She sat back in her chair. "So you're going to have to fix me tonight, huh? Knock yourself out, bro."
"I thought we'd talk. The police called me and told me about dropping the investigation." When she said nothing, he added, "I know that must have upset you."
"The police are idiots. My personal happiness, or lack thereof, is none of your business." She turned her head, spit out a tiny piece of cuticle, and turned back to give him a brilliant, insulting smile. "Anything else?"
He ignored the belligerence. "Did you lie to the police? What really happened?"
"You think I need to see a shrink." She shot to her feet. "Thanks for the concern. You know the way out."
"You don't need a psychiatrist." He got up and came around the desk, and tried to take her hands in his. "You used to suck your thumb when you were little; now you bite them."
"Oh, I can switch." She showed him her middle finger.
"You need to come back to God."
"Really? A nice dose of the Celestial WD-40, and all of Alexandra's annoying squeaks in life will disappear. Would also save her big brother a lot of embarrassment, too, I bet." She tapped her cheek. "I'm so tempted."
John reined in a sigh. "I'm not ashamed of you."
"So if I went and told my story to the newspapers, you'd be, what, delighted?" She caught his reaction and nodded. "Right, nothing in the papers that someone holy might see. Or is there anyone holier than thou these days, Johnny?"
Anger rose inside him, dark and ugly floodwaters spilling over the crumbling wall of his patience. "Stop talking to me like that."
"It's the only way I talk, Father. Maybe you should have stuck around during my formative years. But don't worry." She waved a hand. "No one believes me."
"Alex, God believes in you." It was the last shred of his faith, the one he clung to. "God loves you."
"God." She pretended to think about it. "That would be the God who sat back and let Mom and Dad die in that stupid car accident. The God for whom you became a Jesus clone jerk-off saving souls in the rain forest while I was stuck in a boarding school full of snooty little rich white girls who hated my guts. The same God who did absolutely nothing while half my patients were beaten, tortured, and mutilated, or when I was kidnapped by a maniac who thinks he's—" She stopped abruptly. "Never mind. Bottom line here, John? I'll pass."
She was angry, so angry. He understood that rage—he carried its twin in his own heart—but he couldn't allow her to suffer like this. It would poison her life as surely as it had his. "Blame me, blame our parents, blame anyone you want, but don't blame God. He is not responsible for the sins of others."
"When, according to you, he's this all-knowing, all-powerful dude who loves us so much?" She bared her teeth with a snarled, "Watch me." She walked out of the office and grabbed her coat and keys.
John followed her, pleaded with her. "You're wrong, Alexandra. Our parents died in a senseless, random accident. It was my decision to leave you behind. As for that poor child in the hospital, and the others like her, what happened to them is terrible, unspeakable. But this is life, and these are the crosses we have to bear."
"Crosses to bear. I'll mention that to Luisa next time I'm on rounds." She switched off the lights. "She should get a lot of comfort out of it."
He grabbed her arm to keep her from walking out. "You're still acting like a spoiled teenager."
"How would you know?" She looked down at his hand, and then up at his face. "Um, you're hurting me here, Father."
"Stop calling me that." He tightened his grip. "I'm your brother—"
"No." It was a cold whisper she somehow made sound as loud as a scream. "My brother didn't come back from God school. My brother died in that place. I don't know you."
Shame returned full flood, and he snatched his hand away from her. "I know that you're doing this because you're in pain, because of me. I'm so sorry that I hurt you, Alexandra."
"Don't absolve me of my sins just yet, Father. I haven't gone to confession in ten years." She went still, and focused on him. Not on his face, but on something under his chin. "Have a good trip. Don't write."
His vision blurred. "Alex, please."
"Lock the door on your way out, huh? Oh, and give my love to the pope."
Before John could stop her, she was gone.
"Do you know it's four twenty a.m.?" Grace demanded.
Alex scrubbed a tired hand over her face. "Now I do." Thanks to a raging case of insomnia, she'd gone and mixed up her days and nights. She had tried to sleep, but the minute she lay down, her eyelids refused to close. "I didn't think, Grace. Sorry."
"Hang on, I have to pee." The line clattered as her office manager set down the receiver.
