Tuesday, March 27th
Eleanor awakened with a faint cry. Her dream, her horrible memories, repeated again. When she turned the lights on, the room was alien. She shook her head to clear her foggy brain. “Chase Center for Training,” she reminded herself.
Her gut twisted, and she forced herself to sit and put her feet on the floor. The night table helped support her weight as blood poured down her legs. “No.”
The conversation with Tuck occupied the small piece of her brain able to think. “Ellie, your heavy periods are being enhanced by this soft tissue mass. It’s dangerous. If it works through the lining, the bleeding can be catastrophic,” he told her.
She was a coward. She needed to trust someone. She didn’t want to die.
Eleanor inhaled deeply and crawled. Making it into her bathroom, she pulled off her clothing and made it into her shower, leaving a trail of blood. The built-in handicap access bench allowed her to lever herself to sitting. The warm water eased some of the pain.
Her hands struggled to shut off the faucet. Eleanor pulled a towel over her shoulders and, using the grab bar, she managed to get a towel around her waist. Closing her eyes, she took another deep breath. Opening her eyes, she staggered to her bed and collapsed.
Her fingers reached for her phone. Her pointer glanced the zero button on her Kryptall smart phone. Then her arm dropped.
* * *
Wes couldn’t look at another file. He was feeling antsy, so he headed to the fieldhouse, where he went into the locker room and changed. After stretching, he stepped onto the track. One footfall after another turned into an easy cadence. His mind cleared, and three words popped into it:follow the money.
They needed to interview Gideon Murrow. He had to be desperate to find his daughter.I’d feel the same way.Job one was to determine where the money was going. Yes, it could have to do with his daughter. But, hell, it could be a payment for a purchase of something. Kieran jumped quickly to the ransom conclusion. Kieran didn’t jump. He was being stonewalled.
The muscles in his thighs burned, and he slowed to a walk. Two cooldown circuits later, he removed his running clothes, took a cool shower and dove into the pool. He cut through the water with ease, his arms reaching in perfect form. Stroke after stroke, flip turn continued lap after lap.
A plan settled his gut. He’d finish his swim, and after dressing, he’d check on Eleanor himself. He’d tell her how he really felt about her. He’d fallen in love. Maybe that would propel her to speak with him. She knew about the custody situation. She had to think he was her keeper in Ian’s absence. Then he’d tell her he didn’t know about the custody situation and lay out the case, including telling her about Belinda’s fingerprints.
Even if she shut him down, he planned to tell her, vowing no more secrets. Wes headed toward the wall to flip again. A hand reached down from the deck and grabbed him. His other hand came up ready to swing.
Kip stopped his swim, his expression grim. “C’mon, get dressed; it’s Ellie.”
Wes hopped up onto the deck and ran for the locker room. He flipped open his locker and began dressing. “Kip?”
“Communications got an empty line call, which they traced to Ellie’s phone. Josh Stone took the door and found her in bed bleeding out,” Kip said.
“Was it…”
Kip cut Wes off, “No, it wasn’t a suicide attempt. It was a vaginal bleed. Josh said the place looked like a massacre.”
Wes shoved his bare feet into his shoes and ran coatless out the doors and down the path to the medical clinic. With Kip on his heels, he ran through the clinic doors. Two of the maintenance staff were mopping a trail of blood.
Andi Cohen buzzed Wes and Kip through to the back. Troy, Kyle, Kieran and Lance Starr were already there.
“How is she?” Wes failed to force the panic from his tone.
“No word. Tuck, Dr. Mulligan, and an entire team are working on her,” Troy said, patting an empty chair beside him.
Wes reluctantly sat. “Do we know anything?”
Kyle stood and crouched in front of his friend. “You know the deal; we have to wait a bit.”
Troy anchored his crutches and stood. “I’ll speak to Gwen and Josh. I’ll get you what I can.”
“Thanks.” Wes blew out a breath. His eyes remained fixed on the unit’s procedure room.
The late-night news played in the background. The male anchor reported, “Police in Martinsburg, West Virginia, are looking for anyone with information about the approximately eight-week-old male infant found at Martinsburg’s Warm Canteen restaurant beside a dumpster. The Caucasian or light-skinned Hispanic boy was in a car seat and was suffering a high fever. After being brought to Children’s Hospital in Morgantown, examination showed the infant was suffering from the highly contagious measles. If anyone knows anything about the little boy, who has been nicknamed Michael for the patron saint of police, in honor of the officers who found him, please call 1-800-Baby-Tip. All calls will be kept confidential.”
No one in the room noticed the report.
