Deadly Fall Page 15

  “Until we find whoever’s behind all this.”

  Augusta stared at him, lips parted as if on the verge of making a comment, thought better of it and closed her mouth.

  “I suppose that’s what the guest room is for,” she said finally. She whipped around and headed for the glass candy jar.

  “So you wanted to know why I went to see Jana this morning,” she began around a mouthful of cookie. She tilted the jar toward him. “Oatmeal cookie?”

  Nick shook his head curtly, eyes narrowed on her. “No, thanks. And forget about Jana Westenberg. What did you mean with that crack about the guest room?”

  Her gaze darted away from him. She took her time swallowing. It wasn’t long enough to goad him into grabbing her shoulders and giving her a good shake, but it was close.

  “I meant exactly what it sounded like. If you’re going to stay here, then you can use the spare bedroom.” There was a mocking tilt to her lips. “Are you going to tell me last night was something more than casual sex?”

  Augusta swallowed the last of her cookie and waited for him to dispute her, wanted him to dispute her, preferably with a replay of last night. She wanted it so badly that she pulled the blanket taut about her. She had to do something to keep her hands from behaving foolishly.

  He gave a brusque nod. “Fine. Let me go get my bags from the car then.”

  Augusta watched him turn on his heel, following his rigid frame with her gaze.

  Anger rushed through her. Anger at him. Anger at her. Anger at the situation. Anger at the unfairness of it all.

  Augusta threw the blanket on the floor and used her fingers to comb roughly through her hair, pulling it back from her face. Since when had she become such a martyr?

  She paced into the nook, making no effort whatsoever to calm herself. She welcomed the searing rush of emotion. It was freeing. It was stirring. It made her want to grab a paintbrush and attack a canvas.

  * * * * *

  Nick slammed the door of his courtesy black sedan. Hard. And wondered when in the last week had he developed masochistic tendencies. What man would chase after a woman who rejected him at every turn? Well, maybe not every turn, he thought with grim satisfaction.

  But that only made her refusal of him even more maddening. How could she think they could go back to a platonic relationship after last night?

  The beep of his cell phone didn’t penetrate the red-hot emotion fogging up his mind until the third one. Not breaking his stride, Nick fished the phone from his inner pocket, glanced at the caller ID and answered it. His scowl deepened.

  The dialogue was succinct and over by the time he was standing in the kitchen doorway. Augusta turned away from the window where she had been watching him. Whatever she saw in his face made worry line hers.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Go get dressed. We’re going to Bellevue Hospital.”

  She was suddenly at his side, fingers gripping his sleeve. “Who’s there?”

  “Jana Westenberg. And she’s been asking for me by name.”

  Her fingers whitened as she tightened her grip. “Give me five minutes.”

  She was ready in three. She exchanged her shorts for a pair of jeans and slipped her feet into a pair of slides. Nick was waiting by the front door. He set her alarm before they walked out and got into his car. The drive over to the hospital was fast and silent, with both lost in unhappy private thoughts.

  They parked in Bellevue’s visitor parking. It was surprisingly full for this time of night.

  After Nick flashed his badge at the nurse at the reception desk, she directed them to the Intensive Care Unit. The silence continued as they made their way upstairs to the ICU. The nurse on duty at that desk, after banishing Augusta to the waiting area, insisted on personally escorting Nick to Jana Westenberg’s room down the hall.

  Nick acknowledged the uniform standing—or rather, sitting—guard at the door at the end of the hall with the briefest nod of his head. He had ordered that a uniform be posted outside Jana Westenberg’s hospital room when he first received the call. Another shot of adrenaline pumped through his bloodstream, and he picked up his pace. The nurse at his side, whose name tag pinned above her left breast identified her as Carol Marietti, lengthened her stride to keep up.

  She glanced up at him, frowning. “Detective Markov, please remember that the doctor will only allow you ten minutes with the patient. She just got out of surgery and shouldn’t even be out of recovery right now.”

  He spared a glance down at her. “I understand, but Ms. Westenberg is involved in an ongoing homicide investigation, an attempt was made on her life, and she asked for me by name. She was quite persistent about talking to me.”

  “And that’s the only reason we’re allowing you to interview her, Detective.”

  The uniformed police officer quickly stood up as Nick bore down on him. The sudden movement jostled the coffee cup in the officer’s hand, sloshing some of the hot liquid over the rim. The young officer cursed, then seemed to remember his audience, and straightened again. Eyes bright, chest slightly puffed out, he couldn’t have been more obvious had “Rookie” been tattooed on his forehead.

  After a glance at the officer’s hand to confirm the burn wasn’t serious, Carol Marietti placed one hand on the door of Jana Westenberg’s room in the ICU, the other hand up, palm towards Nick. “Please wait here and I’ll make sure Ms. Westenberg’s awake. I’ll be a few moments.”

