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The doctor’s brow furrowed. “For God’s sake. I’m already short-staffed, and now my nurse disappears on me!”
“I need to pee,” Rachel moaned, dancing on her toes.
The doctor pointed down the hall. “Bathroom’s there,” she snapped, and vanished back into the room.
Rachel gave him an imploring look. He strode down the hall to the bathroom, jerked open the door, ascertained that it was an empty one-header. He held the bathroom door open for them. “Go for it.”
They went about their business. Aaro positioned himself between the two door, and caught a whiff of…whiskey. Someone tippling on the job? Here? Not the bitch nurse. That chick was as sharp as a tack.
Maybe it was the ghost of Jamison, lingering in the air.
Still. He tried banging on the door again. “Hey! Lily?”
No answer. Maybe they’d gone into an adjacent room with an insulating door between them. Or maybe he’d just better stop being a chump asshole, listen to the hairy spiders and centipedes crawling on the back of his neck, and get a key for that goddamn door already.
He jogged up to the front, poked his head inside the enclosed space for administrative staff. “Hello? Anybody in here?”
No one answered. He stepped inside, saw the chubby legs in blue rayon slacks and sensible loafers sticking out under the reception desk.
Fuck.Fear stabbed, deep and fast. Oh no, no, oh Jesus, no…
He came at the medical suite door like a bullet, slamming a flying kick into it with all his strength. The lock held. He tried the next door. Same thing. The next was unlocked. He thundered through the interconnected rooms, to the one where the nurse had taken Lily.
The smell hit him first. Jamison’s whiskey soaked coat, lying discarded on the floor. A name tag with a fluorescent nylon strap beside it. A wad of gauze, no doubt soaked with some knock-out drug. A young woman in her underwear, crumpled on the floor. Not Lily. The nurse. A torrent of filth in Ukrainian was coming out of his mouth as he lunged to touch her carotid artery. She had a pulse, thank God.
The old ladies. The male nurse. Of course. What a fuckingidiot.
He burst out. Zia Rosa, Rachel and the doctor stared at him, wide-eyed. As if he’d gone crazy.
“Your nurse was attacked. The receptionist, too,” he yelled to them as he sprinted away. “They got Lily! Call the cops!”
He rounded the corner. The trio had been moving at a slug’s pace, so maybe they were still…no. Not in the corridor, nor the waiting area, nor the drive-up. He thudded out into the parking lot, as a black Mercedes sedan accelerated towards the exit. A clean-shaven Jamison in scrubs was driving. The crone in the hat sat in the passenger’s side.
No Lily. Unconscious in the back seat, or in the trunk.
He ran faster, squinting for the license plate, but somebody had obscured it with spattered mud. He started to close the gap as they paused to merge with traffic. He drew his gun, but hesitated to shoot on the run at a moving target with Lily in the back, or the trunk.
The tire. He slowed, aimed…and the car slewed through the huge mud puddle. Icy water splattered into his face as he pulled the trigger. The shot zinged against the back of the car. It surged ahead unchecked. He wiped mud out of his eyes.
Jesus, no. Please don’t let that bullet have perforated the trunk. Please don’t let that bullet be lodged inside of Lily. Please.
He pounded after the Mercedes, shoving the nightmare thought away. They had a straight stretch now, no lights, no turns. The gap lengthened. He couldn’t catch up, but he kept chasing, like a stubborn dog. Failure was unacceptable. Same old clusterfuck. Goddamn him for getting involved. He knew this would happen. It always did. He worked alone, he stayed alone, he kept it simple so he could avoid this scenario.
This clawing, frantic feeling he got when he let people down.
The front window came down. The fake nurse stuck out her hand, fluttered her fingers at him, a taunting little wave.Buh-bye!
They hung the curve, and were gone.
* * *
“I’ll kill the bastard.”Bruno jittered on the car seat, fists clenched. Trying to breathe, trying not to vomit. “I’ll rip his limbs off.”
“It’s not his fault.” Kev’s tone had the flatness of one who had repeated the same phrase many times. “He’s not the one needs killing.”
“What the fuck was he thinking?” The words exploded out of him. “Letting the drunk guy within fifty feet of her? Letting someone drag her into a locked room? Was he on drugs?”
Connor spoke up, hesitant. “I can see it,” he said. “They were good. The place was understaffed. Conditions were perfect. Taking out the receptionist and nurse while the doctor was busy with Tam. The woman established herself multiple times as the nurse, fabricated a legitimate job—Christ, they’d have fooled me. Give Aaro a break, man.”
