Deep Night (10 page)

Chris returned a few minutes later. Sara looked up as he entered the apartment. She couldn't hide her surprise.

“We have another guest for dinner,” Chris announced.

“I told him I didn't want to intrude,” Nick said. But even as he spoke, the aroma of garlic and spices drew him to the kitchen. “Mmm…homemade sauce. Did you add butter?”

“Uh…no, it has olive oil,” Sara replied.

“Add a couple tablespoons of butter. My grandmother makes a great sauce, and she thinks there can't be too much butter.”

“Ditto with the meatballs.” Chris sliced off a chunk of butter that was more or less two tablespoons and put it into the sauce. “We might as well be consistent.”

“I hope you don't mind that I dropped in,” Nick told Sara. “I wanted to talk to y'all about the drug situation and what you're seeing on the streets. I got your address from your boss.”

“She called earlier and said you wanted to meet. I just didn't expect it to be tonight,” Sara said as she took the bread out of the oven and put it in a warming basket.

Nick looked at the sauce simmering on the stove and the bowl of salad sitting on the counter, ready to take to the table. “I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner. I'll come back later…”

Chris silently checked with Sara, who nodded her approval. “You're welcome to stay. We've got plenty of food. The only thing I should warn you about is…remember that dude that overdosed behind the Bluebird?”

Nick nodded.

“I knew him from my tour in Afghanistan, and he's coming to dinner tonight, too,” Chris added. He glanced pointedly at the DEA badge clipped to Nick's belt. “Maybe you could put that away this evening and forget you saw him that night. He's working his way through some PTSD, and I don't want to spook him.”

Nick unclipped the badge and stuffed it into his pocket. “No problem. I was in the military, too, for a few years. It can steal your soul.” A sadness touched his eyes that was so powerful, it made Sara gasp.

Nick heard it and recovered quickly, replacing the melancholy with an ironic grin. “Life's so much easier without it.”

Chris opened a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass while Sara dropped the meatballs into the sauce. The water was ready to boil for the spaghetti, but they wouldn't drop that in until Miller arrived.

Sara turned the sauce lower and joined them at the bar. There were only two stools, so Chris stood and waved for Nick and Sara to sit.

“Do you have family in the area?” Sara asked.

“No, we're kind of scattered around,” he answered. “My parents retired and moved to Tampa. One of my brothers works for Homeland Security and lives in D.C. and my other brother is a Texas Ranger.”

“No kidding?” Sara leaned forward in fascination. “Like the Lone Ranger? I didn't realize they were for real.”

“They've been around since 1823. They're kind of the rock stars of law enforcement in Texas.” Nick's voice was both proud and envious.

“I have two brothers, too,” Chris told him. “One's a cop and the other's a fireman, so I know how you feel.”

“I guess all brothers are competitive, but give them guns and badges, and we're a fucked-up bunch.” Nick's laugh was humorless.

The doorbell rang and Chris left his glass on the bar. “That's probably Miller.” He gave Nick a last look of concern.

Nick quickly interpreted it and responded, “I'll be cool. Don't worry.”

Sara jumped up and turned the burner on under the spaghetti pot.

“Add a little olive oil to the water and your spaghetti won't stick together,” Nick suggested.

Chris saw that Sara obeyed without question. Somehow Nick had managed to completely win her confidence, and she didn't trust easily.

“I'll be right back,” he said, but Nick had walked around behind Sara and picked up the sauce spoon. She looked up at him and laughed at something that Chris couldn't hear. An unexpected curl of jealousy tightened in his stomach, and he hurried to leave the apartment to go down to the front door.

There was a heavy glass and wrought-iron door that was always locked as well as an interior door that led to the ground-floor apartments, the atrium and the elevators. Miller and Riley were waiting patiently on the front step.

“Hey, glad you could make it,” Chris said after he'd unlocked the outer door and held it open.

“Yeah, my schedule's pretty full.” Miller's dark eyebrows arched sarcastically.

“I hope you like spaghetti.” Chris led the way through the hallway to the elevator.

“Sure do. Ain't much I don't like.”

They arrived at the apartment as Sara was putting the salad bowl on the table and Nick was placing silverware by the plates. The small table had only two chairs, so they rolled in the desk chair from Sara's room and retrieved a folding chair out of the storage area down the hall.

“Miller, this is Nick. He works with…uh…our department…in Texas.”

The two men shook hands, a little awkwardly.

“And this is Riley.” Chris bent down to pet the dog, who gave a polite tail wag, but his attention remained focused on Miller. Apparently, he was sensing his master's discomfort at the social situation.

