Читать книгу Seaside Secrets - Dana Mentink - Страница 14

FIVE

Six o’clock could not arrive quickly enough. Angela had slept no more than a few hours, finally getting up before sunrise to shower and make a pot of instant coffee, most of which was already gone. At the stroke of six, she dialed, knowing that Marco would be in the office after his early morning workout at the local gym. Marco’s routine was as predictable as the sunrise.

She also knew he would not answer the phone unless there was a very good reason. The man despised technology.

“Marco,” she said into the machine after the beep. “It’s Angela. There’s been some trouble.”

“What trouble?” he said as he picked up the phone. She heard noise in the background.

“Is Candace there this early? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Candace called from the background. “I was picking Donna and Brent up from the airport.”

Angela smiled. “How was their honeymoon?”

“Just a minute,” Marco muttered. “Gonna try and put this thing on speakerphone.” There was the sound of Marco pressing buttons, and then they were disconnected. She smiled, picturing him there, big fingers stabbing away at a phone that was beyond his comprehension, brilliant though he was. She was about to redial when there was a knock at the door.

Her breath caught. Too early for housekeeping. Skin prickled on the back of her neck, the way it had when she’d realized Tank was watching her in her hotel room. Enemy or friend? Unsure, she crept to the door. There was no peephole. She placed a hand on the door as if she could somehow feel who it was through the panel.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Dan Blackwater.”

Relief and tension rippled together through her insides. She thought their connection was over; she was hoping, anyway. He was the past for her, the cruel, savage past that would not seem to get out of her present. The seconds ticked on as she tried to think of a polite way to get him to leave.

“Hey, not to be pushy, Angela, but this coffee is burning my hand. I forgot to get those cardboard sleeve thingys.”

She yanked open the door. He held two to-go cups, a white paper bag tucked under his arm. “What are you doing here?”

“I will excuse that ungracious tone if you’ll please take this coffee.” He thrust the cup at her, and she took it. “I figured you could use some breakfast. I’m on my way to the hospital. Thought we might as well go together, since we both have some questions for Lila.”

Her computer beeped, saving her from trying to rally a polite refusal. “Hold on—that’s Marco. He’s trying to Skype this time. Candace must be helping him.”

She opened up Skype, and Marco’s shaved head filled up the screen, Candace peering over his shoulder.

“What trouble?” Marco demanded.

She filled him in and introduced Dan. “He’s, um, I knew him in Afghanistan.”

Marco was silent for a moment. A retired navy man, he understood the significance of that statement. “Okay. I’m leaving now for Cobalt Cove. I’ll see which one of your sisters is available to come with me. Don’t meet with Tank or Gruber until I get there.”

Candace blew out a breath. “I’d come, too, but Tracy is in a school play, and they’ve got practice every day.”

Angela smiled, thinking of her sweet six-year-old niece. Tragic that the child had lost her father in Iraq when she was barely old enough to know him. Then to lose her grandfather a month ago. Angela swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Did she land the coveted role?”

“Yep, she’s the snowflake in the winter play. There will be sparkles and white tights and a tiara.”

Angela laughed. “Can’t wait to see it.”

“Sarah and I will look into things on this end.”

“How is she?”

Candace frowned in a way that told Angela everything. Sarah had been at the wheel when their father’s car was forced off the road and he was killed. Her emotional trauma far outweighed the physical damage from the crash. “Still not sleeping, and Mom and I have to practically force food down her throat.”

“I’ll be back soon and...” Angela trailed off. How could she comfort her sister when she couldn’t even help herself? She regrouped and straightened her shoulders, hoping Dan hadn’t noticed the lapse.

When they ended the call, Dan offered to drive her to the hospital.

“No need. I’ll drive myself. I have some things to do afterward.” At the moment she had precisely nothing to do until Marco arrived, but she didn’t want to be in the car next to Dan. His silver gaze searched her face as if he understood completely that she was avoiding him.

She thanked him again for the coffee and took the scone he offered before they got into their vehicles and drove to the hospital. Lila Brown was being treated on the fifth floor.

The hallway was quiet. A nurse returned Angela’s cell phone and pointed them to room 504. The smell of the hospital assaulted her, the odor of disinfectant and, she imagined, despair. So many stories ended at such places; she felt as if her own story had ended in a hospital, too, far away on foreign soil.

