Nothing Sacred (FBI Agent Dan Hammer Series Book 1) (18 page)

Dan jumped up and moved around the desk. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit journalism.” He met the woman as she opened the doors. “Get the fuck out! What are you doing here anyway? Who let you up here?” Dan could feel his blood pressure begin to boil, his excitability increasing by the second. He grabbed the reporter by the arm and escorted her out the door and back down the hallway. Security watched on.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, releasing herself from his grip. “I will not leave!”

“How the hell did she get up here, anyway?” he asked the guards. This bitch knew exactly how to push every single one of his buttons.

“I have every right to be up here. As much as you do.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“And, don’t call me sweetheart!” Headstrong and defiant, she bullied her way back into the Unit while Dr. Garrison watched on, shaking her head. Dan thought he faintly heard the good Doctor call him an “asshole.”

“Please, just stop all of this.”  Dr. Garrison had had enough. She exited the ICU and headed toward the elevators.

Dan followed. He stood beside her. After his raunchy display of anger, he waited a minute, a beat, and then went for lightness. “I can be an asshole. You’re right.”

She failed to get his humor. She said nothing. A girl after his own heart. He stalled, looked back toward the Unit, the Nurse’s Station. Inside, Rebecca was giving the blonde reporter an ear full.

The elevator door opened.

“I really would like to talk with you.”

Her eyes went dark and steely on him. “There isn’t much I care to say at this time, to you, or to anybody.” They entered the car together, each taking separate sides, each claiming their own personal territory. She pressed the button for the Lobby. Crossing her arms, she gave a huge sigh. Her body language was very specific. Closed. Shut down. Dan straightened his jacket, fixed his lopsided tie.

He recalled his first brief encounter with the good Doctor. He remembered his fantasy more specifically. He tried not to blush.

“Fine,” Dan said.

Heavy silence as they descended the four floors. And, to Dan’s surprise, express service. The metal doors opened to a crowd of people waiting to enter. Dan tagged along, slightly behind her. They passed by the Gift Shop. Small, pink stuffed elephants lined the windows. They headed in the direction of the main Lobby, past the large Information Desk when Dr. Garrison turned and confronted Dan.

“Detective Hammer.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you following me?”

For some strange reason, beyond Dan’s control, he blurted out, “… to ask you if you’d like to go for a cup of coffee, or a beer or something? It
is
your day off, isn’t it?”

For a minute, he thought he startled her, the notion sounded so absurd. He knew she wasn’t prepared. For that matter, neither was Dan. Then, as if a cloudy day miraculously turned sunny, a lightness crossed over her face and she smiled.             

Out of frustration, disappointment, or not really knowing what else to do, Dan smiled back.             

“Okay, I give up! You win!”

“What?” Dan fumbled for a response. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe his own charm or damned persistence. He took her arm, protectively, and escorted her through the revolving glass doors past a fanfare of unruly press gathering momentum outside.

“I guess they don’t call you Hammerhead for nothing,” she said en route.

“Who told you that?”

“Never mind.”

6:30 PM

Friday

23

“82 Queen. CLASSIC LOWCOUNTRY CUISINE. Step behind 82 Queen’s doors and you’ll enter into another world. This 18
th
century landmark captures Charleston’s romantic mystique, with seven splendid dining rooms, a turn-of-the-century garden courtyard, and an outdoor Raw Bar.”

Sydia sat alone at the wraparound mahogany bar sipping a medium-bodied, robust, berry-forward glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. Being a compulsive reader, she perused the printed copy inside the restaurant’s matchbook. Nothing escaped Sydia’s grasp or gaze. She stashed the matches inside her coat pocket and took another swallow of wine, swirling it around her mouth, allowing the slow infusion of warmth to infiltrate her system. She was waiting for Detective Hammer to return from the little boy’s room.

A steady stream of customers, mostly young urban professionals, entered through the front door. Outfitted in tailored designer suits, they carried leather briefcases close to their sides, and ambled past the moderately-filled bar to the back of the restaurant. A short woman with shoulder length, grayish-brown, mousy hair greeted each party enthusiastically from behind the hostess stand. She escorted them outside through a garden patio, and followed a quaint cobblestone path surrounded by lush foliage to different dining rooms. Threaded intricately around each knobby limb of the canopied trees were tiny white fairy lights. It reminded Sydia of a trip to New York City, more specifically, having dinner with her Father at the Tavern on the Green. The food was so-so, at best banquet style cuisine, but gazing out the expansive floor to ceiling window and witnessing the enormous oak tree completely dressed up in sparkling lights was truly breathtaking.

