Julia hated hospitals. She told Rachel she’d wait outside the exam room but the crowded ER made her feel even more anxious. Her mother had died in a place like this. Almost twenty years had passed and they still looked the same. It was as if she were seeing it through the eyes of a ten-year-old girl, instead of those of a homicide detective.
Across from her a woman cradled her bleeding arm. Knife wound. Under the thin stained gauze Julia recognized a tear in the flesh. Probably a kitchen knife, serrated blade. All she needed was a glance at the red-faced man accompanying the woman to guess it had been a domestic case, an endgame compromise—I’ll forgive you but you have to take me to the emergency room to get patched up. No incident report would be filed. The exhausted intern would ask the volley of questions but end up writing in whatever “accident” the woman invented.
Julia was moving on to the next victim when Rachel stepped out of the exam room. Her eyes were wild and frantic and searching for Julia.
It took Julia a second or two before she could stand. Oh God, this can’t be good.
She couldn’t remember the last time her knees actually wobbled. Is this what being in a relationship was all about—anxiety, stress, fear? Why did she think she was missing out on something? She had been fine on her own. Just fine.
No, that’s not, true. You were lonely, she told herself.
She weaved her way through the line waiting for the desk clerk. She steeled herself, the way she did when entering a crime scene. This was different. So different.
The relief on Rachel’s face when she finally saw her made Julia’s stomach fall to her feet. She was looking to her partner for strength. That expectation, that obligation fell like a weight on Julia’s shoulders. She couldn’t do this. Didn’t have it in her.
Rachel reached for her hands.
“They’re running an IV. CariAnne’s really dehydrated.” Rachel’s lower lip trembled. There was something more. Julia could see it in her eyes. “They said other kids from the school are ill, too. They won’t tell me what all is going on.” She shot a look over her shoulder, not wanting CariAnne to hear her. “It’s bad. I think it’s really bad,” she whispered.
Her grip on Julia’s hands was so tight it hurt.
“I can’t lose her,” Rachel said.
“You’re not going to lose her.”
In the past Julia had always left herself escape hatches. She constructed them almost as soon as she entered a relationship. It was—she truly believed—a smart survival tactic. She never allowed herself to feel so much that she couldn’t resurface. She was Houdini, looking out for number one because if she didn’t, who would?
“Go back in with CariAnne,” she told Rachel.
“I’m so scared. Come with me.”
Julia cringed. So this was what it felt like to have your heart break.
“I’ll be right here,” she told Rachel. “There’s something I have to do.”
She was surprised how convincing she sounded. Rachel nodded, wiped her face, took one more squeeze of Julia’s hands, and went back to her daughter.
Julia leaned against the wall. She sucked in gulps of disinfected air. When she pulled out her cell phone, her fingers shook so much she could barely hit the correct numbers.
The phone rang forever and she was torn between anger and frustration. He wouldn’t recognize her number. Please don’t send me to voice message. She wouldn’t know what to say and she wouldn’t have the nerve to call again.
Finally an answer.
“This is Benjamin Platt.”
“I need a favor,” she said forgetting to even tell him who was calling.
CHAPTER 67
NEBRASKA
When Maggie finally cut the zip tie it didn’t immediately fall from her wrists. Blood had caked and dried around it, and she had to dig the plastic strip out of the deep groove it had cut into her flesh. She found alcohol under one of the stainless-steel counters. Opened the bottle, held her breath, and poured it onto her first wrist. She closed her eyes tight and almost bit through her lower lip trying to silence her scream.
Don’t pass out. You cannot pass out.
The second wrist was easier. Everything would be easier now that her hands were free.
She hadn’t needed any light once inside the field house. Her eyes had quickly adjusted to the glow from several tanks distributed throughout. Without much effort she had discovered a pair of pruning shears. It had taken several attempts at handling the shears before she cut the plastic tie.
Now she stashed the shears in the pocket of her shorts and hunted for a better weapon.
One section of the building looked like a high-tech laboratory. Another section looked like a small processing center. Opening the thick glass doors Maggie immediately felt the difference. A gust of warm, dry air hit her in the face. It smelled of dirt and plants.