"What's your hold on her, King?" Drake did not care for the other man's proprietary tone.
King flashed another smile. "I assure you, Detective, Cassandra makes her own choices, has a will of her own. Of course, you've seen first hand how passionate she can be."
Drake twisted his fist in King's Italian silk and pushed the surgeon against the wall.
"Why you were there this morning?" he asked, his face inches away from King's.
King never flinched. "Really, Detective, I have no idea what you're talking about. There's no need to get so emotional about it. Of course," his grin widened, "there is the question of why you were at Ella's house this morning, isn't there?"
Drake slammed his palm into the tile wall a hairbreadth away from King's face. The sound echoed loud as a gunshot. A medical student entering a room further down the hallway looked over at them.
"Everything all right, Dr. King?" she called, cradling her clipboard close to her chest as if to shield her from the violence emanating from the two men.
Drake forced himself to open his fist and release King.
The surgeon smoothed out his shirt and smiled at the student. "Everything's fine, Maria." King lounged against the wall, watching Drake intently. "Cassandra's an intriguing woman, isn't she, Detective? So full of passion. She gets that from her Grandmother Rosa, you know. A gypsy witch from the old country.
"Ella's no different," King continued. "Believe me, I know how she can turn a man's mind, twist his thoughts, make him do things he'd never consider otherwise." He paused and gave Drake a hard stare.
"You haven't come under her influence, have you, Detective Drake?" Then King laughed, a hollow sound that echoed off the tiled walls. "Of course not. You're a police officer, a man of reason. You'd never fall for Cassandra or her witchy ways." King strode down the hall. "Good bye, Detective. And good luck."
As Drake watched King go, he had the sudden urge to pound his fist into something. Like King's face. He swallowed the anger, unwilling to give the surgeon the satisfaction of seeing that his words had hit close to home.
Cassie stood at the foot of Trautman's bed and watched the nurse change the bag of IV fluid. Dressed in scrubs and her white coat, the guard at the door hadn't questioned her entry. Trautman's eyes were both heavily bandaged. The silver gleam of handcuffs was visible above his right hand. She waited for the nurse to leave, rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath before moving forward to wake the sleeping man.
"I've got to talk to you," she began.
Trautman stirred, a frown creasing between his thick eyebrows. His free arm waved toward her. "Who's there?"
She held her ground and said nothing. There was still time to back out. But this was the only plan she could think of, the only way to protect Drake. If Trautman knew who killed Fran, she could keep Richard out of it and Drake could make an arrest before Richard could do anything to discredit him.
Her hands clenched into tight fists, she spoke again. "I need to know, did you have her killed? Did you send someone to kill Fran?"
His head snapped in her direction. "Come closer, bitch and I'll tell you," he snarled. "Come see what you done to me!"
"Tell me the truth, and I'll drop my charges against you," she continued, hoping he couldn't hear the lie.
"Why should I tell you anything? I've got a lawyer, I don't need to talk to anyone."
"Your lawyer won't do you any good if I testify against you."
"King promised me he wouldn't let that happen. You testify against me, you're a dead woman. I may be blind, but I still got two good hands." He rattled the handcuff chain against the bed rail and lunged in her direction, grabbing her sleeve. "Maybe I'll do the job myself, get me some satisfaction."
Instead of pulling away, she allowed him to believe he had the upper hand. "Just tell me about Fran," she pleaded, trying to sound weak instead of repulsed.
"I don't know any Fran, you stupid bitch." His speech was beginning to slur. His fingers slipped away from her arm.
"Now, go way, I don't feel so good," the last emerged in a drunken stutter. Trautman slumped back, all color drained from his face. His arm hung slackly over the bed rail.
"Trautman--" Cassie pinched his arm, trying to elicit some response. The man had fallen unconscious. She felt his pulse, it was weak and rapid. Then his arm flailed at her as he began to convulse.
She yanked the code alert from the wall. An alarm sounded in the hallway. She lowered the head of the bed and began to administer oxygen. The guard from outside Trautman's door ran inside.
