Secure Desire Read online

  “Relationship?”

  Andy Blake looked through the pages in his notebook. “Yes, relationship. Judge Marshall said you warned Sebastian Ames to stay away from her just prior to the attack. Did you have any idea he was going to hurt her?”

  Ian sipped his coffee. “If I knew he was planning to hurt her, it wouldn’t have happened. The man was making Cassie uncomfortable.”

  The two men began a dance around each other. “How so?”

  “He pushed into her personal space. She seemed to dislike it.”

  “Did she say anything to you to indicate that?”

  “No, just my observation.”

  “Did you know she was working the dinner?”

  “I assumed she was on assignment when she used the name, Ellis. Her last name is Modine.”

  Andy Blake observed him. “The waiting room—you struck her supervisor. That isn’t the action of a man who doesn’t have a relationship with someone.”

  “He made a derogatory remark about Cassie. I was defending her honor.”

  “Derogatory?”

  “Greg Wilds and I have known each other for about fifteen years. We have philosophical differences. He can be vulgar. He implied I only cared about her being hurt because I hadn’t had relations with her.”

  “Is that true?” The furious expression on Ian’s face provoked the detective to hold up his hand in a stop signal. “And bringing in Dr. Hunter Montgomery?”

  Ian leaned back in his chair. “What do you want to know? Montgomery is the best trauma doc around. He saved my brother when he was wounded overseas. Six years ago, I met Cassie when she lectured at the National Gallery. I bumped into her again at the Paulsen home four days ago.” Blake’s pupils dilated, and Ian filed the reaction away. “On Tuesday night, we shared a meal. Last night, I asked Cassie out again. She seemed conflicted. We planned to discuss things today before her work debrief. End of story.”

  Blake allowed a quiet pause. “Hmm. According to Senator Bynum, there was quite a bit of chemistry between you two. Mr. Ames acted jealously.”

  “Are you insinuating Sebastian Ames was jealous of me and chose to try to kill Cassie? I assume you saw the crime scene. That was an awful lot of rage. And if that’s so, what did she mean by ‘Cassiopeia is dead’?”

  Andy Blake furrowed his brows and rose to his feet. “Right now, it seems a fair assumption. I’m not clear about what she meant. Her colleague said she spoke to you about wanting her chance. What do you think she meant by that?”

  “As you said, I’m not clear about what she meant.”

  Andy handed Ian his business card. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Chase. I’m sitting down with Mrs. Monique Chase this afternoon. Please, if you remember anything else about last evening, call.”

  After Blake left, Ian hit a button on the phone. “I need to know any ties between Sebastian Ames and Cassie Modine. Also, get me background on Detective Andrew Blake, Metro PD.”

  Late on Thursday evening, Martin and Julian keyed into Cassie’s Georgetown townhouse. The place was ransacked. Filling from her overstuffed chair and couch floated up with the draft from outside. The end tables were overturned, lamps broken. The glass coffee table was shattered. Books were torn apart—their pages strewn across the room. Pink rose petals and, shattered crystal was mashed into the carpet. The artwork was slashed and yanked from the walls. Picture frames were trampled, photographs ripped to pieces, memories destroyed.

  The designer kitchen was a disaster zone. All the cabinets were emptied, dishes and glassware smashed. The drawers were ripped from their tracks and dumped. Spoiled food covered the floor.

  Both men drew their guns and used hand signals to communicate while sweeping through the home. Finding the place empty, they began a detailed secondary room-by-room search for clues. Across the mirror of the master bathroom, the word “WHORE” was written in peach lipstick. Cassie’s lingerie and clothing were cut apart, the heels broken off her shoes. There was no sign of any jewelry. A set of nudes on the walls were slit across the throat of each female form.

  The closet was emptied. Two cedar boards lay against the back wall, revealing a small, recessed space—empty except for a newborn’s blue hat caught on a rough corner edge.

  “Looks like something more was here,” Martin said, placing the hat in his pocket.

  Her queen-sized ebony sleigh bed was left undisturbed in the middle of the chaos. A dozen black roses were fanned across the pillows with a plain white card attached. With gloved hands, Julian opened it. “Happy Anniversary, baby. Sorry I missed you.”

