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“She’s right, mate,” Jamie says.
“Adam, please get looked at properly,” Romilly pleads. “Look at yourself. You—”
But she can’t bring herself to finish, as tears threaten. She came so close to losing him. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him now. His head is still bowed, his eyes heavy-lidded. It’s taking all his effort to breathe. Probably from the lack of blood in his system, most of which is drying around them, tacky on his skin, his clothes.
“We need to catch her.”
Romilly glances to Jamie. One of the first things Adam said when he was conscious was Maggie’s name, directing them to go and find her. But that’s as far as they’ve gotten; there’s so much Adam doesn’t know.
“She’s in custody, Adam,” Jamie says slowly.
Adam looks at him, almost disbelieving. He pulls the oxygen mask off again. “You have her?” he repeats.
Jamie nods. The relief is clear on Adam’s face.
“I’m still not going to hospital,” he says. He gestures to a paramedic who’s holding a bottle of water. They pass it to him and he takes a long gulp, then another. “No fucking way.”
“Adam, you need fluids, you need blood—”
“No one is sticking fucking needles in me!” He shouts it suddenly, his hand pulling away from hers, his body rigid.
“Fine, okay,” she says softly. She can only imagine the trauma—to be faced with his greatest fear and be trapped, not knowing if anyone was on their way. She glances around. “But let’s get out of here. Please?”
The paramedics look uneasy as Jamie takes one arm, Romilly the other, and they help Adam up. He seems unsteady at first but gains strength as he shuffles toward the exit.
He still has bare feet, but he doesn’t flinch as they walk down the path to Jamie’s car.
Once in the back seat, he takes another swig of water. He leans back and closes his eyes. He’s pale, his skin almost translucent against the stark white bandage on his forehead. She knows he should be getting medical attention. Some sleep, at least.
Jamie starts the engine of his car. “So where to, Boss?” he says.
Adam opens his eyes slowly. “Home,” he mumbles. He reaches for Romilly. “You’re coming too,” he says.
She grips his hand, enclosing it tightly in both of hers.
“Too fucking right, I am,” she replies with a smile.
CHAPTER
72
ADAM FEELS AWFUL. His head is pounding; he feels dizzy, every muscle weak. He rests his head back in the seat as Jamie drives, willing his body calm, his mind quiet.
But still the panic comes. In waves, starting in his stomach, as he remembers the cold under his feet, the bindings on his wrists and ankles. The complete helplessness as she inserted the blade into his skin, feeling the sharp pain, intensifying as she drew it along his vein. The nausea, the dizziness, the disgust, as the blood poured. The horrifying knowledge that he could do nothing to stop it. If his team hadn’t found him, he would have died there. Alone.
Maggie was true to her word. Angry, she had gagged him again, both hands wrapping the tape so hard around his head, his neck jarred. Then she turned her attention to the selection of medical instruments on the table next to her.
“My mother taught me the essentials,” she said. “How to administer injections, insert a cannula. Basic first aid—plus a bit more. She thought I’d be saving lives.” She picked up another needle, removing it from the sterile wrapping and holding it up to Adam’s face. His heart raced in response. He couldn’t help but imagine the tip entering his vein, the metal inside him. He closed his eyes again. Get a fucking grip, he told himself, to no avail.
“I’ve worked it out,” she continued. “Practiced on the others. It depends on the situation, the metabolic requirements of the tissues being under-perfused, but I reckon you’ll stay alive just less than a day. Do you think they can find you in that time?”
They can. They can. But you had a week, the voice in his head said. Look how far you got. You couldn’t even find the killer right under your nose.
“But a bit of this”—she added, and he opened his eyes then. Saw the scalpel, barely inches from his face—“and it’ll probably be a lot less.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off that blade. The light from the overhead lamp reflected off the metal, shining, sharp, and dangerous. He followed its path as she lowered it toward his arm. She stopped then, watching his response. He tried to speak, shook his head to and fro, but there was nothing he could do.
The pain came on hot and fast. Every muscle in his body tensed, his breath stopped dead in his chest, as a gush of blood flowed from the wound. And he screamed, his agony, his fury and pain, muffled behind the tape.