"What happened?"
"He's seizing. Grab the code cart and get some help!"
"Ah shit!" The guard ran back out into the hall. Soon the room was crowded with the crash cart, several nurses and the guard who stood in the doorway, watching his prisoner as if he expected Trautman to leap to his feet and make a run for it.
"Does he have a history of seizures?" Cassie asked the nurse with Trautman's chart while she injected Valium into the IV. "What meds is he on?"
"No history of a seizure disorder, no known allergies. Only meds are Mefoxitin and Tylenol with Codeine."
Cassie reached for the medication bag attached to the IV. The label read Mefoxitin, a broad-spectrum antibiotic. She disconnected the IV and checked for any hives or other signs of an allergic reaction. Nothing.
They pushed another dose of Valium. Finally the seizure stopped, but so did his breathing.
"Damn it." She moved to the head of the bed and prepared to intubate. "Call for an ICU bed and page the attending on call for medicine." The nurse dialed the phone. Her comrade finished connecting monitor leads and ran a blood pressure.
"Heart rate dropping and I can't get a BP," she announced.
"I'm in." Cassie grabbed her stethoscope. "Keep bagging him." She looked at the monitor tracing. Heart rate was irregular and he was starting to throw PVC's. "Get me a tox screen, metabolic panel, and blood gas." Maybe one of Trautman's friends had somehow slipped him some drugs? What else could be going on here? "What's his blood sugar?"
"Hang on a sec, it's running." The nurse frowned over the small glucometer. "That can't be right. It says twenty--that's as low as it goes."
All right, finally something to treat. "Push an amp of D50."
"No pulse! He's flatline!"
CHAPTER 50
"I know we got off on the wrong foot," Drake told Adeena Coleman, "but I need your help."
She gestured to the chair beside her desk and gave him a measured look. "Actually, I owe you an apology, Detective. I jumped the gun the other day. It's just so unlike Cassie to allow herself to lean on anyone for comfort, that I assumed--"
"I took advantage."
"Yes. I'm sorry. What can I help you with?"
"I need to understand why Hart is shielding her ex. Twice now I've come across them in circumstances that lead me to believe--hell, I know--that he's physically abusive, but she refuses to press charges or let me do anything. I confronted King, and he implied that she's protecting him because they're still involved. What kind of hold does he have on Hart?" The last came out in a rush, he leaned forward, waiting her response.
She shook her head. "I know what Rosa would say to that."
"I don't want more cryptic sayings. I've never met Rosa, but I'm already certain I don't like her."
"Don't be so quick to judge. You and Rosa would have butted heads--lord knew she and Cassie did, constantly--but I think she would like you. And you'd like her. It's because of Rosa that Cassie's who she is."
He sighed. Why couldn't she just give him a straight answer? Something he could take to Kwon and Dimeo, use to nail King's ass.
"So Hart lets her dead grannie control her life from beyond the grave?" He raised an eyebrow. "I don't buy it."
"In my job it's not enough to look only at my client," she started. "I have to know the history, the family background, the supports available, the strengths and weaknesses of everyone involved so that I know what kind of services would be most helpful."
"Cut the social services crap, you know what I'm asking."
"It's not that simple. Do you know how Cassie's parents died?"
"Ed Castro told me he was there--"
"I know, when she was born, the first hands to touch her, Ed loves that story. Caitlyn, Cassie's mom, had cancer diagnosed during the pregnancy. She refused treatment for fear it would hurt the baby and died three days after Cassie was born."
Drake blinked. Christ, what a burden to lay on a kid.
"Her father, Patrick, died in a car accident when Cassie was twelve. Cassie was with him, went to get help, but when she got back it was too late. So then it was just her and Rosa. Not that Patrick had ever been fully there for Cassie. He was a nice man, a wonderful father, but somehow it always seemed as if part of him was absent. It was as if when he held Cassie's hand in his, his other hand was still reaching out for Caitlyn's."