  Martin moved through the home again, shooting pictures of each room. When he was done, he notified Kieran while Julian dialed 911.

  As they waited for the police, the doorknob twisted. Taking quick cover, both men drew their weapons as two men dressed in suits entered. Julian counted down from three with his fingers. At three, they placed the intruders into sleeper holds.

  With the two unconscious men on the floor, Martin took their pictures and scanned their fingerprints while Julian searched their pockets. “Son of a bitch. They’re FBI.”

  Martin shrugged. “Oops. We have the keys.” He dangled them off his pinkie.

  “We were protecting the place from further destruction,” Julian stated a common police report line.

  The agents awoke timed with the arrival of the local police. After some testosterone-charged exchanges, a call to the police department duty chief, a call to the FBI supervisor, and a call to Tate Webster, they settled down and cooperated.

  Tate, in his role as the operations chief for the DC branch, advised them to say the minimum and leave the scene as soon as possible. Tate notified Kieran and dispatched other personnel to keep the scene secure.

  At 1300 hours, Hunter stood at the foot of Cassie’s bed with Jack, his jaw locked in deep concentration. Talking to Kieran, he said, “I don’t have time to explain at the moment, but I’m taking Cassie back into the OR. If she makes it out, I need two of our med personnel with strong critical care and dialysis credentials per shift. Tell them to take five hundred milligrams of Cipro. They’ll know why. Find your brother. I just spoke with the family—it’s bad.”

  Hunter was the calmest person—even when bullets were flying around him. Now the controlled doctor was feeling out of control.

  “They’ll be there ASAP,” Kieran said.

  The tension in the operating room was palpable. Anger rolled in an avalanche down Hunter’s shoulders. “Good to see you again, Juan. Try to keep her alive. I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said to the anesthesiologist. He was used to the logic of medicine, and this made no sense. He had expected sepsis, but not this.

  Hunter worked with scrub nurse Pamela Barnes often and also shared his personal life with her. Today, Hunter was furious and demanding. All business. There was no easy chitchat. No music. Even Pamela couldn’t soothe him.

  Taking a scalpel, he slit open the stitches in Cassie’s thigh. Pamela gasped as putrid-smelling pus exploded over the top of his hand.

  “Damn it. I’m gonna kill Maddox when I’m done,” Hunter announced.

  The only sound in the room was the rapid ping of Cassie’s heartbeat. “Culture it. Start cleaning the wound.”

  After scrubbing again and changing his gown and gloves, Hunter took an hour to scrape away the infection and the dying tissue. His long fingers explored every inch of the now enlarged wound. The sinews of leg muscle were pale from lack of circulation. “She may still lose this leg.”

  As his hand followed the length of her femur, he cursed. Between the bone and the semitendinosus muscle, he found a piece of surgical sponge. “Everyone see this? Get me a sterile cup.” He dropped it inside.

  Sloughing off the fury again, Hunter refocused to make sure the wound was as clean as he could get it. “Let’s pack and wrap this. I don’t have enough healthy skin to close. We’ll grab a graft from her other leg when she’s ready.”

  The young doctor looked up. “You’re optim
istic, Dr. Montgomery.”

  Hunter kept working. “Okay, folks. We’re on borrowed time. Let’s get her back to the unit. Before we go, Pam, get me a fresh set of bloodwork. And let’s pray.”

  Entering the recovery room, Tucker Hanlon and Pete Walter, former Air Force pararescuemen, were waiting. After serving in Afghanistan, they both became physician assistants with multiple subspecialties. Tucker, a full-time ER PA, was fresh off the per diem assignment for the Eagle’s Talon, and Pete worked part-time for Chase Group employee health and the emergency room. Both were now assigned full-time to Cassie’s care on the Chase Group’s payroll.

  “Am I glad to see you two,” Hunter said as they exchanged one-armed hugs.

  “Kieran called and said it was priority one. We took the Cipro. What’s going on?” Pete asked.

  Hunter helped Pamela attach Cassie to the transport monitors for a return to intensive care. “Pamela Barnes, let me introduce you to two of the best. They’ve been hiding in the ED.”

