Author's note: Thank you to all my readers who are continuing on this journey with me! I had meant to have this chapter up sooner, but other things have been on my mind, such as the birth of my first grandchild! It's a boy. He's absolutely awesome, and I am well-prepared to spoil him rotten. Anyway, I think there may be a few chapters left in this one before I'm done. I appreciate all the notes of encouragement and for the reviews. Special thanks go to my wonderful beta readers and to my husband and son. I am happy to report that katbybee and Hilary and their family came through Hurricane Irma intact. I hope that any of my readers who were affected by Harvey or Irma have fared as well. And now, on with the story! Enjoy!
Glossary: Choctaw/English
Inki – His/her father
Shilombish – Spirit
When Melissa brought her to the small private room a few doors down from Nashoba, Nita had initially protested. "I cannot afford such a room! I do not even have insurance!" But Melissa reassured her she had nothing to worry about—the private room was by Dixie's orders, because Nita needed some space after everything she'd been through.
The friendly nurse had shown her how to press a button to make the bed lie flat and then to raise it up again. Then Melissa had also thrust a little box she called a "TV clicker" into Nita's hands, prattling all the while. "It's almost time for General Hospital, you know. I'm sure you won't want to miss that—I bought a VCR with my pay last month just so I won't miss any episodes when I'm on shift. My brother laughs at me for watching General Hospital because he thinks I'd get enough of hospitals here at Rampart, but I just love all the characters and their stories. There are other good soap operas, but that one's my favorite." She giggled. "Sometimes the show makes me wonder whether the doctors here have exciting secret lives." Here she lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "Why, just last week, Dr. Brackett…"
By this time, Nita had stopped hearing distinct words. "TV clickers" and "soap operas" meant little to her, as she had never owned a television, and wouldn't dare watch in any house where she worked. And so she just let herself float along on the cheerful stream of Melissa's chatter. Her eyes were slipping shut and soon she felt cool fingers move the clicker from her hand. She blinked open her eyes again to see a chagrined Melissa, her lips quirked into a rueful smile.
"Will you listen to me?" The nurse set the clicker aside, pulled a blanket over Nita, and then fetched a pitcher of water and set that on the bedside table, along with a tall plastic cup. "Here I am going on and on about my show and you're barely keeping your eyes open. I'll just put this aside, take your vitals, and then leave you to rest." She made quick work of getting Nita's blood pressure, heart rate, and respirations, noted the information on the chart, and then flashed a smile at her charge. "I'll be back to check on you in a few hours. If you need anything before then, just press the call button."
And then she was gone, and Nita was all alone. She almost wanted to hit the call button and get Melissa back to chatter at her some more, just to keep the silence at bay. Exhaustion tugged at her, and she resisted with all her strength. Though she had slept through most of her time in Lansing's keeping, this had been an unnatural sleep wrought by drugs, neither restful nor restorative. Now that the chemical fog had cleared, she felt bone weary and longed for a real sleep; but at the same time, she feared sleep. To sleep meant to surrender control, and she'd had enough of that in her life. Most recently, Lansing had taken it from her; but now Nita couldn't help thinking about how Inki had done it first, beginning the day Ishki had died. Of course, Inki was a far cry from the sinister Jerome Lansing! He had never laid a hand on his daughter, and woe betide any man who tried! But he had feared losing her, feared being left alone with a son he resented, and so he isolated her from her friends, from any would-be suitors, and even from her education. Since his passing, Nita had relished her new-found freedom. She could work where she wished and rest when she wished; she could have friends beyond Inki and Billy; she could even smile at Captain Matt Thomas and his crew and make fry bread for them, and no one would pull her away or threaten the firemen to keep their distance. And now she understood that Inki, in his need for control, had taken far more from her than she ever imagined—he had stolen her hopes for a life with Nashoba.
