The Arms of Death Read online

  Jim looked at her for a long moment. “You are the third person to ask me that question.”

  Ginny’s mouth dropped. “Who were the other two?”

  “Your mother and my grandfather.”

  “Oh.” Her mother was no surprise, but the Laird of Lonach? His interest must be in Jim’s future, rather than her own.

  Jim leaned toward her, his arms crossed on the table, those gray eyes fixed on hers. “The answer is yes, Ginny. I would very much like the opportunity to get to know you better, but I won’t try if you don’t want me to.”

  Ginny’s hand went to the talisman. She’d never heard of the rowan being used as a love token, but it might be able to help her choose which path she should take.

  If she said yes, Jim’s presence might force Hal into a declaration, in which case she’d better figure out whether that was what she wanted. What’s more, Jim was one of their own, the Laird’s grandson, which made him more desirable in the eyes of the clan.

  If she said no, Hal could relax, and she wouldn’t have to deal with male egos, but it wouldn’t solidify her position and it would send a message that she was willing to let Hal decide her future for her.

  She studied Jim’s face for a moment longer, then nodded. “All right, but if it comes to pistols at dawn, you have to promise me you’ll duck.”

  His face split in a huge grin. “You can count on that!”

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday

  “Ginny? Ginny!” Her mother’s voice pierced the haze and brought Ginny fully awake. “It’s Sandy, on the phone.”

  Ginny groaned, glancing at the clock. “Okay.” She picked up the phone and settled back into the pillows. “Hi, Squirt. What’s up?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

  “No one escapes a childhood nickname.”

  “Not even your brother?”

  “Especially not your kid brother. So why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”

  “If you worked regular hours then you’d be awake when decent folk are.”

  “Come on, Alex! I’m tired and I want to go back to sleep. Why are you calling?”

  “I’m sorry, really, but this sounded important. It’s about the virus.”

  Ginny rubbed her eyes. “I’m listening.”

  “Chip asked me to pass a message to you. Have you got something to write on?”

  Ginny picked up the pencil and pad of paper she kept next to her bed. “Yes.”

  “The message is, ‘Please tell Dr. Mackenzie the virus was engineered at GeneTech Biologics in Dallas. He has requested access to the research and production records and will send copies as soon as they are available.’ He also said to tell him he has three messages on his cell phone.”

  Ginny wrinkled her brow, puzzled. “Are we talking about Jim Mackenzie?”

  “Yes. He works at your hospital, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, and night shift, so he’s probably asleep, like I was.”

  “That would explain why Chip hasn’t heard from him.”

  “I didn’t know Dr. Mackenzie was in contact with the CDC.”

  “Chip tells me he was relieved to have someone like him on the scene.”

  Ginny frowned harder. “What are you talking about?”

  “The virus, of course. He’s a specialist.”

  “What? What kind of specialist?”

  “Infectious Diseases. I thought you knew.”

  Ginny pulled herself together. “No. I didn’t.”

  “Can you deliver the message?”

  “Yes, I can do that.”

  “Good. I’ll tell Chip, and thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, and Sandy, keep me informed.”

  “Of course. Bye.”

  Ginny hung up the phone, her mind churning. Jim, an Infectious Disease Specialist! If that was true, why did he go through that elaborate farce down at the medical school library, pretending he knew nothing much about viruses? Letting her instruct him? Ginny’s cheeks burned at the memory.

  She put the note aside, turned off the bedside lamp and tried to go back to sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen. She tossed for half an hour, then gave up.

  He hadn’t told her he was a virologist. He also hadn’t told her he was working with the CDC. What else didn’t she know about Jim Mackenzie?

  The question rousted her out of bed and into sweats, then into the upstairs office. She touched her computer to wake it up (If she couldn’t sleep, then neither could it!) and pulled up her Internet connection. The email alert pinged and she glanced down at the message. Jim Mackenzie, sending her the spreadsheet they had been working on last night. Last night. Twelve hours ago.

  Ginny set that aside and started searching for references to Jim’s name. She found more than a dozen doctor recommendation/review sites aimed at potential customers. They gave her a general overview of his professional resume: medical school (with ranking in the top ten percent), internship and residency locations, and current hospital affiliations. She printed out the summary pages, making notes as she went along.

  When she had exhausted that source (they all said essentially the same thing), she drummed her fingers on the desk. The employing hospital was supposed to check the credentials of its physicians, to prevent harm to the public and catch imposters. It was handled, discreetly, by specialists. She might be able to find something out at the hospital, in person, but not online. What else?

  Litigation. There was a national website devoted to lawsuits against physicians and healthcare organizations, but it only released information to the subject of the investigation and to the investigators.

  The state medical boards were another matter. They routinely posted disciplinary actions on licensees. He was too new to Texas to be in those files. What she needed was Virginia.

  An hour later Ginny decided Jim had managed to keep his nose clean in Virginia. There was no mention of any disciplinary action against him. Well. All right. She hadn’t really wanted to find any. And there were other avenues she could try. The site also listed educational credentials and publications and offered the physicians an option to post awards and continuing education.

