Читать книгу Hidden in Plain View - Diane Burke - Страница 13

FOUR

The night-light above the hospital bed cast the room in a soft, white haze. Sam looked down upon the sleeping woman, and his breath caught in his throat.

With stress and pain absent from her expression, she looked peaceful, young and surprisingly beautiful.

Long blond hair poked from beneath the bandages that swathed her head and flowed like golden silk over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, giving her smooth complexion a rosy glow. Lost in sleep and probably dreaming, her lips formed a tiny pout. For the second time in as many days, he had to fight the temptation to taste the softness of those lips.

She was young and vulnerable and...

And she took his breath away.

Although he’d found her attractive when they’d first met, he’d been consumed with the business of ensuring her safety and nothing else.

But now...

In the quiet semidarkness of the evening, she reminded him of a sleeping princess and, for one insane moment, he felt an urge to awaken the princess with a kiss.

Shocked by that unexpected and traitorous thought, he stepped back from the bed as quickly as if he had touched an electrified fence, and then chuckled at his foolishness.

His eyes fell on a white kapp resting on the hospital tray table beside Sarah’s bed. Rebecca must have placed it there. Sam wondered why. Rebecca had to know that Sarah’s injuries would not allow her to wear the kapp for quite some time.

Then he glanced around the room and grinned. The middle-aged woman was sly like a fox. This room was a sterile slice of the Englischer’s world. Monitors. Hospital bed. Even a television hanging on the far wall. This kapp resting in plain sight and at arm’s length would be a constant reminder of the Amish world waiting for Sarah’s return.

He glanced at Sarah’s sleeping form one more time before he forced himself to turn away. Before exiting the room, he stepped inside the bathroom. He needed to throw some cold water on his face and try to wake up. His exhaustion was making him think crazy thoughts, have crazy feelings.

He used the facilities and washed his hands. He turned off the water and was drying his hands on a paper towel when a sound caught his attention. He paused and concentrated, listening to the silence.

There it was again. Just the whisper of sound, like the soft rustling of clothing against skin as a person moved about.

He crumpled the paper towel into a ball, tossed it into the trash can and pushed open the bathroom door. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the change from bright to dim light as he reentered Sarah’s room. A tall man dressed in Amish clothing stood in the shadows on the far side of Sarah’s bed.

A feeling of unease slithered up Sam’s spine. Why would an Amish man be visiting at this time of night, and without a female companion in tow? Sam slid his jacket aside for easy access to his gun and stepped farther into the room.

“May I help you?” he asked in Pennsylvania Dutch dialect.

The visitor didn’t reply. He removed his straw hat and nodded as a person who was apologizing for the late-night visit might. He sidestepped around the bed.

Sam stood too far from the light switch at the door to be able to fully illuminate the room. He had to rely on the soft glow from above Sarah’s bed. Because the visitor held the hat higher than normal, Sam was unable to get a clear view of the man’s face. His gut instincts slammed into gear. He drew his gun and aimed for the middle of the man’s chest.

“Don’t move.” Sam made no attempt to hide the steel resolve beneath his words. Slowly, he stepped toward the main light switch. He shifted his glance just long enough to see how much farther he had to go.

The visitor immediately took advantage of this momentary distraction, dived sideways and simultaneously threw a pillow at Sam.

Instinctively, Sam raised an arm to protect his face. He pushed the pillow away, recovered quickly from the unexpected gesture and fired his weapon at the man’s back as he sprinted out the door. The splintered wood of the door frame told him he’d missed his mark.

Sam sprang forward in pursuit. He’d almost reached the door when his right foot slid out from under him. He struggled to regain his balance and not fall. When he got his footing again, he glanced down and saw a syringe poking out from beneath his foot. He bent down and picked it up.

Suddenly, the monitor beside Sarah’s bed erupted in a loud, continuous alarm. Sam’s gaze flew to the screen and horror filled his soul. A flat, solid green line moved across the screen. Sarah’s heart was no longer beating.

