Fatal Reaction (28 page)

CHAPTER 77

Emily tuned the television to the news channel, and Derrick snatched the remote from her hand.

“What are you doing?” she said.

Derrick changed the channel to a game show and feigned momentary interest. “We’ve had enough bad news for one week.”

A commotion had started in the hallway, one that normally Derrick would’ve complained about at length, but now avoided like the plague. He had been keeping her isolated, away from the news and local TV, and she knew there had to be a reason.

“What’s going on with you, lately? First our doctor disappears, and then you quarantine me. I know you well enough to know when something’s up.”

Derrick ran his hands through his hair and paced, alternating his gaze from the wall clock to the door. He smoothed the front of his pleated khakis and blew out a long breath.

“Hello, are you going to answer me?”

Dr. Davis ducked into the room, closing the door quickly behind her. Her once-comforting smile fell flat, and she flashed an unmistakably concerned look at Derrick. “It’s time.”

Derrick took the small overnight bag from behind the lounge chair and started packing.

“Time for what?” Emily asked nervously. “What’s going on?”

Dr. Davis bagged Emily’s toiletries and handed them to Derrick. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry.” She stepped on the floor pedal to lower the bed and put down the railing. “I’m going to have you swing your legs slowly around to me, and we’re going to get you dressed in some more comfortable clothes.”

Emily clutched her blanket to her chest, tugging against Dr. Davis, who was trying to pull it down. “
What’s
going to be fine? Derrick, why are you packing?” She looked right into Dr. Davis’s eyes. “You told me I had to stay for at least another couple of days.” It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy to be dressed and elated to be going home, if that was what was happening; it was the hurried way in which it was happening that had her worried about a repeat of the last time she was discharged.

“Plans changed, hon.” Derrick handed Dr. Davis a pair of loose-fitting pants and coaxed the blanket from Emily’s hands.

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him close. “Why did they change?”

Derrick lowered his eyes. “Because the press knows that you’re the second transplant patient.”

Emily’s spirits sank. Hers was a time-bomb kind of secret. Being the mayor’s daughter-in-law meant there was no expectation of privacy, even in a matter as personal as this one. She planned to come out with her story after a successful pregnancy, but it seemed that now she had no choice.

A middle-aged, blond nurse with a name tag that read “Trish” hurried through the door with a wheelchair, shouting for Security to help her.

The burly guard, late-twenties, dark skin, and with biceps as big around as Emily’s thighs, forced the crowd back.

Dr. Davis helped Derrick ease Emily up. “What’s going on out there?”

“Mitchell is trying to clear the news crew out, but they’re not moving.” The nurse parked the chair next to the bed and put on the brakes.

Emily flashed Derrick an angry look. “Is that why you’ve been keeping me away from the news?”

“No, not at all,” he said, but she could see he was lying. He untied the strings on the back of her hospital gown, and a chill crept up her spine. She shivered, and he quickly pulled the fleece over her head. “Is there another way out of here?”

Dr. Davis slid Emily’s feet, one at a time, into her pant legs and shook her head. “Out of the hospital, yes. Out of this wing, no.”

Emily slid slowly forward. Derrick and Trish stood on either side of her to catch her weight.

“Ready?” Dr. Davis said.

Emily nodded and stood.

Derrick, careful not to lift her arms, accepted most of her weight. A jolt of sharp pain radiated through her incision, and she froze in place until it subsided.

Dr. Davis pulled Emily’s pants up to just below her wound dressing and folded over the top so that the waistband rested low on her hips. She pulled the wheelchair forward, and Derrick helped Emily into it.

The transfer had taken everything Emily had. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

Derrick handed Emily’s bag to Trish. “I don’t think you have a choice. If we don’t get you out of here, they’ll never leave.”

Dr. Davis made sure that Emily’s feet were settled on the footrests and held her hand on the doorknob. “There’s a nurse—her name is Jane Allen—already on her way to your home.”

Emily had heard before that a private nurse was coming, but it was nice to have a name this time. She turned to Derrick. “Is this why you have been avoiding watching the news?”

He nodded, but Emily could see from his expression that it wasn’t the whole truth.

“Ready?” Dr. Davis said.

