THREE TIMES A LADY Read online

  The Director put a warm hand lightly on the side of Dana’s face and leaned over the metal bedrail to kiss her softly on the top of her head. A grandfatherly look of concern deepened the already impressive menagerie of creases lining his weathered forehead. ‘Thank God,’ he said again, shifting his dark brown eyes back and forth between Dana’s pale blue ones. ‘That’s all I can say. Thank God.’

  Dana smiled thinly at her boss. She was happy to see him, of course, thrilled, actually, but she had an eerie feeling that ‘thinly’ was the only way she’d be able to smile at anyone for a very long time. Wasn’t too much for her to smile about lately, after all.

  Pushing herself up straighter in bed, Dana felt a nagging ache in her underused muscles. Then again, what had she expected? That’s what you got when you’d just slept away the last several months of your life while the rest of the world had been out there working. Still, Dana knew that she should be infinitely grateful that aching muscles seemed to be the most severe of her health concerns at the moment. Things could’ve been a hell of a lot worse for her; that much was for sure. ‘Thank you so much for coming, sir,’ she said, not wanting to sound rude but also wanting to get the pleasantries out of the way as quickly as possible. Dr Spinks had said that six people had died in the plane crash, and Dana still didn’t know if Bradley had been among them. Wasn’t sure she wanted to know. ‘It really means the world to me to see you here. I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle for you getting here.’

  Krugman shook his head and pulled a plastic chair over to her bedside. Setting down his leather briefcase on the tiled floor next to his feet, he took a seat, tugging at one of the pants legs on his dark gray suit before crossing his right leg over his left. Dana wasn’t at all surprised to see that Krugman’s patent-leather dress shoes featured an impeccable shine. Why would she be? Attention to detail had always marked one of his most admirable traits; representing the main reason the FBI had regained its worldwide reputation for excellence following the Bureau’s laundry list of failures following the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks on the United States. ‘No hassle, at all,’ Krugman said. ‘I would have come sooner but Marie is having a few medical issues of her own and I couldn’t arrange for use of the Bureau’s jet until just this morning. Had to wait for it to get back from Panama, of all places.’

  Dana studied the lines of exhaustion carved deep into Krugman’s face and frowned. Marie Krugman – the Director’s wife of more than forty-seven years and a woman who’d always been his anchor – wasn’t the kind of lady who got sick. Ever. Sickness was for weak people. People more like Dana.

  Marie Krugman wasn’t weak, though. Not even close. After running her first marathon at the age of forty, she’d gone on to run more than a hundred since. Not to mention the fact that she also currently sat on the boards of at least five of the most influential children’s charities in the greater Washington, DC metropolitan area – just a little something to keep her busy following a distinguished, thirty-year career in the nursing field. As far as Dana knew, the woman had always been as healthy as a horse. ‘What’s wrong with Marie?’ she asked, feeling a nervous tickle in her chest.

  Krugman pressed his lips into a tight line. ‘Breast cancer,’ he said. He shifted in his chair and averted his gaze. Clearly, the subject wasn’t one he felt comfortable discussing. ‘The doctors think they caught it in time, though. If we’re lucky, she won’t need a double mastectomy.’

  Dana widened her eyes, feeling like she’d just been punched in the gut. Breast cancer? Jesus fucking Christ, did it ever stop? Was there ever any good news in this fucked-up world of theirs? ‘Oh my God, sir,’ Dana said, sitting up even straighter in her bed and giving her boss a sympathetic look. ‘I’m so goddamn sorry to hear that.’

  Krugman waved a hand briefly in the air and shifted in his chair again. The thin band of gold on his ring finger – a modest piece of jewellery that hadn’t left his hand even once in the forty-seven years since his wife had first slid it onto his trembling finger in a small Presbyterian church on the outskirts of Oklahoma City – glinted in the harsh fluorescent lights above. ‘Thank you very much for your concern, Agent Whitestone. We’re optimistic for a full recovery. Chemo starts Thursday.’