She sensed Dan looking at her.

“I guess you spend a lot of time in hospitals, for your chaplain work.”

She had. But now she practically had to force herself through the doors, her visits to patients strained, requiring her to seclude herself afterward just to get her rampaging emotions under control. Her commanding officer had asked her to take a month off. Humiliating but she had complied meekly.

“You, too,” she managed. “When are you going back to surgery?”

His gaze drifted away. Surprising. He was tall, strong, self-assured to the point of arrogant, but something uncertain crept over his face, a shadow she didn’t understand.

“Not sure,” he said. “Lila’s room is right over there.”

As they rounded the corner, there was a crash, the sound of metal hitting the tile floor. Dan sprinted ahead, and, after a second of paralysis, Angela followed. They burst into the room.

A nurse looked up, startled. She held a roll of gauze in one hand. A vase of flowers had been upended, the white roses lying in a puddle of water on the floor. The bed sheets were tousled.

“What happened?” Dan demanded.

“She freaked out.”

“Lila Brown?’

The woman nodded. “She was asleep. I needed to change her dressing. I woke her. Tried to cheer her up by showing her the flowers. She opened the card and screamed. Grabbed her clothes and ran. Moved so fast I gouged her with the scissors. What’s wrong with that girl?”

“Which way did she go?”

The nurse shrugged. “Dunno.”

Dan charged out into the hallway.

“I’ll go call security,” the nurse said as she left.

Angela was about to follow, when she spotted the tiny white envelope lying half under the bed, the little card next to it.

There was no message on the card.

Blank.

A cold knot formed inside her.

She picked up the envelope. It was empty, she thought at first.

Feeling a subtle bump through the glossy paper, she looked inside.

A snippet of dark hair, fine and silky.

Like a child’s hair, she thought.

A child.

She dropped the envelope and bolted out the door.

* * *

Dan wasn’t sure which direction Lila had headed, but he knew he had to get to her. He ran to the nearest elevator and pressed the button. The light indicated it was on the way down. Lila?

He sprinted for the stairs and raced down to the fourth floor. He was going to keep running, figuring she was headed for the ground floor exit, when he noticed the stairwell door that opened out onto the fourth floor was not completely closed; a white sock on the floor kept it from latching. Bursting through the door, which creaked open with a squeal, he caught the attention of a short, dark-haired woman.

It was Patricia Lane, a surgeon at the hospital. “Patricia?”

“Dr. Blackwater?” The woman goggled. “What are you doing? Is something wrong?”

“I’m looking for a girl who just ran out of her room. I thought maybe she came up here.”

She clicked her pen closed. “I’ve been checking the charts for the past fifteen minutes and I haven’t seen anyone running through except for you.”

He saw no sign of Lila anywhere, just the normal hustle and bustle. An older bearded man appeared at the doorway to his room. He scratched his close-cut beard.

“Can I get some food? I’m hungry.” He rubbed a sleeve under his nose.

The man looked vaguely familiar. Dr. Lane hastened to his side. “Please sit down. I’ll have the nurse bring you something right away.”

The man returned to his room, muttering to himself.

Dr. Lane smiled. “Sometimes we get a wanderer. You know what that’s like.”

“I do.”

But his mind was only on one patient. Lila Brown. He walked the length of the floor and found no sign of her. Perhaps the sock had been a ruse?

Dr. Lane was staring at him. “I told you. She didn’t come here. Don’t you believe me?”

“Of course.” He returned to the stairwell door, mulling it over. The sock was protruding through to the inside, which meant Lila had arrived on the fourth floor and exited back out to the stairs. Could it have been dropped by another visitor or patient? Not likely. Patricia Lane was a stern taskmaster. The nurses and orderlies he’d worked with at the hospital were top-notch, as well.

He walked Patricia to the door and pointed out the sock.

“Strange,” she said. “I can’t imagine how that got there.”

“I’m sure it was Lila,” Dan said. “She opened the door and dropped the sock. She must have gone back out again if you didn’t see her. Is it possible you were engrossed in your work and you missed her?”

Patricia’s lips thinned into a tight line. “I would have noticed. I’m not oblivious to what goes on in my own hospital.”

“I wouldn’t even suggest that.”

Her face was stony, eyes hard and unblinking. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“There must be another explanation,” he said. “Leave the sock there and I’ll get the police on it.”

