Precipice (Tribe 2) (6 page)

Chapter 9

A half-hour later, after laying medical reports, pictures, and documents from Mrs. Baxter’s examinations and surgery,
we had reached an impasse in the interrogation.

Or so I thought.

“So you still maintain that you know nothing of Mrs. Baxter’s recovery?”

“I don’t even understand why this is such a big deal.  I told you, I haven’t even seen her since that night.  And I never touched her—I admit, I snuck into the surgical hallway to see how she was doing.  I was trying to help a friend.  He was worried about his mom.  That’s all.  What’s the big deal?  I didn’t steal anything.  And if you tell me Mrs. Baxter is a terrorist or something, there’s no way I’ll believe you.”  I sat back in my chair, feeling smug.  This guy had nothing on me. Even the reports he had laid on the table gave no real indication of any unusual healing. 
I’ll be home before dinner. 

“Do you believe
this?”
  He opened another file, and pulled out two photographs, placing them side by side, facing me.

I glanced down. 

They were image studies of Alex.  I knew, because I recognized the masses in the stomach area.  I’d seen something very similar in my body scan of Alex before I healed him. 

Oh…shit.

That was bad.  Very, very bad. 

I met his eyes again, and saw in his face that I’d let my composure slip.  I reined in the fear, resuming my mask of confusion and indifference.  “Those look like some kind of scan.  My mom’s a nurse, but I’m not.  I don’t understand what point you’re trying to make.”

“Oh, I think you do.  These aren’t Gina Baxter’s scans.  They’re of her son.  Alex.”  A slight twist at the corners of his mouth was the only visible indication of the victorious attitude I sensed below the Sergeant Major’s placid exterior. 

“Oh?” I kept my breathing even, and reached for the pictures.  “I’ve never seen his scans.  I know he was sick when I first met him, but they’d already released him from the hospital by then.”

“Yes.  They sent him home to die.”

“He told me.” 

“And then he met you.”

I laid the photos down.  I squelched the urge to meet his penetrating stare with an unflinching gaze of my own.  I wanted to show him I wasn’t afraid, and that I knew he still
had nothing on me.  He couldn’t prove a thing.

But my family’s lives depended on me playing my part, so I fixed a confused expression on my face, praying that sneaking around with Alex for the last month had improved my acting skills.  “I’m still not following.”

“Two people, from the same family, who were dying…until they came into contact with you.  Then they experienced miraculous turn-arounds.”

I laughed.  “Alex, sure.  But I’d hardly call Mrs. Ba
xter’s condition a recovery.  At least not yet.  Nor would I call it a miracle.  Judging by the look on the nurse’s face when she came to talk to us after the surgery, I suspect that Mrs. Baxter almost died.”

I saw him shift uncomfortably as he glanced at the files to his left. 
I was right,
I thought. 
They did lose her…or close to it.
Guilt swelled.  I should have healed her a little more.  What if she had died?

Well, you wouldn’t be sitting here now
.  I squirmed, and pushed the uncharitable thought from my mind.

Weston narrowed his gaze.  “She’s recovering very quickly.  The surgeon said her wounds look as though he’d done the surgery two weeks ago…not
four days ago.”

Oops.  I healed her more than I thought.

I shook my head.  “I’m still lost.  What does this have to do with me?  Are you implying that I’m some kind of genius with a secret lab in my bedroom closet, where I whip up experimental medicines, or something?”

“Or something.”  He raised an eyebrow.

I forced a giggle from my throat.  “Boy, the kids from my homeschooling group are gonna love that one.  I hate math.  And chemistry.  I’m famous for complaining about both.”

The Sergeant Major swept up the reports and pictures on the table, slipping them into a file with irritation.  “I can see I’m getting nowhere with you.”

A moment later the door flew open, and in an instant, both MPs were restraining a man in a grey suit.

