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I scowl and cross over to him. “You better make fucking sure of that. I am not going to be killed in the middle of a morgue of all places.”
Ernesto waits until I’m on the slab. He helps me adjust the wig and the buttons on my coat, and I notice the slight tremor in his hands. With a frown, he pulls the sheet up over my body, giving me a grim look when he reaches my face. I give him a tight nod, and the world goes dark.
My hand darts out, and I grip Ernesto’s wrist. “Protect Isabella and the baby. No matter what it takes.”
“I will,” Ernesto says, his mouth near my ear. “Try and stay still.”
When Ernesto disappears, it takes everything in me not to throw the sheet off and race after him. A part of me imagines taking off my ridiculous disguise and revealing my gun to the mayor’s men. I picture their surprise and the light as it leaves their eyes, and it makes me feel better.
Until I imagine a stray bullet hitting Isabella. Or our baby.
I grow uncomfortable at the thought and hold my arms out on either side of me. A cacophony of voices rises, and I hear the door creak open. I’m holding my breath when footsteps approach. They walk past me, but I can hear them in the room. My fingers twitch to reach for the gun in my pocket. Then the door creaks open again, and a new voice joins them.
“What are you doing here? This a morgue.”
“We were checking for our friend. He came in earlier—”
“You’re supposed to have a form. You can’t just come in here and start looking at the bodies.”
“But—”
“Get out before I call the cops.” Her voice is loud but clear, and it holds a lot of authority and conviction. Footsteps shuffle out of the room, their shoes squeaking the entire time. I wait for a while longer before I throw the sheet off and sit up.
“Jesus.” The blonde-haired woman who drove them out has a hand on her chest, and her pupils are dilated. “How did you end up here?”
I yawn and swing my legs over the side. “I wanted to take a nap. I’m sorry if I disturbed you. These hospitals can be so big.”
The pathologist gives me a confused look. “Are you lost?”
“Yes.” I stand up and adjust the straps of my coat. “My wife, Clarissa, is in the hospital, but I kept getting turned around. Can you show me where the elevator is?”
The pathologist sighs and sets her clipboard down. She pats down the flaps of her white coat and then fastens two buttons. Wordlessly, she leads me outside, muttering to herself the entire time. Next to the double doors, the elevator glistens and shines. After pushing the call button, she twists to face me and peers intently.
“You look familiar.”
“I must have one of those faces,” I reply quickly. “Thank you for all your help, dear.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I get on the elevator and offer her a wave.
Her brows furrow together, and I see her conflicted look before the doors ping shut. Then I lean against the wall and run a hand over my face. On the fourth floor, the door opens to reveal a limping Ernesto, who has a swollen eye and a bloody lip. He doesn’t say anything as he gets into the elevator and waits for the doors to shut.
“They recognized me,” Ernesto mumbles without looking at me. “Paul is hiding in the women’s bathroom, and Sam went to the cafeteria. There’s a lot of people there.”
“Good. How many men?”
“I counted at least six, but there might be more outside,” Ernesto replies, with a lift of his chin. “How do you want to handle this?”
“Lorenzo is leading the cavalry,” I respond stiffly. “We just need to keep everything in check until then.”
Otherwise, who knows when it will end? I don’t want things to spiral any further.
The doors slide open, and I get off first, making a beeline for the chapel I saw at the end of the hallway. Ernesto follows close behind and ducks into a hallway when we’re closer. Inside the chapel, there is a stained-glass window, rows and rows of empty pews on either side of me, and a set of stairs leading up to a podium.
Reluctantly, I select a seat near the front of the room and place the cane next to me. Then I bow my head and listen. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. I link my fingers together and resist the urge to glance up. Or over my shoulders.
I don’t know where they are, and I don’t like being at a disadvantage, but what other choice do I have? Even though they’re closing in, I know I can’t let them have the upper hand.
My phone rings again, louder this time. I fish it out of my pocket and glance over my shoulders. “What?”