Couples paraded past her, every so often stopping at the bar to say “Hello” to Rose, the female bartender. Sydia bought time by poking nonchalantly at bar mix, observing the proprietary way in which women held onto their men, only after spotting her sitting alone and a potential threat. Sydia registered the negativity in their thoughts.
Whore. Black bitch
. After all, she
could
spoil their chances. Ruin their hopes of marriage, children and the all encompassing fantasy of happily-ever-after. She took refuge by envisioning their simple, plebian lives.
Boring.
The most difficult decision of their day was determining which linens to use to set the evening dinner table. Or, which outfit to choose for that all-important office function. Or, should they keep their hair short, permed, or go au natural? How could they ever make a solid decision like pulling the plug on a patient breathing on life support? Or, for that matter, let that patient live like a vegetable the remainder of his or her comatose life.

Detective Hammer exited the bathroom and returned to the bar, rescuing her from her internal monologue, or more appropriately, her inner demons. Thankfully. He wiped the last hint of wetness from his hands on the seat of his pants. There was something so crude about this man. And yet, something so very attractive. Alive. She did one of her quick assessments as he inched closer. She imagined him to be in his mid-to late thirties. Probably ate his food far too fast, had a repugnant diet, and, at one point in his short, earthly existence, had or currently
has
a drinking problem. He appeared in relatively good shape, that is, for his age, although a small tire was forming around his midsection. A prerequisite for the job, she supposed. Besides those few minor disqualifications, she advised herself that Detective Dan Hammer was, quite honestly, in her humble evaluation, a sublime specimen of the male species!

“How’s the wine?” His voice was resonant, medium bodied like her Cabernet. He leaned in toward her when he spoke. Sydia could smell the lingering scent of a Peppermint Lifesaver. Her ego was hoping he’d taken it specifically for her.

“Terrific. Thanks. Am I the only one drinking this evening? Or are you on the wagon?” It unnerved Sydia when Hammer ordered a Perrier. Her fantasies of a romantic tryst immediately doused into the cold realities of “I’m on the job.” She swirled her finger around the top of her burgundy wine glass, a bad habit, waiting for it to cry. Alas, it wasn’t real crystal. She glanced at the assortment of tiny liquor bottles lined up in nice, organized rows inside the beautifully handcrafted wood cabinet behind the bar. Just the way she liked it.

Hammer looked in Rose’s direction and motioned for her to come over. “Rose…”

“Yes, yes…” she hurried from the other side of the bar.

“I would like you to meet a very special person.”

Sydia turned away, a bit shy and embarrassed. Her face flushed.

“Oh, yeah?” Rose had that in full-bloom appearance. Fleshy, with rosy cheeks and brown simple hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes twinkled as she peered across the bar, soaking up Hammer like a dry sponge ready to absorb.

“This is Doctor Garrison…” Hammer introduced her.

“Sydia. Please, call me Sydia, Detective Hammer.”

“Sydia?” Rose questioned. “That’s an interesting name. What’s the origin of it?”

Rose politely offered her hand across the bar.

In an honest attempt to do her profession proud, Sydia shook it with fortitude and strength.

“African. I’m originally from Senegal, but I’ve lived most of my life in Europe and in the States.”

“Wow. You have a
very
strong handshake.” Rose released quickly. She flexed her hand several times. “I’ve always hated a weak handshake, but, boy oh boy, you don’t ever have to worry about that.”

“I’m sorry. I spend so much of my time dealing with men… doctors, I mean, it’s something I picked up on the floors in med school. A competitive thing. Introductions had to be strong. Personal. And above all else, equal.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Rose smiled. She placed her hands on her curvy hips and returned her heartthrob eyes back to Hammer. “Well?” She wiped her forehead with a napkin. “Can I get you something else?”

Dan looked at Sydia. “You want another glass of wine?”

“Oh, hell, why not? I’ll take the same, please.”

“The same, then, for the lady and I’ll have a Makers Mark on the rocks. And another Perrier.”

“Comin’ right up.”

“A bourbon drinker?” Sydia was amused at the fact she was already learning essential information about the man standing beside her. Rose went about her bartending duties as Sydia attentively went about hers.

