Krewe Daddy (18 page)

"Is he awake?" The door hadn't even completely closed before Skeeps asked the question.

"Give the doctor a chance to breathe, Skeeps." The DA pushed her glasses higher on her nose. "When can we talk to him?"

"That's what I call waiting your turn, Sheila."

She cast a sour look at Skeeps.

"Just a moment—all of you. Agent Rothem isn't awake."

Kyle frowned. "I thought you said—"

The doctor interrupted him. "He was waking up. In fact, he opened his eyes, but whatever was going on in his mind became too upsetting. I can't let him get agitated in his fragile condition. He's going to have lots of questions and issues to work through when he wakes up. We don't have many answers. I suggest you go home or wherever you need to go, and we'll try again tomorrow."

Kyle shifted his weight and voiced the question that had been asked a hundred times since Drew arrived, beaten to a pulp and on the brink of death.

"Will he be okay?"

Dr. Paquette shrugged. "I've said before that I don't know. He's young and healthy, so that works in his favor. His injuries seem to be healing normally."

Sheila pressed her. "What about his mind? Will he remember what happened to him so we can prosecute the animal that did this to him?"

"Until he's fully awake, we have no idea if Agent Rothem is going to be a vegetable, or will recover and lead a fairly normal life."

Skeeps shuddered. "I don't know what he'll do if he can't get back in the truck with me again. And what about his modeling career? That'll be shot to hell, too."

"He'll have some scarring on his leg and forearm from the surgeries. He can have some cosmetic surgery to lessen their visibility if he wants to. As for his skull fracture, in time, his hair should grow back to cover it."

Kyle grimaced. "And if he ends up with a weird cowlick or scar you can see, he's going to hate that. I've seen photos of him before he became a cop. He had beautiful, almost shoulder-length hair."

Skeeps snarled at Kyle. "There's more to him than vanity, for Chrissakes. I gotta get out of here. Hanging around these places gives me bad vibes. Thanks for the information, Dr. Paquette. I'll check with you tomorrow. Any idea what time you might try this again?"

"I have surgeries all morning, so let's shoot for about the same time." She looked at Kyle. "Will you contact his sister, and give her an update?"

He nodded.

"It's too bad he doesn't have anyone here who's really close to him. Family and loved ones are so important to a patient's recovery." She looked at the three people standing in front of her. "I hope you can lend him your support. Maybe when he's awake, his sister can come for a visit."

Skeeps volunteered an answer. "She lost her job, so traveling will be tough.

Believe me, she's called me every day, and I know she'll call Drew once he's able to talk."

"Maybe we should put the phone to his ear, and let her speak to him. A familiar voice could give him comfort and courage to wake up and face what's ahead." She crooked an eyebrow. "They're on good terms, right? Because the last thing he needs is contact with somebody he's on the outs with."

Kyle and Skeeps exchanged pointed stares.

"Is there something I should know? My patient's wellbeing is my utmost concern."

Skeeps shook his head. "Nope. As far as I know, he's on good terms with his sister. We're getting to know each other. She seems like a very nice woman."

Dr. Paquette checked her wristwatch. "I've got other patients to see, so I must get going. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Doctor." Sheila took out her phone. "I have some calls to return. I'll try to be here tomorrow, but I can't promise anything. I have a court appearance."

* * * * *

Skeeps walked Kyle to the elevator. Drew's condition didn't seem promising. He stuffed his sweaty hands in his pockets and asked the million-dollar question. "Do you think we should tell Luis what's going on? He's been dogging our receptionist for information."

"You saw the text message on Drew's phone. Luis doesn't deserve him. He never has. If Luis shows up, Drew will be upset. Luis had his chance—twice. I'm sure when Drew wakes up and sees who his real friends are, he'll agree that Luis is his past."

Skeeps shook his head. "I hope you're right. The man needs his friends like never before. Teak and Kevin want to come down for a visit, too."

Kyle's expression went from anger to surprise." Shit, I forgot all about that. What about the wedding?"

"Kevin said they'll postpone the ceremony if they need to."

