Guarding the Mermaid Read online

  The hospital sent her home early—with a prescription for some stronger pain meds—and she was told to take a few days rest with pay.

  The pay part she didn’t mind; however, sticking close to home wasn’t much fun. Watching television didn’t help her ignore the fact she could speak only in a hoarse voice and swallowing hurt. She went to the store for ice-cold Popsicles, only to have the cashier gasp when she saw Becky’s neck.

  Probably should have worn a scarf to hide the crescent moons and bruises marring her flesh. The pamphlet the woman pulled from the behind the desk with info for battered women went into the recycling bin.

  She lasted a whole day bored at home before she asked to be put back on the schedule. After all, she’d worked with worse.

  Since they were understaffed, no one argued with her demand. She came in to work to discover the hobo who’d attacked her gone.

  “Did someone claim him?” she asked, her voice raspy, her throat raw.

  “Yeah. The dude who saved you,” Eugenia, another nurse on her shift, confided.

  “You mean tall, dark, and handsome?” She might have only caught a glimpse, but he made an impression. “Who was he?”

  “No idea. He showed up just in time to save you, from what I hear. Then, not long after, a pair of suits arrived, along with some more big dudes in black military fatigues. They took our John Doe away in a huge SUV.”

  “No way.” How exciting, and she’d missed it. “Do we know why?”

  Eugenia shrugged. “No idea. They didn’t say shit, but they took everything. His file. The garbage can. Jerry down in security said they even took the camera footage.”

  It didn’t take a journalistic mindset to see the cover-up. What she didn’t have were all the details. But a good reporter didn’t care if she had to dig.

  I smell a story.

  Chapter Two

  The new rental didn’t smell. Thank fuck. With the potent stench his cargo left behind, the one he’d returned would probably get smacked with a cleaning fee.

  Not his problem. The company would pay it.

  Turning down the radio, Jett watched as the helicopter lifted—cargo safely inside, hog-tied and gagged to ensure a quiet trip—before dialing the secure line to his boss. “Sir, the patient is en route back to the clinic.”

  “What about the trail he left at the hospital and the law enforcement officials who brought him in?” the voice on the other end asked.

  “The trail was wiped.” All video footage and written records destroyed. “The only thing we can’t remove are the memories of those who saw him.” Although Jett would wager if such a thing existed, he’d be expected to use it. The Chimaeram Clinic held tight to its secrets. He wondered how long before they equipped him with a device a la Men in Black to wipe people’s recollections.

  “Did anyone see anything they shouldn’t have?”

  How about the fact the general public encountered a clinic patient at all? “The subject didn’t exhibit any outward feral signs other than the eyes.” A lucky break given some of the clinic’s less successful subjects looked more beast than man.

  “Stupid side effect,” the man on the other end grumbled. “Will any of those who noticed the glowing talk?”

  In other words, did they need to do more cleanup? Maybe arrange a car accident. Cause a sudden heart attack.

  “Not likely, sir. The cops and the hospital staff assumed he was partaking of drugs.”

  “What of the nurse he attacked?”

  The nurse who almost died? Another minute and Jett wouldn’t have arrived in time. Good thing she’d removed the aluminum shielding the target or Jett would have never homed in on his location in time.

  The tech guys were working on a better tracking device, one not hampered by metal or easily blitzed with the application of electricity. They’d lost a few targets because of shitty devices.

  At least his hunt was over. Target located, and on his way back to the clinic. As to witnesses…

  “The nurse is recovering. Surveillance of her phone and internet activity hasn’t shown her doing anything suspicious.”

  “Do we know if the subject told her anything?”

  Jett shrugged, despite knowing his boss couldn’t see it. “No idea. They were alone for a few minutes before the attack.” Time enough for many things to be said. The question was, would the nurse chalk it up as the ramblings of an addict?

  “He laid hands on her.” A statement that showed his boss had actually read the report.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he draw blood?”

  “No.” Not that it mattered. What the subject had couldn’t be transmitted so easily.

  “What of the officers?”

  He’d had a drink with them the night before, plying them with shots and joking with them good ol’ boy style. They’d discussed some of the many weird cases they encountered, but his target only received a nominal mention in passing as a crazy dude with glowing eyes. “The cops chalked it up to some new drug on the street.”

  “Might not be a bad idea to release a street drug that will create a few more cases so this one doesn’t stand out. That said, I’m still worried about the nurse.”

  “You want me to stick around and keep an eye on her?” Jett offered. He wasn’t in a hurry to enclose himself within the clinic. There was isolation, and then there was his usual place of work. It took a helicopter to get in. Not always the case, but after the first time a patient escaped using one of their trucks, his boss had the passage between the Rocky Mountains sealed. No one ever suspected the avalanche of rocks and dirt was anything but nature made.

  “Things are quiet for the moment so, yes, stay in the city a few more days. While you’re there, I want you to compile a report for me. I want to know everything about this nurse. It could be that she might solve two problems at once.”

