Authors: Vicki Hinze
Shank waited impatiently for Beth to leave the nurses’ station.
She’d been off-duty for a couple of hours, but lingered, which wasn’t uncommon. The facility’s theater didn’t start this week’s new movie for two more days, one could only bowl so many games, and the facility’s exchange provided limited shopping. There was nothing else to do. Bored and restless, Beth often put in hours of overtime to just stay busy. Normally, it was appreciated.
Tonight, it was not.
Ten more minutes passed. Shank watched the red second hand sweep around the clock, growing more and more agitated. It was 2110. Already ten minutes into lock-down. She had to do something. If she didn’t get the call in soon, it would be too late.
“Beth.” Shank swiveled her creaky chair. “Would you do me a favor and run a visual check on ADR-40?” She’d have to suit up in protective gear because of the staph infection. That would give Shank a little more time. “His call light flickered,” Shank lied, and nodded toward the panel. “I don’t know if he needs something, or if there’s a short in the system and I need to call Maintenance.”
“Sure. No problem.” Beth left the station and walked down the hall toward ADR-40’s room.
Stretching over the desk, Shank watched Beth pull the yellow gown, face mask, cap, and gloves from the cart in the hallway outside ADR-40’s room, and then begin putting them on. Considering it safe, she punched the secure-phone-line button and dialed the guard shack at the front gate.
On the first ring, a man answered. “Sergeant Reaston.”
Relieved it was him, Shank spoke softly. “It’s me. Let Dr. West back into the facility. Keep it quiet, and make her think she’s pulled off getting you to do it. Use the taking-pity factor.”
“Is Fontaine aware of this?”
“No,” Shank said, not at all surprised by the question. Around here, the staff had to keep straight where, and from whom, orders originated.
“Higher up?”
“You’ve got it.”
“Will do.”
Shank dropped the receiver into its cradle and looked up.
Beth stood behind her, her expression grim and accusing. “You want to explain that?”
Caught redhanded. No evasive tactics were going to work. Shank arched a brow. “Not really.”
“Fine.” Folding her arms across her thin chest, Beth twisted her lips. “Then you can explain it to Dr. Fontaine.”
“I’d rather not.” Shank stood up. “And if it looks as if I’m going to be forced to, one of us is going to commit suicide.” She turned an uncompromising gaze on Beth and watched the color drain from her face. “It’s not going to be me.”
Sara drove back
to Braxton and stopped outside the gate.
She turned off the ignition, cut the lights, and then stared at the iron bars, hoping Reaston was still on duty. His blushing earlier about her reason for going to the store gave her an advantage.
Tired, worried sick, she unsnapped her seat belt and slumped in her seat, letting her head loll back against the headrest.
A few minutes later, someone tapped at her window.
She opened her eyes and looked over. Reaston. She cranked the engine and lowered the glass. “Hi.”
“Are you planning on spending the night out here?”
She shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of choice. The store was closed, and I had to find another one. I tried to get back in time, but I couldn’t do it. I figure I’m safer here with you on guard duty than I would be sitting in the store’s parking lot.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t open the gate, Dr. West.” Reaston looked torn. “You want some coffee or something?”
“No, thanks. I’ve been on the run since five this morning. I just want some sleep. It’s hard to give your patients your best when you’re dragging, you know?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve pulled double duty plenty of times. You get so tired you can’t think.”
“Exactly. I’m pushing that envelope now.” Sara yawned.
“I hate the idea of you being dog-tired and having to sleep in your car.” Reaston looked up then down the road, chewing on his inner cheek. “Look, Doc. I’m gonna let you through, but don’t you dare tell anyone.” He hardened his voice. “I mean, no one. What happened to William will look like nothing compared to what Dr. Fontaine will do to me if he finds out about this.”
Another William-type incident on her conscience she did
not
need. “Thanks, but I can’t risk getting you into trouble. It’s not worth it.”
“It’ll be okay,” Reaston assured her. “The cruiser passes through the employee parking lot on the half hour and the hour.” He cut a quick glance at his watch. “If you go now, you’ve got time to make it. When you get to the parking lot, kill your lights—just in case. Mick Bush is on duty, and he’s a fanatic about keeping the rules.”
Bush. She knew the name. Yes. He had been on gate duty when she had arrived at Braxton. “Are you sure?” Sara straightened up. “Sleeping out here appeals about as much as a swarm of mosquitoes, but I don’t want to cause you trouble.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He shrugged. “If we don’t take care of you, then you can’t take care of them. Give me a second, and I’ll get the gate.”
“Thanks, Reaston. I owe you one.”
“No sweat, Doc.” He smiled. “Just be sure to kill those lights.”
“Will do.” Sara palmed the gearshift.
Straining to see the shadow of the road, she moved slowly and waited until after she was inside the gate and away from the guard shack to turn on her headlights. She drove the rest of the way at high speed. When the parking lot came into view, she turned her headlights off. Seeing was no problem. The parking lot was nearly empty. If people can’t leave the premises, then they don’t have much use for cars.
She pulled into a slot across the lot from Shank’s plane. Parking near an aircraft would draw more notice when she moved the car.