Derrick disengaged the brakes. “Ready.”

“I guess.” Emily, knowing she had no choice in the matter, buried her face in her steepled fingers and pressed her elbows into the armrests. She held a shallow breath as Dr. Davis opened the door.

The security guard cleared the way ahead of them.

Camera flashes went off in her periphery.

Terri Tate stooped down to her level, shoving the microphone in her face. “Emily, how did you feel when you heard your surgeon was stealing organs for transplant? As a recipient, are you worried where yours might have come from?”

Emily kept her lips pressed together to keep her mouth from falling open. Compared to the most terrible reasons for which she had thought Derrick was keeping her away from the news, this was worse.

The security guard stepped between her and Terri Tate and wedged some space. “Back off,” he said in a deep voice.

Terri was not easily deterred. She moved around him and kept going. “Are you concerned about the first transplant patient having died from complications?”

Emily, determined not to let the ambitious reporter get the best of her, kept her head down.

Derrick shouted over the dull roar that neither he nor Emily had any comment.

“What about the fact that Dr. Dorian Carmichael has been arrested for rape and is a possible suspect in a recent string of murders? Are you concerned for your safety?”

At this, Emily couldn’t help looking up. Flashes went off in rapid-fire sequence, some so close, the light made white spots in her vision. She glanced over her shoulder at Derrick, who couldn’t make eye contact.

“That’s enough.” The guard all but shoved the cameraman and Terri Tate aside. He pressed the elevator call button, and when the door opened, kept anyone else from entering.

The chair’s wheels thudded on the metal threshold, jolting Emily and causing a radiating pain in her stomach that made her whimper.

“Are you all right?” Derrick steered her into the back corner.

“No,” Emily said through clenched teeth. “I don’t think I am.”

CHAPTER 78

The wine had given Ana the advantage.

“Don’t move,” she said, thankful for the pocketknife she’d taken from her glove compartment.

Noreen held the towel to her injured hand, her eyes shifting to the ringing burner cell on the table. “I need to answer that. It’s my lawyer.”

“You need to sit the hell down.” Ana slid the knife through the tape holding her ankles. “Sit.” She stood, and her knees nearly buckled from the tingling numbness of returning blood flow. “I mean it, Noreen. I’ve had enough.”

Noreen took a few steps toward the chair Ana pulled out for her. “All right. All right. I’m sitting.”

Ana kept the knife pointed at her, but couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

The phone rang again.

“He’s not going to stop calling. I need to answer that.”

Ana, needing to keep her occupied, reluctantly agreed. “Make it quick, and not a word about this, you understand me?”

Noreen nodded and flipped the phone open. “Brandon, hello?” S
ilence.
“How long ago?”
Silence.
Ana fastened the end of the roll of duct tape to the table and cut several long strips. “Okay, thank you for calling.” She hung up. “Dorian’s out of jail, and my guess is he’s on his way.”

“Hands behind your back.” Ana cleared her throat to steady her wavering voice.

“You’re not cut out for this,” Noreen said, doing as Ana instructed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Ana reached for a strip of tape, and Noreen delivered a sharp kick to her right knee, catching her off guard. The knife skidded across the table and crashed to the floor.

Ana stumbled and fell.

“You should.” Noreen gained a quick advantage, grabbing Ana by her hair.

Ana scrambled to her knees and crawled for the knife.

Blood dripped from Noreen’s hand as she tried to wrestle Ana to her back.

Ana chalked the lack of pain response to the alcohol, which had Noreen’s equilibrium off. Though strong, she moved with the back-and-forth motion of someone just off a ship.

Ana threw her elbow back as hard as she could, jabbing Noreen in the ribs. Noreen lost her hold, and Ana gained ground, the knife only inches away.

“Get off me,” she shouted, and stretched her arm to the end of her reach.

“Not a chance.” Noreen landed a solid, disorienting punch to the back of Ana’s head.

Ana saw stars, her vision momentary white lights in a fog. She blinked hard and fast, praying for the sensation to pass. A second blow knocked her flat, this one so crushing, Noreen screamed, too. Ana’s head pounded, her neck stiff and her thoughts scattered, as though she were on the brink of unconsciousness.

One minute, Noreen’s weight was on top of her, and the next, she was gone.