Sara brought the garlic bread to the table and salad dressing. “Can I get you some wine?” she asked Miller.

“Uh…I'd rather have a beer,” Miller quickly answered.

“Me, too,” Nick said.

“You've got a real nice place here,” Miller told her.

“Thanks. I was lucky to find it. How do you like Denver?” she asked as she opened a couple of bottles of beer and handed them to Nick and Miller.

“I love the weather. It's fucking…uh, sorry…” He gave Sara an apologetic glance, then continued, “really pretty here. I just wish I could find a job. I didn't think it would be that hard with all the talk about the recession being over.”

“Hopefully, one of the leads the guys from the meeting gave you will pan out,” Chris said.

They all sat down at the table. In spite of the fact their knees were touching and they barely had room on the table for their salad bowls, glasses, and the bread basket in the middle, it wasn't uncomfortable.

The conversation started slowly, but as the men bonded over their military experiences, Miller relaxed. Riley, too, calmed down and lay quietly behind his owner's chair.

Chris cleared the salad bowls and filled the plates with spaghetti and sauce before bringing them to the table. Sara helped, but when Nick started to stand, she waved him back down.

“We've got this. I hope you don't mind not serving yourself.”

“Nah, it's just good to have a home-cooked meal,” Nick said. “As you can imagine, I eat out a lot.”

Chris and Sara sat back down and everyone passed around the freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

“I've never seen a dog so well behaved,” Sara commented. “He doesn't even beg, when these smells have got to be driving him crazy.”

“I got him from a place that specializes in training dogs for the military and law enforcement. They did a real good job. He doesn't bark or shit in the house. And he never runs off.”

That started a whole new conversation about dogs that lasted through the rest of the meal. Nick kept his word and never revealed his occupation. After they moved to the couch, the conversation turned to the drugs on the street.

“How much do you think legalized pot has affected the people you're treating?” he asked Chris and Sara. Nick had quickly figured out that Sara had far more street experience and focused on her. Or maybe he was hitting on her. Chris kept an eye on both of them, mostly watching for her reactions.

“The biggest problem I've seen is that people are overdosing without realizing how much they're ingesting. We're seeing more excited delirium, but that's not just from the pot. Denver has a lot of meth and coke, not to mention all the designer shit that keeps popping up,” she told Nick. “What's it like in Texas?”

“There are problem spots along the border. And Austin pretty much does what it wants. It's a college town, and you know how that is.” Nick shrugged it off. “The cops sort of look the other way unless someone does something really stupid. Our problem is the drugs coming across the border from Mexico.”

“I, for one, think legal pot is a good fuckin' deal,” Miller stated. “My shoulder hurts like a son of a bitch. But a little weed, and I hardly notice it.”

“War wound?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, we were in the middle of a fierce fuckin' firefight. They sent a kid…a fuckin' little kid…into our camp. He was carrying a bomb under his robe and just…” Miller's brown eyes darkened until they were almost black as the memories flooded back. Sweat beads glistened on his chocolate-brown forehead. Riley whined and moved closer to his master. “Everybody was caught by surprise. We'd been sitting around, playing poker, you know, just talking shit and thinking it was a good day because we weren't getting shot at. Next thing we knew, there was blood and body parts all over the camp. It took out four of our guys right away, and injured a dozen or so more.”

“Including you?”

“Nah, I was far enough away. But then a sniper up on top of the hill started picking us off. The guy next to me went down with a bullet in the head. The guy across from me took one in the neck. Fuck, just minutes earlier, he had thrown down four aces. We all thought it was his lucky day.”

Riley edged up against Miller's leg and put his big head on the man's lap. Miller's hand automatically lifted and started stroking the dog's shiny black fur.

“I got hit in the shoulder, then one of our guys took the sniper out.” Miller turned to Chris. “Lieutenant Wilson ran out and saved my life while a whole shitload of fuckin' Ali Babas swarmed over the hill, blazing fire. He covered me with his body until we pushed them back, then he stayed with me until they came to take me to the field hospital.”

All eyes focused on Chris, and he shifted uncomfortably. “No big deal. That was my job.” He stood. “Anybody want another beer?”

They all called out their orders, and he crossed the short distance to the kitchen. He returned with four cold longnecks and handed them out. He noticed that Miller had visibly relaxed as his hand continued to smooth over the dog's rounded head and long, floppy ears.

“So, how much longer are you going to be in Denver?” Chris asked Nick.

“Probably through the end of the week. This is my weekend to have the boys,” he answered.

“The boys?” Sara asked.

“I have twin sons. They're almost six, and they're a handful.”