Proud of herself for thinking to consider that, Sara grabbed the bag, her purse, and her lab coat, and then left the car.
“Halt!” a man yelled out.
The shout startled Sara, and she dropped her keys. They hit the asphalt with a dull
thunk. Oh, God.
Shoving the bag under her lab coat, she snatched up her keys, searching for a plausible reason to be out here. If she got Reaston in trouble, she would never forgive herself.
A flashlight beam swept to her face, blinding her. From the darkness behind it, the man asked, “Dr. West, what are you doing out here?”
Had to be Mick Bush.
Think. Think!
Her heart lodged somewhere near her throat. “Just starting my car so the battery doesn’t fizzle.”
“You’ve been here less than a week.”
It seemed far, far longer. “How long does it take a battery to run down?” She let out a little laugh. “My days have always started early and ended late—especially during my residency. I never learned much about cars.”
“You just finishing up your rounds?”
“Yes, I am. I started at five A.M., hoping to get a little down time, but my patients require a lot of attention right now.” Lame, but patient concern was honest, and it had worked with Reaston. “May I ask who you are?” She tilted her head, squinting away from the bright light. “I can’t see you with that thing shining in my face.”
“Security, ma’am. Sergeant Bush. But everyone calls me Mick.”
The fanatic Reaston had warned her to avoid. Great. Just great. Sara reminded herself she was a major, she outranked him, then stiffened her shoulders. “Well, thanks for keeping such a close watch on my car, Mick.” She began walking toward the building. “I’ll see you.”
Hearing his feet shuffle against the asphalt behind her, she angled her path, cutting through the cars to see what he was doing. Staring at her, he stood next to her front bumper, his palm splayed flat on the hood of her car.
Damn it. No doubt the man wondered how the engine had heated up so quickly. She tensed. Waiting for him to order her to stop, she had to concentrate on her steps, to force herself to keep her pace slow and steady.
When it became apparent he was wasn’t going to stop her, she let out a held breath. No doubt about it. She
had
to find another way out of here at night. Mick Bush might not have stopped her, but being a fanatic, he would be watching her every move now.
That could be a pain and a perk. Being under a fanatic’s close surveillance could definitely be an asset when Foster or Fontaine—depending on who proved to be dedicated and who proved to be scum—decided to kill her.
Sara slept like the dead
and awakened dreaming of thunderstorms.
Dragging herself past the haze of sleep, she realized it wasn’t storming. The phone was ringing. She glanced at the clock—four A.M. Finger-tapping her way across the nightstand to the phone, she hoisted the receiver to her ear and bumped her chin. Grunting, she mumbled, “Sara West.” Her dry throat scraped. Still sore and raw.
“Major, this is William over in Isolation. Dr. Fontaine said that if ADR-30 started damaging property again to let you know right away. I’m letting you know.”
“Who?” she asked, forcing the issue of the name.
“Joe.” William’s voice seethed resentment. “He’s ripping more padding off the walls.”
Disappointment shafted through her. The rage had come back. “I’ll be right over.” She hung up the phone and slung back the covers.
Thank you so much, Fabulous Fontaine.
Ten minutes later, she arrived in the Isolation wing and paused near William’s shoulder to study the monitor. Joe was still ripping at the wall pads.
“He’s been raising hell for about half an hour. I tried calming him down. He refused a sedative and threatened to shove it up my—” Watching the monitor, William stopped talking, then shifted subjects, pointing. “Look. He keeps going to those same two spots and tearing deeper. What does he think he’s pulling out of there?”
Sara bent forward, studied the monitor closely, and picked up on what Joe was destroying. The cave. And the coffin and the electric chair. “Let me in, will you?”
William’s tone went stiff. “I don’t think Dr. Fontaine would approve, Major. The patient is clearly violent and out of control.”
“Which is why I’m depending on you to keep a close eye on the monitor.” Sara worked at sounding calm and confident, reminding herself that Joe had protected her from himself several times now.
“I object, Major. The regulations clearly state that you’re not to put yourself in personal jeopardy.”
“William?”
He swung his questioning gaze to her. “Yes, Major?”
Again, she borrowed from his ally, Fontaine. “This is not a debate, and there are no negotiations. Open the damn door.” She glared at him, conceding that at times rank came in handy. “That’s a direct order, Lieutenant.”
William snapped his jaw shut and flipped the switch.
The buzzer sounded.
Sara walked down the white hallway, doing breathing exercises to lower her pulse rate. She stopped outside Joe’s room and rapped on the door.
No answer.
“Joe?” She knocked again. Louder. He probably couldn’t hear her over the sounds of ripping padding and his own shouting.
Still no answer.
“Joe, I’m not going to leave you like this, so you might as well answer me.”
Silence. That was progress. At least he had stopped shouting and tearing at the pads. “They called me. You’re having a rough night. Can I come in and help?”
“Okay.” He sounded uncertain.
She opened the door so he could see her. “You’re sure it’s okay?” She deliberately looked at the torn padding strewn on the floor, the messy walls, and at the bits of padding he held wadded in his fists, then let him see that she felt vulnerable and unsure of him. “Is it safe?” she asked, proving his word held worth to her, and he had her trust.