  Pam flashed a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. Let me introduce you to your patient.”

  Tucker and Pete turned serious as they listened to Cassie’s complicated history.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ian and Kieran waited outside Cassie’s ICU room with Luke and Rachel Paulsen while Jack Parker explained the situation and gave them prophylactic medication to prevent the contagious disease. The infection control nurse obtained a list of Cassie’s contacts. Everyone was rattled. If the timetable were accurate, it would mean she was contagious at the dinner, but it made no sense. There was no sign of anything brewing in any of her previous bloodwork.

  Christian and Caleb Paulsen called to say they were en route from the airport. The other three boys were still finding their way from overseas and, barring a SNAFU, would be home late Tuesday.

  Ian stayed quiet and maintained his iron self-control. Luke looked him up and down. “We appreciate your generosity, Ian. Thanks to you, she’s still alive. I’ve known you for a long time now. What’s going on with you and Cassie?”

  Rachel placed a knowing hand on her husband’s arm. “Leave Ian alone. It’s clear he cares for Cassie, and when I spoke with her Wednesday morning, she sounded hopeful. I think he made her want to try to move forward. Isn’t that enough for now?”

  Luke hugged his wife. “I’m sorry, Ian.”

  The doors to the unit swung open, and two powerful men in navy blue scrubs wheeled Cassie inside. Pete squeezed the vinyl bag, rhythmically filling her lungs.

  “Good afternoon, folks. I’m Tuck Hanlon.” Tucker extended his hand. “We’re here to take care of Little Miss Cassie. Just give us a bit to get her settled.” His smooth, Texas drawl was warm and comforting, but his worried eyes told quite another story. “Dr. Montgomery will be here soon to explain everything. He’s taking care of some business.”

  Once he reattached her to the mechanical ventilator, Pete introduced himself in his thick Boston accent. “We promise to take outstanding care of her.” They rearranged the equipment, positioned Cassie with reverence and, double-checked the medication and tubes.

  The nurse administrator tapped her toe at the room’s entrance. “What do you two know about the appropriate nursing care?”

  Pete and Tucker were employees of the hospital and were compliant with all the private-duty parameters. Their qualifications were impeccable. They were not nurses. “She’s just insulted because she screwed the pooch,” Pete stage whispered.

  Pamela Barnes explained to them that Cassie’s nurse, Kelly, felt responsible for missing Cassie’s rapid decline because she was forced to divide her time with another patient.

  “Ma’am, if you’re concerned about all your stickers, labels, and care plans, why don’t you come on in while we try to keep this little filly alive?” Tucker asked.

  Though they never gave care based upon who the patient was, Hunter advised them Cassie was important to Ian, which made her extra special. Pete and Tucker were used to working together in the radio silence of combat and confirmed the care she needed with simple nods and hand signals.

  Jack and Hunter walked through Cassie’s chart. The rapid PCR blood test came back with what they feared: bacterial meningitis. “We need to let her folks know. I hope her brothers get here to say goodbye,” Jack said as he wrote more orders. “I’ll need consent from them for the ICP monitor.” A neurosurgeon would attach a monitor to measure the rising pressure in her head. “At least we can watch the train crash.”

  Hunter answered his phone on speaker. “The bacteria from her thigh are gram-positive. It’s staph,” a voice from the lab reported.

  Hunter looked at Jack. “Staph? What the hell is going on here?” They checked her OR record. The sponge count was confirmed by the circulating nurse. “It wasn’t even a whole sponge. Where did it come from? Why did Joe choose to work on the thigh instead of her chest?” Hunter asked questions in rapid succession.

  Jack tapped his foot. “Joe was in this morning. He asked about her. I didn’t think it was odd at the time, but now?”

  Ian read Hunter’s text. We need to talk.

  Hunter and Ian walked toward Ian’s truck, where Jason sat in the back seat. Hunter said, “Drive around the block.”

  Ian shifted the Navigator into drive. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” His nostrils flared.

  “How long have we known each other?”

  “Hunt, what’s going on? All right, we’ve known each other about seventeen years. Why?”

