Chapter Thirty-nine

“Get him!” Sam shouted, pointing the security guards to Williams. She saw Aaron at the base of the stairs and ran toward him. “Call an ambulance.”

“He was attacking me!” Williams screamed, fighting one of the guards. The other had gone for help.

“Don’t let him go until the police get here.” She knelt beside Aaron, her breath ragged. His forehead was bleeding, and his left arm was trapped under his chair. “Cuff him to the banister and get down here. I need help.”

She heard Williams yelling at the security guard.

“Shut up! If he’s hurt, Williams, I’m going to have your ass in jail.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Williams hissed. He looked back at the guard. “I’ll have your job.”

The guard hesitated.

“He’s not going to have anyone’s job,” Sam responded. “Now get down here and help me.”

The guard scrambled down the stairs, wearing a panicked expression.

“Help me get him out of this chair,” Sam directed, trying to remember everything she knew about emergency medicine. She prayed it was just a concussion. “Keep his neck and spine straight,” she ordered, not knowing what the injuries were. What the hell was Aaron doing at the office at this time of night?

Williams was clattering the handcuffs and complaining, but Sam ignored him.

She laid her arm along Aaron’s neck and upper back as they lifted him off the chair and onto the floor. His left arm was definitely broken. She opened his eyes and looked at them. There was no pupil activity. “Come on, Aaron!” Where were the damn paramedics?

“Let him die. He’s just a damn cripple.”

Sam ran up the short flight to Williams, who was looking down at her.

“Turn your back,” she ordered the guard.

She raised her left knee and drove it hard into Williams’ groin.

He doubled over and started to gag. “You bitch! That’s police brutality.”

Sam gritted her teeth and glared at him. “You say another word, and I’ll give you my fist. It’s a hell of a lot stronger.”

Williams shut up and Sam returned to Aaron. She touched his neck and felt the thready pulse. “Hang in there, buddy. You’re going to be okay.”

Within two minutes, the door opened and the second security guard came in, followed by two E.M.T.s with a stretcher.

They paused at Williams, who was still doubled over, but Sam waved them down the stairs.

“The police are on their way,” the second guard said.

“Stay here until they arrive.” Sam knelt with the paramedics as they worked on Aaron. She took his hand and squeezed, clenching her free hand against her chest and praying like she hadn’t since she was a little girl.

Sam paced through the halls of San Francisco General, pressing her hands into tight fists. Everything about the hospital made her sick to her stomach—the smells, the people who milled about and waited for death, even those waiting with hopes of life. It all gave her an eerie chill. Announcements over the loudspeakers were crackling calls of panic and desperation. People stood with their heads bowed, the low sound of crying like the constant surf of a distant sea.

Not to mention the fact that this particular hospital was where Brent practiced. He wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t. She repeated the mantra to herself without slowing her pace.

She studied the last door she’d seen Aaron disappear through as though the door itself might disappear at any minute. She’d been waiting for three hours. It was two o’clock in the morning, and every time she asked someone what was happening in there, they told her to sit down. She couldn’t sit. If she’d thought seriously about Williams as a suspect sooner, she could have saved Aaron. If he wasn’t okay, she didn’t know what she was going to do. A million thoughts, all jumbled, spun around in her brain.

She continued to walk the halls, wearing off the caffeine from her third cup of coffee. She’d had a granola bar, too, something to keep the coffee from burning a hole in her stomach, but she was tired and hungry.

The door opened, and a nurse in scrubs came through.

Sam stopped her. “Aaron Ferguson?”

The woman smiled. “Special Agent Chase, you’re in luck. He’s out of the ER, and they’re about to move him to Room 916.” She pointed. “It’s the third room from the end.”

Sam leapt forward.

The nurse caught her arm. “But you can’t go in there without his doctor’s permission. The doctor’s on his way out to talk to you.”

Sam halted, exhaling deeply, and the nurse let go. “How long?”

“Agent Chase.”

Sam turned to see a trim Japanese man with streaks of gray and a cool demeanor approaching her. His slow movements and calm expression suggested anything but an ER doctor. He put out his hand. “I’m Dr. John Okamoto.”

She shook his hand. “I’m here about Aaron Ferguson.”

The doctor nodded and motioned her to come along with him toward Aaron’s room. He walked at a slow, even pace and spoke the same way, in a voice that was steady and rhythmic. “Aaron is stabilized, although he’s still in and out because of the medications. I’m told you’re a special agent with the Department of Justice.”

“That’s correct.”

“He won’t be in any position to answer questions about the incident—perhaps not for several days, maybe more.”

“But he will be okay?”

The doctor nodded, his hands clasped together. “His vital signs are strong. He’s got considerable damage to one leg and he’s suffered a concussion, so we’ve got him connected to an I.V. for nutrients. There may need to be some surgery to the leg, but there’s no way to say how much until he’s up and about. Also, we’ve set the arm. It was a compound fracture, so that might slow him down a bit.”

The doors opened and two nurses brought Aaron through on a gurney and wheeled him down the hall.