  Publications. Ginny’s lips pressed into a thin, hard line. He’d been publishing for years, all on various aspects of infectious disease identification, containment, treatment regimens, and research. Why the hell had he pretended he didn’t already know everything there was to know about this damned virus? She sat back and stared at the list. No wonder the CDC was actively including him in the investigation. They could not have found a more qualified liaison, assuming he could keep his mouth shut, of course.

  Ginny felt her gut twist. Was that why he hadn’t shared his expertise with her? Well, and what if it was? All he had to do was say he was not at liberty to discuss it. She would have understood. Sort of. She printed off the list of his publications and added it to the other notes she had on him, then rose and went downstairs to get breakfast.

  Two cups of (good) coffee, an omelet, juice, and a sweet roll later, she was still fuming. Damn the man. He’d deceived her, misrepresented his credentials. Led her to believe he needed that trip to the library. LIED to her.

  Ginny pushed herself away from the table. The only cure for what ailed her was to accomplish something. She glanced at the clock. Three p.m. She could shop, or go for a walk in the park, or… Or what? Continue her investigation into Professor Craig’s death? In spite of being warned to leave that to the professionals?

  It wasn’t her job. It wasn’t her concern. She’d been told it was none of her business. HE had told her to tell no one, until HE thought the time was right.

  Well, the hell with that. Ginny located her phone and called the Craigs.

  “Mrs. Craig? This is Ginny Forbes. We met at the hospital.”

  “The ICU nurse, yes. What may I do for you?”

  Ginny explained Hal’s problem. “Do you mind if I come take a look at Professor Craig’s office to
morrow? I’ll try not to be a nuisance.”

  “I don’t mind. As a matter of fact, Mark and I are trying to do an inventory and are rather at a loss as to what we should do about his work stuff.”

  “Perhaps I can help.”

  “We would be grateful if you could. I tell you what, can you come for lunch?”

  “I’d like that, thank you.”

  “Excellent. We can show you where we are and get your advice, then have a nice chat. Will sandwiches be all right?”

  “They sound perfect.”

  “Good. I’ll expect you at eleven a.m. tomorrow, then.”

  Ginny felt better as she hung up the phone, but decided she still needed to do something physical to bleed off the tension coursing through her veins. She told her mother where she was headed, then drove down and parked the car below the spillway.

  Loch Lonach had been the original water reservoir for this part of town and had boasted fishing as an attraction. There were long-disused fish hatchery pools at the bottom of the lake, buried in old growth woods, crisscrossed by dykes and earthenware dams. On weekdays the area was usually deserted. Ginny slipped into the cool green space and breathed more easily.

  It was like stepping back in time. The trees dampened the sounds of the city and the woods were full of wildlife. The loch was on the North American Central Flyway—one of the routes migratory birds use to move from winter to summer nesting grounds—and the avian population was always changing. Ginny let her eyes wander from brightly colored flights of feathers, to scuttling scales on the earthen floor, to swaying leaves and branches, and felt herself relaxing.

  She would have to confront Jim. He’d be at work tonight. She could catch him there. She would place the evidence in front of him, then walk out. That would be best. A clean break and she could move on. She turned her attention to the woods, breathing deeply, letting the pain and anger go.

  * * *

  Jim looked up as Ginny dropped a journal on the desk in front of him.

  “What’s this?”

  “Infectious Diseases, last month’s issue. There’s an article with your name on it.”

  Jim set his pen down and leaned back. “How did you find out?” She looked, not angry, exactly, but not happy either.

  “Alex called with a message from Chip. He hadn’t heard from you and wanted me to make sure the information got through.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “I asked around. The word is that Hillcrest was lucky to get you. You’re something of a celebrity in the field of viral diseases.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Guilty as charged.” It had been one of the reasons he’d been able to come back to Dallas on such short notice.

  “What else have you lied to me about?” Her eyes had grown decidedly colder.

  Jim’s smile faded. “I didn’t lie, Ginny.”

  “You let me believe you were an E.R. physician in need of a refresher on viruses. Now I find you’re a nationally known expert. What do you call that?”

  “I didn’t want to sound like I was bragging and I wanted to spend some time with you. I would have had to do that trip to the library in any case and it sounded more pleasant in your company.” He smiled. She did not.

  She stared at him for a moment, then took a deep breath. “You’ve made me feel like a fool.”

  Jim shook his head. “You shouldn’t. It’s always more useful to work with a colleague. That way you get the benefit of a second point of view.” He leaned towards her. “You pulled material off the shelves I would never have thought to consult. I came away that afternoon wondering what else I was overlooking.”

  He saw doubt in her eyes, but she made no comment.

  “What was the message?” he asked.

  She reached into her pocket and handed him a folded sheet of paper.

  Jim took it, unfolded the page and read the note, then looked up and met her eyes. “Thank you. I’ll follow up on this.” He put the paper away, then drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I meant no insult.”