"He couldn't give her up," Drake murmured, ghostly images flashing through his mind. "My dad died seven years ago. It devastated my mom, but she's been able to move on, get a life back." He'd never thought about the courage and strength that must have taken his mom. He had been too busy with his own life. Drake promised himself that when this was all over he was going to take a vacation, visit his mother.
"Patrick and Caitlyn were soulmates in the true sense of the word," Adeena said. "But that doesn't make it any easier for a kid growing up, unable to command her father's attention when he's living with the ghosts of the past."
That explained Hart's home, a mausoleum for the family ghosts, not a house of the living.
"She thought she and King would have a love like that," he guessed. "When it didn't turn out that way--"
"Cassie did what she does best: she tried to fix everything. I blame myself partly, Richard had me fooled. I never twigged to the abuse until Cassie had already left him. She has a tendency to retreat, go into a private mourning where she shuts out the outside world. Some would call it a situational depression. The first time I saw her do it we were nine, and her grandfather had died. Same thing happened after her father and Rosa passed. Took her weeks after she left Richard to leave her house, re-enter the world again."
"Why couldn't you or Castro get her help? Surely there's treatments, medications--"
"We try, by being there for her when she's ready. It's what works for her. Rosa used to say 'small sorrows bring loud wails, great sorrows bring great silence'. She might've been a crazy old lady, but a lot of the time she was right. Why do you think Cassie's so passionate about her patients, her work? She's learned that the only way to live is to give it all or nothing."
He remembered the silent sobs he had feared would choke Hart after Weaver died. "So, when Hart turned to me after Fran died--"
"It wasn't her usual pattern, which is why I suspected you of coercing her." Adeena smiled, laying her hand on his. "Now I see she was right to turn to you. You two seem to complement each other. Maybe you can help Cassie strike a balance. There are no gray areas in her life."
Drake frowned. Shades of gray. That was where he lived. Skirting shadows, fading into the background, following the rules to gather evidence, hunting all the details necessary to put a case together. He treated women the same way, took what he wanted or needed at the time, pulling back when they got too close. Had it down to a science.
His art was the only part of his life where he felt free to lose control. Until he met Hart. Now Drake was breaking all the rules that had grounded him for so very long.
He ran his fingers through his hair, closed his eyes for a moment. God, he was tired. "King kept saying that it's her own choice, but I know something else is going on."
"She doesn't love him anymore, if that's what's worrying you. That died a long time ago. But, knowing Cassie, she still feels responsible for his actions."
"Why?"
"If he had the power to hurt someone, and she could stop him--then, King is right, she would do all she could to protect someone." Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at him. "Especially if it was someone she cared for."
Adeena's beeper sounded. She glanced at the reading and frowned. "I'm late for a meeting."
"No problem. Thanks for your help. Other than King, Hart seems to have very good taste in her friends."
She smiled, gathering an armful of file folders. He opened the door for her. "Don't hold Richard against her. No woman could have withstood his charms. Once Richard sets his mind to getting something, he won't take no for an answer."
"This time neither will I."
There was a flurry of activity as one nurse injected the glucose into Trautman's IV while another straddled him and began chest compressions. The hospital intercom began announcing the code and a breathless stream of residents, anxious to help, crowded into the room.
"Glucagon and epi are in," Cassie said. "Where are my lab results?" There weren't many drugs she could use to treat hypoglycemia and an absent pulse. Electricity wouldn't help, nor would any of the anti-arrhythmic agents. "Get me another glucose reading."
A respiratory tech took over bagging, and a medical student relieved the nurse doing CPR. An intern began a second IV while the charge nurse detailed the events to the senior resident.
"Still twenty," the nurse said.
"Damn it, it's not circulating. Push another amp of D50 and follow it with a fluid bolus," Cassie ordered. The medicine attending entered. She quickly filled him in, but he shook his head when asked if he had any other ideas.
"You're doing everything. How long's he been down?"
"Too long." Cassie tensed her shoulders in frustration. First, she had been powerless to save Fran and now the only link to her killer was dying before her eyes. Trautman hadn't killed Fran. But he might know who had.