Chapter Fourteen: Arrests

Steve wasn't sure what happened. One second he was getting out of the car, feeling only slightly less than himself, the next the whole world seemed to have tunneled then taken a nose dive and he'd gone with it. He had a vague recollection of hitting ground, something hard and blunt stabbing into him, and then his dad and Jesse's voices sounded from either side of him. Their words became more coherent as his disorientation cleared.

He opened his eyes, appalled to discover that they'd managed to get him back into the passenger seat, without him quite recalling that portion of the experience. He looked between the two of them and groaned internally. They were both in full doctor mode.

"I'm fine," he replied to the barrage of worried questions coming from both men. "Just a little low blood sugar. My dad's a doctor, I should know better."

Neither Mark nor Jesse seemed amused by his attempt at humor. He had to admit that he didn't find the situation particularly funny either. He didn't have time for this. Worse, along with his other aches and pains he had the pleasure of adding soreness in another part of his anatomy to the growing list. Sitting wasn't exactly pleasant. He made a motion to get out of the car, noting as he did so that his cell phone, or the remains of it, was on the ground outside of the door. That must have been what he landed on.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mark and Jesse asked in an odd synchronicity.

Steve frowned, hoping that he hadn't imagined that they'd both spoken at the same time. "We need to go inside and get the package," he responded to both of them. The dizziness wouldn't be so bad if he stood up slowly. Besides, it was just low blood sugar. He didn't have anything in his stomach and losing what he'd gotten down that morning on the side of PCH surely hadn't helped matters.

"I don't think so," Mark spoke alone this time, Jesse backing him up with an emphatic nod. "You just collapsed getting out of the car. We need to get you to the hospital to get you checked out immediately. Nausea and dizziness can be symptoms of a deeper problem."

"I'll be all right," Steve insisted. He looked toward the building, knowing that inside was another clue that might help them get closer to bringing Amber to justice. He didn't want to put it off another minute. "Every second that Amber is free Bright is in danger, along with anyone else she sets her sights on." He didn't mention that other person that she'd set her sights on was him. He didn't have to.

"Steve. . . " Mark shook his head. "Your life is far too important to take risks with it. I need to know what's going on with you. If it's low blood sugar, then fine. If not. . . "

Steve sighed. He didn't want to cause his family and friends unnecessary worry, but he was so close to that package. And something in his gut told him that there were valuable clues there if he could just find them. He came up with a compromise.

"Okay. This morning when I was here, Bright told me that this place has a medical facility. It'll be just like being near a hospital. It shouldn't take us long to get in, get the package, ask a few questions and be on our way. Twenty . . . thirty minutes tops."

"All right," Mark acquiesced, though he didn't look entirely convinced. "But as soon as we leave here, we go to Community General and directly to Community General."

"I got it." Steve smiled his relief. "I will not pass go. I will not collect $200. And the both of you can perform any test you see fit. Now can we go inside?"

"Yes, but slowly." That from his dad.

Both Mark and Jesse insisted upon helping him out of the car, as if he was an invalid. Jesse retrieved his broken cellular and put it into his pocket for him. "I don't think these were made for falling down on," he said teasingly.

"You don't say." He began walking toward the main building with a tell-tale limp, his father and Jesse hovering on either side. "I'm sure I'll have bruises to prove it."

"We'd better get that checked out too," Jesse replied with a devilish grin.

Steve shot him a withering look. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll be just fine."

"Steve you never can be too careful," Mark spoke up. "I should at least order an X-ray."

"Dad! It's not . . . broken!" Steve was aghast. He'd had enough sports related injuries to know that his latest. . . incident wasn't serious.

"But Steve," Mark's eyes twinkled. "You did say you'd go to the hospital and let us perform whatever tests we wanted to. And as the Chief of Internal Medicine, I feel that I'd be remiss in my duties if I . . . "

Steve groaned aloud as his father continued, obviously enjoying himself.

-- --

Cheryl glanced in her rear view mirror, noting that the black and white was right behind her, just as her cell phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and put it to her ear. "Detective Banks, here."

"Cheryl, Steve again. Listen, that call from Gibsen was about a missing file. I told him that you'd contact him, ask him a few questions about keys maybe."

Her brow furrowed. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. Why?"

"You just sound different. . . breathless maybe," she shrugged, though that wasn't precisely the word she was looking for.

"Don't ask," Steve replied over the connection, then immediately redirected the conversation. "Do you still have Gibsen's number?"

"I do, and I'll give him a call. But I won't be able to see him in person for a bit. I tried to call you, but you didn't pick up."

"Yeah, well, my phone is. . . out of commission. I'm using Dad's phone. Did you find something?"

Cheryl thought to dig deeper into the "out of commission" statement because she sensed that there was a very good story there, but she held off. She had information that she was sure that Steve would want to hear.

"We got a hit on the guy the locksmith identified as the assailant. He's definitely local these days. His name is Joseph Stoner. He works as a delivery driver. I'm headed to his place of work now with a couple of uniforms. Maybe he'll be a little more willing to talk than his partner in crime."

