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He shrugged, as if it was no consequence to him what she did. Glancing at Deputy Black, she hesitated. The guard clearly didn’t care if she stepped down the hallway to where the ice machine stood, and with so many law enforcement personnel in the hallway, Caroline couldn’t imagine a safer place for her to be. Unwilling to disturb the deputy for such a small errand, she walked in the opposite direction, away from the room.
She wasn’t as familiar with the layout of this floor as she had been with the ICU, and when she reached the end of the corridor without seeing the ice machine, she paused for a moment to get her bearings.
“The ice machine is to your right, honey,” said a passing nurse. She indicated the adjacent corridor. “Halfway down, on your left, next to the ladies’ room.”
“Thank you.”
Caroline walked swiftly in the direction that the nurse had indicated. Halfway down the hallway, she located the machine and paused to fill the bucket. While she waited for the ice to dispense, a movement caught her eye, and she looked to her right to see a man carrying a large bouquet of flowers. He had paused almost directly beside her to study a hospital directory that hung on the wall.
Caroline watched him covertly. She guessed him to be in his thirties, and he was distinctly Latino. He was dressed in baggy jeans and heavy work boots, and he wore a bulky jacket over his large frame, despite the warm temperature outside. A baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes. As if sensing her scrutiny, he turned and looked directly at her.
Caroline panicked.
Jerking upright, she glanced swiftly back the way she had come. The corridor seemed ominously long and empty. The door to the ladies’ room was right next to her, and without thinking she pushed her way inside. With her heart hammering, she stood inside the door and waited, the ice bucket raised in one hand, but nobody followed her. After a moment, she lowered the bucket, aware that her heart was still slamming against her ribs.
Once she realized she wasn’t in danger, the adrenaline rush ended, leaving her weak and shaking. She dragged in a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Disgusted by her own fearfulness, she walked over to the bank of sinks and set the bucket down. She braced her hands on the counter, willing her heart to slow its frantic pace.
After a moment, she gave a feeble laugh. She was in a hospital, for Pete’s sake, with half a dozen police, FBI agents and deputy marshals within shouting distance. No one was going to hurt her, and even if they tried, one scream from her would bring them all running.
Now that her panic had subsided, Caroline realized she really did need to use the bathroom, and she stepped into one of the stalls. She had no sooner sat down then she heard the bathroom door open and footsteps entering. For one wild, petrifying instant, she thought it was the man with the flowers, and that he’d come in to kill her. She was halfway to her feet, when the person entered the stall beside her own. Beneath the divider, Caroline could see a woman’s feet, encased in a pair of white service shoes. She relaxed.
Not a man. Not a killer.
A nurse.
The nurse lowered a pocketbook to the floor of the stall, and Caroline raised her eyebrows. Didn’t the woman know there was a hook on the back of the door? There was no way she’d ever let her own pocketbook come in contact with a bathroom floor, no matter how clean and hygienic it appeared. Her eyes narrowed briefly on the handbag, thinking it seemed vaguely familiar, before she brushed the thought away.
She left the stall a moment later and moved to the sink to wash her hands. Bending over, she splashed cool water against her face. She heard the flush, and then the stall door opened. Caroline straightened, reaching for the paper towels, when her eyes met those of the other woman.
With a swift gasp, she spun around. Not a nurse, but the housekeeper from next door to where her father lived. What had the police officer said her name was? Marisola Perez?
“What are you doing here?” she managed, but she thought she already knew.
Marisola’s features were twisted in grief and hatred, and tears filled her dark eyes. Holding her purse in one hand, she reached into the bag and withdrew a gun. Letting the handbag drop to the floor, she advanced on Caroline, who was too stunned to move, never mind scream.
“An eye for an eye,” she said brokenly. “A child for a child. I lost my daughter, and your father did nothing. My daughter came to this very hospital for an appendix operation. A simple procedure, the doctors said. But she died.” A sob escaped her, and she pressed her free hand to her mouth. “She came out of the surgery with such severe brain damage that she never woke up again. I had to pull the plug that kept her alive. No mother should ever have to do that!”
