UNEASY PREY Page 22

  “My head. I hit it on the window when we ran off the road.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  “No, sir.”

  Sir? As far as murdering, thieving con artists went, this one topped the list of polite criminals. Pete shined the light in the guy’s face. He squinted. Even though the injury was on the side away from Pete, he could still see the blood. And something about the guy seemed familiar. “Where’s your ID?”

  “Left hip pocket.”

  Pete reached for it and the man shifted onto his right hip. Pete pulled out the wallet.

  “I think I’m bleeding to death.”

  “No, you’re not.” Pete flipped the wallet open and pulled out a Pennsylvania driver’s license. “Dennis Naiman?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Chief?” Nate called from the rear of the van. “The fire department has arrived.”

  “Good. Let’s get him out of here.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Zoe stood at the open sliding glass door to the Emergency Department cubicle, alternately gazing down the hallway and keeping an eye on Sylvia.

  The nurses and techs had already drawn blood and taken an EKG. Zoe knew the information on the monitor above the bed wasn’t good.

  “Where’s Earl?” Sylvia asked.

  Zoe turned her back on the hallway. “In the waiting room.”

  He’d driven Zoe to the hospital, but in spite of having seen more than his share of exposed-chested female patients, he’d felt awkward with Sylvia being the patient this time. “I’ll be out here if you need me,” he’d said.

  “I’m being a pain in the ass.” Sylvia hooked a finger in the oxygen cannula, freeing it from her nostrils. “You two should go home. Earl has kids and a wife he needs to tend to.”

  Zoe strode to the bedside, took the tubing from Sylvia, and gently resituated it where it was supposed to be. “We’re not going anywhere.” Zoe considered quipping that they were sticking around to give her a ride home, but she suspected the older woman knew darned well she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Soft footsteps in the hall drew Zoe’s attention. She turned in time to see Dr. Fuller headed their way. While his expression was unreadable, Zoe took the absence of his easy smile as a bad omen.

  He entered the cubicle and whisked the curtain closed. “How are you feeling?” he asked Sylvia.

  “You tell me.”

  He crossed his arms, shot a glance at Zoe, and then focused on his patient. “I’ve compared the EKG we just took to the one from Wednesday. I’m afraid there have been some changes.”

  “For the better?” Sylvia offered a hopeful but weak smile.

  Her attempt at humor fell flat. Dr. Fuller didn’t return the smile. “I want to send you up to the cath lab.”

  “You mean next week?”

  “I mean now.”

  Sylvia’s face paled in spite of the oxygen. “It’s that bad?”

  “I don’t think it’s wise to put this off. If we go in and find a blockage, we have a team available to go in right away and do what needs to be done.”

  As the doctor proceeded to explain the procedure and its possible findings and complications, a light tap on the glass drew Zoe’s attention toward the hall. She slipped out through the drawn curtain to find an anxious Earl.

  “How’s she doing?” he whispered.

  “They’re sending her upstairs for a heart cath as soon as Dr. Fuller can talk her into it.”

  Earl’s worried scowl deepened. “I was afraid of that.”

  “You should go home. I’ll stay here and have Pete come get me.”

  “You sure?” Earl rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better,” Zoe lied. “And yes. I’m sure. Go.”

  “Call me when there’s news.”

  She shot him a thumbs up. Once he’d walked away, she ducked back inside.

  Dr. Fuller had finished his well-practiced spiel and took Sylvia’s hand. “Do you have any questions?”

  Her damp eyes and quivering lip suggested she had quite a few, but she said, “No.”

  He caught Zoe’s gaze. “How about you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He gave them his patented comforting smile and patted Sylvia’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you fixed up and back home before you know it.”

  After he left, Sylvia looked at Zoe. “Are you heading out?”

  “And leave you here? No way.”

  “But Earl—”

  “I sent him home. Once they take you for the procedure, I’ll call Pete. But I’m not leaving until you’re done and settled in your room.”

  “That might take all night.”

  Zoe was sure it would. She grinned and shrugged. “I have nowhere else to be.”

  Sylvia’s expression told Zoe she wasn’t buying it. But the scowl quickly faded. “Have you called Rose yet?”

  “I’ll do that right after I call Pete.”

  “It’s late.”

  “Not out there.” Zoe had become proficient at calculating the two-hour time difference between Pennsylvania and New Mexico.

  A nurse bustled into the cubicle and eyed Zoe. “Do you mind stepping out for a minute? I need to prep the patient.”

  “No problem.” She slipped into the hallway, leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes. Her head was throbbing. Her vision was still blurred. And the idea of Sylvia—stubborn, independent, powerhouse Sylvia—being incapacitated made Zoe’s heart ache even more than the concussion messed with her head.

  All because of those thugs who’d broken into Sylvia’s house, the Krolls’ house, and Oriole Andrews’ house.

  Zoe spotted Dr. Fuller writing on a clipboard at the nurses’ station and remembered a promise she’d made. She pushed off from the wall and walked toward him.

  He looked up at her approach. “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh. Yeah. The nurse kicked me out for a minute. But I wanted to ask you about something else if you have a minute.”

