Fractured (8 page)

Working on gut instinct alone, she stopped the car to the left of the exit ramp and lowered her window. “Are you Annie?” The woman didn't respond so she called again, this time louder. “Annie?” With no response, she got out of the car, clutching the remaining sandwich. “Would you like something to eat?”

The woman glanced at Isabella, then turned to run. Given the woman's size and the excessive clothing hampering her movements, she couldn't run very far or fast.

Isabella would overtake her in seconds, but she kept her distance. “I'm not going to hurt—” She didn't get to finish before something hit her from behind, catching her across the shoulders. Instinctively, she reached for her gun and turned to meet her attacker.

Before she even had a chance to even think about using it, the gun was kicked from her hand and she was tackled to the ground. Fear and adrenaline spiked as self-preservation took over. Her back scraped against the black top as she twisted trying to scoot out from beneath him. It didn't work. “What do you want?” Although the question seemed obvious in one sense, in another, not so much.

He didn't respond except to keep her pinned down to the ground with his arms on her biceps, his legs resting outside her hips. Was he keeping her there for somebody else and didn't want to do the deed himself?

Somehow, she managed to wedge her knee between them for leverage and pushed with everything she had. When he released his grip, she sprang to her feet, eyeing the distance to her car. Could she make it before he got to her?

Even though she ducked, the kick still caught her on the chin. Pain zinged through her jaw and rattled her teeth. She shook it off and came at him with a roundhouse kick. He flinched momentarily, but then returned to fighting stance.

She'd lose for sure if they went at it blow for blow. “I'm a cop. Stop now and I'll let it go.”

He didn't say a word. Instead, he continued to circle her like a boxer getting ready for the title match. This didn't look good. She could only hope for a random car to come by and scare him off, or maybe Trevino and his partner to return.

“I'm going to get in my car and we'll call this a draw.” She made a move toward her car, but he blocked her. “Don't do this. You hurt a cop and there's hell to pay. You've got to know that.”

Again, he didn't say a word. Just kept circling her like an animal before attacking its prey. When the window of opportunity presented itself, she kicked, landing a glancing blow to his shoulder, then turned and ran toward her car. She grasped the door handle but before she could open it, he yanked her by the back of the coat and threw her to the concrete abutment.

Was she dead? If not, what was her father doing here?

Wait a minute. Why was he calling her baby girl and giving her Teddy B? She felt his arm around her, the bristle of his beard touching her cheek, the indescribable smell that always made her breathe in deeper when he was around. He was laughing, and she was giggling. She was so happy being near him. He'd told her a secret which made her very happy. Isabella wanted to ask him a million questions, but, before she could, he floated into the distance.

“Daddy. Daddy. Where are you going?”

He didn't answer, only continued to fade slowly away until she could no longer see him at all. Tears welled inside until she thought she might burst.

“Detective Sanchez.” Someone nudged her arm.

“Oooowwwww!” Sudden intense pain replaced the memories as it rattled up one side of her body and down the other, finally zeroing in on her head. She didn't want to open her eyes for fear she'd see her father standing before her. Instead she kicked and squirmed and tried to scoot off the table she was lying on.

“Settle down, Detective.” Instead of the voice of her father, it was a woman.

She tried to squash the simultaneous feelings of relief and disappointment even while the sense of his presence lingered. Goosebumps broke out on her arms as she tried to open her eyes.

Somebody prodded her arm and pain shot clear through to her eyeballs. “Owwwww. That hurts.” Tears sprung to her eyes before she popped them open. The sudden brightness blinded her. It took her a few minutes to focus. When she did, the woman standing over her had a stethoscope and an ID on her jacket that read
DR. LOGAN, NORTHWESTERN MEMORIAL HOSPITAL.

“You're awake,” the woman said softly before shining a light in first one eyeball then the other. “Do you know where you are, Detective Sanchez?” She had long red hair pulled into a ponytail, freckles across the bridge of her nose and a stethoscope hanging around her neck.

“I'm hoping at a hospital and not dead.”

The doctor laughed. “We'll need to do an X-ray on your elbow. But other than that, and a slight concussion, you're doing well.”

“Tell that to my head. It hurts like hell.” Isabella had the occasional headache, but this felt like a jackhammer was hard at work inside her skull.

“Do you know what happened?”

“Somebody attacked me on Lower Wacker.” The whole scene still felt a little foggy.

The doctor nodded and jotted something onto her chart. “As I understand it, there was a tip called in to the station. But I could be wrong about that.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten after eleven.” The doctor tried to extend her arm. “Does this hurt?”

“Ouch.” She reflexively tried to pull back but that made it hurt more. “Yeah.”

