The Stolen Identity (The Sydney Harbour Hospital Series Book 7)

by Chris Taylor

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he growled, flicking his gaze to Colt and then back to Morgan. “I haven’t come this far to have you ruin everything. You were supposed to go out quietly, or as quietly as you could with rat poison eating through your gut, but you had to spoil it.” He turned to Colt, his eyes burning with accusation.

  “You didn’t eat your cake, Detective. How remiss of you. Now I’m forced to rely on Plan B.”

  Once again, the gun swung in Morgan’s direction. Seconds later, the crack of the rifle filled every corner of the room. Colt dived in front of Morgan as smoke curled from the barrel. She screamed in terror. Colt’s eyes widened in stunned surprise. Blood blossomed across his chest. Morgan screamed again, now almost hysterical. She lunged at her uncle, with no thought but to stop him from taking aim again.

  Before she reached him, the gun went off again. Pain burned white hot in her arm. She looked down and saw the blood pouring out of her wound. The sight of it made her dizzy and the next thing she realized, she was back on the floor. The sirens in the distance were drowned out by the sound of her screaming and then she heard the distinct sound of the gun being cocked again.

  * * *

  Leslie was filled with triumph. Both targets were on the ground. The cop was probably already dead. Another shot would ensure his niece went that way, too. She was only suffering a flesh wound, but he still had eight more bullets. Plenty enough to do the job properly.

  It was too bad the poison plan hadn’t worked out. It would have been far easier to explain away. He fully intended to ingest some himself – not too much, mind you. Just enough to defray suspicion while he waited for Morgan and her boyfriend to succumb.

  But the cop had ruined everything. He hadn’t eaten his cake. Leslie had watched him. The prick had taken only the tiniest morsel. He’d pushed the plate away and Leslie had been forced to regroup. The gun was already handy. It seemed the easiest route.

  He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to explain the two bodies with multiple gunshot wounds, but he’d think of something. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d killed someone and gotten away with it. But right now, he had to finish what he started and get rid of the evidence, before the police arrived. Even now, he could hear the sirens.

  With renewed haste, he stepped close to where Morgan lay. Her head was bent forward, over her knees. One hand was tightened around the wound in her arm. Blood seeped between her fingers and dripped onto the floor. He was disappointed he’d missed the artery.

  Anyway, it was of no consequence. He had plenty of bullets to finish the job. He moved so that the barrel was mere inches away from the back of Morgan’s head and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing.

  “Shit!” he cursed. The gun had jammed. He should have known better than to use a rifle that looked like it was almost as old as he was. The sirens sounded louder. Stemming his panic, he did his best to clear the barrel of the jam. A loose bullet fell into his hand. A loud knocking sounded on the front door and his fear went into overdrive.

  He cursed again. He didn’t have time to finish her. He needed to hide them, and fast. Setting the gun down, he took hold of the cop by his ankles and dragged him out into the hall. A trail of blood followed in their wake. He’d never been so pleased for floorboards. A quick swipe of the mop and the evidence would disappear, at least to the casual eye. The cop had called in a suspected poisoning. There had been no mention of guns. Provided he could hide the bodies before the police knocked down his door, all should be well.

  He dumped the cop on the floor of Morgan’s bedroom and then used his boot to roll him under the bed. Racing back to the bathroom, he picked Morgan up in his arms. The bleeding in her arm had abated and her eyes flickered open and then closed. A moment later, she tensed and he realized she was more aware of her surroundings than he thought.

  The knocking came louder, accompanied by a shout from outside the front door. He called back to them that he was coming and hurriedly tossed Morgan on her father’s bed. Grabbing hold of the comforter, he covered her from head to toe. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. He just hoped the police wouldn’t pay more than cursory attention to the house, if they came in at all.

  Moving as quickly as he was able, he patted his hair back in place, swiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm and then casually opened the front door.

  “Officers, what can I do for you?” he asked, relieved that he sounded so calm.

  The cop with the badge that identified him as Constable Griffith replied. “We received an emergency call. A woman with suspected poisoning?”

