Chapter 14
Fourteen
Wolff
“Mom, you have to leave that in.”
I untangle the cannula from the fingers of her free hand, and gently fit it back in her nostrils.
Her blood oxygen had been a little low in recovery so they’d put her on a low-flow feed. Her surgery turned out not to be as straightforward as setting the bones. They had to stabilize her forearm with plates, which meant a longer surgery and more sedative than anticipated. She’d taken her sweet time waking up and has been a bit combative since.
Luckily, the hospital has a café that stayed open until eleven, so I was able to buy something to eat and drink while I waited. As of four this morning, Mom was moved into her own room, and I was able to catch a few winks in the recliner in the corner whenever she dozed.
“It makes my nose hurt,” she says, her words still a bit slurry.
The overnight nurse mentioned recovering from the anesthesia can be more of a challenge in the elderly than it is to come back from the actual surgery. Staff has been very attentive and patient with Mom, but lack of sleep has me running short on patience.
Taking a deep breath, I swallow the sharp words I had on my tongue, and force my tone a little gentler.
“Why don’t I go ask the nurse if there is anything they can do about that?” I suggest.
It may not be a bad idea for me to step out for a few minutes, maybe duck outside and get some fresh air. Since it’s almost eight o’clock, I can make a few calls to give people updates. I didn’t want to do that during the night.
I find a nurse I hadn’t seen yet at the nurses’ desk and relay Mom’s complaint.
“It’s probably just dry, but I have something for that. I was about to come and take vitals anyway, so I’ll bring it with me.”
“Excellent, thank you. I’m just going to pop out for a minute and maybe grab a coffee.”
“Of course. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
I end up popping into the café first, which apparently opened at seven again, and grab a coffee and some kind of muffin I take outside to eat. It looks like a nice day and it’s definitely not as cold as it was last week. I spot a bench at the edge of the parking lot and walk over.
“How did surgery go?” Jonas asks when he answers my call.
“Well, she’ll be setting off metal detectors at the airport, but other than some added hardware, she should be okay. She’s a bit fuzzy though, and keeps pulling on tubes.”
“Yeah, I remember Dad was like that after he had that hernia surgery last year. They told me it was the anesthesia, which I guess was true, since he was back to his cantankerous old self a week later.”
Right, I’d forgotten about that. The reminder puts me a little more at ease. I’d hate for my mother to lose that sharp mind she rightfully prides herself on.
“I remember that. Anyway, I’m going to stick around at least until the doctor has come by. He’s apparently doing his rounds at lunchtime.”
“Things are more than covered here. Stay with your mom. I think Dan mentioned he was heading into town later anyway to pick up a couple of things, and offered to drop by the cooler of food Ama is putting together.”
“She doesn’t have to do that. I can get food here,” I protest.
Jonas snorts. “Fuck, have you met Ama?”
He makes a valid point.
“Anyway,” he continues. “I’m sure he’ll message when he’s on his way.”
That eliminates the need to give him a call, so the next person I dial is Jillian. I’m half expecting my call to go to her messages, so I’m surprised when she answers.
“Hey, how was your night?”
Her voice is warm and soft, and I wish I could see her face.
“Restless. Mom is okay though.”
I quickly fill her in on her condition.
“Postoperative delirium,” she interjects. “It’s not unusual in the elderly. It can come and go, and usually passes in a couple of days to a week. Too bad she’s not in the hospital here, I could pop by with Peanut. I’d bet she’d be able to keep your mom calm and grounded. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“How is Hayley?”
“Yesterday was more of the same, and I don’t expect today to be any different. She only really reacts to Nugget and for the most part ignores us humans. Yesterday the sheriff tried to question her, but she simply turned her head. She’s been staring out the window at that parking lot much of the time.”
“I’m sure with time, she’ll talk.”
“I hope so. I worry if there isn’t any progress, my open welcome here will eventually run out, and I still believe Nugget can help. I’m only going for a few hours today though. I need to give my other guys some attention. Emo actually started chewing on my couch, which is something she’s never done. I think she’s bored.”
“Once I’m back, one or a couple of your dogs can hang out with me at the ranch. They’d have a ball.”
“I’m sure they would,” she confirms with a smile in her voice. “Well, I should probably let you get back to your mom, and I need to get to the hospital. Tell your mother Peanut and I will come visit her soon.”
Mom is sitting up in bed when I walk in, her eyes clear and lucid. I immediately notice the cannula is gone from her nose. I’m about to chew her out, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
“Don’t even start. Last check my stats were perfect so they took the damn thing off. It wasn’t me. Now tell me whatever is in that bag is for me…because whatever it was they tried to pass as breakfast was not fit to feed a pig.”
