Things Happen That Way Page 25

  His eyes welled up with tears. “You love me, don’t you, Quinn?”

  “You know it.” Our waitress had come up and was waiting to see if we needed anything else. “April, would you mind packing this up to go? We’ll take it home. And bring me the check.”

  “Yes, Mr. Mann.” Her eyes were enormous. “Oh, wow! Is he your boyfriend? All this time, and I never knew!”

  “No.” I couldn’t help laughing. “But he is my friend.”

  “Okay.” She looked disappointed. “I’ll get a box.” She looked over all the food left on DB’s plate. “Maybe two boxes.” She hurried off.

  “You’re going to have some hangover tomorrow, DB.”

  “What does it matter? I’ll wish I were dead anyway.”

  “You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

  “You mean like say I love you?” He giggled, and while it might have been an attractive sound when April made it, DB’s version left much to be desired. And when he began humming the song Frank and Nancy Sinatra had made popular in the ’60s, I groaned and wanted to bang my head against the table.

  “Here you are, Mr. Mann.” April handed me the check, placed the boxes on the table, and emptied DB’s plates into them. Once she finished, she put them in a Rib Shack shopping bag and took the credit card I handed her. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll get the tip, Quinn. How much?”

  “Give her a couple of twenties.” The check hadn’t come to that much, but April always did an excellent job, making sure we had what we needed while never hovering.

  DB fumbled to get his wallet out of his pocket and managed to do it without spilling its contents onto the floor.

  April returned, and while I signed the restaurant’s copy of the check, DB gave her the tip.

  “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome, April. You’re worth it.”

  “I hope Mr. Cooper feels better.”

  “Thanks. So do I.” I smiled at her, got out of my seat and into my overcoat, and then helped DB to his feet and into his jacket. “We’ll see you soon, April. Have a good night.”

  “I will. I’m off in ten minutes. And I’ve got a date!”

  “Have a great time.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned and bounced away, no doubt to get ready to clock out. Her ponytail swung with each jaunty step.

  “Okay, DB, let’s get you home.” I looped the shopping bag over my shoulder

  “Thanks, Quinn.” He swallowed heavily. “I’m... uh... not feeling too good.”

  “Of course you’re not.” I eased my right arm around his waist and helped him out of the restaurant. It looked like he would need me to stay with him overnight. I’d call Mark once we got back to Annandale.

  The cool night air seemed to sober up DB, and the walk to my car helped as well, only now, instead of humming “Something Stupid,” he was singing “Moonlight Becomes You.”

  He stopped singing long enough to observe, “It really does go with your hair, you know that, Quinn?”

  “I appreciate the information.”

  “And so you should.” He went back to singing, and I shook my head and reached into my overcoat pocket for the Jag’s keys. Something long and smooth was beside the keys—the knife Father had given me—and I chuckled softly. I always carried it with me, no matter where I went, a reminder of my father.

  “Okay, just a few more—”

  The sound of a gun being cocked interrupted my words, and everything seemed to go into slow motion, became foggy... hazy... muffled, as if I were under water.

  I tried to drop DB, but he held on or else was tangled in the handles of the shopping bag. I hadn’t brought my Smith & Wesson. I was just going to fucking dinner with my friend.

  Without even thinking about it, with a single, smooth motion, I took out my knife, pressed the button that opened it, and threw it in the direction of the sound. All I hoped for was a distraction, but judging by the cry and the cursing, I’d hit something.

  But still, there was a gunshot, and then I felt DB jerk.

  “Qu-Quinn?” he whispered, sounding stunned as he slumped to the ground, taking me with him. “I think I’ve been shot!”

  Everything came back into real time. There was a clatter as the gun was dropped, and the shooter ran away.

  “Shit!” But I couldn’t go after the bastard while DB lay on the ground bleeding. “Someone… anyone… dial 911!” I shouted.

  “I’ll call them, Mr. Mann.” April knelt beside me. “Did I hear a shot fired?”

  “Yes. Tell them that, and tell them a CIA officer is down—”

  “I know the drill. I’ve read plenty of police procedurals.” She began talking into her phone.

  “Get behind me. I think that bastard took off, but I don’t want you making a target of yourself.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “I have a handkerchief in my right coat pocket. Take it out, please.”

  She did, and handed the folded square to me. I placed it on DB’s side and put pressure on the wound.

  “Ow.” DB opened his eyes. He smiled when he saw April. “You’re a pretty girl. Would you go out with me?”

  “Uh... not tonight, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Call me DB. That’s what everyone calls me.” He frowned. “Except my ladies. They call me David. But they aren’t mine anymore.” A slow tear ran down his cheek.

  Goddamn those women! But I didn’t have time to dwell on them. Blood oozed out, soaking the handkerchief, and I was afraid DB would go into shock before help arrived.

  This was a nightmare replay of what had happened days before with Mark, only Femme wasn’t there to help.

  However, it seemed someone else was. “If you’ll step aside and let us work, sir?”

  “Huh? What?” How much time had passed? I looked over my shoulder to discover I was surrounded by police and paramedics.

  “We’ll take care of your friend, but the police would like to speak with you.”