“I didn't know you were married,” Sara commented.

“I'm not…now. I caught her with a dick in her mouth…not mine, by the way.”

“Fuck,” Miller stated, voicing all their thoughts aloud.

“Yeah, I guess people in my line of work aren't meant to be married.” Nick didn't seem too sad about that revelation.

“What line of work is that?” Miller asked.

All heads turned to face Nick.

“I'm sort of in merchandise control.” His answer was true, but vague.

“I used to be a mechanic,” Miller said. He rolled his right shoulder and winced. “I'm not sure I could do it now.”

Chris hadn't known that. “Really? I think I saw a Help Wanted sign at the Grease Monkey over on Colfax. They're pretty good about hiring veterans.”

Miller's expression brightened. “I'll check it out tomorrow.”

“If you want a ride, I could pick you up around ten,” Chris offered. “I've got a test at one, and we work tomorrow night, but I'm not busy in the morning.”

“Nah, man, it's just a couple of blocks from my place. I can walk,” Miller answered.

Nick stood. “I'd better head out. Thanks for the meal…and the company. Merchandising can be a lonely business.” He gave Sara a wink and gathered a handful of empty bottles, which he carried to the recycle bin. “I'll probably bump into you guys again before I leave.” He turned to Miller. “Need a ride?”

Miller pushed Riley's head off his lap and stood. “Sure. I rode the bus over here, but I'm not sure of their schedule this late.”

Chris and Sara also got up. They walked their guests to the door.

“Good luck with the interview,” Chris said to Miller. “Don't forget that you have a meeting tomorrow night. Tell the guys I'm sorry I can't make it.”

“Will do.” He clipped the leash on Riley's collar. “Sure did enjoy myself tonight. It's good to have friends.”

He and Nick headed toward the elevator, and Chris and Sara stood in the doorway and watched until they walked inside and the doors slid closed. Chris shut their front door and clicked the deadbolt into place.

“Not bad for our first dinner party,” he said. Sara smiled and nodded. For a moment, they just stood and looked at each other, feeling oddly like a couple. It wasn't something either of them had ever felt before.

“Professor Steadman's tests are the worst,” Sara told him as they sat in their usual spot in the park. It was still early in their shift, and they'd made only one call, to transport an elderly woman who had fallen in Nordstrom at Cherry Creek Mall.

“I'm glad I got in that extra hour of review. A couple of the questions were from that section of the book.” He looked at Sara, who was still writing the report about the old woman. “Hey, thanks for your help.”

“No problem. I wouldn't want my trainee to fail a class. That would reflect badly on me.” She tossed the clipboard onto the dashboard and met his gaze. A twinkle told him she wasn't quite as heartless as she pretended to be.

“A female, mid-twenties, is stuck in a chimney at 792 Grant Street. She's conscious and screaming for help. RP is her ex-boyfriend. Sending fire, police and EMS. Ambulance 25, please respond, code 10.”

“Christmas in May?” Chris commented wryly as he fastened his seat belt and turned on the engine.

“It comes earlier every year.” Sara chuckled and confirmed to the dispatcher before flipping on the lights and siren.

“I can't wait to hear this story.”

“Probably has to do with someone being naughty and not nice.”

Chris laughed. He slowed as they approached an intersection, but as soon as he saw that everyone had stopped, he hit the accelerator and zipped through.

“You're getting pretty good at this,” Sara commented.

“Remember when we used to get Mom to take us to the go-kart park?”

“I hated that. You guys were maniacs. I just tried to stay out of the way.”

“You drove like a little old lady.”

“I was more about precision driving than speed.”

“And that's why I'm usually behind the wheel,” he teased. “Speed is key.”

“Watch out for that dog!” she screamed.

Chris leaned on the horn and steered adeptly around the dog, who had run halfway across the street, then, fortunately, decided to turn tail and run back to the sidewalk rather than challenge a speeding ambulance.

The fire department beat them again and had already lit up the area with high-wattage lights from their rig. There was no sign of the victim, but the chimney stood tall and stark. Chris parked on the street, and he and Sara got out and joined the crowd of gawkers that had been drawn by the lights and the noise.

So far everyone was still assessing the situation and trying to figure out the best way to perform the extraction. Chris and Sara stood next to Sam, who was looking up and shaking his head.

“Any reindeer on the roof?” Chris asked.

“No, just her clothes,” Sam answered.

“She's naked?” Sara rolled her eyes. “I'm thinking alcohol's involved.”

“I'd say that would be highly likely,” Sam agreed.

“What's the plan?” Chris looked around at the firemen who were unloading equipment off their truck.

