By Your Side (18 page)

The women had come and gone. Dozens, dressed in all different colors of scrubs. All ages, shapes, and sizes of women. He ignored the old ones, the short ones, the fat ones . . . the blondes. He’d waited in the gazebo out by the staff parking lot and watched for her. Tall, he thought from the photos in the paper, with long black hair, light skin, and eyes like
 
—

That.

He stared at a photo in the glass case in the hallway outside the hospital cafeteria.

Macy Wynn, RN
 
—Emergency Department

Hope Health Care Nurse Excellence Award 2014

He’d found it by accident when hunger made him risk the open, unwatched door at the loading dock, drawing
him to the food machines outside the basement cafeteria. He’d snagged some peanut butter–filled cheese crackers
 
—packaged in the US
 
—and a paper cup of coffee, tongue-scalding hot, dispensed as he watched. He’d skipped the creamer; no information on its origin. He burned his tongue, downed two crackers. And then found the award case. Found . . .
her
.

Chinese
 
—or part. Definitely. He stared at the small photo, memorizing her face.

They couldn’t have predicted he’d come down here. See this. But even so, it wasn’t positive proof she was really a nurse. Even if she was, she could be working for them. The police, Sacramento County, the FBI . . . or a foreign government. Undercover deep enough that even the hospital didn’t know. She’d been on the freeway. At the bank. Maybe she’d been there at the school, too. He didn’t trust coincidence.

He scraped his tongue between his teeth, testing the coffee scald. Then headed back toward the loading dock. It was dark now; he’d go home. Not to the river camp. To the house.

And make a new plan.

“I’
M NOT AT ALL SURPRISED
the bank countered our offer,” Elliot told her, setting his e-notebook on the visitors’ table. “They have a rock-bottom figure in mind. And they know we do too. They’ll test us to see how far we’ll go. It’s to be expected.”

“Maybe for you,” Macy told him, noticing that there were now two off-duty deputies posted near the ER entrance. A temporary beef-up in security demanded by hospital staff threatening to take their concerns to their respective unions. She turned her attention back to Elliot. “I’ve never made a real estate offer. I have no clue
what
to expect. I only know I need that house.”

“I hear you.” Elliot reached across the table, gave her hand a quick pat. “You can trust me with this, Macy. We’ll
counter back. Increase our offer to five thousand below what they’ve asked here. We didn’t lose any traction because I was out of town yesterday; it’s good to let them sweat a little. We’ll get the house.”

“Okay.” Macy forced a smile, not sure what was causing her more discomfort
 
—Elliot’s overly paternal hand pat and the way he kept saying
our
and
we
or the financial issue. Her stomach churned, proving it: the money talk was scaring her spitless. “If the Audi lasts another three years and I pick up as much overtime as I possibly can, I could make it work.”

“Macy.” Elliot pinned her with the stop-being-stubborn-and-listen-to-me look he’d employed since she was a teenager. “You have close to a million dollars at your fingertips. I’ve presented options that can grow it upward from there. There is no reason for you to be
 
—”

“No. I won’t tap the trust. We’ve gone over this a thousand times.”

Elliot adjusted the frame of his glasses, a familiar lip twitch saying he was humoring her. “We agreed to disagree. And you
 
—” the gray eyes warmed
 
—“are a force to be reckoned with, Macy Wynn. I don’t doubt your determination for a moment. We’ll counter the offer today. Jump through the bank’s hoops
 
—make this happen. Trust me. And answer my calls, for pete’s sake.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. Out of cell range, I guess. I should have told you I was going to the mountains.”

“Yes. Well, I admit it confused me when I swung by your house and saw the Jeep in your driveway. It took me a moment to recognize it.”

Fletcher’s Jeep. She’d insisted on taking the Audi, driving them herself.

“You usually go hiking alone.” If Elliot was attempting to look casual, he wasn’t pulling it off.

“Spur-of-the-moment thing.” Macy shrugged, ashamed of her ungrateful urge to tell Elliot to back off. He’d always watched out for her. He and Ricki both. “Yosemite was on Fletcher’s bucket list.”

“I can imagine. More than a few great places to visit while he’s here in California.” Elliot’s brows rose. “It’s not a permanent move?”

