Out of the Past: A Reed Ferguson Mystery Part 11

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

"We're staying in tonight, right?" I said as I turned into the parking garage at Gla.s.s House. I pushed in the code. The gate rolled up and I drove through.

Stephanie nodded. She'd been subdued since our talk with Detective Spillman, hardly saying a word after the funeral. We'd joined the procession to the cemetery, watched quietly during the service at the grave site, and then went back to the church for a reception, but she hadn't interacted much with anyone, even me. Finding out your friends had been murdered would do that to you.

We got out of the car and started across the parking garage. The overhead lights weren't good, and only added to the gloom.

"We don't have to go anywhere," she said softly, her shoulders drooping in defeat.

"We can order " I never got to finish.

A figure in a hoodie and sungla.s.ses bolted out of the darkness and something hit me on the side of the head. I staggered and fell to the ground. Stephanie screamed. The figure raised a hand and I saw a gun.

"No!" I yelled and kicked out my legs. The figure dodged and my feet caught only air.

Stephanie screamed again as a loud pop split the air. I started to rise but something crashed down on my head. I hit the concrete hard and rolled over, then reached for the Glock in my ankle holster. I pulled it out, not as smoothly as I would've preferred, and aimed at the figure. Hoodie ducked between cars. I scrambled to my feet and started forward. Somewhere behind me, a moan cut through the shadows.

I whirled around and something smacked into a concrete pillar near my head. As I hit the ground again, footsteps echoed on the other side of the garage. I edged to the end of a Lexus and glanced around it. The figure was already gone.

I heard another moan.

"Stephanie!" I holstered the Glock and crawled across the floor to her.

She was lying on her side. I cradled her head and rolled her over on her back. Her eyes held a faraway look and her breathing was labored.

"Stay with me," I said as I frantically searched for a bullet hole. I found it in her left shoulder. She was bleeding badly. I yelled for help as I put a hand over the wound and tried to stop the flow of blood, but it didn't seem to be doing much good. With my other hand, I yanked out my cell phone. I dialed 911 but couldn't get a signal because we were in the parking garage. I cursed.

"Help!" I yelled again, but no one came, so I made a quick decision. "This is going to hurt," I said to Stephanie. I put my arms underneath her and hefted her up. She groaned loudly as I hurried to the BMW. I situated her on the pa.s.senger seat, got in and hightailed it to the hospital.

Five minutes and racing through four red lights later I careened into the emergency entrance to Denver Health Medical Center.

"She's been shot," I told an orderly, who appeared nonchalant about the blood on my clothes and hands.

He grabbed a gurney and helped me get her on it, then wheeled her into a room. I stood in the hallway, staring at the door. Doctors and nurses hurried back and forth, and a constant chatter filled the hallway. In another room, someone cried out in pain, and I became aware of my own aches and pains. Then a familiar voice interrupted my haze.

"Reed, what're you doing here?" a concerned voice asked.

I turned around, squinting against the bright overhead lights. Willie was standing there, a puzzled look on her face. Then she saw the blood. "Are you all right?" She raced up to me and looked me over. "The blood on you!"

"I'm fine," I said, although my head was protesting. "It's Stephanie. Someone shot her."

"What?"

I started to explain what happened but she held up a hand. "You're head's bleeding. Come here." She led me into an examination room and made me sit down on the bed. "Let me look at you."

She spent the next few minutes examining my head and cleaning up a cut while I told her what happened.

"It sounds like you distracted the guy just enough so he didn't get a good shot at Stephanie," she said.

"Maybe so." I winced as she worked on the cut on my head. "When he finds out she's not dead, he'll come back."

She didn't say anything to that, but her face told me everything I needed to know. She was worried, and she didn't like that my job put me in danger. It was an ongoing battle between us, but lately she'd seemed to be more accepting of my profession, especially since I'd helped when Deuce found himself in some trouble on a construction site job. When she finished cleaning my wounds, she asked me a few questions about my vision and how I felt. "I'm going to have a doctor look at you," she said. "I think you might have a concussion."

She turned away, but I pulled her close, putting my head on her shoulder. "I'm fine, really."

She nodded, then headed out of the room. Minutes pa.s.sed and a doctor finally came in. He did a quick examination, p.r.o.nounced I had a concussion, gave me a protocol for what to do, and left. Then Willie returned.

"There's a bathroom down the hall," she said. "You can wash up in there and then come back to the front desk. We need to fill out paperwork on both you and Stephanie."

I hopped off the bed and followed her out. I did as she instructed and cleaned up in the bathroom, then joined her at the front desk. I gave her all the information I had on Stephanie, then went to the waiting room and called Forrest McMahon. It rang four times and went to voicemail. I left a message and then called Detective Spillman and left another message on her cell phone. I knew that the hospital would report Stephanie's gunshot wound as standard procedure, and that eventually the news would get to Spillman, but I figured I'd save her a step. Maybe it would make her more receptive to helping me in the future. Then I sat back to wait.

Seconds turned to minutes, and then an hour pa.s.sed. I wished I could talk to Willie, but she was busy doing her job. Too bad I hadn't done mine, or I wouldn't be here. I started pacing, and then my phone rang. It was Forrest McMahon.

"You need to come to Denver Health," I said. "Stephanie's been shot."

"What?" he shouted. "Is she all right?"

"She's being looked at now. She was. .h.i.t in the shoulder. I don't think it's life-threatening, but I'm no doctor."

"I'm on my way," he said. "And don't go anywhere. I want a word with you."

"I'll be here." I hung up and stared at the floor. Then a doctor in blue scrubs finally came down the hall.

"You're here with the young lady who was shot in the shoulder," he said.

I nodded. "How is she?"