I don’t bother hiding my grin. It looks like my mother is back.
Jillian
“Excuse me?”
I startle at the voice just as I’m getting Nugget out of the back of my SUV. I turn around and catch a tall, well-dressed, middle-aged man wearing aviator shades, emerging from a black vehicle. The first thing that comes to mind is the FBI has arrived. He definitely looks the part.
“Yes?”
“Jillian Lederman?”
Small prickles crawl up my spine at the thought he may have been waiting for me. He pronounces my name with an accent I can’t quite place. It seems a little ominous to have a stranger address me by name. It appears to put me at a disadvantage and I immediately look to level the playing field.
“And you would be?”
The man flashes a disarming smile, the white of his teeth stand out against the darker olive tone of his skin. But when he reaches out one hand and removes his shades with the other, his dark eyes look far from inviting. They look empty.
“Forgive me. The name is Emiliano Rojas,” he introduces himself as I give his offered hand a brief press with mine. “I represent Grant Vallard,” he continues. “Mr. Vallard has asked me to convey his gratitude to you for finding and looking after his niece while he is making every effort to get here.”
“I’m just doing my job,” I quickly reply, dismissing him as I start moving toward the hospital entrance. “But tell Mr. Vallard it was my pleasure,” I toss over my shoulder.
There is something about the man that doesn’t feel right. I can see the girl’s uncle maybe wanting to say thanks, but I would expect that to be relayed through the Sheriff’s Department who hired me for the job. It just seems odd he would actually send a representative to convey a simple message like that.
I glance back right before stepping through the doors into the hospital lobby, and watch the vehicle pull out of his parking spot. Also pretty damn weird, as if the only purpose he had coming here was to talk to me. And that makes me wonder how this Emiliano Rojas knew he could find me here.
I try to read the license plate of what I believe is a Cadillac, but can only make out the first half before he disappears out of sight. I quickly jot down “H16” in my phone and then continue down the hall and up the stairs. To my surprise, I find Sloane on duty outside Hayley’s door.
“Hey, Nugget.”
She bends down and greets my dog before acknowledging my presence. My guess is she’s ticked I didn’t answer any of her several calls or respond to the two messages she left last night. I suppose I wasn’t ready to discuss what happened between Wolff and me two nights ago. A development she’d somehow gotten wind of, judging by her messages heavily loaded with innuendo.
“Before you ask, I volunteered for the job since I guessed you’d be here. Apparently, the only way I’m going to get any straight information is to corner you at work.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie through my teeth.
“Don’t give me that. Dan says something happened with you and Wolff.”
“And he would know?” I know I’m fighting a losing battle, but I can’t resist a little sarcasm before I concede defeat.
“Yes,” Sloane returns without blinking.
I don’t really think Wolff would’ve told anyone, but it’s possible the fact he’d spent the night at my place hadn’t gone unnoticed. Despite the fact women often get the reputation, I’ve discovered men can be horrible gossips.
“Fine. Something did happen, but I don’t want to stand in a hospital hallway and discuss this with you. I promise I will spill all, the first decent chance I have. But before I go in to see Hayley, did a guy by the name of Emiliano Rojas stop by here? He just intercepted me in the parking lot.”
She shakes her head, her eyes narrowing on me as her expression turns serious.
“Who is Emiliano Rojas?”
“He claims to represent the girl’s uncle.”
I tell her about my brief interaction with the guy and closely watch her expression get even more grim. That doesn’t give me a good feeling.
“Was he alone?” she asks sharply.
“As far as I know. The car had those dark-tinted windows so I can’t say for sure, but I only saw him.”
“But you saw him get out?”
I nod and am about to say yes, when I replay the scene in my head and realize something I hadn’t clued into before.
“Shit. He got out of the passenger side.”
“You’re sure?”
I nod. I never saw him get back in, and assumed he was alone.
“I think the vehicle was a Cadillac and I got part of the license plate.”
I pull up the quick note I made and relay the partial plate number, which she jots down in the small notebook she has tucked in her breast pocket.
“I’ll pass it on to Ewing, he can do a search.” Then she waves her pen under my nose. “I’ll let you know what I find out, but don’t think for one minute I’ll be forgetting about your promise to fill me in.”
“So noted,” I mumble as I pass by her with a wink.
Hayley’s back is turned when I walk into the room, and she doesn’t move when I pick up Nugget and set him on the bed. I assume she’s asleep, so I take a seat in the recliner in the corner of the room and pull out my phone, checking my emails and social media.