“They're trying to figure out how much dish soap it'll take to slide her out of there.”

“Really?” Sara asked skeptically. “That sounds messy.”

“That's Plan A. If that doesn't work, I heard the captain say they were going to cut the chimney off just above her, then try to pull her out,” Sam told them. “Until then, we get to sit back and watch the show.”

“Why did she try to St. Nick it?” Chris looked around and noticed a guy wearing a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt staring up at the chimney in disgust, his hands balled into fists. “My guess is he's the ex.”

“That's him. He has filed four complaints against her since they broke up on Valentine's Day. Note to self…women don't take it well if you break up with them then.”

“Good to know,” Chris agreed.

The man approached Sam. “When are you going to get the psycho out of my chimney?”

“We're trying to decide which way would be quickest and do the least damage,” Sam explained patiently.

“I don't care if you have to cut her into pieces, just get her the hell out of there!”

“We're trying to avoid that,” Sam remarked, trying to hide any evidence of sarcasm, but not quite succeeding.

“God damn it! She's ruining my life. I've got a big meeting tomorrow, and here I am, losing sleep because she got her fat ass stuck.”

“Have you two considered counseling?” Sam asked.

“We aren't
two.
Not for almost three months. I've had to change my locks and install a security system. Then what does she do? She tries to crawl in through the doggy door.” The man was pacing back and forth in frustration. He snorted. “Luckily, I noticed before she wiggled her way through. Who knew she'd be crazy enough to try this?”

“Did you get a restraining order against her?” Sam was trying to be helpful.

The man pulled a wadded handful of paper out of his pocket. “Three! And look how well that worked out!” He was shouting, clearly beyond caring that it was two o'clock in the morning.

“This is a clear violation, and as soon as we get her out of there, she'll be arrested,” Sam assured him.

A bucket truck pulled up and parked. Several of the firemen jumped out and the fire captain met them. They discussed the situation for a moment; then one of the firemen got back into the truck and backed it up diagonally across the street until it was as close to the house as possible. Luckily, the house was on the corner, so they could access it from the side street. The police set up barricades, blocking all traffic in both directions.

The firemen had collected bottles of dish soap from inside the house and from the neighbors'. One of them got into the bucket with the soap bottles, then held on as the arm extended to the top of the chimney. The fireman spoke to the woman stuck inside, then started pouring bottles of dish soap into the hole. After several were emptied, he lowered a strap down to her, instructed her to hang on, fastened it to the bucket, then radioed to the engineer.

Slowly, the bucket began to lift until the fireman called down to stop. He poured more of the soap down the chimney, then called for them to try again. The bucket moved an inch, then stopped.

“She's not budging,”
came through on the radio.
“I'm coming back down.”

“Roger. We'll go to Plan B.”

The fireman retrieved the strap, and the bucket was lowered. A local news crew arrived, and a reporter and a photographer with a steady-cam resting on his shoulder pushed their way through the growing crowd. The captain ignored them as he instructed his men on how to proceed.

The light on the camera turned on as the reporter started talking. She grabbed whoever passed her, trying to get the details, but the firemen were all focused on the job at hand. The reporter noticed Sam, Chris and Sara standing off to the side and walked over to them.

“Officer, could you tell us what's happening here?” The tall, ridiculously thin reporter fluttered her fake eyelashes at Sam.

“There's a woman stuck in the chimney, and we're trying to extract her. So far, that's all I've got,” he answered, keeping it vague. He didn't reveal any more information than the reporter probably already knew from listening to the police scanner.

“Do you know her name or why she's there?” the reporter persisted.

“So far, we've focused on the rescue. I'm sure all that information will be available later.”

A fireman carrying a blanket and a big saw jumped into the bucket, then it was lifted again to the chimney.

“This should be interesting,” Sam muttered to Chris and Sara.

They stood back and watched as the fireman tossed the blanket down to the woman for protection, then began the tedious process of cutting through the mortar on the row of bricks a few inches above her head. Some straps and rigging were attached to the chimney, and after about fifteen minutes of ear-splitting sawing, it was gently lifted and lowered to the driveway. The rescue operation resumed with the removal of a few more rows, one brick at a time until the woman was pulled free.

The fireman sat her on the floor of the bucket, with the blanket wrapped tightly around her, then called to come down.

Chris and Sara went to the ambulance and returned with the gurney so they were ready for her transfer from the bucket as soon as it reached the ground. The reporter rushed forward and thrust the microphone toward the woman.

“Would you tell us your name and why you were in the chimney?” the reporter called out.