“Let him go,” Weston ordered.  “I told you to stay in the observation room—”

“You’re not giving up, are you?” The man demanded, straightening his tie as the guards let him go and stepped back into their previous frozen positions. 

My jaw dropped.  “Dr. Kline?”  What was he doing observing the interrogation?  At most, I assumed he’d just made a call to someone in high places
after Alex had reported me to him.  So why was he acting like Weston’s equal?

Kline fixed me with a glare.  “Admit it—we
know
it was you.  Those before and after scans prove it.  Something radical happened to Alex Baxter between those scans.  Whatever it was nearly eradicated the cancer within two weeks.”

My stomach clenched, and for the first time I was glad it was empty.  Suddenly it all made sense.  Johns Hopkins, where Kline worked, was in Baltimore, Maryland.  Fort Detrick, where the MRMC was headquartered, was also in Maryland. 

Somehow, the two men were working together.

I swallowed over the lump in my throat.  “I don’t know what’s going on here,” I lied, “but I want to go home.”

“You know exactly what’s going on here, Miss Perry.  And I can prove it.”  Kline smiled, regaining his composure.  He stepped toward the open door and leaned into the hall.  “Bring him in.”

Kline moved aside, and Alex appeared in the doorway, escorted by a third MP.

I felt the blood leave my face, and a trickle of sweat rolled down my spine.

He was as handsome as ever.  More so.  His once-pallid complexion was sun-kissed, his dark hair was thick and luxurious—even more than it had been only three days before.  He walked in, arms crossed, his muscles standing out, straining against the sleeves of his t-shirt.

He’s gorgeous,
I thought, forgetting my situation for a moment. 

As if echoing my thought, Kline snatched a file from the table and pulled out another photo, slapping it down.

It was a copy of a photo that Jenna had shown me—one that had appeared in the newspaper, in an article about Alex’s fundraiser.  In it, Alex sat hunched in his wheelchair, frail and weak.  He looked years younger, and emaciated.  The juxtaposition of the sick boy in the photo, against the strapping young man in front of them, was almost laughable. 

“That was taken five weeks ago,” Kline stated, stepping back and folding his arms over his chest, with a twist to his mouth.  “Notice a difference?”

I couldn’t even look at Kline.  I could only stare at Alex.  He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen…but he couldn’t even meet my gaze.  He stood, his arms crossed, looking down at the floor.  I could see the tension in his flexed arms, the shallow, rapid breathing…and worse…

I could feel his cold fury.

He hates me.  Oh God, he hates me! 

Tears filled my eyes, unbidden.  Weston was asking me something, but I couldn’t focus on his words.  Only on Alex.

“Miss Perry?”

I shifted my gaze to Weston, but my vision was blurred with tears.  “What?”

Weston stared at me, then glanced up at Alex.  “Mr. Baxter, why don’t you take a seat?”

“I don’t want to be here,” Alex muttered.

“Take a seat, Mr. Baxter.”

Alex complied, choosing the seat next to Weston…and the farthest from me.  He flicked a glance my way, not quite meeting my eyes. 

Kline sat in the empty chair beside me, and
his
eyes never left me.  I felt like a lab rat beneath his scrutinizing gaze.

The pain of Alex’s rejection seared my heart.  I could see him glance at the old picture of him
self in the wheelchair, and I felt his surge of anger.

How could he be so furious with me?  Could he really be angry that I saved him? 
No, he’s thinking of his family and friends…of how I put everyone at the fundraiser at risk
.

I knew what a loving, generous person he was.  I knew that if given a choice, he’d have forsaken hi
s chance at being healed, if he’d known it could mean putting those he loved at risk.
  It’s no wonder he hates me.  To him, I’m nothing more than a murderous monster.  To him, it was only luck that I didn’t devour his parents.  If I was him, I’d probably hate me, too.

“Alex, how do you explain such an incredible recovery?” Kline asked, tapping the picture with his finger.

“I don’t know.”