Before Sam could react, the door burst open. The room flooded with light. A nurse, quickly followed by another, burst into the room and rushed past him to Sarah’s bed. While one nurse tended to the monitor and alarms, the other began CPR on Sarah. Seconds later, several other staff members hurried into the room with a crash cart pulled by the doctor close behind.

Sam knew he should be chasing the man who had done this, but his feet wouldn’t budge. His eyes flew to Sarah’s face. She lay so still, deathly still. He couldn’t believe this was happening and, worse, that it had happened on his watch. Feelings of failure were quickly replaced first with fear that he’d lost her, and then by a deep, burning rage that he was helpless once again.

Sam had to leave—now. But he could barely find the inner strength to pull himself away from Sarah’s side. This was his fault. But there was nothing he could do for her now. She was in better hands than his, and he refused to let the lowlife who did this escape. Not this time. Not ever again.

Sam pressed his hand on the shoulder of the nearest nurse. When she turned to look at him, he shoved the syringe in her hand. “I found this on the floor. I believe something was injected into her IV.”

As soon as she took it from him, he raced for the hospital room door. Before he could pull it open, a woman’s scream pierced the air, and the sounds of chaos filled the corridor. Something was terribly wrong. Had the mystery man grabbed a hostage or, worse, hurt one of the children?

Whispering a silent prayer for Sarah, Sam wrenched open the door and darted into the corridor.

A small gathering of people congregated at the end of the hall around the elevator banks. One woman had collapsed on the floor. Sam figured from the shocked expression on her face as he drew near, and from the sobs racking her body, that this was the woman who had screamed. An older gentleman hovered over her and tried to offer comfort.

A man dressed in green scrubs knelt half in and half out of an open elevator. Another man, also dressed in hospital garb, leaned close behind.

Sam pushed his way through the few gathering spectators and up front to survey the scene. For the second time that night, he felt like a mule had kicked him in the gut.

Officer Brian Fitch was sprawled on the elevator floor. One look at his open, sightless eyes and the trail of blood pooling beneath his body said it all. The officer hadn’t made it downstairs for coffee.

Sam remembered the sound of the elevator arriving. Their surprise night visitor must have been on it. When the door opened, Fitch was busy nodding to him and must have been caught unaware. One quick, deadly slice across the officer’s throat guaranteed that Fitch would never need coffee or exercise again.

Sam pulled out his badge and ordered everyone back, including the hospital staff. There was nothing any of them could do for Fitch now, and he had to protect whatever forensic evidence they’d be able to gather. Sam called hospital security on his cell phone, which he had put on speed dial for the duration of Sarah’s hospital stay.

But somebody else had beaten him to it. The second elevator bank hummed to life. He held his hand on his gun and watched two startled guards emerge and stare at the carnage in front of them.

Sam identified himself as an undercover police officer, despite his Amish garb, and flashed his detective’s shield and identification. He hoped he hadn’t just blown his cover, but at the moment it couldn’t be helped.

“Shut down every possible exit,” he commanded. “Do it now.”

Without hesitation, one of the guards barked orders into his radio while the other attended to crowd control. Sam offered a silent prayer of thanks that if this had to happen, it had happened late in the evening and gawkers were at a minimum.

He hit speed dial on his phone and barked orders the second his partner answered.

“Joe, we have a problem. Get over here, stat.”

They’d been partners long enough that when Joe heard the tension in his voice, he was on full alert, and any drowsiness in his tone from interrupted sleep was gone.

“What happened?”

“Fitch is dead. Sarah might be, too. It’s total chaos here.”

Muttered expletives floated through the receiver. “On my way.”

“Notify Rogers and call for backup.”

“Okay. Where can I find you?”

“Making sure that every window, door and crack of this hospital is sealed shut so this piece of slime doesn’t escape.”