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "Was Amber ever identified in the mug shots?"

"He was still looking when I left. Green will give me a call if anything comes up."

Cheryl waited for several moments, then when silence remained on the line, "Steve? You still there?"

"I. . . uh, yeah," he replied, his voice sounding strained. "Let me know what you find out." He clicked off the connection, barely giving her enough time to respond.

She wondered briefly what that had been about, but had no time to debate it as she'd just made the turn onto a side road near where Stoner worked. As she did so, she noticed another car traveling in the opposite direction toward the Interstate. "Wonder what you're doing here?" she wondered aloud as she watched Amber McPherson's vehicle fading from view in her rear view mirror.

Every detective's instinct in her body came instantly on alert. She was tempted to turn around and follow the other woman, see what she was up to. But with the black and white tailing her, she would surely be seen. Deciding to continue on, she put on her signal and turned into the parking lot of Carlo's Restaurant.

-- --

Steve blew out a breath as they approached the Clear Skies reception desk. The muscle pains had returned with a vengeance while he was talking to Cheryl. They had been so strong that for a moment he had been unable to speak. They had dulled away again, but the level was much higher than before. He had to work to not focus on it and to keep his breathing normal.

Maybe his dad was right. He really should go to the hospital to get checked out. All of these pains in his chest were starting to bother him. Wasn't there some serious condition that could easily be masked when a person had bruised lungs, not presenting until sometimes days afterward?

Reaching into his jacket for his identification seemed a chore when he did so to display it for the receptionist. Thankfully, she remembered him from earlier that day and told him that Bright was waiting and that she would take them all to his office.

She set a brutal pace along a side corridor that made Steve wonder if they were running a marathon. Keeping up with her cost him his carefully controlled breathing, and he felt sweat breaking out on his brow by the time they stopped outside Bright's door.

"Go on in. He's waiting." She tapped once, opened the door and left them there while she sprinted her way back to the front desk.

Jonathan Bright appeared on the other side of the door to greet them, before echoing the receptionist's sentiment to enter the office.

Steve immediately noted a strong, pungent aroma. It played havoc with a suddenly queasy stomach, adding perspiration above his lip to that on his brow. He identified the source of the smell easily. It was feta cheese, and whatever else made up a Greek salad. Bright had one sitting open on his desk. It seemed to come with everything, and all of it was making Steve nauseous.

He made quick introductions and was glad when Bright apologized and closed his partially eaten lunch and moved into a smaller room off the office where Steve suspected he had a refrigerator. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard the sound of the seal breaking and making. He returned carrying a card board box.

"Hey, that's -- "

Jesse immediately stopped speaking, apparently a little surprised at what he saw. Steve followed his friend's gaze toward the package, but still didn't catch on to whatever Jesse was getting at.

"Is something the matter, Dr. Travis?" Bright asked, setting the box down on his desk within reach of each of them and the three chairs he had made available.

Steve looked at Jesse in askance, curious as well.

"Well, it's just that it's a stir-o-sticks box," Jesse explained. "We buy the straws for Bob's from them."

Steve looked back toward the box. "They probably sell them by the millions, Jess."

"Oh, right." Jesse continued to eye to box oddly as if he still believed that there was more to it, but he kept his silence.

"Has anyone else handled this box except you?" Steve asked of Bright as he pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and slipped them on his hands. He wasn't at all surprised to note that his father and Jesse were doing the same.

"The guy who signed for the delivery and myself as far as I know here. Other than that, of course, I'd have no idea."

Steve nodded then reached for the box. He settled it on his lap to better examine the contents. His father got to the bottle before he did. Steve was left to examine the insides of the box. There was little more than pink packaging material and the bubble-cushioned bag that the bottle had obviously been wrapped in. A small note card carried the message "Justice Is On The Way" in fancy script.

"This bottle appears to have been opened," Mark said from where he'd continued to examine the bottle. He looked across at Bright curiously.

"It came that way," Bright assured him. "I wouldn't have opened it."

Mark nodded and passed the bottle to Steve.

As Steve took the bottle, Jesse took the box off of his lap. He turned it around and around. He then pressed his face close to the box and began picking at something in the corner. "Hey, there's another label underneath this one!" he exclaimed.

"Really?" They all watched as Jesse picked gingerly at the label. It looked pretty difficult to do in gloves but he persevered.

"Got it." He grinned excitedly as he peeled it back slightly. The grin quickly faded. He looked wide-eyed between Steve and Mark. "The address is Bob's."

-- --

Cheryl stood across from Bruce Stephano, the owner and head pizza chef of Carlo's Restaurant. He had just explained that he hired a lot of people who were looking to put their lives together either after jail or battles with substance abuse.

"One fall out of the straight and narrow and they're out of here. I don't have time for bad apples. If Joey is into something bad, he and I are going to have a little talk."

"Um hmm." Cheryl nodded. The man was about to be arrested, there wouldn't be time for little talks with his boss. "When do you expect him back from his run?"

"He traded with one of the other driver's to do the Clear Skies run today. Should be back any minute, now."

Cheryl blinked. "You have a delivery to Clear Skies? The rehabilitation facility?"