“No. Houston’s home.” Macy was surprised by a wave of sadness. “He’s helping his parents out for a while. His father travels for his work, and his mother’s had some health problems.”

“Ah, right. Ricki heard something about that. In regards to the chaplaincy gala, since Mrs. Holt was being honored. I guess it was touch and go whether or not she would be able to attend. A blood cancer, she heard.”

“AML . . . leukemia,” Macy clarified, remembering what Taylor said: Charly was quite open about her diagnosis.

“Did I hear that she was an ER patient recently?”

Macy met his gaze. “You know I can’t
 
—”

“Sorry.” Elliot threw his hands up. “I was putting myself in Fletcher’s shoes. I watched my grandmother lose a battle with cancer. Sad for everyone. No guarantees even with top-notch treatment.”

“No.” Macy thought of Fletcher’s offer to be a marrow donor and his vow to get his mother through this cancer . . .
“if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“Well then, we’ll hold the good thoughts that the compassionate Mrs. Holt beats all statistics. And that her son can return to his life in Texas.” Elliot’s lips edged toward a tolerant smile. “With our Yosemite National Park crossed off his bucket list.”

Our offer, our house . . . our park?
Elliot Rush was in no danger of anemic self-esteem.

“I should go back inside,” Macy told him, checking her watch. “I need to make sure everyone gets their lunch breaks.”

“Okay then.” He stood. “I’ll get together with my broker and we’ll e-mail the counteroffer over right away. I’ll stop by your place later. We can grab a bite to eat while I fill you in on the next steps. Once we get the offer accepted, we’ll need to move on with the appraisal, inspections . . .” He smiled at Macy’s anxious grimace. “I’ll explain it all. Give you a checklist. When’s a good time to stop by?”

“I don’t know . . . Could you e-mail it to me?” Macy glanced toward the ER waiting room doors. One of the deputies was talking on his radio, gesturing to the other. “If it’s a list, I could go over it. And if we get a green light, we could get together later with your broker. The three of us. That way, I can ask you both
 
—”

“You have plans tonight?” Elliot interrupted.

“Not really. It’s just . . .” Macy’s lips tensed. She’d finally arranged for a FaceTime call with Leah. But there was no reason she needed to discuss that with Elliot.

“Well, speak of the devil,” he muttered as Fletcher walked their way.

“I’m not quite sure how to take that guy,” Fletcher admitted after Rush offered him a curt greeting and strode away. “I’ve met javelinas with more predictable temperaments.”

“Hava . . . ?” Macy’s nose wrinkled.

Fletcher smiled. “Wild animal
 
—Texas game. I shouldn’t take it further since Elliot’s your friend. But he was sure in a hurry to get out of here.”

“Probably concerned about his national parks.” Macy chuckled. “Never mind.”

The faintest hint of color rose in her cheeks as she held Fletcher’s gaze. It hiked his heart rate more than it should. His gun belt creaked as he shifted his stance.

“How was your visit with your aunt?” she inquired.

“Good. We took her to Roseville. Galleria mall and Fountains.” He groaned. “Nothing I like more than pretending to be interested in useless shoes and kitchen gadgets. But they liked it, and it was far enough away from
 
—” Fletcher stopped himself, but Macy caught what he was about to say.

“It was out of the shooter’s target area.” She glanced toward the officers at the ER doors.

“Yeah. But mostly Aunt Thena helped Mom organize family photos for scrapbooks.” Fletcher shook his head. “There are at least two decades of Holt family photos in ziplock bags
 
—heavier than a load of marijuana bundled to smuggle across the border. And 75 percent of them are humiliating photos of me.”

Macy smiled. “Let me guess: first lost tooth, first fishing trip, first prom . . .”

He hadn’t gone to his prom but ended up at Jessica’s senior ball by default. When the boy she invited made some lame excuse. Fletcher was her pinch hitter. It said a lot about his track record with women. One of the reasons he hadn’t attempted more than a quick text to Macy yesterday. Assuming she’d expect
 
—or want
 
—anything more was probably a mistake.

“Mom thinks it’s time she finally did something with all the photos,” Fletcher continued, still uncomfortable with what his mother had really said: the scrapbook was for her grandchildren. He’d laughed, reminding her he didn’t even have a serious girlfriend. Then realized with a shock that this new interest was prompted by the leukemia. Because she’d accepted that she might not be around to see them.

