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My eyes took in random words, but they could have been gibberish for all my brain could make sense of them at the moment. My hands tried to tremble, forcing me to grip the chart tightly to keep it from shaking.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amadeo and Raven round the corner at the end of the hall, and I had to swallow back the audible sigh of relief that threatened to escape. They’d made it, at least far enough that the likelihood of running into trouble was minimal.
I scribbled a few random notes down on the chart I’d brought with me to stall for an extra moment. If the nurse looked too closely, she’d discover the chart I’d brought was blank.
When enough time had passed for Amadeo and Raven to have transferred the boy onto the gurney and off the ward, I closed my file and handed the chart back.
“Thank you again,” I said, then I bid her goodnight and left the ward.
It was a wonder my knees held me up.
The elevator was empty, and I allowed myself to lean back against the wall as it descended to the main floor. From there, I hurried down the hall to the nearest washroom.
Raven had recommended I stop for supplies first, and I was glad I’d heeded her warning. I was in no condition to go sneaking around supply rooms now.
My hands were still trembling as I grabbed the duffel bag of medical supplies from the furthest stall in the ladies’ room. Bandages and gauze in hopes all went well. Scalpels and surgical scissors, hemostatic agents, clamps and forceps, sutures and sterile drapes in case it did not.
Finally, vials of morphine. If I was caught with those, my career would be over.
I stared at the zipped bag for a moment and contemplated leaving the narcotic behind. To be caught with bandages and clamps would result in a disciplinary action. They wouldn’t take my license for it. But it meant I’d have nothing stronger than acetaminophen to ease the boy’s pain.
So, with the fully stocked duffel bag slung over my arm, I left the ladies’ room, retraced my steps to the elevator, and took it to the parking level, praying it would not be the last time I set foot in this hospital.
“We’re ready to go,” Raven said the moment I stepped off the elevator. She was hunched over Grayson Thomas in the back of a cargo truck parked ten feet away with her fingers pressed to his wrist, monitoring his pulse.
Amadeo, Vito, and Nico Costa were standing outside the truck, but right away, the sight of them sent a strange prickling sensation across the back of my neck. It wasn’t their tense postures or the adrenaline that seemed to pulse in the air around them. It was their faces. They wore no expression, no tension lines across their foreheads, no creases at the corners of their eyes. No slack-jawed relief. Nothing.
I shivered as I crossed the short distance to the truck. The boy was awake, glancing around warily, though he made no effort to flee.
“Get in, Heidi,”Amadeo said as he held out his hand to me.
This man was different from the one who’d come to my bedroom each night, demanding my body submit to him. Even the first time I’d seen him—after stabbing him in the back—there’d been more emotion playing across his features than there was now.
I shifted the strap of the duffel bag so that it sat higher up on my shoulder, then placed my hand in his, half-expecting his fingers to be as cold as stone. But they were warm, and they gripped mine tightly as he helped me up into the back of the truck. The moment I was inside, he let go of my hand and the door swung shut, trapping me inside.
Crouched down beneath the low ceiling, I turned around and faced Raven.
She smiled sympathetically. I had a feeling my discomfiture was written clear as day across my face.
“Don’t worry about them,” she said, waving in the direction of the closed door. “We had a bit of a surprise, and they’re not big on surprises.”
Perhaps. Though it felt like absconding with a hospital patient would not have ranked terribly high on their list of offenses. This seemed rather mild in comparison to the no-holds-barred shootout that had taken place at Amadeo’s cabin or even the bullet he’d put in the back of Owen Thompson’s head.
I didn’t ask about the “surprise”’ it was nothing I could affect here and now. I turned my attention to the boy, to the reason I was here.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Thomas?” I asked. I focused on an observational pain assessment, searching for tightened facial muscles, clenched jaw, squinting, or rapid blinking, but he seemed to be resting more or less comfortably at the moment.
“I think I’ve been better, but it could be worse,” he said as his gaze shifted to Raven, then back to me.
The truck began to vibrate beneath me, and with a sudden jerk, it began to move. I braced my hand against the side of the truck and duck-walked toward the boy, sitting down next to him.
“Blood pressure is one-hundred and ten over eighty,” Raven informed me. “Heart rate is ninety and respiratory rate is eighteen.”
All good stats. “Thank you,” I said. I was tempted to check on his wounds, but with the truck in motion, it wasn’t safe. The slightest bump, and I could end up doing more harm than good.
So, I sat. It only took a moment for the boy’s eyes to start fluttering closed. He forced them back open a few times, but quickly gave up the fight and let the narcotic and his body’s own need to heal pull him under.
“How are you feeling?” Raven asked when we were the only two conscious people in the back of the truck.