As of today, that life was possible again—but was it what she wanted? Or did she want Captain Thomas with his smiles and his jokes and his compliments? Just now she felt her heart tugged toward her first love, but maybe this was simply gratitude because he rescued her. She smiled as she thought of the day he first slid his hand into hers while they walked together in the woods. That day, she believed their hearts were meant for one another, that their lives were somehow woven together like one of Ishki's intricately designed baskets. All these years, Nita had hoped that somehow, she and her first love would find their way back to one another. With Nashoba's image foremost in her mind she let her eyes drift shut as she surrendered at last to sleep.
The dream carried her to the woods near home once again, and the silver-grey wolf padded beside her. She let her fingers drift across his warm back, and she felt his strength as he leant against her. She recognized that her shilombish had brought her to this place. She remembered the last time she had walked here in the dream world, when the wood had seemed dark and threatening. But now, light filtered through the leaves and the wolf was by her side, and she felt secure, even joyful. Then she felt a hand slipping into hers and she realized the wolf had transformed into the man Nashoba Tushpa, or Swift Wolf, who also bore the name John Roderick Gage, after his father and his grandfather before him. Together they strolled along the well-worn path to the creek, and there they sat, soaking their feet and talking together. He splashed her with the icy water, and she laughed, then leant to scoop up a handful of water and throw it in his face. Suddenly, the scene changed. The wolf-pendant she always wore slipped from her neck into the swift waters. Nashoba reached to grab it for her, but he was not fast enough. And then, before her eyes, his face paled. His lips turned blue and he began gasping for breath. He slumped back against the tree behind him. His eyes closed and his breath stilled. "Nashoba?" Nita called, and she shook him, but he did not respond.
Desperate, Nita clawed her way out of the dream. Her good hand flew to her chest and for the first time, she realized that her pendant was missing—she could not feel its comforting lump under the thin fabric of the hospital gown. Her thumb pressed the call button, but she did not wait for a nurse to respond. Heedless of her broken arm, she scrambled out of bed and pulled the gown around her, intent on getting to Nashoba's room.
Nita reached her door just as Dixie was pushing it open. She managed to avoid a collision and grabbed hold of Dixie's arm. "Miti!" The words tumbled out on each other's heels, and she didn't even notice she was speaking Choctaw. "Nashoba vt illa husi!"
Dixie gently squeezed her shoulder and brushed tears from her cheek. "English, Nita. I can't understand you." But even her soft voice and touch could not still the frantic pounding of Nita's heart.
"Nashoba! He is dying! Please come!" she repeated, this time in English. She pushed her way past Dixie, and the nurse followed without another word. When they turned in at the door of 363, the two women were confronted with the sight of an ashen Nashoba, lying very still on his bed.
Back at the precinct, Detectives Reed and Crockett sat across a table from Denny Janssen in the interrogation room. Because of the sensitive nature of their discussion, Crockett had closed the blinds and turned off the intercom. An attorney sat beside Janssen, scribbling notes on his yellow legal pad. On the table near Crockett was a small tape deck. As Crockett punched the "record" button, Reed leaned back in his chair, content to let Crockett do the questioning—as far as Jim was concerned, they should lock Janssen and anyone else involved in a cell and throw away the key. But they needed information Janssen could give them, and for now Jim would keep his mouth shut and listen.
"Before I say anything else, Janssen," Crockett began, "I want to thank you for your tip today." Jim resisted the urge to smirk. They had agreed to keep the details of the successful raid under their hats for the moment, so Janssen would not learn just now that Lansing was dead. "Now… first thing we need to know is, how did you get mixed up with Jerome Lansing?"
The attorney stiffened, and Jim couldn't help likening him to a guard dog with its hackles raised. "My client does not need to ans—"
Janssen silenced the man with a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Ed. I told you already, I'm going to answer all their questions. As my wife said last night, it's about time I grew a spine." He sucked in a deep breath and met Crockett's eyes. "I'll take what's coming to me, Detective, even if it means doing time."