“That's what I thought. I'll have the nurse bring you down to X-ray. If it is what I think, I'll have an ortho consult check it out.” The doctor drew back the curtain to leave.

“Doctor.” No doubt Landry would hear about what happened and would be here any second. The last thing she needed was a lecture from him. “Do you have any pain killers? I think I'm going to need them.”

“Maybe in a little bit. We'll see how that concussion is coming along.” She hesitated a second before disappearing behind the emergency room curtain.

A male nurse entered before Isabella could think about making an escape. “I'm going to walk you down to X-ray, but I can get a wheelchair if you're feeling shaky.”

The smell wafted around her bringing back memories once again. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath. “Cinnamon?” Her father. The elusive smell she'd suppressed for many, many years came rushing back.

“Pardon?” He stood in front of her, his eyes studying her face.

“Cinnamon gum?” Her voice sounded shaky. Was it from memories or her altercation?

He broke into an easy smile. “Yep, nasty habit. Would you like a piece?”

“No thanks.” She glanced at him and smiled. “Were you in the room when I first came in?” If he was hovering over her that would explain the weird dream about her father.

“Yes. I checked your vitals. Why?”

She shrugged. “No reason.” She wanted to remember, but at the same time didn't. It was so long ago, and she'd already made peace with it in her head. At least she thought she had until a few moments ago.

“Are you all right? Like I said, I can get a wheelchair.” He had his hands on her knees and had bent down so that he could get a better look at her face. No doubt given the weird way she was acting, he was trying to check her pupils to see if she was about to do a face plant.

She shook away that elusive feeling. Tyrone Samuels was not a warm fuzzy guy. He was a gangbanger and a murderer. Any memories she had to the contrary had to be childhood apparitions.

Cinnamon gum. Big deal. She needed to get a grip.

“I'll be fine.” Besides, with everything else tumbling about inside her, she'd be damned if she'd be a wuss about this, especially with Landry arriving any second. Any sign of weakness and he'd be smothering her to death. Instead, with the help of the nurse, she maneuvered to her feet and shuffled down the hall, feeling every bit of her thirty-one years.

The nurse passed her off to somebody else halfway down the hall, which was a huge relief. She didn't need to deal with conflicting memories along with everything else going on in her life right now.

* * *

“Did you hear that?” At first Landry thought he'd somehow conjured up his worst-case scenario, especially after he'd been given the all clear from Trevino. The spike in his pulse told him otherwise. “On the scanner. Did they say Wacker Drive?”

“To tell you the truth, I wasn't paying attention.”

Landry bit back his frustration. Jonas had been dogging it all night. Instead of arguing the point, he called in and asked. The confirmation came seconds later. The dispatcher told him Isabella was okay, but he had to see for himself.

He swore under his breath. “I'm heading to the station early.” Landry did a U-turn in the middle of South Michigan Avenue and turned on the siren.

“Isabella?”

He glanced at Jonas. “Yep.”

“What was she doing on Lower Wacker? I thought the girl was on leave?”

“Following a lead.”

“She's going to get herself into a heap of trouble.” Jonas shook his head and held on to the dashboard as Landry drove like a crazy man back to the station.

It took only about five minutes to get to there and less time for him to get dressed and out the door. He got into his car and drove to the hospital. En route, he called Malone. “What the hell happened? You said somebody would have her back when I wasn't around. I told you where she was going. Did you need me to draw a map, too?” His SUV careened down the streets of the city as he made his way to Northwestern Hospital.

“Since you let us know there was an undercover on site, my guys drew further back.”

“How far back did you pull? Wisconsin?” He squealed to a stop in the emergency room driveway and showed his badge to the attendant. “I'm at the hospital now.” He spoke into his cell while walking through the door.

“She's okay. My men got there and scared the guy off. We're still trying to find out who attacked her.”

Malone justifying the incompetence of his officers only pumped up Landry's anger a notch or two more. “Just remember to uphold your end of the bargain next time.” He snapped the phone closed.

He barged into the emergency room ready to tear somebody a new one. What had he been thinking? He could have made an excuse with Jonas and easily have met her down there. But he didn't.

He couldn't blame Trevino and Allen. From what they'd said when he'd talked to them earlier, they thought she was leaving right behind them.

“I need to see Officer Sanchez.” His hands still shook from adrenaline and nerves brought about by his frustrating phone conversation coupled with Isabella's stupid ideas.

“Are you a relative?” The admittance clerk barely glanced away from her computer as she asked him the question.

Was this woman kidding? He flexed his jaw and bit back a string of curses. “No, but I'm a fellow officer.” He flipped out his badge.

She gave him the once-over. “You and a couple thousand others. That doesn't mean I'm going to let you back there.”

