CHAPTER SIX
Jessie sent Sam Goodwin ahead.
While he headed straight for Central Station to work with the research team going through Maria Cain’s communications, she stopped by the house to check on her unofficial patients.
Even though Ash Pierce was no longer a threat, the home’s security measures were still in place. There were many other folks who, if they escaped or were released from prison, would love to make a house call on Jessie.
She was just about to go through the home entry procedures, which included a retinal scan, a keypad code, and fingerprint verification, when the door opened. Kat stood in front of her.
All things considered, her best friend looked pretty good, considering that she’d been nearly beaten to death the month before. Then again, Kat Gentry was no stranger to grievous injuries.
Back when she’d served as an Army Ranger in Afghanistan, she was injured in an IED explosion that left her with damage both internal and external, including multiple facial burn marks and a long scar that ran vertically down her left cheek from just below her eye.
“I heard a car pull up and checked through the curtains,” Kat told her, holding the door open so Jessie could enter. What she left unsaid was that she was obviously still pretty jumpy if a car pulling up in front of the house had her peeking outside.
“Well, thanks,” Jessie said, not commenting on that detail. “You saved me precious time. I’m supposed to head to the station but decided to make a pit stop to see how you guys are doing.”
“Some better than others,” Kat said quietly, stepping aside to let her in.
Jessie knew the comment was a veiled reference to Ryan. While his physical injuries had healed far quicker than Kat’s, his psychological recovery had been much slower.
When Ash Pierce had attacked them, Kat at least had the chance to fight back.
Yes, their fight had left her with injuries that still had her wincing intermittently.
But she'd at least had the cathartic opportunity to tangle up close with the woman who'd made her life a living hell.
In the end, she'd come up short and was on the verge of death when Jessie arrived to save her, but she wasn't a victim.
Ryan didn’t have that to cling to. Pierce had shot him with a sedating pellet as he entered the house. When he woke up, he was tied to a chair with bungee cords, unable to move. He was helpless to do anything as Pierce indulged in her sadism.
She’d used a butcher knife to slowly carve wounds into his flesh, sometimes in what she described as “artistic flourishes.” Whenever Ryan would pass out from the pain, which he later told Jessie happened at least three times, Pierce would revive him with smelling salts.
Once he was awakened, she’d taunt him by whispering in his ear, telling him what she intended to do to Jessie when she got home. In the hospital after everything happened, the doctor told Jessie that Ryan had lost so much blood that he’d been about twenty minutes from not making it.
The stitches required hours of work, but his recovery from those injuries were a breeze compared to the emotional torture he was still dealing with.
Since he was discharged from the hospital, he hadn’t had a single evening when he didn’t wake up suddenly at least once in the middle of the night, wild-eyed and sweaty.
Jessie had taken to draping multiple towels on his side of the bed, so that the sheets didn’t get soaked.
She actually bought a half dozen more so that he would have extra replacements available by the side of the bed.
Equally upsetting was what he murmured to himself when he was asleep.
Jessie couldn’t understand most of it, but she repeatedly heard the words “please,” “stop,” “don’t,” and once “just kill me.” His waking hours were also a challenge.
Sometimes he’d mentally drift off in the middle of a conversation.
She’d be talking to him and realize that he was staring off into space, oblivious to her.
He put on a brave face, acting as if these were just temporary setbacks that he'd eventually move past. And he might be correct.
But right now, he was struggling. Almost as concerning as his actual difficulties was his refusal to talk about them, either with Jessie or a professional.
He'd been to see Dr. Lemmon on several occasions over the years, but when Jessie suggested he go again for this, he shut her down sharply.
“I’ve got this,” he had said without any of the conviction that would have given her confidence.
Jessie walked into their bedroom, where she found him propped up on the bed, his laptop resting on his legs. He was staring in the direction of the screen, but it was clear that he wasn’t looking at anything in particular.
She stared at him silently. Despite all his struggles of late, her husband was still an impressive physical specimen.
Admittedly, he’d lost some strength and stamina.
But once the sutures were out, he resumed his regular workouts and was almost back to his well-muscled, two-hundred pound, six-foot-tall body.