“Fine. I’ll continue my rounds.” She turned and strode away.

Dan mentally ran through the scenario. Patricia Lane was an excellent doctor with a stellar reputation. She must have been focused on her work and not heard the stairwell door open.

It was the most likely answer. But if she’d been standing at the desk checking charts not five feet from the stairwell door, how could she not have heard it open?

But what reason could Dr. Lane have for lying?

A sudden chill crept down his spine. Careful not to disturb the sock, he headed downstairs to find Angela.

* * *

Angela emerged into the hallway, and a nurse pointed out the direction Dan had taken to the stairs. Angela hurried to the stairwell door. One of them would surely intercept Lila. She intended to ask on each floor as she went if anyone had seen the girl.

She started the plunge down the steps. Her feet echoed oddly in the space. Her chest tightened up as the walls closed in around her in an ugly cement fist.

Keep going. Don’t let the thoughts catch up with you.

Racing down, she was about to exit on the fourth floor, but she heard a murmur of voices from farther down the stairwell. She continued onto the third floor and listened. No further noise. Her imagination?

Pressing on, she found a hospital gown tossed onto the cement. It was still warm to the touch. Lila had taken a few frantic moments to change clothes.

She’s getting out of here for sure. What had scared her so badly that she’d bolt without even taking the time to dress properly? Tension coiled in her gut now like a live serpent, and she continued racing down. Almost to the second floor, she was startled when she heard the door below her open.

“Lila,” she called out. “Wait. Don’t leave.” Now she was taking the steps two at a time, clutching the railing to keep from falling.

Six steps down, a man came into view, standing at the bottom landing, just in front of the exit door.

Harry Gruber.

He smiled.

Her breath caught, heart thundering.

She squashed the surge of panic. You’re not trapped. She could run up and escape through the second-floor door. Stay calm. You’re in control. Her nerves raced as if they had not gotten the message.

“Odd us meeting again,” Gruber said.

She swallowed. Take charge of the situation. “Yes, it is, Mr. Gruber.”

If he was surprised that he’d learned her name, he didn’t show it. “Especially here.” His lips curved in disgust as he gestured. “I hate hospitals, don’t you? Only come when I don’t have any other choice. All those desperate people, hoping to be cured and wondering how they’ll pay for all the pills and procedures. Patients paying for the green fees for the fat-cat doctors. That’s why I started up my clinic.”

He wore khakis and a short-sleeved shirt neatly buttoned, plaid against a pale yellow background. “What are you doing in the stairwell?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same thing.”

The air in the stairwell closed in, her palms went damp, breathing shallow, the familiar sense that her body was about to spin out of control. Don’t give in. She’d decided to go back up, outrun him to the next floor, when she saw a man step out onto the landing above her. Someone to help. She let out a gasping breath.

He looked over the railing at her, unsmiling, black eyes scanning.

“Sir...” she started, moving toward him. Something in the flat expression on his face made her pause. He was a blurred image of Harry, a relative, a brother. He rested his palms on the railing and stared at her.

Something cold slithered up her back. Cut off. No escape. She forced herself to keep breathing and speak calmly. “Is that a friend of yours?”

“My brother, Peter.”

She looked again at Peter, still as granite and just as cold.

Terror ricocheted inside her. Keep talking. Stall until Dan comes. Or another passerby. “Did you see a woman run by here?” she asked Harry.

“A woman?” He laughed. “Women run by me all the time and never even look back.” He pushed open the door and held it for her. “Were you going to exit? Allow me.”

The sunshine flooded through the door, enticing her with the promise of escape. She considered running back up to the second floor and trying to pass Peter, but the exit door was open wide, fresh air only a few feet away. Tantalizing. More than anything else, she desperately wanted to run toward freedom, away from Harry and his brother.

Keeping out of reach, she edged closer, ready to scream for help if Gruber made any move to detain her. He didn’t.

Had she imagined a threat where there wasn’t one?

Sweat dampened her brow. Paranoia? Were Harry Gruber and his brother just two innocent bystanders? Neither one had touched her or uttered so much as a single threat. Doubt flooded in.

As she passed, she noticed something that didn’t belong.

There, against the background of Harry’s neat yellow shirt, was an imprint left by two bloody fingers pressed against his chest.