  “You know I’m not a conspiracy guy—never have been—but someone wants Cassie dead.”

  Ian pulled roughly to the curb. “Talk now.” He slammed his hands on the steering wheel.

  “I told you: Cassie’s septic. Neisseria meningitides is usually found in the nose and throat of about fifteen percent of people. I swabbed her breathing tube and suctioned and swabbed her nose and mouth. I swabbed every other orifice. There isn’t a hint of the bacteria anywhere except one place—her arterial line—it was loaded. Jack is pulling it now.”

  “So, it came from there?” Ian asked.

  “That’s the problem. The only way that much could infiltrate the line is if someone put it there. And it gets worse. Her leg infection is caused by a completely different bacterium. Gram-positive, staph aureus. I swabbed the sponge piece I found beneath her leg muscle. It was loaded with it. That just doesn’t happen.

  “I did some snooping. Jack Parker said Maddox was asking questions this morning. Cassie’s nurse was asked to take care of Cassie and one of Maddox’s patients, who was awaiting a bed in another unit. Out of nowhere, the man crapped out, diverting Cassie’s nurse from her care. And Maddox was operating on Cassie’s thigh when I got to the OR. That didn’t make medical sense. Ian, it’s some pretty compelling circumstantial evidence, but there’s no proof.”

  “I’ll look into it. Can she survive this?”

  “You know I never bet, but the oddsmakers would think they have a sure bet against her. When are the other Paulsen boys due to arrive?”

  Ian pulled from the curb. “Christian and Caleb at any moment. The other boys, late tomorrow.”

  “The faster, the better.”

  Still reeling from the conversation with Hunter, Ian stayed at the hospital long enough to see the neurosurgeon drill into Cassie’s skull to attach a monitor. The numbers showed pressure building in her brain. She was dying. His head was trying very hard to convince his heart to keep things noncommittal. It was an abject failure.

  He forced himself to return to the office, where he checked in with the manager of Chase Ventures. The men became friends as students at Stanford.

  Vaughn Hannah took a long look at his boss and old friend. “Ian, we’re waiting for more specs on the urgent care deal. I’ll let you know. I’ve got your back, so do what you need to do. Wellington, New Zealand and California are both under control.”

  “I appreciate it, Vaughn.”

  Ian moved to the Eagle’s Talon’s secure conference
room in the subbasement to meet with Kieran, Lincoln, Julian, and Tate. “I ordered background on Joe Maddox. If Hunt is right, Cassie’s still in danger.

  “Tate, put a level-three team in there. It won’t surprise anyone at the hospital if Chase Security is there. The hospital will like it since they won’t have to foot an overtime bill. Apprise the FBI detail of the situation as a courtesy. I want a list of everyone who came in contact with her since her arrival in the OR. I spoke with the infection control folks, and they’re invoking their protocols too. Should make cooperation easier. We need to find the source, and if Maddox is the one, is he killing patients or just going after Cassie?” Ian said.

  “I’ll head over there and do a site survey. At this point, I expect to need two inside the unit, two outside the unit, and two with the family.” Tate typed into his tablet.

  Kieran looked at Lincoln. “What else do we have?”

  “Boss, you were on the money. I’m glad we recorded the waiting room. Wilds is setting her up for a fall. He claims she was stabbed because she turned her com off.” Lincoln opened an MP3 file and played the surveillance recording.

  “That bastard,” Kieran said.

  “We know she cycled her com to push-to-talk or off a couple of times. What’s one more?” Wilds asked.

  “Wilds, she took that armed asshole down without a blip. You know what could have happened if he got a shot off. Bad enough there was a security breakdown. She also put two into that bastard Ames. That headshot would be tough for anyone’s nondominant hand. Now she’s dying. Please, don’t destroy her memory,” Vincent Cruz said.

  “You know damn well I told you it was a dead zone in the bathroom. You acknowledged we needed coverage. Cassie was off the grid for fifteen minutes. We should have checked on her sooner. Yeah, she broke protocol, but we broke protocol too. Chase was right. We messed up. We did her a disservice,” Brice Walton said.