Sam firmly stepped in front of the camera. “Please give her some privacy. She's been through a horrible ordeal and needs to be taken to the hospital. I'm sure she'll be glad to give you an interview after she has received treatment.” He held his arms out to keep the reporter and the neighbors back while the fireman helped the woman out of the bucket.

The ex-boyfriend ran up to her. “You crazy, fucking lunatic…look what you did to my chimney!” he screamed in the woman's face.

She reached out and tried to grab him. “I love you, baby. You wouldn't let me in. I just wanted to surprise you.” Her voice was weak, and she might have gained sympathy had it not been for the rubble of brick now blocking the driveway.

The man gave her an incredulous look and rubbed his hand across his head, leaving his hair spiked out in every direction. “You need help.” He turned to Sam. “Who's going to move those bricks? I can't get my car out.”

They didn't wait to hear Sam's answer. Sara made sure the woman was covered up while Chris loaded her onto the gurney. He led the way, parting the crowd and pulling the stretcher to the ambulance, where they worked together to load it in. Sara climbed in with the patient. Chris closed the doors and was about to get into the cab when Sam trotted up.

“I doubt she'll try anything, but I need to cuff her,” he said.

“Really? She's barely conscious. I doubt she could…”

A crash came from inside the ambulance, followed by the sounds of a struggle. Chris and Sam ran around the back in time to see the doors fly open and the woman, minus her blanket and any shred of dignity, jump out the back and run toward the house.

The reporter was front and center, catching the action in high-def.

“Gary,” she called, “let me stay. I love you…”

Sam caught her in mid-stride and took her down in a messy tumble on the lawn.

Chris wasn't paying any attention to the spectacle in the yard. He leaped inside the ambulance to check on Sara, who had been knocked to the floor.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

She had her hand pressed to her forehead and the blood was dripping between her fingers. “Nah, I'm fine.” She tried to turn away, but he caught her face and forced it back so he could see her. He eased her hand away and peered at her wound.

“That's going to need stitches. Let me put a butterfly bandage on it.”

“I'm fine,” she protested.

“It's almost to the bone. Tonight, my dear, you're going to be a patient.”

“But, I—”

“Battle wounds are my specialty, and this qualifies.” He dabbed the blood off with an antiseptic cloth and covered the cut with a bandage. It quickly bled through, but at least the gaping cut would stay closed until they got to the hospital.

Outside the ambulance, Sam returned with a struggling and swearing naked woman. None too gently, he heaved her inside the ambulance and climbed in after her.

“Strap her down,” he ordered gruffly. He had pieces of grass in his hair and dirt smeared on his face and uniform. “I'm riding in back. She's a bunny boiler.”

Chris looked confused.

“
Fatal Attraction
crazy,” Sara whispered, familiar with the first responder lingo.

It took all three of them to hold her on the gurney and strap her down, but finally they were able to throw a blanket over her restrained body. Then Sam and Sara settled on the bench while Chris, once again, closed the doors. He hopped into the cab, fastened his belt, switched on the lights and siren and headed to Denver Health.

The blood kept running into her eye, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand as she tried to help Chris get the gurney out of the ambulance.

“Take a break, Sara,” Sam ordered. “I've got this.”

Impatiently, she wiped her eye clean again and stood aside. She was proud of the fact that she could handle anything the job threw at her…as good as or better than any male medic. She shouldn't have let that woman overpower her. Sara had controlled other violent patients before. But this time she was caught by surprise. The woman had been quick and strong, when she should have been dehydrated and weakened by her ordeal. It could be some sort of reaction to drugs…either legal or illegal. Or she could just be mentally unbalanced. The symptoms were often the same. Sara knew they would run a drug screen as part of the exam, and she was interested to see the results.

“Sara, what happened to you?” Dorothy, the night nurse in the emergency room, asked.

“Rough patient,” Sara replied, watching the blood drip onto her uniform shirt.

“That woman they just took back?” Dorothy asked skeptically. “She doesn't look strong enough to break a twig.”

“Trust me. She's a whole load of crazy.”

“Dr. Feeney is here tonight, honey. And lucky you, he's not busy. Come on back and I'll get him to look at you.”

Sara followed the nurse to one of the cubicles that were separated by draperies.

“Hop up there on the bed. I'll find Dr. Feeney,” Dorothy instructed.

Sara obediently sat on the end of the bed.

“I'll be right back,” the nurse promised, and started to pull the draperies closed. Just before they closed, a man walked by. For a second, he turned and stared directly at Sara.

Her heart leaped in her chest, and her skin was instantly bathed in sweat. She jumped off the bed and ripped the curtains apart. He was gone.