Likely Suspects (27 page)

“You’re in shock,” O’Connell stated
, trying to calm me down. “You’re going to be fine. Just try to relax.” I was sitting in the back of an ambulance. The paramedics were assessing my bruises, and I was shaking like a leaf and staring at my hands, caked in Martin’s blood.

“Looks like some bruised, maybe fractured ribs,” the EMT said, “but other than that
, there are no other obvious injuries. She needs more extensive tests to rule out internal bleeding and soft tissue damage.” He shined a flashlight in my eyes and continued to check my pulse. “We should take her to the ER, just to be on the safe side.”

“No,” my breathing was erratic, “I’m fine.”
The EMT was going to protest, but O’Connell waved him off.

“Not yet,” he told the guy
.

“Martin?”
I was afraid of the answer.

“They’r
e getting him stabilized, so they can move him. We’re going to do our best.” I swallowed uneasily. He sat next to me, picking up a blanket and wrapping it tightly around my body to try to minimize my trembling. “It looks like you had your hands full,” O’Connell commented, and I forced the lump down my throat as the gurney came down the stairs and out the front door.

“I want to go with him.
” I was determined not to leave Martin.

“Okay.
” O’Connell helped me into the ambulance. “Jerry, let’s get this show on the road,” he called to the EMT. Despite protocol, the EMT left me on one of the benches while O’Connell sat quietly beside me, and we followed Martin’s ambulance to the hospital.

Through sheer willpower
, I managed to stand up and walk out of the ambulance and down the hall, following the gurney to a trauma room in the ER. The nurses blocked my way, and I was left waiting in the hallway. O’Connell followed me and was standing close enough so our shoulders touched.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”
A nurse was in front of me, asking a question, and I wondered how long she had been there.

“I’m fine.
” I wanted to see what was going on in the trauma room. The door opened, and a group of nurses, doctors, and whoever else whisked the gurney with Martin quickly down the hallway. I wanted to follow, but a woman emerged and approached us. “What’s going on?” I asked, watching as the group disappeared down the corridor. O’Connell flashed a badge, and the woman decided she could answer the question.

“He’s going into surgery now.
We won’t know how extensive the damage is until we get him opened up.” I swayed slightly but remained standing as she continued after them.

“Ma’am
, are you sure you’re okay?” The original nurse was still in front of me. I didn’t even notice she was still there. She was examining my appearance, and I looked down. My hands and shirt were covered in Martin’s blood, and I felt nauseous.

“It’s not my blood.
” I swallowed.

O’Connell looked from t
he nurse to me and made a decision. “Where can she get cleaned up?” he asked. The nurse led us to a restroom, and O’Connell thanked her. “Wash up. I’ll get you something else to wear, so stay here.” I was grateful to have someone tell me what to do since I was lost and swimming through a sea of numbness and confusion.

Scrubbing
my hands in the sink, I watched as the clear water turned bright red before it ran down the drain. So much blood. How could anyone survive that? I finished washing my hands and bent to splash some water on my face. My ribs protested, and I grabbed the sink to steel myself against the onslaught. There was a knock on the door, and O’Connell came in. He had a police t-shirt in his hands that he must have taken from one of the cruisers outside.

“Here, l
et me help.” He gently peeled the blood-soaked shirt off my body and over my head. My torso was covered in three large blue and red colored welts.

Assessing
them in the mirror, I reached out and gingerly touched one. “Shit,” I grunted, taking only shallow breaths to keep from aggravating my ribs further. He helped me dress and watched me carefully.

“Y
ou need to get checked out.” He was prepared for my protest. “Martin’s in surgery. It’s going to take awhile. The only thing you’ll be doing is sitting in the waiting room, so go get a CT or X-Ray or whatever, and
then
you can sit in the waiting room.” I didn’t have a fight left, and I quietly agreed. Apparently O’Connell had conspired with the nurse from earlier, who was waiting outside the restroom with a wheelchair. “Is there anyone I should call for Martin or for you?” he asked as the nurse wheeled me back to the ER. I didn’t know. Even though I spent weeks with this man, I didn’t know anything about his family or who to contact in an emergency.

“Call Mark, or try to call Mark, he’s somewhere wor
king, but he’d know who to contact.” My voice was shaking again. I really wasn’t stable.