Landry blew out a breath. Most days he'd use charm to get through sticky situations, but right now he wasn't feeling too charming. “Could you go back and ask her? My name is Landry Taylor.” He pointed to his ID just to make sure she got it. “I'm sure she'd want me there.”

“Besides the fact I don't have time to go checking with patients like that, for all I know you might be responsible for what happened to her.”

Was she trying to piss him off? If it were a man instead of a woman behind that desk, he would have had him by the throat by now.

“Did she say an officer attacked her?” Holding his temper at this point wasn't easy. He figured he could hop over the counter and be in back in about ten seconds, but the burly guard over to the left was eyeing him suspiciously. A few more minutes of this and he'd take the risk.

“No, but that doesn't mean anything. She could be lying to cover up for you.”

Screw this. “Isabella, you back there?” He peered as far down the hallway as he could, but partitions blocked most of the view.

“You can't make so much noise. This is a hospital,” the woman cautioned, her arms crossed over her chest while she nodded to the guard.

“Lady, you have no idea how much noise I can make.” Before he got a chance to demonstrate, he spotted Isabella limping down the hall, a hospital staff person by her side. She saw him at the same time and smiled before she said something to the man next to her, who in turn gave the go-ahead for Landry to come back.

The Gestapo behind the desk gave him a dour look as he shot past. He resisted the urge to give her the finger.

His heart nearly plummeted when he got a closer look. There were scratches on her face and she held her arm close in to her body. She moved like she was in a lot of pain. Once again he had the sense either Malone didn't tell him everything or that he wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Right now, Landry was betting on the latter. Waiving off the person assisting her, he lifted her into his arms.

“Landry, this is embarrassing. Put me down. I can walk.” She put up a meager struggle.

“Easier and faster. Besides, you're walking like an old grandma.”

“Who you kidding? You're trying to impress the ladies with your big guns.” Her voice remained tight, as if trying to manage her pain.

“Yeah, I'm all about the ladies.” He couldn't stop thinking about what might have happened.

She pointed to a curtained off area to the left. “Before you start, I'm fine.” With his help, she eased onto the bed.

On closer inspection she looked even more shaken and pale. “What happened?” He tamped down his anger with considerable effort. Oh, yeah, he and Malone were going to go a round or two over this.

She gritted through a smile. “You should see the other guy.”

He couldn't smirk, let alone laugh. “Don't tell me Leo did this to you?”

She held out her good arm. “Back off, Tarzan. I was following Trevino out when I spotted Annie. Somebody jumped me before I had a chance to talk to her. Oh God, I lost my gun near the ramp on Lower Wacker.”

“They found your gun near your car.” Courtesy of the too-late-to-be-worth-a-crap Fed bodyguards. “It's probably been returned to the station by now.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Why?” With his hand on her knee, he could feel the quiver of her muscles underneath and it ratcheted up his anger even more.

“Because the guy who did this to me knocked it out of my hand. Why wouldn't he take it with him?”

“Maybe he didn't see it in the dark, or maybe the responding unit spooked him into taking off before he got a chance to take it with him.”

She nodded slowly. “I guess…but they must have gotten there really quickly.”

He glossed over her comment with a nod. “Do you remember what happened? Maybe what they looked like?”

“A ninja wannabe attacked—no, scratch that—he didn't attack me, just tried to keep me…I don't know. He was covered from head to toe in black.”

“Are you sure it was a man?”

“Based on size and muscle strength, I'd say yes. But that's about all I've got. I couldn't even give you a race, though there was something familiar…” She rubbed at her head with her uninjured arm. “I wonder who called the cops.”

Landry tried not to look guilty as he shrugged. Luckily he was spared from responding when the doctor walked in.

“Detective Sanchez, I'm going to release you with some prescriptions.” She glanced at Landry. “Will you be staying with her?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I'd like you to monitor how she's doing.”

“Hey, wait. I can do that myself,” Isabella protested, but she didn't have the usual level of force behind her words.

Landry ignored her. “You were saying, Doctor?”

“Look for signs of excessive lethargy, forgetfulness, any change in personality, that kind of thing.”

“So, in other words, if she's being nice to me, I'd better call 9-1-1.” Landry smiled at the doctor as he helped Isabella off the table.

* * *

In the end, they went back to Landry's place. Her first choice was to follow the plan and check out her apartment. He about had a cow when she suggested it, so she decided on the path of least resistance. Besides, she had a vial full of pain killers she was itching to take.

“How's the arm?” He held open the door as they walked inside his apartment.

“About the same as it was ten minutes ago when you asked.” She didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but Landry on smothering mode grated on her already frayed nerves. “It's not even technically broken. I don't even have a cast.” Her arm was in a sling. Minor detail.