Chapter Nine

Oscar had gathered supplies for his chosen 'mission', too: photos of Jaime and Steve, picture books and the big, pink teddy bear. He'd gotten an early start, working with Jenna for a few minutes at a time, right after breakfast. Now, while she was napping, he smiled to himself, picturing Jaime's joyful surprise, if he could only pull this off...in less than a day.

- - - - - -

Doctor Bryson opened a desk drawer and placed an ashtray within Jaime's reach. She couldn't help noticing it was spotless. "You're more than welcome to smoke," he told her. "I want you to feel comfortable here."

"It does relax me...sometimes," she acknowledged, flicking the lighter and willing herself not to cough. As she exhaled, she wondered to herself why anyone would actually choose to do this, nearly gagging on the taste and feel of the smoke. "Do you smoke?" she asked casually.

"No, I've never smoked, but it does seem to help some of my patients, so I keep an ashtray tucked away in the drawer for them."

Ah ha! Jaime gave another sniffle, letting the pretend waterworks slow to a halt, as if she was finally allowing herself to relax. "Afraid someone might grab it and conk you in the head if you just leave it out on the desk?" she ventured lightly.

"That would never happen; I like to keep my desk reasonably neat, so it's always been easier to just keep it in the drawer. Now, how about telling me what it is you need to talk about?"

Jaime picked up the ashtray and carefully flicked the cigarette ash into it, retaining the knickknack in the palm of her hand. She had him now, but played hesitant just a little bit longer. After another puff where she had to strain not to make a face, Jaime stubbed out the cigarette. She was ready.

"Why don't we start with your name?" Bryson probed.

Jaime's fingers curled around the edge of the ashtray. "So nobody's ever threatened to toss one of these at you...or hit you with it?"

"Of course not; what are you implying?"

Jaime shrugged. "Just curious. Or nosy – take your pick."

"What is your name, Miss?" the doctor asked again, growing impatient.

""You lied," Jaime said calmly, watching every nuance of his face for a reaction.

"Excuse me?"

"You either lied to me just now, or you lied yesterday when you claimed you got conked in the head. So which is it?"

"I think you'd better explain yourself, young lady – and damn quickly."

"Maybe you'd better explain yourself...doctor," Jaime demanded, not backing down. "Peggy Callahan has never smoked, so there was no ashtray on this desk for her to hit you with. It never happened, did it? In fact, you gave her a gun and sent her out the window. Why?"

"Because I already have one of my own, right here," Bryson sneered, removing a large pistol from the desk drawer and leveling it straight at Jaime.

- - - - - -

"Who is this?" Oscar asked.

"Mama!" Jenna giggled, patting Jaime's picture with her chubby little fist. Then she picked up her bear to hug it and Oscar held his breath. Would she say it? Did she understand? She certainly seemed fascinated, but maybe it was only the photos, rather than what he was trying to teach her.

Suddenly, it happened. A tiny, baby voice: "Wuv you!" Success!

- - - - - -

Russ and his team had found that Callahan's only contacts in the last week had been her attorney and her therapist. The attorney was tied up in several long, intricate court battles and his every moment was accounted for. That left only one possibility, and Russ's team was moving at top speed through the streets of DC, toward John Bryson's office.

- - - - - -

"Sit down in that chair," Bryson told Jaime in a quiet, threatening voice. Jaime complied, watching him closely. As he advanced toward her, he had the gun in one hand and a syringe in the other. "Congratulations – you've just won yourself an all-expenses-paid, one-way ticket to a nice, padded cell." Faster than a striking cobra, he jabbed the needle into Jaime's thigh.

Correctly guessing that it was some sort of knock-out shot, Jaime forced herself to go completely limp and let her eyes flutter closed. The doctor picked up her right arm, checking for a pulse, and swore softly to himself. He hadn't intended to kill her...yet. Jaime held her breath and remained completely still until she heard Bryson head back toward the desk, then she picked up the ashtray from the folds of her skirt, gripped it by the rim with her right hand and sent it sailing (medium strength) into the back of the doctor's head.

Russ and his men burst into the room just as the unconscious therapist hit the floor. Jaime removed the sunglasses and grinned at her 'rescuers'.

"'Bout time you got here!" The men stared at her strangely until she removed the hat and wig, and then even Russ had to laugh, for a second or two, anyway.

"You came here on your own?" he asked, no longer smiling. "With no back-up?"

Jaime nodded. "And I got him, too."

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