Sam ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He stole one more precious second to glance down the hall at Sarah’s door. Every fiber of his being wanted to know what was going on in that room. Had they been able to save her? Or was she dead? The fact that no one had come out of the room yet must be a good sign, right? He had to fight the urge to run back and see what was happening. But no matter what was going on inside that room, he would not be able to help. This time logic won out.

He did what he was trained to do. He compartmentalized his emotions and focused on doing his job. He sprinted down the stairwell, his feet barely touching the stairs, and made it from the fourth floor to the lobby in record time. The sound of approaching sirens and the sight of flashing red-and-blue lights as vehicles slammed to a stop in front of the building told him that both Joe and hospital security had also gone straight to work.

Security guards were already at the entrance. They looked confused and highly nervous, but Sam had to admire how quickly and well they had sprung into action. No one was getting in or out of the building right now except cops.

Sam met with the head of security and asked to see the building’s floor plans. Once they were in hand, he began to coordinate a thorough hospital search room by room, floor by floor, while making sure that all exits were covered. For the time being, no one would be allowed to exit, for any reason, from anywhere.

Twenty minutes after he’d called Joe, Sam saw his partner flash his badge and hurry through the front door. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward to greet him.

Joe stopped short when he saw Sam approach. He shoved both hands into his coat pockets and scowled. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“The killer entered Sarah’s room dressed in Amish garb.” Before Joe could ask, Sam said, “He killed the police officer assigned to guard the door. It was Brian Fitch.”

The detectives knew the officer well. A deep frown etched grooves on both sides of Joe’s mouth.

“Has anybody notified his wife?”

“Not yet.”

“And Sarah?”

“I think the guy injected something into Sarah’s IV to stop her heart.”

“Is she dead? Were they able to resuscitate her?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to check. I’ve been organizing the search.”

Joe’s shocked expression echoed the one Sam was sure he wore as well. “How did this happen? Nobody can be this lucky. The guy’s a ghost.”

“The guy’s no ghost. He’s as much flesh and blood as you and me.”

“I just don’t understand. What happened?” Joe shot a bewildered look at Sam.

“I was there, Joe. Right there.” The remorse in his voice was evident. “He got past me anyway and got to Sarah.”

“Were you hurt? Did he hit you over the head or something?”

A red-hot flush of shame and embarrassment coated Sam’s throat and face. “Sarah was sleeping. I’d stepped into her bathroom to throw some cold water on my face. I didn’t hear him come in until it was too late. The room was dark. He threw something at me. It distracted me enough that he was able to get past me.”

Joe nodded. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. It could have happened to any of us.”

“But it didn’t. It happened on my watch. Mine, Joe.”

Joe grimaced. They’d been partners long enough that Sam knew Joe understood this was about more than what was happening now. This shame and pain and anger stretched back to another time and another place, when Sam had been helpless to save loved ones or bring perps to justice.

Joe patted Sam’s arm, empathy evident in his eyes, and then changed the subject. “Where do we stand with the search?”

“The best I’ve been able to do is get all the exits covered. We’re dealing with graveyard shift. We don’t have a lot of warm bodies in the security department right now.”

“Where do you want me?”

“Downstairs.” Sam walked with Joe to the elevator bank. “I don’t believe the guy will try to walk out any of the obvious exits. He’s got to know they’re the first places we’d shut down. Check every single room in the basement. Housekeeping has storage rooms, supply rooms. I think there are even some employee lockers and break rooms down there. And, of course, the morgue and the autopsy rooms. I’ve sent security guards to the loading platform by the morgue, but I’ll feel better if one of us is checking things out.”

“You got it.”

The elevator doors opened, and Joe stepped inside.

“Be careful. Fitch was found dead with his throat slashed.”

“Great. Just what I want to hear.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin just as the doors shut.

Within thirty minutes of the initial alert, the SWAT team, special weapons and tactics, arrived, quickly followed by Captain Rogers. Sam shared what he knew, and they took over command of the ongoing search.