"She's okay."

I let out a huge sigh of relief, and he held up a hand.

"That's not to say she's out of the woods just yet," he said. "She's lucky. The shot hit her up high and missed the heart and major arteries, but she lost a lot of blood. And the bullet broke her collarbone. She'll be in intensive care overnight so we can monitor her. Then we'll see how she is. You can see her if you want."

"Thank you," I said.

He walked away and I stood there for a second, relieved. Then Willie walked up.

"She got lucky," she said, reiterating what the doctor had said. I nodded. "And so did you." She took my hand. "Let me show you where she is."

She led me down the hallway to a room. She held open the door and I went in. Stephanie was lying on the bed with her eyes closed. Her hair was disheveled, and she was pale and drawn. Her left shoulder was taped up and her arm was in a sling, and an IV snaked out of her right arm. Her breathing was shallow and she had an oxygen tube under her nose. Sc.r.a.pes zigzagged across her face and hands from falling hard in the garage.

"She looks terrible," I whispered.

"She'll be okay," Willie murmured.

I leaned against the doorframe. "I couldn't protect her. I screwed up."

Willie put her hand on my shoulder. "It's not your fault."

I shook my head in frustration. "I should've known someone could get into the garage."

"How'd he do it?"

"He must've waited until someone went in or out, then slipped into the garage while the gate was up. I've watched the gate it moves slowly."

"It'll be okay." Willie gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "I have to get back to work."

I gave her hand a squeeze. "I miss you," I said. She smiled in surprise, then gave me a kiss on the lips and quickly walked away.

I moved into the room and dragged a chair close to the bed. I sat down and looked at Stephanie.

She may not have been the sweetest thing okay, she was a nightmare but she didn't deserve this. Right there, I vowed to find who'd done this to her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

I was still sitting in the chair when I heard someone come into the room. I turned around and met Detective Spillman's gaze.

She held up a paper coffee cup. "You look like you could use this," she said.

I stood up, and little-used muscles protested. I stretched and followed her into the hall. "Cheap coffee in a paper cup. What else would a detective drink?" I said.

Spillman gave me a sympathetic smile. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

I took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. Not very good, but I appreciated the gesture. "I really shouldn't have called you. My employer doesn't want to involve the cops."

"Oh, that's a new one." She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. "The gunshot wound would be reported, so I'd find out anyway."

"I know. I figured I'd save you some time."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"There's not much to tell. Her father hired me to be her bodyguard, to protect her against some of his enemies. He thinks they'll go after Stephanie to get at him. I know," I said, warding off her look. "It sounded fishy to me, too, but that's all I've got."

"But now we might have a serial killer who's taking out other kids, too." Spillman shrugged. "I didn't think there was a connection, until Stephanie showed up at the funeral. She knew both girls."

I took another sip of coffee, then threw the cup in a nearby trash can. "They all went to college together."

"Where?"

"Smith."

Spillman raised an eyebrow. "Good school."

"She's scared of something."

"Think she knows something that her father isn't sharing?"

I didn't answer because just then Forrest McMahon came down the hall, sharply dressed in a dark suit. Tyrone and Oscar followed behind. McMahon stalked up, and put his face in mine. "Don't go anywhere," he said sternly. He glanced at Spillman, then went into Stephanie's room. Tyrone and Oscar stood on either side of the door in their best bodyguard poses.

Spillman barely moved her head as she took it all in, clearly unimpressed. We stood in uncomfortable silence until McMahon came back out. His steely gaze took us all in.

Spillman stepped forward and held out her hand. "Mr. McMahon? I'm Detective Spillman with the Denver Police Department. I'd like to speak to you about what happened tonight."

McMahon hesitated, glanced at me, then shook her hand. "I'll deal with you in a minute," he said, his tone implying he was used to getting his way. "Right now I'd like to speak to Mr. Ferguson in private."

She surveyed him for a moment. "Sure, I'll give you a few minutes." Her tone implied she didn't take orders from civilians and she was being gracious to allow him time to speak with me.

McMahon and I walked down the hall to the waiting room. Then he whirled around and lit into me.

"I hired you to protect my daughter, and you didn't do it," he said, his voice low and controlled. He put a finger in my chest. "The level of incompetence you've displayed is appalling. This is not a joke."

"I know that " I began.

"Don't waste time with excuses because you're fired. Send me a bill and then I never want to see you again. You haven't helped one bit. Not one d.a.m.n bit."

"Maybe I could help if you'd tell me what's really going on," I said, fighting for restraint. "If you hadn't jerked me around, maybe Stephanie wouldn't have been shot."

He stared at me, taken aback by what I said. "What are you implying?" he finally asked.

"You know who this so-called enemy is, don't you? But you'd rather keep it a secret, making it impossible for me to do anything. What'd you think, that Stephanie would just sit at home and twiddle her thumbs until you get this situation, whatever it is, resolved? You put her life in danger, and mine too."

He looked away, and when he spoke, I could barely hear him. "You know I manage a hedge fund?"

I nodded.

He hemmed around for a bit. "There's a situation with some of the money...I can't tell you more." His voice cracked. "They're already threatening my family, and d.a.m.n near succeeded. I'm trying to work it out. I've sent my wife and sons overseas, but Stephanie refused to go. I just wanted someone to protect her until I can get things resolved."

"Who's after you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know for sure who. When I heard about Avery's death, I figured Stephanie would be next, but she wouldn't let Tyrone and Oscar stay with her, so I tried you."

"You knew about Avery's death and you didn't tell me?" I was fuming.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But I need to keep this as quiet as possible."

I stepped back, opened my mouth and then shut it again. I couldn't believe he held back such important information. "How the h.e.l.l..." I threw up my hands.