Dying To Remember

THREE

Roman pocketed his phone and met Ella’s eyes. “I’ve mobilized a team for your case,” he told her.

“That was quick,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I want you to feel safe.” It was quite possible that Ella was experiencing paranoia or delusions related to a mental illness, but the story she’d told him also sounded plausible. If it was correct, he wanted to get back to Julia Camden’s house ASAP—before whoever had attacked Ella doubled back to clear the scene. “I’ll be right outside your door until my relief gets here. Then I’ll go back to your mom’s and look around more thoroughly.”

“My mom,” Ella said suddenly. “She’s here, too.” She brushed off her covers. “Maybe I’ll sit with her for a while and—”

“Do me a favor and wait till morning, okay?” Roman asked, cutting her off.

Ella frowned and looked like she might argue.

“It’s safer to stay here, where the only people who will have access to your room will be medical personnel or a Shield team member,” he told her. “I’ll take you to her personally in the morning,” he assured her. “Your purse is on the countertop.” He pointed across the room. “Can I grab you anything else from the house?”

She pulled the sheet back up and Roman took that as a sign of her resignation. “Could you let the dog out? I usually do one last time before I go to bed.”

“I didn’t notice a dog tonight...”

“Oh, no. I hope he didn’t get out,” Ella said.

“Don’t worry—I’ll find him. What’s his name and what kind of dog is he?”

“He’s a little Havanese mix—and his name’s Isaac.”

Roman grinned. “Interesting name for a dog.”

“My mom always said if she’d had a son, she would have named him Isaac,” Ella said with a wry smile.

Roman chuckled. “I’ll find Isaac. Anything else?”

“My laptop, if you plan to swing back by here tonight. But don’t make a special trip.”

He didn’t know what kind of work was so important she needed to get it done while sitting in a hospital bed, but he didn’t say as much. By the time he would return with the laptop, she’d hopefully be asleep anyway, so he didn’t argue.

Roman moved toward the door. “I’ll grab the laptop and drop it by on my way back from your mom’s place. Try not to worry—you’ll be out of here in no time.”

He stepped into the hallway, not sure if he was right at all. Ella’s story defied belief. He wasn’t sure about the legalities of keeping someone like Ella hospitalized if she wanted to go home, but he’d venture a guess that any self-respecting psychiatrist who valued his medical license would probably be very nervous about sending her home tomorrow.

Clicking heels from down the hallway drew his attention and he smiled as Triss Everett came into view, long, dark hair swinging in a low ponytail as she hurried toward Roman. The rookie on the team with barely a year of experience under her belt, Triss was a force to be reckoned with. Roman had no qualms about leaving her to guard Ella for the night.

“You got here fast. I hope you weren’t speeding again,” he said lightly as Triss approached.

“I don’t call it speeding when I’m on the job.” Her face was serious, dark eyes unreadable. She was the younger sister of Roman’s longtime friend Luke, but the only traits the two had in common were their dark hair and dark eyes.

“What do you call it, then?” he asked.

“Expediting my response time.”

He caught the barest hint of humor in her expression and had to laugh. “You’ve been pulled over three times in six months,” he pointed out. “I’d rather have you here a few minutes later than smashed up in a car accident.”

“Noted,” she responded, handing him a set of car keys. “Now, if we’re done with the pep talk, I parked in the garage. Third floor, near the elevators.”

The woman was always business, but that was a major asset to his team. “Let me catch you up to speed and then I’ll get out of here.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Roman stepped out of the company car Triss had driven to the hospital. The Camden home was all lit up, the lights still on from earlier in the evening. He shut the car door behind him, glancing up and down the quiet street as he tugged his gloves on. Few lights glimmered from the surrounding houses, cars dark and icing over. He pulled out his flashlight and began a slow walk around the perimeter of the home. He planned to come back in daylight, but he’d see what he could find tonight.

After circling the house and not spotting anything amiss, he let himself in through the front door. Standing in the doorway for a moment, he took stock of the living room, his gaze touching the empty, faded couch, the box television, the layer of dust over the mantel. No sign of the dog. No obvious sign that an intruder had been in the house, either. The only evidence he might be able to corroborate was Ella’s story about the iced tea.

He bypassed the living room as she’d likely done, crossing the hallway and walking toward the fridge as he scanned the floor for any signs of the iced tea or the broken bottle. The floor was clean and dry, but he crouched down anyway, taking a closer look for evidence of what he’d stepped on earlier. He rubbed a hand over the glossy wood and looked at his palm. Dust particles and a few tiny flakes of what could be crushed glass.