  He set down the pen and faced her. “What do you need?”

  “Do you know anything about Golden Oaks Assisted Living?”

  “Like what in particular?”

  She pondered the best way to pose the question. “Have you treated any patients from there?”

  “Sure. Any time one of their residents falls and strikes their head, they have to send them here.”

  She already knew that much. “Have there been any cases that seemed…suspicious?”

  “How do you mean?”

  She wished she knew. “You remember Pete Adams? You met him when Sylvia was in here on Wednesday.”

  “The police chief? Yes.”

  “His father just moved in there and, well, he has Alzheimer’s and he keeps telling Pete that there’s something weird going on.” When the doctor didn’t respond, Zoe added, “He says people are being murdered.”

  For several moments, Dr. Fuller didn’t react. Then a smile tugged at his lips. “You said he has Alzheimer’s?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And his son’s a cop.”

  “Yeah.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I know, I know. Pete does too. But it’s his father, and if there’s even a chance there’s anything hinky going on over there—”

  The doctor lifted a hand to silence her. “I get it. Tell Pete he can rest assured there is nothing ‘hinky’ going on at Golden Oaks. I’ve dealt with them for years and the staff is well-trained and compassionate. Any of their residents who have come through my ER have legitimate illnesses or injuries, consistent with being elderly and not as mobile as they once were.”

  “What about residents who…” She searched for a polite way to say it. “What about residents who don’t survive?”
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  “You mean questionable deaths?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shook his head. “If I had any concerns, I would have voiced them. And I’ve spoken with enough of their residents who still have their wits about them to feel comfortable in saying they’re being treated well and are in a safe environment.”

  Zoe relaxed. “Thanks.”

  The doctor tipped his head toward her, fixing her with a serious gaze. “However, if you or Chief Adams see anything or anyone that makes you apprehensive, let me know. I’ll gladly take a closer look.”

  Pete left Nate to supervise the firefighters as they extricated the injured suspect. After trudging up the embankment, Pete headed for the county’s squad car where the van’s driver occupied the backseat, his wrists cuffed behind him. The black ski mask had been removed, revealing dark hair wildly askew. The officer who’d taken him into custody stood at the open door keeping watch over his prisoner.

  “What do you have on him?” Pete asked.

  “Name’s Douglas Naiman, age twenty-five. According to his driver’s license, his home address is on Franklin Street in Brunswick. I’m running him for priors.”

  “Good.” Pete leaned down for a better look at the kid. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn the punk was about to burst into tears. “You have the right to remain silent,” Pete said and continued to Mirandize him. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where’d you get the loot tonight?”

  Douglas leaned forward, trying to look around Pete. “How’s my brother? Is he hurt bad?”

  “He’s being tended to. Now tell me about the stolen merchandise in the back of the van.”

  The kid ran his tongue over his lips. “It’s not stolen. We’re moving some stuff for a friend.”

  “Wearing black ski masks.”

  “It’s cold out.” He made it sound more like a question than an answer.

  “Driving a stolen van.”

  “It’s stolen?” The kid tried—and failed—to look appalled. “I didn’t know.”

  “Why’d you run from the police officer?”

  “I didn’t,” he stuttered. “I realized we were late.”

  “For what?”

  By now the kid was visibly trembling, either from the cold or, as Pete suspected, from the exertion of lying. “I don’t want to say anything else until I talk to my brother.”

  “Your brother’s going to the hospital.”

  Douglas’ eyes widened. “How bad’s he hurt?”

  “The paramedics are taking care of him. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner I can let you see him.” Pete didn’t mention that the reunion would happen during their arraignment.

  The kid appeared to weigh his options. And apparently didn’t like them. “I think I better talk to a lawyer before I say anything else.”

  Pete swore to himself. He turned to the officer standing guard. “Go ahead and take him in.”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer said as Pete’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

  Sylvia’s name and number came up on the caller ID. Had something happened to Zoe? He strode away from the car as he answered. “Sylvia? What’s going on?”

  But it was Zoe’s voice on the phone. “Sylvia’s in the hospital.”

  Not what he’d expected to hear. “Why? What happened?”

  He listened as Zoe explained about the chest pains and the trip to the ER. “They just took her up for the heart cath.”

  Pete closed his eyes, picturing a terrified Sylvia. “Is Earl still there with you?”

  “No. I sent him home. It’s gonna be a long night. I was hoping you could come and wait with me.”

  Pete scanned the scene behind him. Police, ambulance, and fire vehicles. Emergency lights sweeping across the snow clogged the road, blocking traffic in both directions. “I’ll be there, but it’s going to take a while.”

  “What’s going on? Are you still at Oriole’s house?”

  “Not exactly. But we’ve caught our burglary and homicide suspects.”

  “Really? How?”

  He gave her a quick rundown of the evening’s events.

  “Are you sure it’s them?”

  “Caught them in the stolen van with more stolen merchandise in the rear.”

  Zoe’s sigh traveled through the airwaves to his ear. “Thank God.”

