Justice for All. Joanna Wayne
visitors you can have to two at a time, fifteen minutes a visit, four times a day. You need to get some rest.”
“Fine by me. I don’t want people hanging around gawking at me hanging out of this thing.” He pulled on the loose fabric of the hospital gown to make his point.
She made a few notations on his chart, told him she’d see him in the morning and stepped out the door, shedding her white lab coat as she did.
“Hey, no one told me they were filming E.R. here tonight. If they had, I would have dressed for the occasion, too.”
Callie turned to see Mikki McCallister striding toward her. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”
“One of my darlings started running a high fever and his parents were nervous wrecks. I told them I’d meet them here and check him out.”
“Have you seen the patient yet?”
“Just left them. He’s got one of those stubborn viruses that don’t realize they’re supposed to check out after twenty-four hours. He’ll be fine, just needed the special touch of Dr. Mikki—and some glucose. What about you? Did you miss us so much you had to leave the soiree and pay a visit to the emergency room?”
“You got it. I think it’s the ambiance around here I can’t stay away from. Impatient patients. Harried doctors. And that woman yelling in Room 4 because we won’t keep supplying her with pain pills for her imaginary ailments.”
“So why are you here?” Mikki asked.
“One of the guests at the party collapsed and his heart stopped beating. I had to manually pump the chest to get it going again, so I stopped by to check on him.”
“Heart attack?”
“Atypical symptoms. It’s possible it was an allergic reaction, maybe to something he ate or drank at the party.”
“Speaking of food, I’m famished. How about stopping off at the Bar and Grill with me for a burger? You can wow the night crew with your cleavage.”
“Wowing Jake the bartender. Now why didn’t I think of that?”
Mikki was talking nonstop, but Callie’s mind stayed on Bernie as they walked to their cars.
The world would have been a better place if you’d let him die.
If Jerry Hawkins thought that, then others probably did, too—like the man that both the press and the police dubbed the Avenger. But would a serial killer be crazy enough to attempt murder at a house with nearly a hundred people milling around?
“Meet you in the bar,” Mikki said, unlocking her car door. “And don’t look so glum. I’m getting strange vibes about the rest of the night. Must have something to do with that knockout dress of yours.”
“Your vibes should go on Prozac.”
Callie slid behind the wheel, mindful of the red cocktail dress that slid up to mid thigh when she sat. The dress was a bit more revealing than she usually wore, a splurge purchase on one of her rare trips to Rodeo Drive. She’d loved it on the mannequin and liked it even better on her.
But hot dress or not, Mikki’s vibes or not, she didn’t expect or want any male attention tonight. Not that she was opposed to dating, but her recent attempts at relationships had been more trouble than they were worth. Her last steady had said she was too intimidating. When she asked what he meant by that, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—explain.
Oh, well. She could live without a man in her life if she had to. She’d done it for the last eight years. Besides, she had Pickering to keep her company. He was always glad to see her and never complained of her long hours or accused her of being intimidating.
Retrievers were great that way.
Her cell phone rang before she reached the restaurant. It was Mary, anxious for news of her ill guest.
MAX FINISHED THE THIRD beer and pulled his wallet from his pocket. “What do I owe you, Jake?”
“I got your ticket here somewhere.” He turned and searched through the collection behind the bar until he found Max’s bill. “That will be $14.20…Well, well, well, look what just walked in.”
Max pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slid it across the bar to Jake before turning to see what new babe had caught the roaming eye of the bartender.
It was Callie Baker in red—her cinnamon hair framing her youthful face, her long shapely legs set off by the high-heeled sandals. He swallowed hard as a memory of Callie flashed in his mind. A brief encounter that should never have happened.
But the old memory showed no sign of retreating as Callie waved and started walking in his direction. He should have left a beer ago.
CHAPTER TWO
“IS SITTING AT THE BAR OKAY?” Callie asked, once she’d spotted Max. She hadn’t planned to go to him just yet with her suspicions, but since he was here, she’d like to hear his opinions on Bernie Brusco.
“That’s not a bar stool kind of dress you’re wearing, but it works for me,” Mikki said. “Grab us a seat. I see my one of my firemen buddies standing by the pool table. I want to go over and say hi.”
“I thought you were famished.”
“I am. Order me a cheeseburger, loaded, including jalapeños, and add a side of chili fries.”
“You’re eating hot peppers and chili fries in the middle of the night?”
“Sure. I’m from Texas. We like it spicy—the hotter the better.”
“Guess that explains your fondness for firemen.”
Mikki smiled as she strode off, her long blond hair bouncing about her shoulders. Now that she’d shed her lab coat, she looked more like a teenager than a doctor.
Callie walked over and stopped at Max’s elbow. “Mind if I join you?”
“I don’t know.” He gave her outfit an approving once-over. “Is Prince Charming going to show up and demand a duel?”
“No Prince Charming. I was at a fund-raiser earlier and had to stop back by the hospital. I didn’t bother to change.” She sidled onto the stool next to him.
“Can’t get away from work even on a Friday night. You’re getting as bad as me.”
“I tried. Bernie Brusco collapsed at the party. I stopped by the E.R. to check on him.”
“Is he all right?” Max asked.
“I think so. Actually it was more serious than a collapse. His heart stopped beating.” She hooked the back of her heels on the rung of the bar stool. “Do you know Bernie?”
“We haven’t met, but I know who he is and that he bought a house in Jacaranda Heights.”
“What else do you know about him?”
“Nothing officially.”
“How about unofficially?” Callie asked.
“Like what?”
“Is he into drug trafficking?”
“I’m guessing that’s not the occupation he put on his hospital admittance form.”
“No, but someone at the party seemed convinced it was true.”
“He’s the kingpin,” Max admitted. “Runs his own little cocaine and crack empire. L.A. police have arrested him several times, but the charges never stick. There’s no sign he’s involved in distribution in Courage Bay, though. Guess he doesn’t want to dirty up his own backyard.” Max rested his elbows on the bar. “Was his collapse drug related?”
“It’s possible. I ordered a toxicology report.”
Jake