threshold. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
He didn’t reply, so I headed for the lobby to find Trey, closing the door softly behind me.
***
Marisa was waiting for us back at Phoenix. She wasted no time on small talk. “Agent Davidson with the GBI needs copies of the revised TSCM plan ASAP. He’s in your office. I didn’t tell him that you were busy being booked and printed.”
Trey didn’t flinch. “I was not.”
She held up her hand. “Whatever. Revamp them based on the new data sheets and get them to him, and me. You’ve got a meeting with Landon at four today. And I need a 302 on this morning’s little adventure before you leave.”
“Of course.”
Then she turned to me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“The same goes for you. Get a report to Trey by three-thirty, follow the 302 format.”
“The what?”
“Three-oh-two. You’re supposedly good at research—look it up. I’ve cleared space in the secondary area for you. And you need to return calls from Jake Whitaker—he’s still can’t find your number and left two voice mails for you here.”
I knew Nikki was to blame for the missing phone number, but I didn’t say anything about that. “I’m on it.”
She waved Trey toward the elevators. “Get to work. If you’re done playing Thelma to her Louise, that is.”
Trey obliged. Marisa watched him go—for a moment I caught the slippage of the mask, the taut white fear at the corner of her eyes, underneath more layers of foundation that I cared to count. Then she turned smoothly and headed for her office. Even in heels, she moved with an invisible book on her head.
***
Secondary area, as it turned out, meant surplus room. I flopped in the chair, this faux leather number, and inspected my temporary headquarters—eight by eight, no window, one bleak spare desk. On the plus side, it did have a working computer with external Internet access—Phoenix’s intraoffice system was off limits, however. I started to pull up my e-mail, then hesitated. I picked up the phone instead.
Rico wasn’t answering—again—so I left a message. “Bring lunch, whatever you want, my treat. Just one little favor in return.”
I told him what I wanted and then tried Eric. More voice mail. So I called Jake Whitaker, who was practically apoplectic with anxiety.
“I heard what happened this morning—that Bulldog person was here.”
“Apparently so.”
“I thought he was dead.”
“Apparently not.”
“The cops said he was trying to get into Eliza’s apartment.” A nervous silence. “You don’t think he was after me, do you?”
Not the question I expected. “Why would he be after you?”
“Because he thinks I know something.”
“Do you?”
“No! But who knows what that lunatic’s thinking.”
I tried to sound soothing, but Whitaker was having none of it. I promised I’d let him know something as soon as there was anything to know, but that didn’t mollify him and he hung up abruptly.
Okay, I thought, that was interesting. Why in the world would Whitaker think Bulldog might be after him? Before I could figure out that puzzle, however, my phone rang.
It was Garrity. “Look, what I meant to say was, be careful. Please. And then I meant to say that I was glad you were working with him, at some point that should have been in the conversation.”
“Before or after you lectured me?”
“Probably before. Listen, you have to be careful. You say stuff like ‘wanted killer’ and every damn rule goes bam, right out the window.”
“But it was an emergency!”
“No, arterial bleeding is an emergency, not chasing down suspects. And you don’t want Trey breaking his rules for anything less, trust me.” A pause. “So do you want to hear what they got from Bulldog or not?”