  Pete noticed movement down at the van. The firefighters had extricated the trapped and bloodied brother, and two paramedics were helping him up the embankment. The punk appeared unhurt except for the gash on his head. “Hold on a second,” Pete told Zoe and muted his phone. He met the paramedics and their patient at the rear of the ambulance as one of the medics opened the doors. “Are you transporting him to Brunswick?”

  “Yep. He needs stitches.”

  Pete signaled to another of the county officers. “Cuff him and ride in with him. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pete unmuted his phone. “Zoe?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “I’ll be there in a half hour.”

  Pete’s cell phone rang as he stepped out of his vehicle at the Emergency Room entrance. He recognized Lauren Sanders’ temporary number and almost let it go to voicemail.

  Almost.

  “I understand you’ve made an arrest,” the reporter said when he answered.

  Where the hell did she get her information? Or was she clairvoyant? “I’m a little busy right now.”

  “We have a deal.”

  “Yes, we do, and as soon as I have any information to share, I’ll call you.” He hit the red button on his phone, cutting off her tirade. When his phone rang a second time with the same number showing up on the screen, he swiped “ignore.”

  Five minutes later, Pete left a county uniform standing guard at the cubicle with the injured brother and went in search of Zoe. He tracked her down in a small waiting room on the cardiac floor. Standing in the doorway, he watched her a moment. God, she looked exhausted. She stretched out in an uncomfortable-looking chair upholstered in some sort of ugly stain-resistant fabric. Her ankles were crossed and she rested her head against the wall behind her. She had her eyes closed, but he doubted she was asleep. On the chair next to her, a clear plastic bag held what he assumed were Sylvia’s clothes.

  Zoe opened her eyes at his approach and gave him a tired smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.”

  She pushed up into a more standard seated position and combed her fingers through the mop of blonde curls spilling over her bandage.

  He took the empty chair beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. “Any word on Sylvia?”

  “Nothing yet.” Zoe shot an anxious glance at the waiting-room doors. “I’d think we should hear something soon.” She turned her baby blues on him. “What about your prisoners?”

  “One’s in custody at the county lockup. The other’s downstairs getting his head stitched. Then he’ll join his brother.”

  “They’re brothers?”

  “Keeping it all in the family, I guess.”

  “Local?”

  “They’re from here in Brunswick. Franklin Street.”

  She scowled. “That’s a pretty nice area. Lots of big old Victorian houses.”

  Pete didn’t care about the thugs’ upbringing or home environment at the moment. He was more concerned about the dark circles under Zoe’s eyes. “You should be at home. Resting.”

  “I can’t leave Sylvia here.”

  He surveyed the room. There were rows of chairs, all with curved oak arms. Not a sofa to be seen. The one recliner was currently occupied by an elderly woman who looked like she needed to be admitted herself. “I could make them bring in a cot.”

  Zoe smiled and slumped toward him. She rested he
r head on his shoulder, one hand on his thigh. A rush of heat surged through him. “I’m fine,” she said.

  He rubbed her shoulder and rested his cheek against the top of her head. “You sure? How’s your head?”

  She snuggled her face against his neck. “It hurts. But this is nice. All things considered.”

  He chuffed a laugh. “It’s pretty bad when your idea of a romantic Saturday night is poker followed by cuddling in a hospital waiting room.”

  He felt more than heard her laugh. Then she grew still. “What are their names?”

  “Who?”

  She jabbed him gently in the ribs. “The brothers.”

  “Oh. Them. Last name’s Naiman. It seems familiar, but I can’t place it.”

  “Naiman?” Zoe pulled away from him and sat upright. “Wasn’t that Barbara’s last name?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Zoe leaned against Pete as they watched a nurse settle Sylvia into a bed in the cardiac care unit.

  Still groggy from the anesthesia, the patient eyed the array of cords, tubes, and IV lines sprouting from her body. “Three stents?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the nurse said as she raised the head of the bed. “Are you comfortable? Can I adjust your pillow?”

  Sylvia mumbled something.

  The nurse must have understood it to mean the pillow was fine. She showed Sylvia the controls for the bed, the TV, and the call button while an aide poured water from a plastic pitcher into a disposable cup. “Breakfast will be coming in about an hour. Is there anything you need right now?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  The nurse pointed to the red button on the panel of the bed’s side rail. “If you do, remember, press this.” With an all-business smile at Zoe and Pete, she and the aide bustled out of the room.

  Sylvia’s gaze landed on them. “Three stents?” she said again.

  Zoe approached her. “Afraid so. The doctor found three pretty big blockages, but nothing bad enough to require a bypass. You’re lucky.”

  “I don’t feel lucky.”

  Zoe glanced at Pete. He’d left late last night to transport the stitched and bandaged Naiman brother to the county lockup, but he’d returned at some point in the wee hours. She managed to catch a few hours of fitful sleep thanks to Pete’s shoulder and the pillows a hospital volunteer brought. He told her he’d slept too, but she didn’t believe him. Still, the tousled salt-and-pepper hair and a touch of five-o’clock shadow only made him look sexier than ever.