  The Director paused and cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, thank you again for your concern. We can certainly use all the well wishes we can get these days, and I’ll make sure I pass yours along to Marie. But I do have some good news for you – mixed in with a little more bad news – if you think you’re feeling up to hearing it.’

  Another nervous tickle fluttered in Dana’s chest. ‘What’s that?’

  Krugman smiled gently. ‘The little boy from the plane crash,’ he said. ‘He’s alive and well. Not a scratch on him.’

  Tears of joy sprang into Dana’s eyes. Overwhelming relief flooded through her entire system. For one long moment, she found it difficult to even breathe. ‘Thank God,’ she finally whispered, echoing Krugman’s earlier sentiments. ‘Just, thank God. Where is he now?’

  Krugman rolled his muscular neck on his sturdy shoulders. Even in his late-sixties, the guy was in shape. Dana only hoped she looked half as good at his age. ‘Well, that’s the bad news,’ Krugman said uncertainly, rubbing the muscles alongside the left side of his throat with the palm of his right hand. ‘Right now the little boy’s in a foster home in Parma. Unfortunately, his mother died in the plane crash and he had no other relatives to look after him. The mother died of head trauma very similar to yours. Her skull slammed against the window she was sitting next to and she didn’t survive the impact. FAA investigators say the little boy’s body bounced off hers and that’s what saved his life.’

  Dana gasped. Her heart broke into a million tiny pieces like a fumbled dinner plate at Krugman’s words. Poor, poor Bradley. Not only had he lost his mother, Dana remembered all too well how he’d also lost his father recently, though Dana didn’t know any of the details surrounding that death yet. And now the poor kid was completely alone in the world.

  More tears flooded into her eyes. Every last cell in her body ached for the little boy. And why the hell not? Seemed to her that she was intimately familiar with someone else who’d lost both of her parents at the tender age of just four years old.

  The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. ‘I want him,’ she blurted out.

  Krugman cocked his head to one side and lifted up his eyebrows on his forehead. ‘What?’

  Dana took in a deep breath that filled her lungs to capacity, trying to steel her nerves. It might have been a hasty decision, but she really didn’t give a shit right now. With every last fibre of her being, Dana wanted the boy. Needed him. Wanted and needed him more than anything she’d ever wanted or needed in this life. ‘I want him,’ Dana repeated, a little more sure of herself this time. ‘I want to adopt the little boy. I want to take him home with me.’

  Krugman looked stunned. ‘Don’t you think maybe you should…’

  Dana cut him off with a look before he could finish. ‘I’m dead serious, sir. If it’s not too much trouble, could you please arrange for somebody at the Bureau to start the paperwork for me? I’ll take over from there once the ball is rolling.’

  Krugman held Dana’s gaze, studying her eyes some more. After a long moment, he finally blew out a slow breath. ‘These things take time, Agent Whitestone. They take a lot of time, as a matter of fact. I’ll have someone in admin start making some calls on your behalf if you’re absolutely certain this is what you want, but there’s no shame in changing your mind about it later on. This is a really big decision you’re making here. A huge one, actually. One you probably shouldn’t be making right now.’

  Dana rolled her neck on her slender shoulders and felt the unbelievable stiffness there. If nothing else, she knew that she needed to get the hell out of this hospital bed, pronto. And Krugman was absolutely right. It was a big decision she was making here. A huge one, actually. Crazy as the idea might sound even to her
at the moment, though, Dana knew there was no way in hell she’d back out of it. Not now, not later and not ever. She already loved the little boy. Had fallen in love with him the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him on the plane. ‘I’m absolutely sure this is what I want, sir,’ Dana said, more forcefully this time. ‘I’ve never been more certain about anything in my entire life.’

  Krugman dropped his stare and shook his head. ‘Fine, Agent Whitestone. If you’re absolutely sure this is what you want, I’ll get the ball rolling for you. I’ll have someone in admin contact you just as soon as the process is started.’

  Despite everything she’d just been through – despite everything she’d gone through in her entire life – Dana’s body practically floated up out of her hospital bed as a joy like none she’d ever experienced before flooding throughout her being. ‘Thank you so much, sir,’ she said. ‘You don’t know how much this means to me.’