"Really?"

"Drew is important to them, and Kevin said their wedding wouldn't be the same without him there."

Kyle wore a smug look. "Drew and I had talked about going to the wedding together. If he needs an escort, I'll be by his side."

"I thought you two broke it off."

"We took a break while he and Luis sorted things out, but from what I can see, the sorting is done. I'm not letting Luis Herrera anywhere near Drew."

Chapter Sixteen

Frustrated and worried, Luis sat in his office, tapping his pen on the desk.

Where are you, Drew?

Drew had landed in New Orleans after the bachelors' party, and that was the last he'd heard from him. There'd been no sign of him at work or his apartment in weeks.

Luis didn't think Drew would play these petty, spiteful games.

So where has he gone?

Every time he'd called Drew's office, he got the same story from whoever answered the phone. He'd really lost his temper the last time.

"You mean if he's died, you can't tell me?"
The lengthy pause on the line made the bottom drop out of his stomach. "Are you saying Agent Rothem is dead?"

The receptionist had stuttered and stammered. "We cannot give out personal information about our staff except to immediate family members and next of kin. Please do not ask again." He'd placed extra emphasis on the
not
.

Luis stopped drumming with the pen and backtracked through his search notes.

He'd called every hospital in the area several times. He'd talked to Drew's landlord, but as long as the rent was paid, the guy didn't care if Drew ever came back. The police were no help. He'd filed a missing persons report, which had been fruitless so far.

Thinking Drew might be out of town on business or even on vacation, Luis had his PI check the airlines. Nothing turned up.

He'd seen a story in the newspaper about the Sandalio family member being sentenced to another four years in prison for, among other things, trying to kill a law enforcement agent. Drew's name wasn't mentioned, but Luis knew Drew was the officer in question.

The Sandalio family is associated with drug trafficking. Maybe he's in protective custody
or the witness protection program.

The idea of losing Drew because of something police-related made his blood run cold. He'd cursed himself a thousand times for acting bullheaded and jealous about Blair. But he couldn't take it back. He could only hope he'd have a chance to apologize and make it up to Drew.

If I could just find him.

Luis had the distinct feeling he was being stonewalled. He decided to go out on a limb. He reached in his bottom desk drawer and pulled out the latest
Marks on Redding
catalog. Drew's face was splashed all over the pages. A lump formed in Luis' throat as he traced with his index finger the outline of Drew's image.

I don't care if you're mad. Come home.

Regaining his composure, Luis dialed the phone number on the inside of the catalog. Sweat prickled under his arms.

"Marks on Redding Gallery of Fine Photography. How may I help you?"

"I'm trying to get in touch with Mr. Marks."

"I can take a message for you."

"Is he in the gallery today? It's very important."

"I'm sorry; this is a call center for the business, not the actual gallery."

Why am I not surprised?
Luis left a message and hung up. He figured he had a better chance of climbing Mount Everest than of Kevin Marks getting that message.

Sitting back in his chair, Luis rubbed his temples. All that he'd done wasn't enough. He Googled
Marks on Redding
and found the direct-dial number.

While waiting for somebody to answer, he resumed tapping his pen on the desk.

"Marks on Redding. How may I help you?"

"Kevin Marks, please."

"He's with a customer. Would you like to leave a voicemail?"

"Can I hold?" The last thing Luis wanted was to be lost in another electronic abyss.

"I'm sorry, but it could take some time. Would you like his voicemail? Or you may call back another time."

Luis swallowed his grumpy remark. The woman was trying to be helpful. "I'll leave a message."

"Okay, I'll put you through."

After Kevin's introduction played, Luis left his voicemail.

"Kevin, this is Luis Herrera. I'm sure you know who I am. The reason for my call is that I'm looking for Drew. You may or may not know that he and I had a falling-out while he was at your bachelors' party." Luis loosened his tie and took a deep breath. "I know you're getting married pretty soon, and he's supposed to be there. I just want to know if he's okay." Emotion clogged Luis' throat. "Would you please call me, and tell me whether you've heard from him?"