  “On it.” Jett hung up with his boss and turned immediately to his laptop. Some folks might have had a problem digging into the life of a civilian, someone innocent of anything but being in the wrong place or time.

  Not Jett. He didn’t let a petty thing like laws or morals get in his way. He had a job to do. A job that paid him stupidly well. And if it meant digging into the life of a nurse who had the most awful picture on her driver’s license, then so be it.

  Despite saving her life, he didn’t care about her. Didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. She was just a job. A cute one, with the biggest damned eyes and auburn hair that surely came from a bottle.

  Funny how he remembered how she looked. It had only been the briefest of glimpses, and yet, as he delved into her life, uncovering her lack of familial attachments, her single status—which he discovered via social media—and her love for ice cream—that repeated credit card charges revealed—he found himself replaying that moment.

  That moment where he saved her life—and didn’t stick around for the thank-you.

  His job wasn’t about thanks. Nor could he shirk it because of some big eyes and full lips that a man wouldn’t mind touching certain parts of his body.

  The boss wanted to know more about her. So Jett staked out her apartment, which proved boring—and fattening. The coffeeshop across from it made some evil good sandwiches and frothy coffee. He followed her to the hospital, noticing no sign of dark or even light roots, despite her red hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She had true pale skin dotted with freckles. The scrubs she chose to wear to work were loose and light blue in color. Off duty, she usually sported jeans or comfortable athletic wear.

  On her time off she did nothing.

  Like seriously fucking nothing. She went to work. She went home. She didn’t stop for a drink. The wildest she got was popping into the corner store to grab a carton of ice cream. Which she ate alone because no one visited her.

  After three days, Jett might have reported all was well and returned to the clinic if she’d not done a Google search that pinged his phone that night. Once he saw what she’d typed in, he cursed and
then called his boss.

  “We might have a problem.”

  Chapter Three

  The bruises had faded, but the experience remained with Becky. From the way the John Doe totally turned psychotic to his freaky lantern eyes. Add in the way he’d been practically abducted from the hospital and all trace of his presence scrubbed, she found herself curious. Especially about the mysterious guy who’d saved her. Who was he and that group of men who had smuggled John Doe away?

  The journalist in her smelled a story. However, she had no way of developing it because she had nothing to go on.

  She never did learn John Doe’s real name. Despite the suspicion he’d taken some kind of new drug, no one else presented themselves at the hospital emergency with strange glowing eyes. Nor did the rumor mill mention any other cases.

  Becky didn’t have a single lead. Nothing but a name.

  Chimera.

  Which, as it turned out, was a ridiculously common term. It could either mean a mythological creature with the head of a lion, tail of a snake, breathing fire, with wings. Or was used in conjunction with science fiction stories of doctors experimenting with hybridizing humans. There were even modern medical applications of the term that indicated the melding of genetics of more than one species.

  Crazy stuff. Impossible she would even say, until she remembered the man’s eyes. His oh-so-strange eyes. One would almost say inhuman. But saying that aloud would get a nurse placed on leave and talking to someone while lying on a couch. “Yes, my childhood sucked. No, I don’t have mommy or auntie issues. He really did look like he was dipped in a vat of radioactive stuff.”

  There were pills for people who made those kinds of claims.

  Besides, talking about it meant bringing in more people on the mystery. She kind of wanted to keep her suspicions to herself. Crack this nut. Claim all the fame.

  It was possible the entire event was benign. But looking into it, spinning wild stories in her mind, helped her to ignore the ache under her ribs. The tickle in her throat.

  After the failed attempt at finding something about Chimera, she spent time on the internet doing more searches, such as reasons why a man’s eyes might glow. More than one comic book series pointed her toward radiation and super powers.

  She tried researching Chimera locally, trying to see if perhaps there was a lab practicing the so-called melding of genetics. She even typed in WF92, which turned out to be a miniature spy cam.

  Everything led to a dead end. Her one chance at a scoop and she’d screwed it up by almost being choked to death, getting sent home, and missing the excitement.

  Bummer.

  The next day, as she sorted laundry before going to work, a knock at her door brought a frown to her brow. She lived in a secure building that required people to be buzzed in. She pressed her eye to the peephole and found herself even further confused by the stranger standing in the hall wearing a suit.

  “Can I help you?” she asked loud enough to be heard. No way was she opening the door. Safety first.

  “I’m looking for a Miss Frederickson.”

  Her heart stuttered. “Why?”

  “She recently took care of a patient.”

  “She’s a nurse. She sees lots of people.”

  “This one behaved most inappropriately. We wanted to thank her for not pressing charges.”

  He could only be referring to one person. Throwing caution out the window, she opened the door. “You know John Doe?”

  “Actually, his name is Seymour. And yes, I know him. He’s a patient at the clinic I work for. We were quite perturbed when he went missing.”

  “He escaped your clinic?” Which totally made a bunch of things he said take on a new light.

  “Yes and gave us all quite the scare considering he was gone for months. It’s a miracle Seymour survived with his condition.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  The man in the suit tapped his temple. “Tumor. It’s addled his wits I’m afraid.”