  Just then, Krugman’s cellphone sounded in his pocket. He held up a finger to Dana and motioned for her to wait while he dug it out.

  Flipping open the phone, he placed it to his ear. ‘Hey, honey, how are you feeling?’

  A nervous thrill swirled around deep in the pit of Dana’s stomach while the Director talked with his wife. It wasn’t that she was already having second thoughts about adopting the little boy, of course – far from it, actually – but holy crap, what had she just gotten herself into? What did she know about being a mother? About taking care of someone else? Hell, she could barely take care of herself these days, much less a four-year-old boy. Still, who knew? If everything went well for her, she might just have the chance to become a mother, something that had seemed utterly impossible just five minutes earlier. Maybe that particular window hadn’t been nailed shut for good, after all. And she’d become mother to the handsomest little guy she’d ever seen in her entire life. A regular GQ model if ever there’d been one.

  Then again, when in the hell had been the last time anything had actually gone well for her?

  Dana shook away the troubling thought when Krugman flipped shut his cellphone and lifted his eyebrows. ‘Sorry about that, Agent Whitestone,’ he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket and stretching his neck. ‘Marie was just calling to remind me to take my blood pressure medicine.’

  The Director paused, shaking his head in bemusement. ‘That woman, I swear. Always thinking about someone else and never about herself.’

  Dana smiled. From the look in Krugman’s eye, she could tell that he loved his wife more than he loved anything else in the world. And Dana knew exactly how he felt, too. Because – despite the overwhelming newness of it all – she already felt the exact same way about Bradley.

  Rising to his feet, Krugman snapped open the latches on his leather briefcase. ‘Anyway, he said, ‘I’ve got to get out of here. Much as I don’t want to, I’m supposed to have lunch with the head of the Northeast Ohio regional office in twenty minutes.’

  Krugman extracted a pile of magazines and newspaper clippings from his briefcase before handing it over to Dana. ‘A little light reading for you while I’m gone,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back later on tonight to say goodbye before I head back to DC.’

  Dana looked down at the pile in her hands and felt her breath catch in her throat. Her brain buzzed with an electric charge. On the top of the pile and highlighted by her standard FBI ID picture, Newsweek’s cover teased readers to the main story inside:

  AMERICA’S TOP COP IN COMA AFTER PLANE CRASH

  Dana looked up at the Director, stunned. ‘What in the hell is this?’

  Krugman leaned over the bed railing and patted Dana’s left shoulder. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is just some of the press you garnered while you were taking your extended nap. Seems that you became something of a national celebrity while you were sleeping it off in dreamland, Agent Whitestone. Enjoy the quotes from me in there. I said some really nice things about you. But, Dana?’

  Dana looked up at the Director and held her boss’s stare. ‘Yes, sir?’

  Krugman smiled. ‘Don’t let it go to your head, OK? I don’t need any prima donnas making my job any harder than it already is.’

  CHAPTER 10

  Dana spent the next several days reading and re-reading the articles detailing her life and her career.

  It was absolutely astounding the information the press had dredged up. From the murder of her parents way back in 1976 to the Cleveland Slasher case involving her half-brother two years prior to the Chessboard Killer slayings out in New York City earlier in the year, they hadn’t missed a single trick.

  Dana sighed, having always cherished what little privacy her job allowed. They didn’t know all the details yet – and hopefully never would – but anyone with an Internet connection, basic cable-television package or subscription to the local newspaper was now privy to an extremely well-researched synopsis of her colossally fucked-up life, including just how close her relationship to the Cleveland Slasher had actually been. Then again, she guessed that was the price you paid for being the supposed hero in two of the most sensational serial-killer stories of the past twenty-five years. For being the supposed hero who’d help bring down a trio of the most bloodthirsty killers this side of Jeffrey Dahmer.

  For being the supposed hero who’d cost so many innocent people their lives.

  Worse, the press was still out there digging for more information. Literally, right out there. From a helpful orderly, Dana knew that a small cadre of reporters had set up camp out in the hospital’s parking lot, just waiting for her to emerge. And the relentless media showed no signs of going home anytime soon, either.