“I’ll be waiting for you,
once you’re cleared,” he promised.

Over the course of the next hour and a half
, I was poked, prodded, and scanned. I had refused all drugs; my mind was already jumbled enough. The doctors were insistent on keeping me for overnight observation, but I was adamantly opposed to their recommendation. Finally, after being released against medical advice, I made my way out of the room and into the hallway. O’Connell was outside, waiting as promised.

“Any news?” I asked as he led the way
to the waiting room.

“Nothing so
far. How are you holding up?”

“A little worse for wear, but nothing that’s going to kill
me anytime soon.” I was being callous, and I didn’t care. We sat in a couple of chairs, far away from everyone else.

“I’ve ordered a protection
detail for you and Martin. Thompson brought in Denton, but until we’re certain he ordered the hit, I don’t want to take any more chances.” Neither did I. “You’re both safe here.”

“Unless he doesn’t make it,” I
numbly replied. I couldn’t do this anymore; all emotion was turned off for the time being, and O’Connell didn’t comment.

“We don’t have to do this now, but do you want to tell me what happened?”
I shut my eyes and leaned back in the chair.

“Do you have
a tape recorder?” I asked. “Because I don’t think I’m going to be able to do this more than once.” He pulled out the device and turned it on, giving the relevant information, and then I began telling him everything that happened from the time we were swimming in the pool until I was carried down the stairs. The pool seemed so far away. It had only been a couple of hours, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Or maybe it was only a story I once heard.

D
uring my recitation, it dawned on me what happened in the office. Martin had thrown me into the wall. Once I was finished and the tape recorder was shut off, I turned to the side and buried my head in my hand. Martin had shoved me out of the way of the bullet. He was in surgery, possibly dying, because of me. Not only did I fail to do my job and stop things from escalating to this point, but he saved me from taking a bullet to the brain.

“Parker?” O’Connell asked
anxiously. He touched my shoulder, and I forced the guilt, the fear, and the tears away. No emotions, I reminded myself.

“I’m okay
,” I lied, not making eye contact. He sat quietly. There were no more questions that needed to be asked right now. “I heard gunfire. How many were there in total?” I was trying to be practical.

“The two you got and
three more. One guy was in the vehicle, and another was outside the house. The third was unconscious in the living room, so I assume you took care of him too.” I nodded. “We’re trying to get one of them to talk. Two are currently in custody. The third didn’t quite make it.” Before I could comment, his radio went off. He answered, and the next thing I knew, Mark was escorted in by a couple of patrolmen.

“Alex.
” I rarely saw Mark move with such purpose. He hurried over, kneeling on the ground in front of me. “Are you okay? Where’s Martin?” O’Connell excused himself and went to speak to the patrolmen.

“He’s in surgery.
I don’t know. I just don’t know.” I didn’t have any answers. Mark got up and sat in the vacant chair.

“Are you okay?”
he asked again. I was about to say I was fine, but he knew me better than that. “You don’t always have to be fine, you know.” I let out a derisive snort as I tried to find a more comfortable position. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Me
, too.” I thought for a moment. “O’Connell wanted to know who to call for Martin. I figured you would know.”

Mark looked sadly at me.
“You’re here. I’m here. He’ll be okay. He’s too damn stubborn not to be.” He squeezed my hand.

Over the next few hours
, O’Connell and Mark took turns pacing the waiting room while I sat uncomfortably in the chair. The longer I remained still, the worse I felt as my muscles stiffened up. My back was aching from dragging the mercenary up the stairs, and my ribs were fighting to hold my attention with every breath I took. Some patrolman brought coffee and sodas, but I didn’t feel like anything. Finally, a surgeon came to speak to us.

“James Martin’s f
amily?” he asked. I was sure he knew we weren’t family, but he sat down and gave us an update anyway. “We’ve moved him to the ICU. He’s lost a lot of blood, but we’ve transfused him and removed the bullet. There is some muscle and nerve damage to his right arm. We won’t know the full extent until the swelling goes down, and we run more tests. He’s very lucky. The projectile didn’t hit any organs and only nicked one of his arteries which we’ve completely repaired.”  

“Thank g
od,” Mark exclaimed, clasping his hands together. “When can we see him?”