Alex looked through the window at the moths dashing their brains out by careening into the lit Motel 6 sign. She'd picked it simply because it was the sixth place she'd stayed in since leaving her home. She'd been changing motels every day since she'd caught someone following her.
She didn't know who was after her, but she wasn't taking any more chances.
Alex would have never spotted the tail without John's little hit-and-run visit at her office. When she had run from the building, she'd kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see her brother coming after her. She watched the rearview as she drove off.
As if Father John would chase after me and beg me for another chance to talk.
She didn't see her brother, but she did notice a discreet, silver blue sedan. The driver kept his distance, but he turned when she turned, and he never allowed more than two cars to get between them. When she tried to see who it was, she noticed that there were actually two men in the car: both fair-haired, both in suits, and both wearing wraparound sunglasses.
Sunglasses, at nine p.m. at night.
Alex had done a paramedic rotation during her residency, and one of the EMTs had coached her on driving an ambulance. She employed those skills with the two men in the sedan, and after some crazy minutes on the interstate, she'd lost them.
It might have been Cyprien's goons, or just some cops anxious to bust her for some moronic reason of their own. Misdemeanor Lying on a Statement. Whoever it was, she didn't want to be caught carrying Cyprien's millions. She didn't want to explain them.
So Alex had begun living like a Gypsy, changing motels every night, paying cash, parking her car out of sight, sleeping when she could during the day, using only her cell phone to make calls and only when necessary. The money stayed with her wherever she went, dangerous baggage, because while she didn't want it, she couldn't bring herself to leave four million dollars in a Greyhound bus station rent-a-locker.
A spasm of pain made Alex press a hand to her belly. The cramps were getting more frequent and lasting longer. I can't believe I'm getting an ulcer on top of all this shit.
At least, she was fairly sure it was an ulcer. The blood tests she'd run on herself had come up with some very weird numbers, so much so that she'd sent the results along with some slide shots off on a consult to a local hematologist for a second opinion.
"Back," Grace said over the line, making her jump. "Okay, Dr. Haggerty's left about a dozen messages. You better call him before he files another missing-person report on you."
Her heart twisted. "Charlie filed the first one?"
"Uh-huh. Beat my report by three hours."
Charlie, who had taken care of her and run tests on her. Charlie, who had been her friend and lover, who had cried—real tears—when she'd regained consciousness. Charlie, whom she hadn't given a single thought since leaving the hospital. But until she figured out what to do about Cyprien, she didn't want Charlie anywhere near her.
Great way to turn him loose, Alex. Just call him and say you're being stalked by a vampire.
"Boss, are you okay? This—whatever this is—is not like you. When was the last time you ate something?"
"I'm all right." No, she wasn't. The last time she had eaten… she couldn't remember; it had been that long. "Have you heard anything from John?"
"No. Isn't he in Rome?"
"Yep." Disappointment congealed into a tight, cold ball in her belly, along with a healthy dose of self-disgust. Why had she expected John to try contacting her from Italy? Going to Rome was probably the priest's equivalent of a wet dream. He was probably walking around the streets by the Vatican, stopping and dropping on his knees to pray every five minutes to show God what a good priest he was. "Any other messages?"
"That's it." Grace's voice changed. "Hey, you know things are pretty slow for Don down the hall. I bet he could give you some time this afternoon."
"Don down the hall" was Dr. Donald Hammish, a psychiatrist whose offices flanked Alex's. His assistant and Grace were good friends and often went out to lunch together.
"You think I'm nuts, Grade?"
"Boss, I saw those letters, and I called and faxed that Cyprien guy. I still can't believe I gave all that stuff to the cops and then they went and 'misplaced' all of it." She made a rude sound, and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "What really creeped me out was calling the you-know-who and finding out there are no records of the you-know-what." Grace was convinced that mentioning the phone company and their records over the phone immediately got you a line tap. "It's like an X-Files episode or something."
"Yeah, seems like it." Alex suspected David Duchovny wasn't going to show up anytime soon to save her. "I'll call you later."
"Before you call, look out the window," her office manager advised. "If you don't see sun? I'm sleeping."