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“But this is a public building.”
“It’s private and, whether you believe it or not, we’re only interested in taking care of our patients, your boyfriend included, so, come on, let’s get a move on.” Her face was calm, her voice steely. “I have other patients who need me.” And with that she headed to the semicircular desk, reached over and picked up the receiver, all the while keeping her eyes on the small group as the elevator call button dinged and the doors whispered open. “Third floor. This is Evelyn Mathers. Can you hold a second?”
The security guard who stepped onto the third floor was Madge Petroski, the officer Thomas had helped to her feet less than fifteen minutes earlier. And her mood hadn’t improved. Petroski’s lips were compressed, her muscles tight, her demeanor as serious as a wolf studying a lame, straggling deer. “What’s going on here?” she demanded, and didn’t soften a bit when she recognized Thomas.
“We need an escort for Ms. Long,” Thomas said. To the nurse, he added, “We’re leaving, but if there’s a problem”—he cast a meaningful glare at the deputy stationed near Jonas McIntyre’s room—“let us know.”
The nurse nodded tightly. “Will do.”
The security guard gave a clipped nod. “Come along,” she said to Mia Long and before she could reach for her, the younger woman stomped into the open elevator.
“Thanks,” Johnson said to the nurse. “We’ll be back.”
“Fabulous,” the nurse replied, her smile as icy as an arctic blast as she glared at Thomas. “Just . . . great.” Then she turned her attention back to the call.
Johnson asked, “Do you always have this effect on people you meet? This uncanny ability to make enemies everywhere you go?”
“It’s a gift,” Thomas acknowledged as they waited for another elevator car and gave berth to an orderly pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair heading down the short hallway. “A real blessing.”