  She frowned, then moved abruptly across the office to the wall that held his diplomas, her back to him. She looked them over, then turned to face him. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be just a nurse?”

  Jim was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “I do things medical doctors can’t. I handle equipment they don’t use. I titrate drips and maintain airways and watch for trouble. I learn to read patients. I spend so many hours with them, I can pick up on changes before even I know what’s going on. I save lives because of my training and knowledge and expertise. But I’m ‘just a nurse.’”

  Jim could hear the bitterness in her voice.

  She turned and started pacing. “The safety board preaches teamwork, everyone doing his job, in concert with the other disciplines, for the patient’s benefit. But the public, the media, and the medical doctors, especially the women, don’t see it that way. To them, I’m ‘just a nurse’.” She faced him again. “I make a difference in people’s lives, but I’m not valued for it and, fool that I am, I want to be respected. I’ve earned the right not be condescended to.”

  She drew herself up to her full height and took a deep breath. “I know if I want you to consider me an equal, I have to earn it. I also know that works both ways. Good day, Dr. Mackenzie.”

  And with that, she was gone.

  Jim stood up, hesitating over whether he should go after her. Maybe it would be better to give her some space. Then again, maybe not. He started toward the door, but found it opening in his face.

  “Ambulance en route. Pedestrian versus motorcycle, both multiple trauma.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The nurse nodded, closing the door behind him.

  Jim sighed. His love life would have to wait. He hurried out to meet his next two patients.

  * * *

  Ginny found herself shaking. That confrontation hadn’t gone as well as she had planned. She had over-reacted to Jim’s unintended mistake. She knew that and she knew why. Everything she had said was true, but—most of the time—it didn’t bother her. The difference this time was she liked Jim Mackenzie, liked him a lot.

  She flung herself down the hall and out the exit. The evening air hit her face, chilling the tears that had somehow managed to escape. By the time she made it to her car, she could hardly see. She pulled out of the parking lot, fighting to stay in control on the short trip home. She let herself in, dodged her mother’s questions, hurried up to her room, shut herself in, covered her face with her hands, and let go.

  Tears have many uses in the human body. They wash foreign particles out of the eye, carry antibacterial enzymes that fight infection, and shed stress hormones that would otherwise build up in the system. In addition, a good cry stimulates the release of endorphins, the substances that block pain and produce pleasure in the human brain. In the aftermath of a good cry, humans feel better. Also sleepy. And she’d had her sleep cut short this day. It wasn’t hard for Ginny to persuade herself to go to bed early. At least while she slept she would feel no pain. Tomorrow, of course, would be another matter.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  Thursday

  Ginny rose the next morning feeling resigned. She dressed and went down to breakfast, prepared to face her mother’s questions.

  “Are you all right, darling?”

  Ginny nodded, then explained what had happened. “So, that’s that, I guess.”

  Her mother was silent, looking at her over the rim of her teacup.

  Ginny met her eyes, then looked away. “It wasn’t really him. I mean, it was. He should have told me he was a specialist so I could have spoken intelligently to him. Doctors have a bad habit of thinking nurses don’t have brains.”

  “I know.” Her mother took another sip. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “What should I do? I’ll probably have to work with him at some point. They float ICU nurses to cover the E.R.”

  “I expect the two of you
can manage to work together. What about the investigation?”

  Ginny shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

  “I don’t know. One thing’s for sure. Hal doesn’t have to worry about my inviting Jim over here again.”

  She saw her mother’s mouth twitch. “If Dr. Mackenzie calls, shall I say you are out?”

  “Yes, please.” Ginny shook herself. “I’m going over to Professor Craig’s house to talk to his niece and nephew. Hal wants me to look for those missing documents and we may have to search. It could take hours.”

  “All right. I won’t worry unless you don’t show up for dinner.”

  Ginny rose, came over, and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you for being so understanding. I’ll let you know when I leave.”

  * * *

  Ginny settled down in front of her computer and pulled up the e-mail program. She retrieved the spreadsheet and took a look at what Jim had done. It made sense. She fought down a feeling of general irritation and focused on the contents.

  She’d been kidding when she added Fiona Campbell to the list of suspects, but it wouldn’t hurt to find out a bit more about her. She pulled up a browser and started searching. An hour later she had a variety of genealogy-related files; committee memberships, conferences, blog postings, even a short article (very badly written) in one of the genealogy magazines, but no obvious reason to suspect Mrs. Campbell of wanting Professor Craig dead. She moved on.

  The angry client could be named. She typed Samuel Adams into the first column of that row. Ginny could guess what had happened there. With such a famous name, the man probably assumed he was a direct descendant. She pulled up a search engine and got to work. It took her the better part of an hour to eliminate all the dead Samuel Adams’s but in the end she found what she was looking for.

  He was even more strident online than in person. He’d posted a web page devoted to his illustrious ancestor, complete with descent to himself. Ginny looked it over, finding one of the known bogus genealogies cited and a number of references missing. This error was so common in genealogy that it hardly qualified as a surprise. Ginny sighed, looking around for another lead.