“Once we move him
into recovery. We need to monitor him for the next few hours to make sure there are no complications. In the meantime, you might want to head home or get something to eat.” The doctor looked at me, probably afraid I was going to be next on his table. “I’ll send someone to get you when you can go up.” Once the doctor left, O’Connell returned.

“Good news?” he as
ked. I nodded, and he smiled.

“Want to get out of
here for a bit?” Mark asked me, but I shook my head. “At least get something to eat, you look like you’re about to drop dead.” I glared at him for the bad choice of words.

“I’m not hungry.”
O’Connell and Mark exchanged glances. Obviously, they thought I needed a constant babysitter.

“I’ll get some burgers
in case you change your mind,” Mark offered. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He stood and rubbed my shoulder gently, and O’Connell sat in the chair Mark vacated. Apparently we were in the midst of playing a very twisted version of musical chairs.

“I don’t
need a babysitter,” I told O’Connell.

“Probably not.
But maybe a priest, a doctor, and a pharmacist.” I lifted an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe that would just be the beginning of a bad joke.” He was talking just for the hell of it, and I sighed, regretting it immediately.

“I’m going to share s
omething with you, but you aren’t going to hold it against me.” He tentatively agreed. “I can’t move.” He seemed confused by my statement. I winced, and he understood.

“Oh.
” He got up and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, lifting me out of the chair. I felt like a ninety year old woman. Once I was standing, things didn’t seem as bad. Movement was helping to reduce the stiffness in my back, and pacing was always a great go-to for stress relief. “You should probably take some of those meds they prescribed.” The medical staff had handed me bottles of muscle relaxants and prescription grade ibuprofen during my escape from the exam room.

“We’ll see how things go,
” I replied.

Mark returned with the sandwiches
, and I nibbled on one. Relenting, I popped a couple of ibuprofen, feeling a little more in control and less frazzled. The initial shock was wearing off. Martin was out of surgery, so the worry was ebbing away. The only thing left was the desire for revenge on whoever was responsible.

Hours later, a
nurse came downstairs to tell us Martin was moved to another room. O’Connell helped me out of the chair, and Mark scrutinized the exchange.

“Go on up,” O’Connell said
. “I’ll talk to the hospital staff and get the details on the room, so I can have some guys posted outside his door.”

Mark and I followed the nurse to the el
evator and down a corridor to his room. Despite the IVs and various other tubes running to and from his body, Martin looked a million times better than when I last saw him.

“Has he woken up?” Mark asked, even though
Martin was asleep or still under anesthesia.

“Yes, he was
awake and fairly coherent when we moved him in here. He kept asking about someone named Alex, but his body’s still recovering. He’s feeling the effects of the sedation, so he’ll probably be in and out of consciousness for the next day or two. But that’s normal.” She was trying not to frighten us and waited momentarily to see if we had any questions before leaving the room to give us some privacy. I sat in the chair next to the bed, grateful that he was going to be okay.

Mark found a chair in the corner of the room and pulled it over next to mine.
“What happened?” he asked, and I gave him the Cliff notes version of the day. “And the reason you can’t get out of the chair is?”

“
I took three hits to the vest.” I grimaced, and he lifted my shirt to check my bruises. “I’ll be fine. I just wish they lined the insides of those stupid vests with packing peanuts or fluffy cotton. Hell, even gelatin would be better than this,” I joked.

We sat i
n Martin’s room for a few hours. Mark kept trying to chitchat but finally gave up and flipped through the TV channels. It was getting late, but given the circumstances and the police presence outside the room, no one came in to tell us visiting hours were over, which I appreciated. I saw Mark glance at the time.

“You
can get out of here,” I said. It had been a long day. “Martin’s going to be fine. At least that’s what the doctors keep saying.”

“Can I give you a ride?” He
was being courteous, even though he knew I wasn’t leaving.

“I’m wo
rking, can’t you tell?” Somewhere during the long hours spent waiting, I had crossed over into blaming myself for Martin being shot.

“
Don’t do this, Parker. Not again,” he cautioned. “You saved his life. And to be honest, it’s a fucking miracle either one of you are still breathing right now. Those bullets should have shredded the Flak, and Marty could have easily bled to death if it wasn’t for you.” I pressed my lips into a thin line and shut my eyes, trying to shut out the harsh reality.