A Thin Disguise by Catherine Bybee

CHAPTER FOUR

Life exploded in her brain like brief psychedelic, drug-induced, painful flashes on a movie screen.

Bright lights hovered over her face. Voices echoed, and machines made unfamiliar noises.

And when she tried to take a breath, the pain blurred her vision until she fell back into the darkness she’d crawled out of.

The next time the movie aired, it was darker. Quieter.

Something obstructed her ability to breathe. When she reached for the thorn in her side, her hands were too heavy to move. Even opening her eyes wasn’t a possibility. Tiny slits of light passed before her as if she were inside a dark closet looking at the draft space at the bottom of the door.

A voice spoke in soft tones before a feeling of warmth flushed through her body and the worry of the thorn and heaviness no longer mattered.

Each time she tried to wake up was different. But every time she fell back into the abyss, the dream was the same.

She was alone, walking barefoot across wet grass. At first the grass felt refreshing and soft, but soon the earth started to harden, and the prickly edges of each green blade turned brown and filled with thorns. With each step she asked herself, Where are my shoes?

There had to be shoes somewhere.

Soon the grass was gone altogether, and the earth was covered in jagged rocks brought up from the depths of hell.

With each step she burned and bled, and still she walked. The compelling need to move forward was as important as taking her next breath.

But like her breathing, each step was as painful as the last.

“Just stop,” she heard a voice say.

But staying in place would give the rocks the opportunity to carve out bigger sections of her skin . . . and maybe the next step would be better.

Her gaze moved around the content of the dream, searching for something to look forward to. A place where the rocks were gone and the earth was soft and healing . . . but all she could see in the vastness of her dream was hell’s landscape of pain.

“This is going to hang on another day.” Fitz voiced what Leo had already figured out.

It was lunchtime, and the court was in recess for the next hour and a half.

“I know,” Leo said.

The expensive lawyers were dragging it out. Which would likely leave closing arguments for the next day.

They stood just inside the courthouse while most of the occupants walked past them in search of something to eat.

Leo looked out the windows to the tops of the adjacent buildings. He knew his people had extra coverage on watch. Unlike the night before, the chances of someone shooting at him here were slim. That didn’t stop his heart from beating a little too fast at the prospect of doing a simple task like ordering a greasy burger from a local fast food joint.

That thought brought him around to the woman in the hospital.

He needed an update.

Fitz reached for the door to push her way outside.

Leo hesitated.

Fitz stopped, looked at him.

“I need to make a couple calls.”

“Right. Sure. I’ll grab you something.” She saw through his excuse.

Leo reached for his wallet, handed her a twenty.

“No onions.”

She waved the bill in her hand and walked out.

Behind him, a voice demanded his attention. “You have a second?”

Neil stood over him.

“Yeah. What’s up?”

Neil nodded to a quiet corner of the building.

“Are your people any closer to finding who took a shot at you yesterday?”

“Couldn’t tell ya. No one has contacted me if they are.” His phone had been put on silent in the courtroom, and it hadn’t buzzed once during the proceedings. “Why?”

Neil looked away. “My eyes on him haven’t checked in today. It’s not unlike them, but considering your activity last night . . .”

“You think Navi’s men took your guy out?”

Neil kept his lips pushed together. His silence was his answer.

“Damn,” Leo said for him.

“I’m not jumping to conclusions. My contact is smoke and shadows. You never know they’re there.”

Leo couldn’t help but feel there was more that needed to be said. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if my contact was compromised, you need to go underground.”

“Why?”

Neil looked him dead in the eye. “If they’re gone, then you don’t stand a chance.”

That didn’t sound promising.

“Your guy is that good, huh?”

For a second, it looked as if Neil was going to laugh.

All Leo got was a half of a smile. “Yes. She is.”

Chandler Brackett was the man Leo reported to. The man was fifty-five and two years away from being forced out of the bureau. Why the federal government wanted to retire their agents at such an early age was beyond Leo. The man would likely find a new, high-paying job once he retired that would make him question why he stayed with the FBI as long as he did.

From the courthouse, Leo and Fitz returned to the hotel and met Brackett in his room.

Unlike Leo’s accommodations, which were equipped with a bed and a bathroom, Brackett’s had a living space with a conference room–type table and enough seating for eight.

“Have a seat,” Brackett told them the second they walked through the door.

At the table, an agent by the name of Hector Lopez sat in front of a laptop computer and a portable printer.

“What do you have?”

Lopez handed Leo a stack of images. “With the help of Vegas’s surveillance cameras, we were able to narrow down the type of car the shooter was in. A black Cadillac Escalade, newer model.”

Leo looked at the dark images of the car Lopez described as it drove down the Vegas Strip.

“From what we can tell, they circled the block twice before making their move. I have headquarters combing through audio feeds from the Venetian to see if we can hear the actual shots.”