He turned to the sink. It was empty but not dry. A damp, brown dish rag hung neatly over the faucet. He didn’t pick it up, just in case the police decided to sweep through, which he thought was highly unlikely unless he could find a reason to convince them. Bending close to the rag, he could only detect the faint scent of dish soap. The trash can in the pantry was also empty, so he made a mental note to ask Ella if she had emptied it. He was almost to the hallway before he noticed a little smudge on the tile that he hadn’t seen at first.

He bent closer. Darker than iced tea, redder than mud. Blood? He crouched low and looked around, saw two more prints leading to where wood met carpet. Paw prints? The dog had made himself scarce. Could he be injured?

Roman pulled out his cell phone and snapped photos of the rag and the dark smudges on the floor. That was all he could find, but it was enough to lend credence to Ella’s story.

Ella said she’d dropped the tea in the struggle. That meant her attacker must have taken the time to clean up the mess to hide any signs of an attack and make it appear she’d tried to take her own life.

Resuming his search, Roman turned down the hall and entered Ella’s room, which was adjacent to the garage and across the hall from the bathroom. Her room was perfectly in order, her laptop sitting closed on a small desk near the window. He picked it up and slipped it into a nearby case, then circled back to the living room still in search of the dog. He hoped Isaac hadn’t gotten out during all the commotion tonight.

He looked under the couch and the mystery was solved. The old dog cowered as far back beneath the couch as possible, wide, startled eyes looking back at Roman’s flashlight.

“There you are,” he said, reaching under the couch.

Isaac growled a warning.

Roman figured Isaac’s bite couldn’t do much damage, but he assumed the poor guy felt threatened and trapped, so he lifted the end of the couch a few inches, pulling it away from the wall. The dog growled again but he didn’t try to run.

Roman bent close to the little fluff ball, who really couldn’t be called “little” at all. What did they feed this guy?

“It’s okay, buddy,” he said in a quiet voice, moving his hand to let the dog sniff. Then he scooped the roly-poly, still growling dog into his arms.

“Hey there, Isaac,” he said. “Let’s see what’s going on with you.” He sat on the couch and turned the dog in his lap, seeing the problem immediately—a shard of glass between two of Isaac’s toes. The drying blood blended with the black pads of his paw but stained the dog’s white fur.

“Poor guy,” Roman said, cradling the dog in his arms and standing. His mind raced. Isaac needed a vet, and Roman needed the police involved at the Camden residence. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Ella had spent the better part of the past hour waffling between considering an escape plan and digging for memories she may have forgotten from the attack.

Since she pictured burly psych-ward security men chasing her down and wrestling her into a straitjacket, the escape plan didn’t appeal. She would have to be patient and hope that the doctor tomorrow would deem her stable enough to go home.

But that left her with a lot of time on her hands.

Time to review what had happened tonight. And what had happened last month. She didn’t have many clues to go by. But one thing was certain: back in Colorado, she’d been living a peaceful existence, and since her arrival in Maryland, she’d nearly died twice. And despite popular belief, the attempts on her life were not self-inflicted. Who was after her and why?

She’d done only two things regularly since her arrival: visited her mom at the hospital and worked at Graceway to try to bring the organization back to order. Her mom had fought breast cancer for almost fourteen months before being declared cancer-free in June. She’d muscled through treatments and surgeries, determined to fight hard and not miss a step at Graceway. Every time Ella had considered moving back home to help, her mother had vetoed the idea. Ella should have seen right through the act and come anyway.

While poking around her mom’s office that first day back in October, it had become clear very quickly to Ella that her mother had practically been drowning under the pressure of keeping the nonprofit going.

The organization was short-staffed and underfunded. Not to mention, the finances were a mess—and an untimely computer virus had made the situation nearly impossible to sort through. Ella was itching to start looking though the files TechSavvy had recovered.

Restless, she pushed the covers off her lap and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She needed to stretch. But just as her toes grazed the cold tile, a tap sounded outside her room and the door cracked open.

A nurse Ella recognized from earlier walked in. Her short auburn hair was clipped back with several barrettes, salt-and-pepper roots belying an age she seemed determined to hide. Her name badge read Minnie, and sported a photo that must have been taken at least a decade earlier.

“How’re you feeling, sweetie?” she asked, hooking up a new bag of fluids.

“Better, thanks.” In truth, her head was pounding and every movement made her feel like throwing up, but she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone and risk being detained longer than necessary.