  Dana shook her head in disgust. Hopefully, they’d brought along plenty of coffee with them, because she had absolutely zero intention of speaking with any of them when she came out. Or with anyone else either, for that matter. Let somebody else’s name fill up the newspapers for a little while. Her name needed a break

  Dana sighed again and felt the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. Above all else, she knew that she needed some alone time right now. Some ‘me time’. Maybe even a vacation somewhere warm. With Cleveland stuck in the grips of yet another brutally cold winter, Florida might be a nice change of pace, give her a chance to clear her head. Maybe even Hawaii. One thing seemed obvious: she needed some time to unwind, to decompress, to process all the horrible events of her life.

  To run away from all the ghosts still chasing her.

  A knock at the door mercifully pulled her out of the macabre inventory of deaths she’d caused over the years, either directly or indirectly. A moment later, Dr Aloysius Spinks entered the room. ‘Good afternoon, Agent Whitestone,’ he said in his rich baritone, holding her medical chart in his right hand. ‘How are you feeling today?’

  He didn’t wait for Dana’s answer before making his way over to her bedside and laying down her chart on the table. Leaning over the bed railing, he ran his long fingers deftly through the recently re-grown blonde hair on Dana’s scalp, examining the long row of stitches laced into her skull like a blind man reading Braille. After a moment or two, he looked down at her and smiled. ‘What’s your secret, Agent Whitestone? If I could bottle this stuff I’d be a millionaire.’

  Dana looked up and him and shrugged. ‘Not sure, doc. Just lucky, I guess.’

  Spinks chuckled and straightened to his full height. Retrieving her clipboard from the table, he marked something down before flipping it shut again. ‘Any questions for me?’ he asked.

  Dana pushed herself up straighter in bed and nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, yes, Dr Spinks. Any idea of when I can get out of this place? I’ve got a serious case of cabin fever going on and I’ve got someone at home who really needs me.’ It was true – even if that particular someone was a black-and-white cat named ‘Oreo’.

  Spinks frowned. ‘Well, to tell you the truth, Agent Whitestone, I’m a little concerned about your psychological state right now. Your physical wounds have healed up beautifully, but how are you
feeling mentally? You’ve been through quite a rough patch with everything that’s gone on lately, and I’ve got to imagine it’s been pretty tough on you.’

  Dana pressed her lips together into a tight line. From the look of things, flimsy paper gowns like the one she was wearing right now was the only kind of privacy she could expect in the hospital. Then again, why in the hell should Fairview General be different from any other place in the world?

  ‘It’s been hard – no doubt about it – but I’m feeling fine psychologically,’ Dana lied. No way in hell she was telling the truth on this one. ‘So if my skull is ready to leave the hospital, then so am I. I’d really like to go home today, if that’s OK with you.’

  Spinks frowned again, and Dana frowned back at him this time. From all appearances, though, the doctor didn’t plan to let her get away that easily. ‘We have psychologists on staff here at the hospital,’ Spinks said. ‘I think that you should probably talk to one of them about what you’ve been through. Maybe even more than one, if you feel the need. Who knows? It might make you feel better about everything. And I know that it would sure as hell make me feel better about the thought of discharging you so quickly.’

  Dana’s stomach lurched. If she didn’t get out of this hospital bed – and today – she knew she’d go crazy. That is, if she weren’t there already, which was undoubtedly still a highly debated subject in some quarters. Still, she’d considered Spinks’s possible reluctance to discharge her from Fairview General for three long days now, so she was prepared with her answer.

  ‘The FBI requires mandatory psychological counseling whenever an agent undergoes a traumatic event such as the plane crash I was involved in,’ she told Spinks now, regurgitating the spiel she’d rehearsed mentally for the past seventy-two hours now. ‘Since the nature of my job involves quite a bit of sensitive information, I really think I’d feel more comfortable speaking with a mental-health professional approved by the Bureau. Thank you very much for your concern, Doctor – I really appreciate it – but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass for now.’