Catherine Coulter - The Edge

"You almost didn't make it back, Mac," Dr. Coates said, coming back into the hospital room. "Why didn't you just pull over and go to sleep?"

"I didn't think of doing that, for some reason. I just thought about getting back. I guess I was blurry because stopping wasn't an option in my mind."

"Well, you made it back. Some of that road you were driving is tricky enough when you're not drugged to the gills."

"A truck nearly got me and the adrenaline surge bolstered me up for a few minutes. I was singing, shouting, anything to keep myself awake. I just couldn't go over a cliff in the car, like Jilly. I had to make it back." I drew a deep breath. "All right, what about Laura Scott?"

"Detective Minton Castanga will get back to us as soon as they get to her house and find out what's going on. I got him when I mentioned the words attempted murder and FBI agent all in the same breath."

"She could be long gone. If she wanted to kill me I don't think she'd hang around." Then I thought that if Laura had done it, she'd go to prison. I wondered: In prison for what? What has she done? It had to be something bad enough to make her believe she had to kill me.

Dr. Coates said, "As to that, there's no way to know if her intent was to kill you, unless she's caught and admits to it. You had a butt-load of the drug on board, but you probably would have survived the dose even without us. Your blood level was never that high, and you were never really unstable. They'll have to find her and see what she says."

I shook my head as I said, "I just don't think they're going to find her. She's a very smart lady. She won't be there and they're not going to catch her."

Dr. Coates listened to my chest again and Mrs. Himmel took my blood pressure. Then he said, "Oh, I nearly forgot. Dr. Paul Bartlett was here, pacing and upset, until finally we got him to go home. I'll call him and he can bring back the sheriff and some of your other friends who were trying to pile into your room. Maggie did tell me she was going to call the FBI and tell them what happened."

"Oh, no," I said. "I don't suppose you tried to talk her out of that?"

If Maggie did call the FBI, she would have gotten my supervisor, Big Carl Bardolino. I looked at the phone beside my bed. I didn't see much choice now. I made the damned phone call and got put on hold by his secretary. Big Carl was a man I respected, a twenty-five-year veteran, a canny team player but not a yes-man, and I really didn't want to talk to him about this.

"Yeah? Is this you, Mac? What the hell's going on? I get this call from a sheriff out there in boondocks U.S.A. telling- me about your getting yourself poisoned."

"Yes, sir, that's why I'm calling. I wanted to let you know that I'm fine. The local cops are on it. No need to worry."

"Damnation, you got yourself involved with a woman, didn't you? How many times have I told you young people that you've got to be careful about letting your hormones go on a rampage and getting you compromised. Or should I say poisoned?"

"Yes, sir, you've told all of us that at least half a dozen times. That isn't exactly what happened."

"Yeah, right. I can hear the truthfulness in your voice. You're a lousy liar, Mac. How many times have I told all of you that only vigilance conquers lust?"

"At least half a dozen times."

"Right. And none of you ever listens. I'm fifty-three years old, thankfully beyond all that sort of thing, but you're not. You're supposed to be on leave. You're supposed to be taking care of yourself, not getting poisoned. How are you feeling? How's your sister?"

"Well, she was in an accident and she's okay, but she's out of the hospital right now, and I'm not sure just where she is. I'm sorry the sheriff called you. I really don't think the drug I took was meant for me. There really wasn't any need to call you."

"Mac, I'm going to ream you if you get yourself hurt, you understand me? The FBI is a team, not a bunch of hotdoggers doing their own thing."

"I understand, sir. I'm not hotdogging. This is all about my sister, and where she's gone. It's not an official investigation. I'd appreciate it if you'd let me deal with it for now. I don't see any need to call in the cavalry."

He grunted. Finally, after I knew he'd chewed his unlit cigar nearly through, he said, "You will keep in touch with me, you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

I was so thankful I fell asleep, the oxygen still up my nose and the IV still dripping into my arm.

I woke up to see another man I didn't know staring down at me. His expression was thoughtful, and his long fingers stroked over his clean-shaven jaw. He had light hair, a narrow nose, and an obstinate look.

He was dapper, no other way to say it, from his French-cuffed white shirt to his highly polished Italian loafers. I put him at about forty, on the lean side, probably a runner, with smart, dark eyes that had seen more than their share of the world. He didn't look at all like a doctor.

When he saw that I was back among the living, he said quietly, in a lazy drawl that shrieked Alabama, "I'm Detective Minton Castanga from the Salem Police Department. I understand that your name is Ford Mac-Dougal and you're an FBI agent here to find your now-missing sister.'

"That's it exactly."

"Well, not all of it. You're flat on your back because someone laced your coffee with phenobarbital."

"Laura Scott," I said. "Did you find her?"

"Oh, yes, I was at her condo within ten minutes of Dr. Coates's phone call. However, she didn't tell us a thing."

"She's very smart. I doubted you would find her."

"You don't understand, Agent MacDougal. Laura Scott was lying unconscious on the floor of her living room, a huge cat curled up on her back and a mynah bird squawking on the seat of a chair just a foot from her head.

I couldn't take it in. "No," I said, struggling up to my elbows. "She's not dead. She isn't dead, is she?"

He cocked his head to the side, and I could nearly see his mental wheels turning. "No, no, she's not dead. She's at Salem General Community Hospital. They're still working on her, lavaging her stomach, the whole bit you went through with the nasogastric tube, the oxygen up the nose, and the rest. They said she's going to make it.

"So, Agent MacDougal, she gave you coffee, you drank it, and she drank it as well, in front of you?"

"Yes." I thought back. "She had only about a half a cup, at least while I was there. I got more of the phenobarbital than she did. I drank two cups."

"Was anyone else there in the condo? Or was it just the two of you?"

"No, no one else that I saw. Just me, the bird, the cat, and Laura."

"One of two possibilities, then," he said, smiling down at me. It was a smile filled with irony and a good deal of understanding. "Someone wanted both of you dead, which doesn't ring true unless that person knew you were going to visit her."

"I didn't tell anyone I was going to visit her."

"All right then. It appears that you were an accident and it was Ms. Scott they were after."

"But who would want to kill Laura?" Saying the words made me crazy with worry, and guilt. Because I'd blamed her.

"Not a clue yet. We have to wait to talk to her. You don't think she did try to kill you and then gave herself just a bit of the drug to fool us?"

"No," I said. "Absolutely not. Now that I've got my brain back in gear, I realize there was no reason for her to try to kill me. As far as I know she isn't guilty of a thing. Don't get me wrong, Detective, there's lots of stuff going on here, stuff I haven't figured out yet. My sister, primarily. Why she went off a cliff and now has vanished. I know she believed that Laura betrayed her. She didn't want to see her. Perhaps she was even afraid of Laura. Or was that a lie? No matter how I slice it though, there's no reason why Laura would try to kill me."