In the past few days, sitting in this hospital room with a non-communicating child, my online presence—which was maybe a quick scan once a week before—has increased exponentially. I’m actually finding quite a few groups that interest me. Specifically, about training rescue dogs for different assistive purposes.
One group focuses on support animals for children on the autism spectrum, and I’ve been reading through some of the posts. I’ve learned these animals are basically trained to measure the specific needs of a given child, which can be as unique and varied as grains of sand. This makes their training more complicated and time-consuming, which in turn leads to long waiting lists for these dogs.
I’d be interested in picking the brain of someone who trains these dogs for this purpose. I’m curious to know if it would be possible to train rescue animals who already have developed the types of traits required to meet those special needs. I don’t even know if it’s something I could, or would, want to tackle, but I can at least put the bug in someone else’s ear.
If this were possible it would mean the world, not only to those kids, but to the dogs as well.
“What’s his name?”
I startle at the sound of her voice, it’s soft, a little bit hoarse from lack of use, and deeper than I expected. Her back is still turned but she has lifted her head, peeking at me over her shoulder.
“Nugget,” I tell her, forcing myself to stay calm, even though I want to jump up and down. “He’s a cross between a Maltese and a poodle.”
I watch as her thin fingers brush through the dog’s hair before drifting lower to the awkward bend in his underdeveloped back leg.
“Did he get hurt?”
“No,” I assure her. “He was born like that. His deformed legs slow him down a little, but not much.”
“Oh…”
Seemingly satisfied with my answer, she lies back down and I am once again looking at her back. Part of me wants to prompt her to talk more, maybe ask her a few questions, but I don’t want to risk her clamming up again. I have a feeling patience will net better results in the long run.
An hour or so later, when Hayley still hasn’t moved despite Nugget occasionally shifting around on the bed, I get up to check on her. She appears to be asleep again and as I return to my seat, the door opens a crack, through which Sloane pokes her head. She glances at the bed before slipping inside the room.
“She asleep?”
“Again. She was awake for a bit and actually spoke.”
“She talked to you?” Sloane says a little too loud, slipping into the room.
Behind her one of the nurses pokes her head in.
“She’s sleeping,” I remind Sloane and inform the nurse.
The woman nods and indicates, “I’ll come back in a bit.”
“She talked to you?” Sloane repeats on a whisper when the nurse disappears.
“She just asked about the dog and then she went back to sleep. I didn’t want to push it.”
“Probably best. It’s good progress though.”
Sloane sits down on the armrest of my chair and I shift to give her some room.
“Reason I came in is Junior Ewing just got back to me,” Sloane says in a low voice, leaning in. “The FBI is sending in a team to cover the girl. It’s your encounter in the parking lot which prompted that move. They pulled the hospital security feed covering the parking lot and were able to get a good view of the guy. Stefano Puma is his real name, and he’s a known associate of the Ovando crime family which, apparently, has been on law enforcement’s radar for years. They’re responsible for sixty percent of the cocaine production in Bolivia.”
“How does a guy like that represent Vallard?”
“As it turns out, he doesn’t. Ewing got hold of Vallard, who denied having sent anyone.”
I’m so confused. What would a Bolivian crime family want with me?
Apparently, my facial expression betrays my bafflement, because Sloane immediately offers up a possible scenario.
“Vallard Logistics is one of the bigger transporters between the U.S. and South America. For that reason alone, it would hold the interest of a producer of cocaine, if they were looking for alternate ways to move their product.”
“Pretend I’m ignorant,” I tell Sloane. It’s not like I’m well-versed in drug trafficking. “Alternate to what?”
She shrugs. “Cartels. Generally, they control the movement of the drugs and thus reel in the bulk of the profits. If the Ovandos could take control of one of the largest transport companies, they could bypass the cartels.”
My mind spins as I try to fit that information in with what happened this past week.
“Are you saying they brought down that plane? What purpose would it serve to kill an entire family?” I mutter under my breath, keeping an eye on the bed.
“I guess they’re still figuring that out, but if the objective was to take out the family, they fucked up. Which is why the FBI wants a detail on her…” She indicates Hayley in the bed. “And her uncle is placed under protection in the U.S. Embassy in Guatemala until he can be safely extracted and brought Stateside.”
“But why approach me?”
“Who knows? But unfortunately, if they think they may be able to get to Hayley through you, it means you’re not exactly safe either.”
Well, damn, it feels like someone just walked over my grave.
Ending up on the radar of a Bolivian crime family was not part of my bucket list items.