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"Jerome," she began, "do you remember the last patient I had before I was placed on leave? The one who was killed?"
Jerome's lips thinned. "You mean the one where you suffered a concussion? Yes, I remember."
"Well..."
By the time she was done, Jerome was slack-jawed and sitting on our couch. I supposed it was a lot, to hear that your protégé is the daughter of a mob boss and had gotten caught up in a sanctioned mafia hit in your own hospital.
"Dr. Carter," I asked gently, "are you a bourbon or a scotch man?"
"Rye if you've got it, two fingers--oh, hell, just fill the fucking thing up." Jerome scrubbed a hand down his face and thanked me as I handed him the glass. He downed half in one gulp. "Jesus, Cassidy."
Cassidy smiled thinly as I sat next to her, and she took my hand in hers. "It's a lot. I know."
"I mean, I suspected there was something in your past, but I never..."
I leaned forward. "This needs to stay between us, you understand?"
"What? Oh. Yes, of course." Jerome finished his drink and set the empty glass on the coffee table. "So Johnny really was murdered."
"I thought we weren't supposed to remember the patients names," Cassidy said.
"I remember the ones my residents almost die in front of."
"Now who's being dramatic?"
Jerome clasped his hands. "What do you need from me, Cassidy? Is there anything I can do to help?"
Cass looked at me, and then she spoke. "Tox screens, security footage, anything and everything from the twenty-four hours surrounding Johnny's death. We need to find out who murdered him."
"I can do that." Jerome frowned. "Do you remember anything at all from that night besides what you've already told me? Sometimes memories start to come back as the brain continues to heal after an injury like that."
I looked at her, surprised and ashamed I hadn't thought to ask her that myself. Cassidy was quiet for a long time, and then she started to speak.
"I remember the door opening behind me and thinking that the nurse had come in. Then...then pain, and I was on the floor...hands in my hair...work boots...stale cigarettes. They smelled strange. I-I think he had a tattoo on his wrist. It looked like a bird."
My blood froze. Cigarettes. Alfie smoked And he was covered in tattoos.
No way. There was no way he could have killed Johnny, too. No way that he could stand there right next to me as I made Cassidy my wife when he had nearly killed her. There was no way my best friend could do that.
Still. The facts were piling up, and it did not look good.
I sat and fidgeted in the hard plastic chair, pulling at the tie that felt too tight around my neck. So much had been going on that I had almost forgotten the dreaded Immigration interview.
How ironic would it be for me to get deported now, of all times? Now that I had found something worth fighting for. Worth living for.
"Sorry I'm late." Cassidy slid into the seat next to me. "Tommy refused to listen to directions and took 93."
"Probably he was hoping you'd be late and they'd deport my ass."
She lightly smacked me across the abs. "Don't even joke about that."
They kept us waiting for nearly an hour, and needless to say, I was in a foul mood when they let us into the room. The very last thing I wanted to see was Officer Spencer Halliwell's face sneering at me. I was likely to break his nose.
Cassidy knew all about my history with the INS agent, and to my utter astonishment, she'd just laughed and called me an idiot. That girl never stopped surprising me.
"Mr. and Mrs. McTiernan." Halliwell was just as condescending as I remembered. "I suppose congratulations are in order for your very recent nuptials."
"Thank you."Get to the point, jackass.