His guard dog eased back a little, but remained tense. "Let the record reflect, my client intends full cooperation. In exchange, I would like to suggest immunity from prosecution."
"Duly noted," Crockett barked, and then his voice softened. "Go on, Janssen. If your information pans out, I'll talk with the DA about immunity, and I promise, Jim and I will do all we can to make sure you get a fair shake."
The guard dog was still on high alert. "We want the DA's promise in writing before we agree."
Janssen shook his head. "Shut up, Ed. I'm done worrying about myself. I'm ready to talk." He leaned forward and locked eyes with Ron. "I trust you, Crockett. You and Reed have a good reputation. That's why I'm talking to you." He shifted in his chair, took a long drink of water from the glass in front of him, and then continued.
"It all started last year… around March. I can't get more specific than that. I was up for promotion, but then Delano came to me and asked me about some rumors he heard… apparently, it was going around that I tampered with evidence from a drug bust. It was real bad—some said I was a drug addict… others said I was stealing heroin from the evidence locker and getting it back to the dealers in exchange for a cut. None of it was true, Crockett, and IA couldn't find any evidence to confirm it. The cloud didn't go away, though, because there also wasn't any proof I was innocent. I kept my job, but I didn't get the promotion. Then Captain Groff called me in to his office. He presented me with the so-called evidence—trumped up, every bit of it! He said it was incontrovertible and that if he let it get to IA, I would lose everything and my family would be humiliated. He promised to hold back the evidence if I did as he said. At first, I was just a messenger. But eventually, he pushed all the dirty work on me so he could keep his hands clean." He stopped here to take another drink.
Jim leaned forward in his seat, his decision to keep quiet forgotten. "What dirty work?"
"He knew you were investigating the trafficking ring. Whenever it seemed you were getting close, he instructed me to warn Lansing." Janssen hesitated, looking down at his hands. He cleared his throat, then reached once more for his water. Jim watched as he closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. The worry creases around his eyes were smoothing out. Over the last twenty minutes of confession, he seemed to have shed ten years. "Several times, he made me release prostitutes into Lansing's custody, and when Sarah Lansing was killed five months ago, he made me cover up evidence that she was murdered. That poor old man—he tried to tell me—and I went along with Lansing's explanation that he was suffering from dementia. He did seem pretty confused, but I thought it was his medication."
Crockett glanced at Jim. Both detectives had been informed of the senior Lansing's death. According to the autopsy, the man's cardiac arrest was triggered by a powerful cocktail of drugs, which the detectives suspected the son of giving him.
"Why did you go along with Groff?" Jim glanced at the attorney, almost certain he would find a reason to object to the question. But apparently, the guard dog had been brought to heel. He remained silent.
Janssen shrugged. "He threatened to ruin me if I didn't." He looked down at his hands again and began rubbing at a scar on his wrist. His next words came out almost in a whisper. "He said… he said he would make sure Lansing knew where to find my daughter if I didn't cooperate fully, and he had Mitchell and Hudson watching me and reporting to him. If they find out I'm here…" He glanced nervously toward the door.
"Relax, Janssen. They're out on patrol, and Groff went home early." Crockett leaned back in his chair and looked over his notes, clearly thinking about their next step.
Meanwhile, Jim had one more question. "Why now, Janssen. Why did you decide to come to us?"
Janssen scratched his neck and rubbed at his scar again. "I couldn't be a part of it anymore. My wife—she knew something was going on. I never told her about any of it but last night she confronted me, asked me why I had grown so distant and secretive over the last year. She said she'd been thinking of walking away, taking the kids with her." He sighed. "I hated myself for it, but I told her she should go. I wanted to know that she and the kids were safe. Then I told her everything. I was sure she would leave then, after learning what I had become, but I couldn't let her walk away without the truth. Can you believe it, that woman looked me in the eyes and told me she loved me and that she would stand by me, whatever happened, but I had to 'grow a spine and do the right thing.' So, when Groff summoned me today and told me to call Lansing and warn him to get out, I knew it was time. That's when I contacted you."