“How many casings did they find?” Fitz asked.

“Two. One traveled through the girl, the other was lodged in a pillar on the street,” Brackett informed them.

“Have we located the car?”

Lopez sneered. “Do you know how many black Cadillac SUVs are in this town?”

“A lot?” Fitz asked.

“All the limousine services use them, most of the hotels, and then there’s the private sector. And since the license plate had been removed, we can’t trace that.”

“Why can’t people do drive-bys in Ferraris?” Fitz teased.

“Don’t think that would narrow much down,” Lopez countered.

“What about Navi . . . Any movement on him or his boys after I left last night?”

“The hotel footage showed him enter his room, one of the bodyguards went in with him, the other moved across the hall. Sometime after two in the morning, the men switched.”

“Couldn’t be that easy.”

Leo glanced at Fitz. “Just means Navi made a phone call.”

“Do we have a list of calls yet?” Fitz asked.

“That’s a little bit harder. The only calls on his landline at the hotel were to room service.”

“Any word from the hospital?” Leo asked.

Brackett shook his head. “I’ll leave that one to you. Considering your attempt to pick her up got her shot, you’re going to have to talk her into not hiring lawyers of her own.”

Leo hesitated.

Shit, he hadn’t given that a thought.

“I should probably go, then.”

Brackett took a deep breath. “Not alone.”

Fitz let out a deep sigh and started to stand. “I’ll change my clothes.”

“Fifteen minutes?” Leo asked her.

She nodded through a tired smile.

“You’re okay. Don’t struggle.”

Pain flickered and came into red-hot focus.

Breathing was an effort, and her head was thick with fog.

“You’re in the hospital,” a male voice told her.

Her throat was on fire.

“Can you open your eyes?”

She tested her eyelids and found the bright lights invasive to her brain.

There were two men and one woman at her bedside. All three of them stared down at her, watching. The antiseptic smell of a hospital assaulted her senses. And the sound of her own breathing was accompanied by a strange sensation in her chest. She looked toward the window and felt the movement just as painful as her breath.

“W-what happ—” She didn’t get the question out before a cough tore at her lungs.

The woman she assumed was a nurse pressed a button on the bed, lifting her head, while one of the men brought a small cup with a straw to her lips. “Just a sip,” he told her.

The tiny taste of water felt as if it were going through sandpaper that was once her throat.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.” She swallowed again and tried to shake the curtain in her brain. “What happened?”

The Asian man removed a pen light from his pocket and flashed it in her eyes. “I’m Dr. Lee. You’re at the University Medical Center in Las Vegas. You were shot last night.”

“I was what?” She attempted to look down at herself. Saw the rise and fall of her chest through a hospital gown and wires that were attached to her chest.

“Do you remember anything?”

No. She didn’t. “No.” But getting shot didn’t sound right.

“It’s okay. That’s not uncommon. The bullet went through your lung. You have a chest tube that’s helping you breathe. That’s the pain in your side . . .” Dr. Lee went on to talk about a surgery she didn’t remember and terms she didn’t know. Then, as she was watching him talk, she had a hard time concentrating on his words.

Who was he again?

“What’s your name?” the nurse asked.

“It’s, uhm . . .” My name. She closed her eyes, searching for it. “It’s . . .” This was not a hard question. “My name is . . .” The harder she concentrated, the more pain filled her head.

She attempted to sit up taller, as if doing so would bring the answer to her lips.

The doctor and the nurse looked at each other in silence.

“My name is . . .” She took a deep breath to answer. But it didn’t come.

“Do you know where you are?” the doctor asked.

“A hospital.” That was an easy question.

“What city?” he asked.

Didn’t he just tell her that? “Atlantic City.”

The doctor flashed the light in her eyes. “You’re in Las Vegas.”

“Why am I in Vegas?”

He smiled at her, didn’t answer. “I want you to remember three things for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Elephant, moon, and peanut butter. Can you repeat that for me?”

“Elephant, moon, and peanut butter.”

“Good. Just remember that for me.”

She could do that.

“Do you know today’s date?” he asked.

“It’s May.”

The look on the doctor’s face told her she was wrong. She looked around the room, searching for clues. There was a whiteboard on the wall across the room. On it was a date. “September.”

The doctor glanced over his shoulder. “That’s cheating,” he said, teasing. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

She closed her eyes . . . searched. “My feet hurt.”

“Your feet?”

The doctor walked to the end of the bed and moved the blanket off her feet. He touched each one. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

He pressed and poked before returning the blankets. “Okay, sweetheart . . . what were those three things I asked you to remember?”

“Uhm . . .” It was there. Close. Something big. As she pushed her brain to remember, she forgot his question altogether. Her stomach started to churn, and her body felt cold. “I’m going to be sick.”

Her words put the strangers at her bed in motion.