  “He’s taken a bullet to the left side. He’s bleeding—I can feel it—but I don’t know how bad it is.”

  “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” DB complained. If he could grouse like that, then please God he wasn’t seriously hurt. “Ch-chain around my neck. Medic alert.” And then he slumped into unconsciousness.

  One of the paramedics pulled out the chain DB always wore. I’d seen it, but I’d never seen the pendant on the end of it.

  “Oh, shit!” The paramedic’s voice was tight. “He has a problem with a clotting factor. We have to get him to GW now.” They eased a backboard under him, got him on the stretcher, and then hoisted it into the back of the ambulance. “Dan, keep pressure on that wound!”

  “Got it, Bob.”

  “Bob” jumped down from the back of the rig and closed the doors.

  “What’s happening?”

  “We’re taking your friend to George Washington University Hospital. Get there when you can.” He ran to the driver’s side and climbed in. The ambulance departed with lights flashing and sirens howling.

  I stared after it, thinking of having driven an ambulance myself this past February, with Mark in the back, “treating” Senator Wexler, and I was grateful not to have to ride along with the paramedics.

  “He’s like a brother to me.”

  “He’ll be okay, Mr. Mann,” April whispered, slipping her hand in mine.

  “You’re going to be late for your date.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll just be fashionable. And if... if he can’t accept that I had to help you, then he isn’t worth my time.”

  “Thank you. You’re a good woman...” Unlike some I could name. “... and I appreciate what you’ve done.”

  “If you can give us your names?” one of the uniformed cops asked, bringing my attention back to him.

  April released my hand and began wringing hers.

  “Of course, Officer.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m Quinton Mann.” The cop seemed startled, bu
t when I gave him an inquiring look, he just shook his head.

  “I’m... I’m A-April O’Shay.” She appeared nervous.

  “Is it all right if April leaves? She dialed 911, but she has no other involvement in this.”

  “Just give me your address and phone number, Miss O’Shay.”

  She appeared even more nervous, but she rattled off the information he wanted.

  “Okay, thanks. If we need to ask you any questions, we’ll be in touch.”

  She nodded and offered me a wan smile. “Good night, Mr. Mann. I hope Mr. Cooper isn’t hurt too bad.”

  “Me too. Good night, April. Have a good time.”

  She bolted to where she’d parked her car, and within minutes had driven off.

  I resumed talking to the cop. “My friend is David Cooper. We work for the CIA.”

  The cop seemed even more startled than earlier. His partner poked him. “I’m gonna look around.”

  “Okay, Terry.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “My friend and I had dinner at the Rib Shack.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Excuse me? Oh, yes.” Surprisingly enough, the shopping bag was still looped around my shoulder. “We were on our way to my car when someone shot at us.”

  “Hey, Sammy, come take a look at this.”

  “Excuse me a moment, Mr. Mann.” He joined his partner, and they crouched to examine something on the ground. “Okay, bag it,” he said. “We’d better get CSI on the scene.” He rose and rejoined me. “We’ll put out a bulletin to local hospitals and doctors’ offices to make them aware we have a perp on the loose.”

  “Thank you. If… if there’s nothing else, I’d like to leave for GW.”

  “Do you need a ride?”

  “No, my car is at the end of the block.”

  “We’ll need your information in case we have to get in touch with you.”

  “Certainly.” I took out a business card. “This has my work number. May I borrow your pen?” I turned the card over and jotted down my home address and cell phone number.

  “Thanks very much, Mr. Mann. We’ll contact you if we have further questions.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you kept me abreast of the investigation.”

  “Yes, sir.” His ready acquiescence obviously surprised him, and I bit back a smile.

  Mark isn’t the only one who can get results, I thought in wry amusement.

  It didn’t take long to get to the hospital, but once there, it took a good ten minutes to find a parking spot. Of course. It was a Saturday night, and between accidents and incidents like DB’s, the Emergency Department would be a madhouse.

  I entered the ED and walked to the reception desk.

  “May I help you sir?”

  “My friend was brought here a short while ago. His name is David Cooper, and he was shot.”

  “Doctor Forrester is looking after him.”

  “My name is Quinton Mann. Would it be possible for me to speak with the doctor when he’s available?”

  “She. I’ll tell her—Oh, here she is! Dr. Forrester, Mr. Mann would like to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have time to—Quinn?”

  “Tory?” I knew this Doctor Forrester. She’d taken care of me when I’d been brought to the University of Maryland Medical Center after Buonfiglio had shot me at the Wyman Bros. Warehouse a couple of years before. We’d attempted to date for about eight weeks, but between the hours she worked and how often I was out of the country, we’d d never managed more than the occasional cup of coffee and finally had to give it up.

  And then, of course, I’d met Susan.

  “My God, it’s good to see you! How’s your leg?”

  “It’s fine. How are you?”

  “Run ragged, as usual.”

  “When did you come to DC?”

  “At the beginning of the year. I was offered a position in the ED when it opened up, and it turned out to be a good opportunity. My family lives in DC, and I’ve missed them. I was going to call you, but then...” She pulled a chain from the collar of her scrubs. A ring with a modest stone dangled from it.