They hadn’t located the perpetrator yet. But the hospital looked like a military camp in Afghanistan for all the uniformed and armed personnel swarming the halls. They’d catch him.

Sam threw a glance at his captain and saw the man in a deep conversation with both the SWAT team leader and the head of hospital security. Everything that could be done was being done. Finally, he’d have a moment to find out what had happened to Sarah.

* * *

Adrenaline hammered through the intruder’s blood stream, and the beat of his heart thundered in his chest. Who knew all those morning jogs along the beach outside his home would have prepared him for the race of his life? He’d made it down five flights of stairs into the basement without anyone seeing him and, he was certain, before anyone could even sound the alarm.

What a rush! He thought it had been too simple when he caught the cop sneaking away for a break. But that’s why he loved operating during the graveyard shift. People often snuck away or fell asleep. Made his job so much easier.

But when he’d slipped inside the darkened hospital room, he’d never expected someone might be in the bathroom.

The man had been dressed like an Amish guy, but he wasn’t any more Amish than he was. Not carrying that 9 mm Beretta he had fired at him. He was probably an undercover cop.

Undercover cop. Undercover villain. Both disguised in Amish garb. The whole situation was laughable—and dangerous.

He stood with his back against the wall of the storage closet, trying to quiet the sound of his heavy gasps.

He could hear the pounding of feet racing down the corridor and hear the anxious, high-pitched whispers the guards shot to each other as they did a quick search of every room.

The sounds grew louder as the men approached his hiding spot.

He pushed into the far back corner of the room and crouched behind a utility cart with a large white mop and aluminum bucket attached. His hand tightened around the pistol grip of his gun, and he waited.

The door to the closet swung open. One of the security guards scanned the room with a flashlight. Just as quickly, he was gone.

Idiots.

They hadn’t even bothered to throw on the light switch or step into the room. No wonder hospital security guards had the reputation of being toy cops. How did they expect to find anyone with such a lazy, half-done search?

He grinned and relaxed his hand, lowering his weapon.

Lucky for them they were stupid, or they’d be dead security guards just about now.

He stepped out from behind the cart when a sudden flash of light made him squint and raise his hand to his eyes. Someone had thrown on the switch, illuminating the room, and it took his eyes a second to adjust.

“Don’t move! Drop your weapon and slide it over to me. Do it now!”

This wasn’t a security guard. He looked into eyes of cold, hard steel. This must be a detective. A smart one, too.

Slowly, he lowered his weapon to the floor and kicked it in the detective’s direction.

The detective moved farther into the room, never lowering his gun. He stepped to the side and withdrew a pair of handcuffs with his free hand. “Nice and easy now. Put your hands out where I can see them, and slowly walk over here.”

Again, he did as requested.

The detective clasped a cuff onto his right wrist.

With speed resulting from years of martial arts training, he spun, released the blade sheathed on the inside of his sleeve and slashed the detective’s throat.

The killer grinned. He always loved the look of surprise and horror on his victims’ faces, and this detective looked shocked, indeed.

He removed his Amish clothes and quickly donned the detective’s cheap brown suit. His lips twisted in disgust. The pants were about two inches too short, the waist at least two sizes too big, and the sleeves of the suit jacket revealed too much forearm. He shoved some towels under his shirt and cinched his belt tight to hold them in and his pants up.

He glowered at the pant length. When a scenario like this played out in the movies, the exchanged clothes were always a perfect fit. Just his luck this wasn’t a movie. But he’d have to make do.

He slipped the detective’s badge onto his belt, retrieved both guns from the floor and took one last look around to make sure he left nothing of significance behind. His eyes paused on the dead body.

“Sorry, buddy. You were good. Much better than those security guard wannabes. But I’m better. You never stood a chance.”

He used a towel to wipe away fingerprints on the light switch and doorknob. He shut off the light, glanced up and down the empty corridor, stepped into the hall and leisurely walked away.