Luis left his number, then hung up.

He twisted around in his desk chair to face the New Orleans skyline. The day was ending. He brushed away a tear that slipped down his cheek like the sun sinking over his city.

"Where in hell's name are you?"

Chapter Seventeen

Drew sat in a wheelchair in his private room at St. Augusta General. Time leaked by; he had little concept of its passage, since his short-term memory was shot to hell.

Being hit in the head with a baseball bat was a life-changing event, to be sure. His days were filled with therapy. Exhaustion consumed him. And he had a new bed partner—

seizures—to sap whatever strength he had left. He fell asleep at the drop of a hat and couldn't have cared less.

According to the calendar on his wall, he'd been in the hospital over five weeks.

A gigantic X marked the passage of each day. In his lap lay a small pile of what his speech pathologist called memory aids. Drew called them idiot cards. He spent countless hours trying to force the gray matter between his ears to perform the way it used to. He'd made progress, but it was painfully slow.

Drew looked out the window and tried not to think of his bleak future, a sharp contrast to the brilliant-blue, late autumn sky. His left leg was stretched out before him, propped up, and encased in a cast. Tomorrow, they'd take the pins out and, hopefully, his ankle would heal normally. His right forearm had a plate in it. Whoever hit him had shattered the bones. Even if he overcame his memory issues and seizures, he wondered if he'd ever be capable of working as an agent again.

Then there was his modeling career. The doctors had talked to him about cosmetic surgery, but it was too soon to think about any of that. What would be the point? If he couldn't live independently and his body was scarred, that guy who hired him . . .
what the hell is his name again?
. . . couldn't use him anyway.

Drew figured he'd be moving into some kind of a memory care facility.
Not even
thirty-five years old and I'll be living with the old fogies. Good thing my guns are under lock and
key.

Drew looked through his stack of cards and found what he was looking for. A photo glued to one had
Skeeps
written on it,
Kyle
on another. Those two guys had kept him from leaping off the proverbial cliff of despair a number of times already. His sister, Julie, called every day, though he often had to have her picture in front of him to remember her name, too.

The District Attorney had brought photo albums and artists to help him identify his attackers. He looked through the stack of cards in his hands. One said
Sandalio
. The cops said that name was important.

But how? Why?

Drew couldn't remember a thing, no matter what. The D.A. and the police tried not to show their frustrations. Drew wanted to prosecute whoever did this to him as much as they did. He remembered walking out of the Food Mart on the way to his car, and the smooth, rich taste of the chocolate milk he was drinking. About ten days later, he rejoined the world, his brain acting like a computer rebooting.

His left hand shook.
Not again. Not again.
He reached for the call button, not knowing if someone would be there before another seizure claimed him.

* * * * *

Three days later, Drew lay in his hospital bed. Thanks to the pain medication after his recent ankle surgery, he floated in the soft, woozy place between sleep and wakefulness.

A nurse popped her head in the doorway. "You have some visitors, Drew. Are you awake?"

"I'm awake, but I don't want to see anyone."

Dressed in light pink scrubs, the nurse smiled at him. "They've come a long way."

"Forty miles isn't far enough to even pack a lunch."

"Aren't we grouchy! It's not Skeeps and Kyle."

"Since I can't remember anyone else's name, you might as well show them in."

The door opened and two men entered.

Drew recognized them immediately. "Wow! You came all the way down here to see me?"

Smiles on their faces, Teak and Kevin came to the bedside.

"Of course we did. We couldn't let you go through this alone. How are you doing?" Kevin's eyes were full of compassion.

"Take a look."

Teak took Drew's left hand. "You look rough."

"I can't remember your names." Saying that almost made Drew burst into tears. "I remember who you are and why I know you, but I can't—"

Teak squeezed his hand. "I'm Teak."

"And I'm Kevin."

"And I'm sorry." Drew gave them a wry smile.

"It's okay, we understand. Skeeps told us you are improving by leaps and bounds." Kevin always was the optimist.

"How would he know? He has no idea what is going on inside whatever's left of my brain."