Catch a Shadow (15 page)

“I don't know for sure, but the radio just issued a bulletin about two paramedics shot in the area she works. They've gone to Memorial East Hospital. I can't make queries on my own, but you can.”

“I'm on it,” Sam said.

“Will you call me?”

A hesitation.

“I care about her,” Jake said, knowing as he said the words that he did, and not just because he wanted what she had. He gave Sam the cell number.

“I'm not making any promises,” came the curt reply.

He wanted more. A lot more. He didn't know what to say to gain the musician's confidence. Warning him probably wouldn't help but he had to do it.

“She could be in even more danger,” he said before Sam hung up.

“Because of you?” The words were antagonistic, and Jake suddenly wondered whether the relationship between Kirke and Sam was platonic or went deeper.

“Maybe,” he said honestly.

There was a pause. “I'll be in touch.” Sam hung up.

CHAPTER 13

Jake headed for the hospital. He couldn't go in, but he could look around outside. He could try to find out something from reporters who would be covering the story.

Gene Adams might be there as well.

Jake touched the gun in the bag beside him. He resisted the impulse to speed. Not with a gun in the car.
Let her be all right. Damn it all, don't let someone else die because of me
. Two of his men had died under his leadership. Two men who were owed some justice.

It took him ten minutes to find a parking place at the hospital, then he hurried to the emergency entrance. As he figured, there was a gaggle of print and electronic press outside. The sniper attempt on paramedics was big news. It was an attack on everyone who needed help, reminiscent of a war zone, not an American city.

He didn't see Sam. He went up to one of the reporters. “What's the word?”

The reporter was concentrating on the door, apparently waiting for a hospital spokesman to come out.

“A paramedic said one's critical, one's not.” The newsman took a look at his clothes and raised an eyebrow. Then turned away from him.

One's critical. One's not
.

He took a deep breath as a hard fist of fear tightened in his stomach. He'd hadn't realized how important she had become to him, not only because of what she could do for him but for that intriguing, defiant spirit of hers.

He saw Sam hurrying through the door.

Several minutes later, a spokesman, apparently from the hospital, came out along with someone from the fire department.

“We have two patients from the sniper attack,” the spokesman said. “EMT Ben Wright sustained a gunshot wound to the chest and is in critical condition. Paramedic Kirke Palmer has been treated and is being released.”

The fire department official then stepped up to the microphones. “At 1:45 p.m. today, we received a call of a man down at Battle and Line Streets. When Paramedic Palmer and EMT Wright arrived, they were fired upon. Paramedic Palmer was struck in the arm. EMT Wright was hit in the chest and is undergoing surgery. That's all we have right now.”

Reporters started firing questions.

“Do you think the sniper was aiming at a specific person or just at the fire department?”

“I can't answer that,” the official said.

“How long have they been with the fire department?”

“Paramedic Kirke Palmer has been with us four years. EMT Ben Wright has been with us a month.”

“Has anything like this happened before?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

The questions went on, and the answers were short and mostly unhelpful.

Jake breathed again. She was being released. That meant there was nothing seriously wrong.

If she had any sense now, she would tell the police everything. About the envelope, the dying words, about one Jake Kelly.

Somehow he didn't think she would. Not yet. His gut was telling him that, but then his gut had been wrong before.

He backed away. She wouldn't come through here. She would avoid the news media.

He left the covey of newspeople, went to the public parking lot where he had parked, and searched for Sam's car. It was easily recognized because of its color and sheets of music lying beside the driver's seat.

The musician had left the windows open slightly, apparently because of the heat. In less than ten seconds, Jake had it open, and he sat inside. He would wait for Kirke's friend. First, though, he checked every inch of the car. Nothing there that shouldn't be there.

An hour went by, then another. He looked at his watch impatiently. The spokesman said she was being released.
Where was she?

A third hour passed. It was near five. He was about to leave and look for them when he saw Sam approach.

Kirke's neighbor glowered at him as he opened the door. “I locked it,” Sam said.

“You did, but you left a window open. Not much but enough. I wouldn't do that in the future.”

“You can get out now.”

“Not until you tell me how Kirke is.”

“Not good since she met you.”

Jake had no reply to that.

Sam glared at him. “It was a graze on her arm. And no, she hasn't told the police about you. I wanted her to, but she won't. Not until she talks to you.”

Both relief and guilt filled him. “Did she say what happened?”

“Just that there was a call. When she and her partner arrived, someone shot her just as she tripped. She thinks that fall saved her life.”

“And the other medic?”

“Chest wound, but he should be all right. Kirke wanted to stay until he came out of surgery.”

Thank God
. “I don't think you should go back to the house,” Jake said.

“Why?”

“Someone's getting increasingly desperate.”

“I have to. There's Merlin and my cat. My sax. My clothes. Kirke's.”

“Look,” Jake said as patiently as he could. “This guy doesn't miss. Either something happened that made him miss, and he'll try again, or it was a diversion to get both of you out of your house at the same time. Either way, you shouldn't go back there.”

“You seem to know him pretty well,” Sam said truculently.

“Not as well as I thought,” Jake replied. “I'll get the animals and the stuff you need. You find a motel somewhere. I'll meet you there.”

Sam was about to say hell no. Jake saw it in his face.

“I wouldn't suggest it if it wasn't necessary,” Jake said, not trying to hide his urgency. “I can tail you out of here, make sure you're not followed. Then I'll head for your house and pick up Merlin, your cat, and some of your things. Make a list of what you need.”

“Maybe you're just trying to frighten us,” Sam said. “Where were you this afternoon?”

“I was shopping,” Jake replied. The questions didn't bother him. In fact, he was pleased, if a bit envious, that Kirke had such a good friend.