Hammer smiled. “I don’t remember your handshake being so strong.”

“That’s because I didn’t shake your hand, if you remember correctly.” A pensive moment. She observed the detective conscientiously taking a mental inventory of his faulty recollection.

“I won’t take it personally. And since we’re on first name basis now, I guess you really should be calling me Dan.”

She finished the last of her wine as Rose delivered the new one. She held up the glass. “Cheers. To your health, Dan. And to a long and happy life.” Rose returned to her post at the opposite end of the bar. She wasn’t pleased with the present situation surrounding Dan and Sydia. She gave a faint, insincere smile. Sydia proceeded to do something totally obnoxious. She winked at her, to tease, so Rose would notice.

Dan grabbed his rock glass and together they toasted.

“Here’s to you.” He added, taking a taste of the dark amber liquid. “Now, that’s strong.”

“So, Dan… one question.”

“I’m the Detective. I ask the questions.”

She laughed. “Okay, humor me, then. Why did you invite me out for a drink this evening?”

“I figured you wouldn’t go out to dinner…”

“Sweet.” And she honestly meant it. This guy was a charmer.

He fiddled with the red stir stick floating in his drink. He rotated the ice cubes counter-clockwise. Sydia on the other hand, found solace in bar food. She picked a cashew from the bowl filled with an assortment of mixed nuts. She dug for a honey roasted one buried in the bunch.

“Well, would’ve you?”

His attention was undividedly upon her. His blue eyes matched the color of his pressed, cotton, button down, long sleeved shirt. A greenish-blue. Cyan. She projected a mental picture of Dan, standing in a dark, oppressive room located at some precinct. A single, forty watt light bulb swayed. He stood there, so secure in his skin, interrogating some poor unfortunate lawbreaker and putting the squeeze on pretty good. The stalwart Detective forced answers by his physical presence alone. Either Sydia had been watching far too little television or just had an over-excitable imagination. “I don’t know. It’s been rough the last couple of days. Couple of weeks, actually. I’ve been working a lot of hours. Subbing for other Residents. I’m beginning to think that hospital has become an added appendage!” God, she was rambling. Her conversation had turned erratic and unfocused. Ignorant. She continued anyway. “I rarely have time for sleep, let alone go out for dinner. And with a Detective, no less.”

“It’s not a great time for me, either. The City is in a panic. People are scared.”

“The whole thing is just awful.” She wiped her lips with the paper napkin. “Any suspects?”

“No, nothing. Everything’s clean. Like a whistle. Not a trace. No fingerprints. Nothing.”

“Was the fire this evening… at the hospital, an accident? Electrical outlet or something?”

“I doubt it. That young girl, Angie, I mean… sorry, she was our only witness.”

Sydia nodded.

“Charleston’s a sleepy town. Trying to keep up. We’re not used to this sort of thing. Or, equipped. Sure, a drug bust, some domestic violence here and there, once in a blue moon a gunshot wound, but…”

“Gunshot wounds and related trauma injuries are on the increase in the ER, Dan. Since I’ve been working here, finishing my residency, I’ve witnessed the uptrend. Personally, I don’t think there’s anywhere on the map that’s immune to this kind of violence any longer. How about you?”

The wine was beginning to mellow Sydia, attacking her impulses. A thousand, soft downy pillows were landing all around her, soothing her. Comforting her. She forgot how good wine tasted and more importantly, how it felt.

“Hope for the best, I guess.” Dan said.

He spoke with few words. She admired that quality in a man. In anyone, actually. “You seem like a really positive guy. I like that. That good old boy attitude.” Dan looked embarrassed. He lowered his head. “Doesn’t anything ever faze you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What gets Dan Hammer down?”

“Not having my little girl with me…”

“You have a child?”

“Almost six now.”

“Wow. So I guess that means you must have a wife, also, then. Or at least you
did
have a wife.”

In a feeble attempt to avoid the question, Dan’s eyes went to the television set situated at the end of the bar. Sydia followed his line of vision. An attractive female news reporter, popular to the Charleston area, was standing in front of MUSC, microphone in hand, doing a report on the fire. BREAKING NEWS flashed across the screen. The parking lot behind the hospital was a foster home to fire trucks, police cars, and news vans. Police crews held back curious onlookers behind barricades. The reporter’s voice was barely audible.

“Hey, Rose, can you turn it up for a second?”