“I think,” Macy told him, a wistful expression on her face, “that it’s a good thing. Passing down those keepsakes. You’ll be glad to have them.”

“What did you end up doing yesterday?” Fletcher asked, changing the subject. “Bike ride?”

“Only ten miles.” Macy plucked at a few hair strands straying across her cheek. “I shouldn’t admit it, but I’m a little sore after our climb.”

“Really? I’m fine,” Fletcher teased. “Until I have to slide behind the wheel of that patrol car or chase down a perp on foot. It was a good workout.”

“And I conned you into driving home.”

“You did.”

She’d put up weak resistance to his offer to drive the Audi back. And had been asleep by the time they’d reached Merced, curled up against the passenger door,
using his jacket as a pillow. He’d caught glimpses of her when freeway lights softly illuminated her face. She’d seemed childlike almost, a vulnerability at odds with her usual manner. Kickboxer with her guard down. He’d found himself thinking of what she’d said about her first trip to Yosemite, a church trip with a group of foster kids whose experience of camping was sleeping in cars in parking lots. Had she been talking about herself? He didn’t want to imagine that.

“Then I conked out and left you with a long, silent drive. Sorry,” Macy said.

“No problem. Plenty of things to think about
 
—work stuff,” Fletcher amended quickly.

Partially true. He’d spent more than a few minutes of the three hours imagining scenarios where he pulled out his handgun and drew down on the marmots, scattering them so he could kiss Macy again. Which led to wondering if she’d ended up in his arms because he told her about Beth. Classic pity kiss. By the time he got Macy home, met the roommate who owned Dood, and said a quick good-bye, Fletcher had successfully convinced himself that those few minutes in the redwoods had been an enjoyable aberration. And there was no point in thinking about it anymore. Then he ended up here, now.

“Macy!”

Elliot raised his hand, calling out from several yards away. He switched his briefcase from one hand to the other, jerked his head toward the parking lot. “I’m on my way to the office. I’ll give you a call after I finish that business we talked about.”

“Fine. Good.” Macy’s brows puckered for a moment, and then she turned to Fletcher. “I need to get back to work.”

“Same here.” Fletcher’s shoulder mic crackled with static. “I just thought I’d stop by and let you know we may have come up with a lead on the sniper. It’s probably already public; there was a press conference planned for a few minutes ago.”

“What? What did they find?”

“A piece of video surveillance from one of the businesses near the bank, maybe showing the vehicle that leaked oil in that parking lot across the street.”

“At the church?”

“Right,” Fletcher confirmed, wondering if he should have brought it up at all. The color was disappearing from Macy’s cheeks. But she’d see it on the news. “Not the best film quality. And no proof that the vehicle belongs to the shooter. But it’s fairly close to some of the descriptions from witnesses in the bank parking lot. And it’s something to work with. We’ve already started to canvass neighborhoods.”

“The car . . . It’s that white van someone saw at the freeway?”

“No. This one’s an older-model sedan, dark blue or gray.”

“No problem,” Macy assured Taylor after her friend returned to the exam room. “Mr. Chan’s been sleeping the whole time.”

“Great. He was in such pain when he arrived.” Taylor shook her head. “Said he knows how his wife felt when she was in labor. The Toradol didn’t touch it. Did you repeat it?”

“Half dose. And then we added some morphine. He was snoring after 3 mgs.” Macy glanced at the middle-aged attorney, distinguished-looking despite the hospital gown and some remaining pallor. She hated that something about him made her think of that awful dim sum lunch with her father. This man looked nothing like Lang Wen. What brought that on?

“You hung a second liter of saline?” Taylor asked after glancing at her patient’s vital signs.

“Yes. He’s had that first bag and what you see gone from this one.” Macy eyeballed the bag hanging overhead.

Taylor slid the plastic urinal along the bed rail until it was within closer reach of her patient. “He’s going to need this.”

“Labs were normal except for the blood in the urine,” Macy reported. “No obstruction on the films. Uncomplicated kidney stone. As soon as he’s awake and recycles that saline, he’ll be out of here.”