“What if someone's waiting for you at the house?”

“I know how to protect myself, and I know how to lose a tail. You don't.”

You're a self-serving bastard,” Sam muttered. “Be honest. You want what he gave Kirke.”

Jake looked at him with new respect. Of course he was a bastard, and he most definitely wanted what Kirke had. But he also knew Kirke wouldn't be safe until Gene Adams was behind bars or, preferably, dead.

The police were an option. But not for him. If she took what she knew to the police, he might never find Gene Adams. He would disappear, and Jake could never prove his existence.

“I won't deny that I want to know what was in the envelope she took,” he said. “Two good men are dead. They had families. They were killed by men they trusted. They deserve some justice.”

“Not my problem.” Sam glanced at his watch. “I have to be at work in six hours. I was late last night. If I don't show tonight, I might lose the gig.”

“We'll figure out a way to get you there.”

“Just figure out how to go away.”

“I wish I could.”

“Maybe whoever is doing this would leave if you did.”

“You're not listening,” Jake replied, trying to keep his impatience in check. “This man does not leave loose ends. Mark Cable was a loose end. Now Kirke is.”

“And your solution?” Sam said sarcastically.

“I get him before he gets Kirke. You two stay out of sight until I do.”

“And my gig? I'm a sax player. There are dozens ready to step into my spot.”

Jake didn't have an answer for that. He didn't have the right to make decisions for others, decisions that could affect their lives. But he felt in his gut that whatever Kirke—and now probably Sam—did, they would continue to be targets.

So he ignored Sam's question. “Play tonight, then disappear for a few days,” he said. Then he asked, “Do you have a friend who will switch cars with you? For a few days?”

“Damn you,” Sam said bitterly.

“Find a motel,” Jake said again, “and call me.” He jotted down his number on a piece of paper and pushed it into Sam's hand. “In case you lost it.”

He sprinted off before Sam could protest again.

Would she agree? Or would Sam talk Kirke into going to the police?

The musician wanted her to. That much was obvious.

He hadn't believed Jake, but then who would? Boulders by the names of Adams and Kelly had just tumbled over two ordinary people and seemed to be sweeping them down a cliff.

Jake followed Sam to the main entrance. He kept another car between them as Kirke rose from a wheelchair and opened the door of the passenger's side of the car.

She looked tired. Her arm was bandaged, and he could see from here her uniform shirt was stained.

Gene Adams was around somewhere. Jake could feel him. He would be disappointed to have failed. In fact, if the shooter had been Adams, Kirke was damned lucky to be alive. Jake had never known Adams to miss.

Unless he meant to
.

Nothing made sense, but then Gene Adams didn't make sense. Jake hadn't known the man's real name, and while he hadn't liked the man, he never would have expected him to kill three of his team in cold blood.

Jake had tried to come to terms with that in the past few days. He had been leader. He should have sensed something was off about the mission. He'd known something was wrong with Gene Adams, that he liked killing a little too much.

He had to stop him. He might have to use Kirke to do it.

He didn't want to, but it might be the only way to bring Adams out in the open.

Kirke was beginning to feel like voodoo doll, one with a lot of pins stuck into it.

One more place to hurt.

She was beginning to get angry. She didn't get angry easily, but when she did, she was a force to be reckoned with.

After being attended herself, she had waited at the hospital until Ben Wright's wife appeared, then sat with her until the doctor appeared, a smile on his face. “He came through surgery just fine. He should make it.”

She'd waited another hour until Ben had been wheeled into a room and his pregnant wife joined him. Guilt filled her. Had she been irresponsible by just coming to work? This may well not have happened otherwise.

She didn't feel any better now as Sam started in on her about telling the police about Jake Kelly.

“Kirke, dammit, it's dangerous. He's dangerous. You don't know anything about him except he keeps popping up when something happens.”

“He popped up again?”

“Hell yes. He was here just a few moments ago.”

“What did he want?”

Sam sighed. “He wanted to know how you were. He also said it might be dangerous to return to the house. He suggested we go to a motel for now.”

“Merlin …”

“And Spade,” he said in a tone totally foreign to her. “He said he would bring them.” He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Did you tell the police anything?”

“Just about what happened today.”

“No more?”

“No,” she said in a small voice.

“I take it those officers were not the same involved in the purse snatching. Or there would have been a few more questions. Don't you think it's time to tell them about your mysterious Mr. Kelly?”

She had little defense. She should have told them. And they would connect it all before long. But she'd wanted to give herself, and Jake Kelly, a little more time. It was illogical and dangerous and probably even very, very dumb, but there she was.

“You're the one who always calls me unrealistic,” Sam snapped uncharacteristically.

“I know,” she admitted, the guilt swelling in her. She wasn't just disrupting her own life, she was messing up Sam's as well. But she couldn't forget the desperation in the eyes of a man she sensed was rarely desperate. Nor a dying man's plea. There was her job, as well, but she was honest enough to know that was only an excuse.

“Let's hear him out,” she said. “If he doesn't tell us everything, then I'll go to the police.”

“Where do you want to go now? A hotel? Or home?”

She hesitated. She wanted to go home. But in the last few hours she'd recognized that she really was a target. And she had made her partner one as well. He'd almost died. She didn't want the same to happen to Sam.

She usually considered herself a rational person. Maybe not always. She didn't know when to quit when she believed in something or someone. It had cost her much in the past. She'd clung to her marriage far too long, and she had been fired when she'd protested a principle a little too vehemently.

“I want to talk to him,” Kirke said and used Sam's cell phone to call. It was a near miracle she hadn't left it at the scene of the attack.

He answered almost immediately.

“Mr. Kelly?” she said, not quite sure what to call him and settling instantaneously on that.