Crash & Burn (Tessa Leoni, #3)(13)

“Why me?” she asks, voice plaintive.

“Vero,” I whisper.

“Shhh,” my husband says.

“Why me, why me, why me?”

She’s turning away again. Leaving me. I reach for her arm, but it slides free. I can’t hold her. The world so dark. My head about to explode. Or maybe it already did.

“Vero!”

“Nicky, please!”

I’m thrashing. I’m fighting. I know that, but I don’t know that. All that matters is that I get to Vero. He’s going to keep me from her. I realize that now. And it’s not the first time.

“Nurse, nurse!” Someone is yelling. The man who claims to be my husband is yelling.

Vero, Vero, Vero. She’s walking away from me.

I run. In the hospital bed? In my mind’s eye? Does it matter? I run; then I catch up to her. I snag her arm, hold on tight.

Vero turns.

As maggots burst from the empty sockets of her eyes and wriggle around her gleaming white skull.

“You should’ve told me that little girls were never meant to fly.”


* * *



ONE MOMENT. ONE memory. Then it’s gone.

And I’m no one at all, but a woman twice returned from the dead.


* * *



THE NURSE COMES. I don’t fight anymore. I lay perfectly still as she administers the sedative. I stare straight ahead. Past the nurse’s bent form. Past my husband’s haggard face. I stare at the open doorway and the two detectives waiting for me there.





Chapter 6




WYATT AND KEVIN arrived at the hospital just in time for the show. Their person of interest was thrashing wildly in the bed, while a man yelled for help and attempted to pin her down. Next came the nurse hustling in to administer a massive dose of sedative, and there went Wyatt’s best opportunity to get to the bottom of things.

Their female driver, Nicole Frank according to the vehicle’s registration, passed out cold. Only the man remained, breathing heavily and looking ragged around the edges.

Husband, Wyatt would guess. Or boyfriend. Whatever. Wyatt needed answers, he needed them now and he was willing to be flexible. He’d already sent a detective to the courthouse to request a search warrant for Mrs. Frank’s medical records, which would include the woman’s blood alcohol levels. He also had deputies backtracking from the accident site to neighboring liquor stores to prove exactly where and when she had purchased her eighteen-year-old bottle of scotch. In the short term, they were pursuing charges of aggravated DWI.

Of course, there still remained the issue of the missing child.

The nurse exited the room, barely sparing them a glance. That left the man. Late thirties to early forties. Six feet, one-eighty. Rugged sort of handsome, Wyatt thought women called it. Not a desk jockey, but a guy who actually worked for a living.

“Mr. Frank?” Wyatt took a guess.

“Yes?” He was staring at his wife with concern. Now he shifted his attention enough to shoot them an annoyed glance. Which Wyatt found interesting. Assuming the man’s daughter was the one missing, shouldn’t he be grateful to see two detectives? Even desperate, the concerned father demanding immediate answers? Instead his primary concern appeared to be his wife. Meaning he didn’t care about the girl at all? Or he already knew what had happened to Vero and why they couldn’t find her?

Wyatt felt the first thrum of adrenaline rush. He shot a look at Kevin, who seemed to share his suspicions. Both men, rather than surge forward immediately, instinctively fell back. In domestic situations, aggression rarely worked. Far better to be on the parent’s side. Be cool, be calm, be conversational. Then, bit by bit, spool out enough rope for the parent to hang him- or herself.

Wyatt started the process. Polite, nonconfrontational: “Can we speak to you a moment?”

“My wife,” the man started.

“Appears to be resting. We have some questions.”

“You’re the police,” the man stated. But he wasn’t arguing. He was heading toward them. He was going to play nice. Perfect.

Wyatt made the introductions, himself, then Kevin, earning the name Thomas Frank in return. Thomas, can I call you Tom? No, Thomas it is.

Wyatt offered the man some coffee. Another friendly gesture. This time of late morning, the hospital was a busy place, so maybe they could find a quiet corner to chat. When the husband appeared undecided, Wyatt and Kevin simply started walking down the overlit hallway to the hospital cafeteria. Sure enough, the husband fell into step behind them, too tired to argue.

One coffee purchase later, they had Mr. Frank tucked behind a fake ficus tree and it was time to get down to business.

“How do you know Nicole Frank?” Wyatt asked, just to be sure about things.

“Nicky? She’s my wife.”

“Been together long?”

Thomas Frank smiled thinly. “I know it sounds corny, but for me, she’s always been the one. First time I saw her, I just knew.”

“How’d you meet?”

“Film set. We were both working for a production company down in New Orleans. I was with set design; she worked craft services, you know, doling out food. I spotted her day one of a thirty-day shoot. Meant I had exactly one month to ask her out.”

“How long did it take you?” Wyatt asked curiously.