  “Tory, you’re engaged! That’s wonderful! I wish you every happiness.”

  “Thank you. I can’t wear it on my finger at work, but this is better, because it’s against my heart.” Her eyes sparkled, and I truly was pleased for her. Even if we’d managed to find the time to get together, it wouldn’t have worked. My weakness ran to hazel-eyed men with prominent ears. “What can I do for you? I’ll have to keep it short, Quinn. I’ve got a very ill patient.”

  “Yes, my friend, David Cooper. How is he?”

  “I can’t tell you anything, I’m afraid.”

  I smiled at her. “You should know me better than to assume I’d put you in a legal bind. If you check David’s wallet, you’ll see he carries a paper that gives permission for me to have this information.”

  “I’ll have one of my nurses check this out and get back to you. Wait here.”

  “Thanks, Tory. I appreciate it. David is a good friend, and I hate seeing this happen to him.”

  She squeezed my arm. “We’ll take good care of him.”

  Not long after that, the nurse came out and spoke to me, telling me what information they had at this time. She was very kind. “Dr. Forrester suggested I bring you to a room where you can wait.”

  Like the parking lot, the waiting room was jammed.

  I followed her and entered the room. There was a couch against one wall, a few chairs scattered around, and tables stacked with magazines. I turned and forced a smile. “Thank you very much.”

  She squeezed my arm, gave me DB’s cell phone and wallet, and left. I closed the door, put his wallet in my pocket and the phone on the magazines, dropped down on a chair, and ran both hands through my hair.

  Now came the hard part: the phone calls.

  I had to prioritize my phone calls. First was Mark. It was almost midnight, and I jumped in before he could take me to task for being so late.

  “DB’s been shot—”

  “Goddammit! This is what happens when—Quinn, you better not be hurt.”

  “No, I promise you I’m all right. Please let Mother know.”

  “I will. Where are you?”

  “GW’s emergency department.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Mother likes DB. Do you honestly think she won’t come with you?”

  “Okay, we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “You can’t drive.” He couldn’t put pressure on his right leg, and it would be awkward using his left leg for the gas pedal.

  “You’re being a pain in the ass, Quinn.”

  “No, that’s the kitten.”

  “Smartass. Okay, we’ll all be there. In half an hour.”

  “Good. Tell Gregor to drive carefully.” I could hear him grind his teeth. I might as well give him the rest of the news. “Just one thing more. DB knows about us.”

  “What?”

  I flinched, tempted to hold the phone away from my ear. “I told him. He has no problem with it.”

  “So much so that he went out and got himself shot?”

  “Don’t be difficult, Mark. This night has been a beast.”

  “Okay, but I think you should have waited until I was with you before you told him.”

  “It was my responsibility.”

  He growled, and I could picture him tugging on his hair. “I don’t know why I bother arguing with you.”

  “I don’t, either. I have to make more phone calls. I’ll see you soon, babe.”

  “You bet. Quinn, in spite of everything, it’s still forever.”

  “I know, Mark. Forever.” I hit End, put my phone in my pocket, and took DB’s phone, which had his mother’s number in it. He had four missed calls, all of them from either Lyn Raffles or Syd Cooper. They’d have to wait.

  I dialed Mrs. Cooper’s number. The phone kept ringing, and I
was afraid it would go to voicemail. Hearing your son had been shot wasn’t the sort of message anyone should have to receive in that manner.

  I was about to hang up, when she answered. “Really, David Brendan, this is very inconsiderate of you. Do you have any idea of the time?”

  “Mrs. Cooper, this is Quinton Mann. I’m a friend of your son’s.”

  After a moment of silence, she said, “I know who you are. Why are you calling me from my son’s phone?”

  “I’m sorry to tell you this, but he’s been hurt.” Mother would want to know immediately if I’d been shot, but Mrs. Cooper was a civilian, and I tried to break it to her gently. “He’s in George Washington University Hospital. They’re taking very good care of him—”

  “How was he hurt?”

  “We were leaving a restaurant, and there was an incident.”

  “I might have known you’d be involved.”

  “Uh... yes. As I said, the doctors here are taking good care of him—”

  “What kind of incident?”

  I sighed. “He was shot in an attempted mugging.”

  “Oh, my God, are his doctors aware he has a factor X deficiency?”

  “Yes. DB wears a pendant to alert medical personnel about it. His doctor has given him an infusion of plasma, and she’s optimistic about his prognosis.”

  “I knew something like this would happen if he let you talk him into joining the CIA!”

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Cooper, but from the moment I met him, attaining a position within the CIA had been DB’s goal. I didn’t talk him into anything.”

  “Be that as it may, he wouldn’t have been accepted if you hadn’t helped with his marksmanship.”

  “This was something to which he’d aspired from the time he’d been in his teens.”

  “But he would have gotten over it if it wasn’t for you. And now he’s shot and bleeding out in a hospital more than two hundred miles away.”

  “You’re not in San Francisco?”

  “Obviously not. I’m in Manhattan with my youngest daughter to do some shopping for her wedding, although that’s no business of yours.”

  “Mom, what are you doing up? What’s going on?”