“Glad to hear it,” the nurse said. “Can I get you anything?”

“Water would be great.”

“Of course.”

“Ms. Camden?” A young woman poked her head into the room as Minnie left to fill a pitcher.

“Yes?”

The girl entered the room. She wore a long gray sweater with black leggings and heeled boots. Her straight dark hair was pulled into a neat ponytail. Who was she? And why was she in Ella’s hospital room?

“I’m Triss Everett,” she said pleasantly enough, but she didn’t smile. “I work with Shield. Roman asked me to cover for him for the next couple of hours.”

A teenager in leggings was not exactly who Ella had envisioned when Roman told her he’d set up her protection detail.

“I just came from a night class at college,” Triss explained, as if reading Ella’s misgivings. Then she cocked her head to the side. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No,” Ella said then shrugged. “Well, maybe,” she admitted, trying to drum up energy for a conversation. “How long have you been with Shield?”

“Nearly a year,” Triss said, quirking a small grin as if she knew exactly what Ella was thinking. “I may look harmless, but I’m well trained and armed. Anyway, I didn’t want to disturb you if you were resting, but I peeked around Minnie when she came in, and saw you were awake.”

Triss moved further into the room and perched on the edge of a nearby chair. Ella levered herself back up in bed and stuffed a pillow behind her back, the IV line pinching as she moved.

“You doing okay?” Triss asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“Unless you can get me out of here, I don’t think so.”

Triss looked at her seriously. “Roman would fire me on the spot.”

Ella sighed, consciously slowing her breathing to try to get a wave of dizziness under control. She’d moved too fast. “I was joking.”

“Maybe,” Triss said, watching her observantly. “But I sense truth to it.”

“I’m sure you’ve been filled in on the situation.”

“Everyone thinks you tried to kill yourself, but you say someone is setting it up to make your death look like a suicide.”

“That’s it in a nutshell.”

“And you want to leave the hospital because...”

“Because no one believes me, and I’m not going to find any answers trapped in this hospital bed.”

Triss nodded but didn’t look all that sympathetic.

“Well, I can’t help you get out of here, but if you think of anything else, I’ll be just outside.” She pushed up from the chair and walked to the door. “Just shout if you need me. I’ll check back in a bit.”

“Thank you,” Ella said belatedly as Triss closed the door, throwing the room into silence once again. Her gaze darted around the sterile space, her mind racing.

If she let her eyes close, she knew she’d see a gloved hand snaking around her face, glass shattering at her feet. For weeks now she’d been fitfully waking to the feel of the barrel of a gun at her temple or the echoing blast of a gunshot. Were they actually memories or was her mind simply filling in the blank spots? It was impossible to differentiate, especially because other memories had found their way into those nighttime terrors, too—memories she’d spent years mastering how to escape.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the images flashing through her mind. Memories of devastating loss and the unrelenting guilt that had been tormenting her for the past six years. An Ambien would be helpful right about now. The hospital would be a safe place to take one, and Ella would do just about anything for a few solid hours of sleep. She knew the pills had become a crutch. Her doctor had begun to advise she start weaning off of her sleep meds. But after years of counseling, kickboxing and prayer that seemed to do nothing but float hopelessly into the atmosphere, the pills had given her the first reprieve. During the days, she busied herself at work, distracted by clients and responsibilities. She kept her social calendar full and committed to a steady workout routine. All of these things she did to avoid the memory of finding her best friend—Roman’s sister—murdered.

Then the night would come. And, in the dark solitude of her bedroom, memories assaulted her, relentless. The sleeping pills muted the nightmares, offering the restful sleep Ella was desperate for.

She considered asking a nurse for something to help her sleep, but she didn’t want to give the psychiatrist further reason to detain her. Still, memories flooded her mind, an all too familiar sensation of panic rising.

Futilely, she took a slow, deep breath and let it release. Usually her heartbeat would slow, her calm return, but tonight Ella could not settle. No amount of counselor-advised deep breathing exercises could combat her creeping anxiety. “God, I need...” she whispered, but words failed her. What did she need? And did it even matter? It seemed to her that God had already declared the matters of life, and no amount of prayer could change His mind or His plans.

* * *

Hours later Ella woke to lights being flipped on and a nurse telling her that her psychiatry appointment would be at eight thirty. A bag next to her bed held her laptop and a change of clothes. Roman must have come by in the night and decided to let her sleep. The thought warmed her as she dressed, and somehow she felt hopeful as Triss and a nurse escorted her to her appointment.