"Oh, yeah," Stephano assured her. "Mr. B. helped me out a lot in a past life. I've got a lot of respect for him. And he sends a lot of business my way. He has a standing order every Friday. Introduces a lot of LA society to my food. They tell their friends. Thus, business is good."

"And Mr. B. would be?"

"Oh, sorry. Mr. Bright. Mr. Jonathan Bright. He owns the place - started it with a trust fund or something, I hear. He doesn't like to talk about it." Stephano looked over her shoulder at the sound of engine. "Hey, that sounds like Joey now."

"One more question, Mr. Stephano," Cheryl said. "Do you know an Amber McPherson?"

Stephano's brow creased into a frown for several moments, then he snapped his finger. "Oh yeah. Now I know why that name sounded so familiar. She was here today. She interviewed. Don't tell me she's in trouble too. I was thinking about hiring her."

-- --

Mark looked worriedly toward Steve when Jesse made his startling announcement. He saw him wince and grab at his chest. His face had gone from pale to downright pasty.

He broke my heart. The words that Amber had said on the beach that day echoed through his mind and filled him with a sudden sinking horror.

"Steve!" Mark crossed to his son's side in an instant. He spared Bright but half a glance, "We need to get him to your medical bay. Now!"

To his credit, Bright was in motion immediately. Jesse as well. Moments later, he appeared on Steve's other side, gently coaxing him to explain the problem while Mark took his pulse. It wasn't enough. Mark needed a stethoscope. He needed for his son to be in a hospital.

"A gurney is on the way," Bright informed them. "It'll be here in less than a minute." Mark noted distantly that Bright moved toward the office door and left it ajar, providing easier access for the medical personnel.

"Dad. . . " Steve managed breathlessly as he looked into Mark's gaze. His arm fell away from his chest to lay limply in his lap. "Worse than . . . before." His eyelids sank to half-mast, leaving only slits of blue visible. He weaved slightly as if he was having some trouble remaining upright in the chair.

"Before?" Mark questioned, steadying him. "How many times before? When did it start?"

There was a metallic sound as the gurney was pushed across the threshold into the carpeted room. Two huge men, which Mark guessed were what passed as orderlies at Clear Skies, stood alongside.

"Help me get him up," Mark ordered and the men moved into action. They hefted the smaller man easily with little resistance from their patient, and then they were on their way. Mark, Jesse and Bright all moved alongside as they rushed through the corridors. Mark knew the moment the pain worsened as Steve curled onto one side and uttered a low, barely audible moan. One hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt as if he could somehow stop the pain. The other reached out for Mark's hand which was settled on the edge of the gurney.

That small gesture, which spoke of Steve's distress and desire for comfort sent Mark's own already turbulent emotions into a tailspin. Every fatherly protective instinct he owned came rushing to the fore. He couldn't lose his son. He would do anything to protect him. Anything.

He turned to Bright. "Please call 911. Get a med-flight to Community General. Tell them officer down."

"I will Dr. Sloan. Right away. We have a heli-pad, here. I'll call down to the clinic when it's ready. Dr. Tracy will show you the way." He then headed off to follow Mark's instructions.

Doors opened ahead of them and Mark found himself in an examining area of a surprisingly well equipped clinic. A curly haired woman entered from a room off to the right, she'd donned gloves and a other medical accoutrements. "What have we got?" she asked approaching the gurney. A nurse appeared quietly at her side.

"Do you have a heart monitor? A portable defibrillator?" Mark demanded of the woman. In his peripheral vision he noted that one of the orderlies was arranging curtains to screen off the examination area from the rest of the clinic.

"You a doctor?" she asked as she gave Steve a quick, concerned once-over, obviously convinced that there was something wrong with him.

"Excuse me." Jesse grabbed her stethoscope from around her neck and moved to Steve's other side, beginning an examination. Mark gave her no time to react to Jesse, moving off to the side of the room where he saw what he was looking for.

"Dr. Mark Sloan," he informed her as he rolled the cart over to the side of the gurney himself. "Chief of Internal Medicine at Community General Hospital. This is my colleague Dr. Travis. And we'd really appreciate your help as I suspect that my son is having a coronary episode."

The woman was immediately in motion. Jesse had already gotten Steve to roll-over onto his back and had loosened the buttons on his shirt. She began to attach the sensitive leads to the appropriate places. The machine flickered on and immediately began an audible alert at Steve's erratic heart rate. Mark couldn't say why the sound startled him as he had known that this would be the case.

"I need . . . " Jesse told the nurse, who ran toward a supply cabinet and typed in a code as he continued to rattle off the appropriate meds to her.

Jesse's words and Dr Tracy's recitation of Steve's vitals faded into the background as Mark looked down at Steve and found that he was staring at him. The cold dread of intuition shot through him at what he thought he saw in his son's slightly defocused gaze. There was barely time for the anguished 'no' that bubbled into his throat before Steve's lids began to flutter, then closed altogether as his head sank to one side. The machine screamed a warning.

"He's crashing!" Jesse lunged for the defibrillator paddles.