Jim nodded as Crockett set his notes back on the table and leaned forward again. "All right, Janssen… this is all valuable information, but we need hard evidence. So, here is what we're going to do."
Cup of coffee in hand, Roy sauntered down the hallway toward Johnny's room. Assured that Johnny was going to be all right, he had spent part of the last hour updating Joanne by telephone, and the rest dozing on the sofa in the lounge. He just wanted to check in on his friend one last time, and then he would go home to spend the afternoon with his family. According to Jo, DJ was out of sorts and asking for his daddy.
As he neared the nurse's station, an orderly darted past him with a crash cart. Then he saw Dr. Brackett and Dr. Morton running from the opposite direction. When all three converged on room 363, a chill went through Roy. He set his coffee on the counter and ran the rest of the way to Johnny's room, stopping only briefly at the door to steel himself for what he might find.
He slipped in unnoticed and stood to the side, where he slipped an arm around a sobbing Nita. Together, they watched wordlessly as Dr. Brackett intubated Johnny while Dr. Morton took his vital signs and Dixie readied the equipment necessary to hook him up to a heart monitor. Dr. Brackett looked up, his lips set in a grim line, and instructed Dixie to call for a ventilator, then returned his attention to his patient.
Once Johnny seemed to be stabilized, Brackett stepped back from the bed and studied his chart. "Mike, the chart mentions only a stab wound and a minor kidney laceration, but when Roy called it in, he said Johnny was forced under water twice. I'd like to hear exactly what happened."
Roy stepped forward. "I can tell you, Doc. Johnny was trying to rescue a drowning vic, and the fellow managed to push him under twice and stab him in the side."
Brackett frowned. "How long was he under? Did he lose consciousness?"
Roy shook his head. "No… at least, not from being held under. He fought pretty hard to get free, and he wasn't under more than 10, 15 seconds at a time. I think it was blood loss, shock, and exhaustion that made him pass out later."
"But he definitely took in water?" A shadow of concern darkened Brackett's eyes.
"Yes. He vomited up quite a bit of water right after we got him in the boat." Roy's brow wrinkled as his expression mirrored Brackett's concern. "Why, Doc? What's the matter with him?"
Brackett sighed. "I have my suspicions, but I want to confirm it first. Dixie, he'll need a bronchoscopy, and I want a chest x-ray."
"Right away, Kell." Dixie hurried off to make the arrangements.
Roy attempted to guide Nita, still weeping, from the room, but before they reached the door she realized what he was doing and pulled away. She sniffled a bit and then dried her tears on the sleeve of her hospital gown. "No," she said firmly. "I will stay with Nashoba. He needs me." Roy cast a glance at Dr. Brackett, who seemed at first ready to object, but finally assented with a nod of his head.
And so Nita took her place in a chair at Johnny's bedside, pulling his hand into her own. When she began murmuring in a gentle stream of Choctaw, Roy was pretty sure she was praying. He glanced upwards and added his own request to the Almighty for his friend. Then he looked back at Nita, sitting tall and straight like an ancient warrior queen.
He stepped to her side and reached into his pocket. The wolf pendant—it had been zipped in Johnny's pocket when they brought him in and he'd retrieved it in hopes of returning it to Nita. Now seemed like the right time. He touched her shoulder, and when she looked up at him, he held it out. "He would want you to have this back."
The relief that glowed in her eyes and almost brought a smile to her lips at the sight of her pendant bolstered Roy's hopes in the midst of all their shared worry, and he was glad he'd thought of the keepsake. "Your brother found it in the fire," he explained. "Johnny kept it close while we looked for you."
"I thought it was gone forever," she said. "I thought losing it meant… losing him. Yakoke, Roy DeSoto. Thank you." He helped her put the pendant around her neck where it belonged, then settled into the chair next to her. Together, they would keep vigil over their friend.