Jessie suspected that, these days, his exercise regimen was less about personal vanity and more a way to keep the nightmares at bay.
He still had the short-cropped black hair.
But his warm brown eyes and adorable dimples were harder to come by of late.
He didn’t smile often. And the scars on his face, still red and angry, had turned his conventionally handsome face into something edgier, and for those not in love with him, more challenging.
“How’s it going?” she asked quietly.
He blinked several times, as if snapping out of a daze.
“Okay,” he said. “What are you doing here? I thought your text earlier said you were working a case with Sam Goodwin.”
"I am. We just left the crime scene. Sam's on his way back to the station now, but I wanted to stop by to check in on you and Kat."
“I think she’s in the living room,” he said in a disconnected tone, sharing information she obviously would already have discovered upon arriving home.
“I just saw her,” Jessie said, before adding playfully, “what are you up to there? Doing some online shopping?”
“I was just checking out how the Dodgers did last night,” he said turning the laptop so she could see the screen.
She looked at it and saw that while the banner was for the L.A.
Dodgers website, the page had a big “404” error message.
She wondered how long he’d been staring at the page, unaware that it hadn’t loaded properly, but she said nothing about it.
“Did you eat lunch?” she asked, trying to sound chipper.
“I was going to make a sandwich,” he said dully.
“Now?”
“Soon.”
“Well, come on out and I’ll give you a hand. We can tag team it.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll do it a little later.”
She sighed silently, trying to hide her anxiety.
“Well, don’t forget,” she said. “Remember, you’re supposed to go back to work next week and you’ll need your strength. Load up on protein.”
“Okay,” he said, turning the laptop back to face him but making no effort to reload the webpage.
She stood in the doorway for a second, unsure how to proceed. Then she walked over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "I'll see you tonight."
“Sounds good,” he muttered, though she wasn’t sure he’d really heard her.
After she left the bedroom, she found herself back in the hall, facing the front door.
It occurred to her that she was looking directly at the spot where she’d shot Ash Pierce, first to wound, and then to kill.
The blood stains were all gone now, removed by a cleaning service that specialized in that sort of thing.
But in her head, the bright red of the splatter as she fired her weapon at Pierce's heart was as vivid as ever. Shaking off the memory, she focused on Kat, who was in the living room doing her rehab exercises.
“Looks like you’re progressing nicely,” she said to her sweaty friend.
“Getting there,” Kat grunted as she held a light dumbbell in her right hand while making concentric circles. Her once-broken wrist didn’t seem to be giving her as much trouble now.
“I hope so,” Jessie said, “Because that’s your gun hand.”
“I’m well aware,” Kat said with a grim smile. “Remember, I’m planning to return to my apartment this weekend, so I’ve got to be mostly self-sufficient. Are you still able to help me move back in?”
"You bet," Jessie said, "with all the obvious caveats, of course. If I'm still working this case, then there might be complications, but fingers crossed, we solve it well before then."
“A rough one?” Kat asked.
Jessie nodded. “The scene was bad. And the aftermath may be worse. There’s a potential political component that could make things volatile. The media is already all over this one.”
“I hope it goes well,” Kat said, “for both our sakes.”
Jessie looked at the time. It was 12:20 P.M. “Could you do me a favor?’ she asked.
“As long as it doesn’t involve lifting anything heavy, sure.”
“If Ryan hasn’t come out of the bedroom to make himself some lunch by 1 P.M., would you be willing to throw a sandwich together for him?”
“Not a problem,” Kat said, before sighing heavily. “But I can’t make him eat it.”
“I’m hoping that if it’s right in front of him, he’ll at least nibble at it.”
Kat finished her set and put the dumbbell down. When she looked up at Jessie, there was concern in her eyes. "Do you really think it's a good idea for him to go back to work next week when he's obviously so distracted?"
Now it was Jessie’s turn to sigh.
“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “But that’s a bridge we’ll cross when we get to it. For now, I’ve got to get back to the station. If this case hasn’t blown up all over the news yet, it will soon. And I need to be ready when it does.”