Even in the twilight of her injury, Ana realized the danger.

Noreen had the syringe of succinylcholine before Ana could recover.

“Stick with being the good girl,” Noreen said, injecting the full dose into her. “You don’t have the killer instinct.” She shook the blood from her injured hand and stood over Ana, rolling her onto her back and leaving her to gasp, like a fish out of water.

The relaxant dissolved the tension from Ana’s stiff muscles, and she melted into the cool floor, aware that her time was short. She closed her eyes, unable to draw even a single puff of breath. She could’ve easily suffocated to death, but when Noreen fitted her with the CPAP breathing mask, she knew that wasn’t the plan.

CHAPTER 79

Jared turned off NY-64, onto the yet-unpaved Lakeside Lodges Road. The wind and snow had picked up substantially, and his tires, packed with fresh powder, skidded on the gravel.

“How much farther?”

Dorian held the armrest with a white-knuckled grip and pressed his lips tightly together as if he might throw up. “A mile, maybe less.”

There were no indications of life, only half-finished construction and lot markers with “For Sale” signs.

Jared kept his eyes on the road, which didn’t even register on the GPS. “What are the chances of a plow coming through any time soon?”

At the current rate of snowfall, even if they could get to Ana, there was no guaranteeing they’d get her back out.

“Slim to none. It’s a private road, and the builder’s not keen on paying out of pocket to keep it clear.”

Jared’s blood pressure went up a few points. “Said builder realizes this is a ski destination, yes?”

Dorian grumbled. “Most of us have trucks, and it isn’t a problem.”

The narrow road straightened through a clearing, and Jared picked up speed across the straightaway.

“You might want to slow down there, friend.”

“I got it, don’t worry.” The wind had cleared some of the snow, and his tires finally had some grab.

“Jared, I’m serious. Slow down.”

Jared sped up his wipers. This close to Ana, he only wanted to go faster. “Will you just let me drive?”

“Jared, watch out!” Dorian pushed his feet firmly into the floor mat and nearly slapped Jared in the face as he reached out to grab the back of the driver’s seat with his left hand.

Jared slammed on the brakes, which was exactly the wrong thing to do given the circumstances. The BMW spun three hundred sixty degrees. His biceps ached from fighting the skid.

“Steer into it,” Dorian shouted, and tried to grab the wheel.

“Get off me.” Jared threw his elbow and hit Dorian in the ribs.

“Steer into the skid and get off the brakes. Hit the gas.”

Dorian’s counterintuitive advice came too late. The car went into the ditch, rear end first, whipping both of them back, hard, in their seats.

Jared clamped his hand on the back of his neck, the stiffness automatic and headache-inducing. “You all right?” He stretched gently to either side, wondering if he hadn’t just sustained a mild concussion.

“I think so.” Dorian unlocked his knees, pulled his feet back, and unclenched his hands from the seat back. “You?”

“I’ll be fine.” Jared tried to open his door, but snow held it closed.

Dorian unfastened his seat belt and pulled the passenger door handle. The door opened, and the wind flooded the seat with fresh snow that melted on impact. He turned his face away from the icy cold and pulled it shut. “You think you can get the car out of here?”

“Not without calling a wrecker, but if it gets dragged out, it’s probably drivable.”

“We’re too close for both of us to sit here and wait this out. Call, wait for help, and I’ll run ahead. We’re going to need a way out of here.”

His plan made sense.

Dorian’s safety wasn’t Jared’s first or even second concern, but he wasn’t dressed for the cold, and if something happened to him, he wouldn’t make it to Ana. Jared checked the fuel gauge, and finding the gas tank more than half-full, figured the car’s heat would suffice. He unfastened his seat belt and unzipped his coat.

“Here, take this.” The bulky winter coat was almost impossible to get out of, and he had to push the driver’s seat back to clear the sleeves. Every bit of what Jared had done for Dorian directly linked to Ana. He reached under the passenger seat for the emergency roadside kit he’d never taken more than a Band-Aid out of and quickly found two flares. “Light these when you get out there.”

Dorian put the coat on and lifted the hood. “This Ana girl means a lot to you, doesn’t she?”

Jared nodded. “More than you know.”