Sam stared at him. His body was so still. Only the faint color in his cheeks and the slow, steady drip of the I.V. suggested he was still alive.

The doctor paused at the door, and Sam watched the nurses attach Aaron to the machines inside the room. “You can go in and see him, but I’d like to limit the visit. I’ll send a nurse down in about ten minutes.”

She thanked Dr. Okamoto and took a deep breath as she entered Aaron’s room.

He lay flat on his back, a breathing tube in his nose and cords connected to both arms. She heard the beep of the machine watching his pulse and saw the drip of the I.V., keeping him fed. Her chest tightened.

She stopped at the edge of the bed and looked down at him. She realized she’d never seen him stretched out. He was significantly taller than she would’ve imagined. His blond hair was curled over his forehead, his eyes closed. She brushed the hair off his face and spoke to him.

“Aaron, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” She looked around the room again, both unused to and uncomfortable with the idea of talking to herself. She prayed Aaron could hear her.

“Williams. I never imagined it was him. I should’ve figured it out sooner. I’m so sorry.” She sat beside his bed and covered his hand with hers. His hands, too, were big and manly, and she wondered if someone loved Aaron like she was starting to love Nick. She wondered if he had brothers and sisters. Were his parents alive? There were so many things she’d never bothered to find out. She needed to reach his parents and let them know what had happened. She would call first thing in the morning. Since Aaron was stable, there was no sense in waking them up.

She took his hand. “The good news is that they’ve got him. They’re interrogating the bastard right now,” she said. Strangely, she felt no relief. Her fear for Aaron surpassed her anger and outrage at Williams’ crimes.

She squeezed Aaron’s hand again and looked around the sterile room, reminding herself to send something over for him when he woke up.

When the door opened, she expected the nurse and was surprised to see Corona’s face. “Andy.”

“I heard I might find you here.” He motioned to the hallway. “Come out when you’re ready.”

He left and Sam looked back at Aaron, pushing a stray curl off his face. “Get better, you hear?”

With that, she left the room and found Corona leaning against the wall several doors down.

“I thought we might grab a cup of coffee.” He started down the hall and she went along. “Doctor says he’s going to be okay.”

She nodded.

“That’s good news.”

“What’s going on with Williams?” she asked.

“He’s squealing like a pig on the breaking and entering and leaking the stuff to the media. Your brakes, too.”

“What about the murders?”

He gave her a hesitant look out of the corner of his eye. “Nothing yet.”

She exhaled, disappointed. “But he had access to my flashlight and the gum wrapper. He’s a good suspect.”

Corona nodded. “Now that we’ve got him, we’ll work to match hair, fibers, that sort of thing. Anyway, don’t sweat it. You should be celebrating.”

“I’d feel a hell of a lot better if my assistant weren’t down the hall being fed by a tube.”

“Of course. We’re all worried about Ferguson. He’s going to be okay. I contacted his parents.”

“Thank you.”

“They’re coming down from Washington tomorrow.” They reached the cafeteria and Corona pulled the door open. He bought the coffee while Sam waited at a two top in the back of the room, away from the crowd of tired-looking visitors. What a depressing place.

Corona set the coffees in front of them and sat down. He paused and then wrapped his hands around his coffee and looked up at her. “I owe you an apology.”

She nodded. She thought he did, too, but Corona apologizing was something she’d never seen before. He was usually right. She knew this would not be easy for him.

“I should have taken the threats more seriously to start with.” He shook his head. “And I should’ve seen that Williams was losing it. Jesus, I knew he was competitive with you, but I had no idea.” He looked out the window, his eyes narrowed and sunken. He looked tired. “I should’ve seen it.”

She didn’t respond. She should have seen it, too. They all should have.

“But that’s not what I’m really sorry about.”

She frowned.

“I’m really sorry that I didn’t put up a bigger fight about letting Cintrello’s guys serve that search warrant.”

Sam closed her eyes and tried to block out the image of the police in her home. “It was pretty shitty.”

“I know.”

“And I’m still not off the hook,” she added. “Not if Williams isn’t singing on the murder charges.”

“That’s why I’m here. I know you’re not a killer.”

She nodded without saying anything. Those words were no longer enough. She needed proof now.

“But to get you off the hook entirely, we’ve got to get the right guy on the hook.”

“You don’t think Williams is that guy?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But if he is, we need some evidence.”

“How do you propose to get that?”

He shook his head. “Shit, Chase. I don’t have the slightest clue, but I’m hoping we can put our heads together and come up with someplace to start.”

“I’m still off the case, right?”

“Officially, yes.” He took his eyes off her and stared down at her coffee. “But I think you should take some time off—paid, of course.” He glanced up at her and rolled his hand like she’d seen in Mafia movies when they were telling someone to lie about something. “Take some time to get things back together. Do what you need to do.” He returned his hand to his coffee cup. “You know what I’m saying.”

She met his gaze and nodded. “I do.”

Then, before she could say thank you, Corona got up and told her they’d talk sometime later in the week. “I’ve got some ball-busting of my own to do,” he said as he walked away.