  “Thanks,” he said, even as his eyes tried to see into the room. When the door closed with a soft click, he turned his attention to the uniform. “I’m Detective Nick Markov.”

  “Officer Wayne Kaminski, sir.”

  “Were you first on scene?”

  “Yes, sir. The victim triggered the alarm at her gallery and the security company called it in. My partner and I responded within fifteen minutes.”

  “And where’s your partner?”

  “Cafeteria grabbing sandwiches.”

  “Who’s in charge of the crime scene?”

  “Detectives Lawrence and Smyth.”

  Nick nodded. Lawrence and Smyth were slow but thorough. They would make sure all bases were covered.

  The door to Jana Westenberg’s room opened and the nurse stepped out. “She’s groggy, but she still wants to talk to you. Whenever you’re ready, Detective. And remember, only ten minutes.”

  Nick nodded and the nurse started her trek back to her desk.

  “Give me a copy of your report tomorrow,” Nick said to Kaminski.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The room was dark and filled with the hum and beeps of life-sustaining and monitoring equipment. The mummified figure on the bed was barely recognizable as the woman he had questioned that morning. Other than the impossibly red hair that had not been bandaged, Nick wouldn’t have been able to identify her. The bandage-free parts of her face were swollen and slowly ripening to a rich plum color. Her left eye was swollen shut.

  For a moment, Nick had a vision of Augusta and not Jana behind those bandages and lying helpless in that bed. Fear iced his insides.

  A murmur of a sound from the figure on the bed forced him to give a small shake of his head, dissipating the image. Jana Westenberg opened her right eye. It was green, hazy from sedatives and wet with the sheen of tears. He approached the bed and carefully cradled the hand that was IV-free. Her hand was long, pale and cold. The nurse was right. Jana Westenberg was in no shape to be questioned, but if she was willing to do it, he wasn’t going to insult her by postponing it. He exercised his patience as he waited for her to start.

  “They…kept asking about Drew.” Her voice was hoarse and so quiet Nick had to bend down to hear her.

  “They?”

  “There were two of them. Men.”

  “Did you see their faces?”

  Jana tried to shake her head, but grimaced when that small movement proved too painful. “No. They wore ski masks. Their voices were muffled. They…” She closed her eye and tears silently
fell from the corner of her eye, down her temple and into her hair. The hand he held flexed, her fingers curling in his palm. “They knocked me out. When I woke up, I was taped to a chair with duct tape and a flashlight was shining in my face. And they had a baseball bat.” Jana took a shuddering breath and closed her eye again. More tears fell.

  At last, she continued shakily, “They kept asking about Drew. They said he had something of theirs and they wanted it back.”

  “Did they say what?”

  She released a long breath that seemed to drain her even more. “No.” A soft sniffle. “I kept asking them to tell me what it was they wanted, but they thought I was playing dumb.”

  Nick’s mouth tightened. Criminals are one thing. Sadistic criminals who were stupid as well are another thing entirely. From the work they did on Andrew Langan and the woman in the bed, Nick had a feeling these two enjoyed their work.

  “I don’t know anything. Everything I know, I told you this morning.”

  “Do you remember anything about them?”

  “No…just…” Her voice trailed off. “One of them uses a lot of cologne. It has a heavy scent.”

  Nick stilled. “Do you know which cologne?”

  “I can’t remember. It was very familiar.” She closed her eye and released a long exhale. “I can’t think of it right now.”

  For a moment, Nick thought she had fallen asleep, then he felt sharp nails digging into his palm. He looked down. Jana Westenberg was using all her strength to fight the sedatives swimming in her system. Her single green eye stared intently into his.

  “I asked to speak with you because I need to tell you something, but I don’t want it on record. I don’t want this going into any report.”

  Without hesitation, Nick nodded.

  “At one point, one of them said Drew should’ve taken their boss’s business offer.”

  Nick continued to gaze down at Jana Westenberg, her words running around in his head. This case kept going downhill.

  What secrets did Andrew Langan have that could be used to blackmail him?

  * * * * *

  After the nurse had directed her to the waiting area, Augusta had obediently followed orders to stay put. She’d been surprised when Adam joined her several short minutes later. Through terse, broken sentences, he’d explained that Jana had been late meeting him, so he went looking for her at the gallery and found the police.

  Adam had his own special coffee blend, but Augusta figured at the moment, he wouldn’t care that the coffee from the machine looked like tar and probably tasted just as bad. Sleeved paper cups in both hands—coffee in one and hot chocolate in the other—she returned to the waiting area.

  “Here,” she said, pressing the coffee into one of his hands. “You look like you need it.”

  He stared at the brown cup, as if not quite sure what to do with it.

  “Drink it,” Augusta said.