My eyes flew to Alex.  He was still looking down at the table, his jaw clenched.  Here was his chance to get rid of me.  Why wasn’t he taking it?

“Surely you must have some ideas?” Kline prodded.

Alex glanced at me, then quickly away.  I felt the torrent of fear surge through him. 

Is he afraid of me?  Is that why he’s not telling them the truth about his healing?  Does he think my family will come after him?  That we’ll hurt his parents?
  Despondent nausea washed over me, and I clutched the edges of my seat to keep myself upright. 
How could I have fallen in love with someone who thinks so little of me?  I would never hurt him!
  But maybe it was for the best. 

Let him think I’m a monster.  My family is all I have left now—if letting Alex think I’m a depraved predator will save my family…so be it.

“I’m not a doctor.”  Alex shrugged, leaning back in his chair.  “How would
I
know?  Not even my doctor could explain it, and he’s the best oncologist in Spokane.”

“That’s not what you told your mother.”

Everyone’s attention shifted to Kline.

Did Alex tell his mother about my ability?
  I didn’t even know she had regained consciousness.

“What are you talking about?” Alex asked.  His petulant demeanor vanished, and he sat up in his chair.  I could feel him holding back panic. 

Why?

“I came into your mother’s room a few nights ago,” Kline said, sitting back with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.  “You were by her side, talking to her.  She was still unconscious, of course, but you seemed eager to unburden your soul
to her, anyway…”    

Alex paled, but said nothing.  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”  His respirations had increased, and I could hear his heartbeat racing.

He was lying.  He knew exactly what Kline meant. 

“
Hold on,” I said.  “What night was this? 
Thursday
night?”  The tension broke, and all eyes rested on me.  “The night I came to see Alex, and you said he refused to see me?”

Alex’s mouth dropped open.  “You came to the hospital Thursday night?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice shaking. 
He’s looking at me!  He’s talking to me!
  I took a deep breath.  “He said you didn’t want me anywhere near you or your mother.  I begged him to just tell you I was there.  He went in the room, and didn’t come out for a long time.  When he did, he said you didn’t want to see me.”  I looked at Kline, and I sensed instantly the man had lied.  I didn’t know how I’d missed it that night—probably because I was so shaken, worried that Alex might hate me. 

“I never saw this man before today, though I recognize his name.  He’s the doctor who called me.  But I never saw him that night, and I never knew you were there, Ember,” Alex said.  He glared at Kline, and I sensed his fury rise again. 

Is that the reason why he’s so angry?  Was he dragged in here by Kline, rather than having turned me in on his own?  Is this entirely Kline’s doing?

“So now you know,” Kline said.  “I was there.  I went in the room.  You were behind the curtain pulled around your mother’s bed.  You never saw me, but I heard every word you said.”  He steepled his fingers under his chin.  “Tell us what you told your mother, as she lay in her hospital bed.  Tell us all about Ember’s ability to heal.”

My mouth dropped open, and Alex threw a warning glance my way.  I snapped my mouth shut.

“Ember’s
what?”
Alex burst into laughter.  “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?  I heard about it all—how she healed you of your cancer, how you begged her to heal your mother.  And how you regretted it, because you found out Ember was some kind of a monster…”

My stomach soured.  Had he spoken of the blood? 
Please, don’t let him have mentioned the blood…

“Sir, I’m afraid you’re very mistaken,” Alex snapped.  “Maybe you were tired, coming off a long shift.  Or maybe you were self-prescribing?” He raised an eyebrow.  “The only thing you could have overheard was my distress over my mother’s condition, and yes, I may have mentioned Ember.  I don’t know that I used the word
monster
, but I
was
really mad at the time.  I said a lot of things to my mother, and to myself, as I sat there, worrying about my mom.  I was just angry at Ember.  I still am,” he shot me a look, “for something personal that happened between us.  But just because a guy blows off steam doesn’t mean his girlfriend is some kind of freak.  It just means he’s pissed at her.”