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The pain he’d seen before flashed in her serious expression. She quickly covered it with a tug on the hem of her jacket, a move she seemed to do when asserting or composing herself.
“I’ve been tracking Malgor for two years. For some reason, he’s chosen your hospital to escalate his behavior. He always includes a rose in his ransom email.”
“But not in the email he sent to us.” Maybe she’d read the situation wrong. Maybe the roses didn’t mean a damn thing.
“I know, and that’s concerning. Malgor hasn’t sent me a real rose since…” She dropped her gaze to the dried petals on the carpet.
“Since when, Rosalie?” He gripped her jaw and tilted her chin up. “I know there’s plenty you’re not telling me, and I deserve more. This ismyhospital, and you made this an official case withoutmyapproval.”
The phone on his desk rang. He pinned her with a glare. “This isn’t over.” He snatched the receiver and barked, “Dr. Ford.”
Seconds later, he grabbed her hand and yanked her to the door. “Come on. Your damn predictions are coming to life.”
He pulledher out of the office, past the elevators they didn’t have time to wait for, and down the hall. Photos detailing the hospital’s history whizzed by in a blur as he tugged her into the stairwell.
“What’s happened?” She pulled her hand from his and rushed past him into the chilly landing.
“Volatile patient in the ER pulled a gun. Could be a psychotic episode caused by another medication error.”
“Another?” Her voice rose over their heavy footsteps on the concrete stairs. She drew her gun.
He flexed his empty fingers. One of the rifles he kept in his truck would be handy right about now.
“Are your security guards armed?” Her feet landed in unison with his as they reached the ground floor.
“No. Red Snow isn’t on the wrong side of a big city.”
“It is tonight.” She nodded to the door.
He opened it, and she stepped past him. Letting her go first went against every instinct he possessed, but dammit, she held the gun.
As they raced down the hall, a female’s high-pitched scream tore through the ER waiting area.
“Was that Annie?” Cannon darted past Rosalie and rounded the corner.
Rosalie bounded to his side as he jerked to a stop.
To the left of the automatic doors, a kid who couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen clutched Annie in front of him like a shield.
Rosalie slowly approached. “FBI. Put your weapon down.”
The teen pressed his gun into Annie’s temple. Slurred speech and broken capillaries in his eyes suggested he’d hit the drugs and alcohol hard.
He jerked Annie tighter to his chest. “Nobody comes closer, or I swear I’ll shoot the old bag.”
Annie gasped. A fresh wave of tears sprinkled the snowmen on her shirt.
Cannon tensed every muscle. The only body parts he moved were his eyes as he scanned the waiting room. Patients and loved ones huddled under tables. Staff members crouched behind the intake desk. Parents shushed crying children. Wulf tracked the scene from his post next to the double doors, and another guard patrolled the parking lot.
“Stand down, Cannon. I got this,” Rosalie muttered.
“Like hell I will.” She hadn’t listened to his command to stand down with the angry father in the ER or to not call the FBI. Now it was his turn to disobey.
The teen sniffed back snot. “Sh-shut up.”
Cannon held his hands up to show he had no weapon and pleaded for the second time today for Annie’s safety. “I’m in charge of this hospital. Let her go, and we can talk about whatever is bothering you.”
A bead of sweat ran down the teen’s cheek. “No, man. I need to finish my job and…” He shook his head and blinked. “Why can’t I remember what my job is?”