  “Is that why he tried to kill me?” she asked bluntly.

  “A regrettable incident. And one of the reasons why I’m here. May I come in?” He angled his head and dangled a briefcase.

  Since she highly doubted he was here to murder her, she stepped aside and opened the door wide in invitation. The man entered, and she noticed the nice cut of his suit, his hair perfectly trimmed, and the cologne, which tickled her nose.

  He appeared in his late forties, maybe older. Hard to tell, as he appeared fit. But his silver temples indicated some age, as did the faint crease lines by his mouth. The small round glasses were a nice touch, and she wondered if they were prescription or part of his look.

  The man set his briefcase on the kitchen table before turning to her with a smile. “I’ve been remiss. Excuse my poor manners. I never did introduce myself. I’m Gary Lowry, legal counsel for the Chimaeram Clinic.”

  She’d never heard of it. “You’re a lawyer?”

  “Yes. Although I only handle the one client.”

  “And you’re here to what? Make sure I don’t sue?” Not that Becky knew what she’d sue for. Hardly the clinic’s fault if a patient escaped and acted out. Working emergency meant her contract stated she wouldn’t take legal action against patients who often behaved outside the accepted norms.

  “The incident with Seymour was regrettable. In apology, I’ve been instructed to give you this.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out an envelope. He held it out. “This is for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “A check along with a form indemnifying us from legal action.”

  A peek inside the envelope showed a check with many zeros. Too many. She handed it back. “I can’t accept this.” Mostly because, if she did, then this curious case would never go to print.

  “I can inquire about increasing the amount.”

  “What? No. I mean it’s too much and for something that wasn’t a big deal. We get people high on meth and other stuff all the time. Sometimes they get violent. It’s just part of the job.”

  “And a remarkable job it is. Which is why I insist you take it.” He pressed it into her hand and then said, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in changing employers?”

  “Why?”

  “The clinic is looking to hire a few nurses. It would be for a six-month contract, available for extension if it works out. We provide everything you need: housing, food, entertainment, plus a highly competitive paycheck.”

  “How competitive?”

  She blinked when he told her. “That’s awfully generous.” Also, way more than she was making working at the hospital.

  “Given the remote location of our clinic, we feel it’s a required enticement.”

  “How remote are we talking?”

  “Once inside the clinic, you’re there for the six-month duration.”

  “So no visits to town, even for a movie?”

  Lowry shook his head. “There are no roads to drive on. All supplies and personnel come in via helicopter. Which might sound daunting, however, as mentioned, we provide everything a person might possibly need.”

  The more he spoke, the more he piqued her intrigue. A hidden clinic paying ridiculous amounts for staff who treated a dude with glowing eyes?

  She totally wanted to do it. Her throat itched, and she couldn’t help a small cough.

  It was a reminder of why she couldn’t go far. Her elation deflated, as if pricked by a needle.

  “I can’t.”

  Mr. Lowry arched a brow. “Can’t? You have a commitment keeping you here?”

  “Well, there is my place.” Her less than awesome apartment filled with an eclectic assortment of furniture and knickknacks.

  “We can ensure your rent and utilities are paid for the duration of your stay.”

  The man appeared determined to make it impossible to refuse. Still…with her problem. He’d said it himself. No way out.

  Then again, there wasn’t much they could do here either. S
o why was she refusing? This might be her last and only chance to find the story she’d been waiting for.

  “Where do I sign up?”

  The actual terms of her employment took two hours of paperwork. So many questions.

  Names of her parents. Siblings. The fact she had no living family made that part quick; the aunt who raised her had died of cancer. She was stumped by emergency contact. Her best friend had just taken a job in Panama. Other friends had moved on with their lives, getting married, having kids, meaning their interests diverged, and they didn’t remain in contact.

  Everyone else she knew was just an acquaintance. Becky might be outgoing, but she didn’t make friends easily.

  Criminal background check. They’d find nothing. Not even a parking ticket.

  Next section: health. There she hesitated again, and Lowry noticed.

  “Something the matter?”

  “Yes. I have a problem breathing sometimes.” Understatement.

  “Then you should jump at this opportunity. Fresh mountain air outside. Perfectly clean oxygen inside. Plus, state-of-the-art machinery to help you breathe should you have an asthma attack.”

  He misunderstood, and she couldn’t in good faith lie. “I’m in remission. For cancer,” she expanded.

  “What kind?” he asked.

  “Lung.” And then, because she was used to the look people gave her, quickly added, “I don’t smoke. Never have. But my aunt did. She raised me. Always had a cigarette in her mouth.” Dangling from her lip as she cooked over the stove. Ashing the burning tube in an overflowing tray as she helped Becky muddle with homework. “I got lung cancer by the time I was in my early twenties. They removed part of my left lung and, with chemo, managed to prevent other tumors from growing.” Her aunt wasn’t so lucky. She lost the battle.

  “But you’re in remission currently?”

  She nodded. The pain in her chest might be due to all kinds of things. Probably nothing, but just in case, she’d gone for an MRI just before the attack. The results were pending.