It wasn’t long before that hope turned to worry. Sitting across from Dr. Paul McClintock, his gigantic, framed degrees decorating the gray wall behind him, Ella felt decidedly like throwing up.

She wasn’t sure what to expect as the psychiatrist finished typing notes into his computer. His opinion was all that stood between her going home or into a psychiatric ward. Yet, for the past hour, she’d answered question after question and stared back into his eerily calm face and expressionless eyes and had no idea what he was thinking in his highly educated mind. That worried her. Her own story worried her—it wasn’t believable and she knew it.

Finally, Dr. McClintock stopped typing, looked up at her and smiled. No, he grimaced. It was definitely more grimace than smile.

“I would like to admit you for further monitoring...” he started, and Ella’s hackles rose. But before she could get out a word, Dr. McClintock continued. “What concerns me the most is—”

A knock sounded at the door and the doctor looked up. “Yes?”

The door opened and Ella turned to see Roman standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a stranger—presumably a doctor, judging from his smart business attire and the stethoscope at his neck.

Roman nodded toward her, his face serious.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the doctor said and then turned his attention to Ella. “I’m Dr. Thornton, the attending physician this weekend.” He gestured to Roman. “Your friend was busy last night, working with the police on your behalf. It seems there may be enough evidence at your mother’s home to suggest proof of an attacker.”

Ella glanced at Roman. He looked tired, wearing the same white shirt as last night, but more wrinkled and worn, his hair a bit mussed, a shadow of stubble along his jawline.

Most importantly, he was no longer looking at her the same way everyone else had been for weeks. Somewhere in between her falling asleep and her waking up, it appeared that Roman had found a solid reason to believe in her.

“The police have been in your mom’s house and have dusted for prints and taken photos.” Roman filled her in. “They’d like me to take you to the station to give a statement after you’re discharged.”

“I’ve already put your discharge orders in,” Dr. Thornton said.

Ella started to stand.

“Now, hold on just a minute,” Dr. McClintock interjected, rising to his full height of at least six-foot-two. “How can we possibly be certain—”

“Unfortunately,” Dr. Thornton interrupted firmly, “unless you discovered something alarming during this interview, she’s legally free to go.”

Neither doctor looked convinced, but McClintock quickly moved to his desk, sharply grabbed up his papers and turned to thrust them back into the file drawer behind him, not saying another word.

“Your nurse will get you squared away back in your room when you go to collect your things,” Dr. Thornton said, brushing past Roman into the hallway. “Take care,” he added as he headed down the hall, his black dress shoes squeaking along the tiled floor.

Ella fell into step beside Roman as they left the psychiatrist’s office and turned toward the elevators.

“Doing okay?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over her.

“Now that I get to leave, yes,” she said, her heart skipping as his palm came to her back. “What did you find at the house?”

“Let’s get you out of here and we’ll discuss it in the car.” He jabbed the call button for the elevator.

“When do we have to be at the police station?”

“We’re supposed to go directly there,” Roman answered. “But we have time to visit your mom.”

She was relieved he’d remembered. She tried to visit every day, hoping her mom would hear her voice and be reminded that the people she loved needed her to come back to them. But with each day that passed, Ella’s hope had begun to dwindle. Years ago she’d learned that some prayer requests went unanswered, and she was afraid this may be one of those times.

Which reminded her...

“This is probably not the best time to tell you I’m supposed to be at a funeral at eleven thirty.”

Roman glanced at her as the elevator doors slid open. He didn’t look happy with her announcement. “Whose?”

“Marilynn Rice. She used to work at Graceway.” Her throat felt tight as she stepped into the elevator. “She and my mom were really close. Her house was robbed Monday evening. It looks like she was pushed down the stairs. Broke her neck. No one knew until the next morning when she didn’t show up for work.”

“Ella.”

She looked up at Roman as the elevator rose.

“Yes?”

“Have you made the police aware of the possible connection between your mom, Marilynn and what you’re going through?”

“I’ve tried to,” she said. “But I’m not exactly what they’d call a competent or reliable witness.”

The doors slid open and they stepped out into a bustling hallway on her mom’s floor.

“Let’s table this conversation until we get out of here,” Roman said.

* * *

A half hour later, the dark clouds of a brutal winter day loomed through the glass doors ahead as Ella walked with Roman in a slight haze toward the exit. She’d had to rush the visit with her mom, but at least she’d been able to see her. Her throat ached from held-back tears. With each passing day it seemed less and less likely her mother would ever wake up. And if she did, there was no guarantee she would be the same.