  He brought the cup to his lips. She sat down next to him, took a tentative sip of her hot chocolate and tried not to grimace. It was worse than she feared. She settled for rolling the cup between her hands, needing the heat, and waited. Patience wasn’t one of her virtues, but the rumpled stranger beside her didn’t look like he could withstand an interrogation.

  But he was up to interrogating her.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was with Detective Markov when he got the call.”

  Adam finally lifted his head. “What call?”

  “Jana asked for Nick by name, so one of the officers contacted him.”

  “Nick?” Even rumpled, tired and obviously distressed, generations of breeding still went into the imperious arched brow. Then he waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. How does Jana know the detective?”

  “He and his partner went to see her this morning.”

  The line of Adam’s mouth firmed, his lips thinning. “They questioned her about Drew?”

  Augusta looked away, already knowing what the next question would be. But Adam saw the answer to his unasked question on her face.

  The line of his spine snapped straight. “Augusta, how can you even think—” Fury choked the rest of the words.

  “I didn’t.” It was so difficult to meet those green eyes glaring down at her. “I don’t. I was just hoping Jana would know something…anything. You know what Drew means—meant—to me. I want whoever killed him to pay,” she said, voice trembling. “Very un-Christian of me, but we both know I’m far from perfect. I want justice for him.” She took a shuddering breath. “I owe him at least that much.”

  Fleeting emotions raced across Adam’s face. Anger. Hurt. Fear. Disappointment. He got to his feet, very deliberately tossed the cup of coffee in the trash bin, turned his back to her, took a few steps and stopped. He rubbed his hands over his face before he dropped them at his sides. Augusta could hear his deep breaths. Calming breaths. And the pain sliced cleanly to the bone to know she’d played a part in hurting him. The hot spread of it in her chest and stomach tightened her throat.

  “The doctor says Jana’s going to need physiotherapy. They…focused on her knee. If she’s lucky, she’ll only have a limp for the rest of her life. If not…”

  Augusta swallowed to moisten her dry throat.

  “When I arrived at the gallery and saw the ambulance pulling away, I thought she was dead. I have never been so scared in my life.”

  Augusta stood, hand extended, and took a step toward him, thinking to offer him comfort, before she recalled the hurt betrayal in his voice. Her fingers curled into a tight fist before her arm dropped to her side. “Does she know?”

  “After Drew, how I could I measure up?”

  Augusta fell back in her seat, her arms wrapped about herself. She bit back the sympathetic words she knew he would only throw back in her face.

  “Drew wasn’t a saint.”

  He turned to look down at her, his expression somewhere between hurt and bemusement. “You know that. I know that. But Jana saw him as nothing less than perfect.”

  Two sets of footsteps softly echoed as they came closer. Augusta cast a glance down the hall to see a grim Nick approaching them with a nurse in blue scrubs at his side.

  Adam seemed to stop breathing, and she knew he was fearing the worst.

  “Mr. Langan?” The brisk efficiency of the nurse’s voice seemed to reassure him. Adam started to breathe again. “The doctor says you can go in and be with Ms. Westenberg for five minutes. Then he strongly suggests you go home and get some rest.”

  He whispered his thanks and, with a final backward glance at Augusta, followed the other woman.

  Nick tracked Adam Langan with narrowed eyes until he disappeared inside Jana Westenberg’s room. Then he dropped down next to Augusta. His head fell back against the wall, eyes closed. “Is that coffee?”

  At this distance, Nick looked more tired than grim, with shadows about his eyes and lines around his mouth.

  “No,” she told him, but pressed the cup in one of his hands anyway. It seemed to be her night for pushing drinks on others.

  Nick straightened himself up. He opened his eyes to peer at the contents of the cup, brought it up to his nose to sniff, then he drained it.

  “Did you call Langan?”

  Augusta looked up, faint surprise on her face. “Adam? No. He and Jana had a…date,” she explained, her voice trailing on the last word as if the concept was foreign to her. She squeezed her hands together. “When she didn’t show, he went by her gallery.”

  Nick was silent as he rolled the empty cup between his hands.

  “What about Jana?” Augusta asked quietly, drawing him out of his thoughts.

  “She’s going to recover. Broken left arm, two cracked ribs, busted left knee, broken right cheekbone. As far as they can tell, no major organs were damaged.”

  “Oh, God.” Her hands reached out for purchase. Her left hand found the padded seat beside her and the right found denim-clad thigh. Nick immediately covered her hand with his. She shivered,
his heat making her realize just how cold she was.

  His voice gentled. “She looks much worse than she actually is because of the bruises and cuts on her face and body. I don’t think whoever attacked her was trying to kill her, but I have someone posted at her door anyway.”

  “It’s because of Drew. Everything’s because of Drew.” Drew, what were you involved in?

  He didn’t dispute her, simply continued to rub some warmth back into the slender hand that had gone limp. After long minutes, he rose and tugged her with him. “Let’s go. We both need to get some sleep.”