  Leslie arranged his features in a suitable expression of concern. “Yes, you’re right. My niece. She’s been visiting for a while. We were having a birthday celebration dinner. She ate something that didn’t agree with her. She’s already gone to the hospital, but thanks for your concern.”

  “The ambulance hasn’t arrived yet,” the second officer stated, peering over Leslie’s shoulder. “Who took her?”

  “Ah, she went with Detective Barrington. He was here, too.”

  The second officer turned away and faced out into the dark. Leslie cursed under his breath. The detective’s vehicle was still parked in the drive.

  “Isn’t that Colt’s wheels?” the second officer said to his colleague.

  Griffith frowned and then nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

  Both officers turned to face Leslie and he braced himself against their steel-eyed gazes.

  “Oh, he went in my car. I was parked out on the street,” he explained, trying hard to keep the nerves from his voice.

  The officers narrowed their eyes at him. “Do you mind if we come in? Take a look around?”

  It was Griffith who posed the question, but when the man shouldered his way through the doorway, it was obvious he didn’t intend to be refused. Left with no choice, Leslie stepped back and let him in.

  “Of course, Officers. Come in.”

  The men strolled into the living and dining room and looked around. Leslie stood back, out of the way, and did his best to appear normal. All the time, he couldn’t help but think about the mess all over the bathroom floor and the gun he’d left in there. He only hoped the officers would be satisfied with a cursory inspection and leave without causing any trouble.

  * * *

  Morgan was suffocating. Gasping for breath, she fought against the coverings that blanketed her face. Fire coursed down her arm and she suddenly remembered where she was and what had happened.

  With an effort, she got control of her panic and slowed her breathing down. Blinking in the darkness, she realized she was in bed with the covers pulled right over her head. Pushing them away, she dragged in fresh air and took a moment to get her bearings.

  The room was dark with only the faintest glimmer of light from the street escaping beneath the closed curtains. Still, she recognized the shape of the darker shadows as the furniture in her dad’s room. She strained to hear any noise. Was her uncle still in the house? And Colt. Where was he?

  At the thought of Colt and the way he’d been right before she’d been shot, she bolted upright and jumped out of bed, unmindful of the agony in her shoulder. Her stomach still protested the poison she’d ingested and she wrapped her arms around her belly in an effort to control the cramping.

  She needed to find Colt. He’d been hurt, seriously hurt. Her mind shied away from the possibility that he could already be dead. No, she refused to accept that had happened. Not now. Not when they’d just found each other again.

  With the carpet silencing her footsteps, she picked her way across the room and eased open the door. The murmur of voices reached her and she strained to make out the words. At least two people and her uncle. She was sure it was him she heard. There were people in her father’s house. People who might be able to help her.

  With her heart in her throat, she kicked off her sandals and tiptoed quietly down the hallway. The creak of a floorboard underfoot sounded loud
in the stillness. She froze, expecting the voices to stop, but the murmur of conversation continued. Breathing silently in relief, she crept forward and paused opposite her old room.

  A muffled groan came from behind the door. For a second, she thought she was mistaken, but then it came again.

  Colt.

  It had to be him. She was flooded with relief that he was alive. She debated silently whether to continue forward and seek help or provide assistance to Colt. She stood in an agony of indecision and then Colt groaned again. Three groans in as many minutes. He was obviously still alive. If she didn’t escape her uncle and get help, who knew how much longer he had. With her mind made up, she turned away and continued along the corridor.

  * * *

  Leslie watched the two officers prowl around the room and did his best not to let his nervousness show. Plastering a smile on his face, he stepped forward.

  “So, Officers, can I get you a drink? A cup of tea, or maybe something stronger?”

  Constable Griffith frowned. The other officer merely shook his head.

  “W-what exactly are you looking for?” Leslie asked, tossing them another smile.

  “We’re not sure,” Griffith replied.

  The second officer eyeballed Leslie. It took all the courage he had to maintain eye contact.

  “Let’s just say we felt the need to look around,” the second officer growled.

  Leslie kept the smile plastered to his face and surreptitiously wiped away the sweat that had gathered on his brow. He wondered how much longer he was going to have to tolerate this.

  “What’s through there?” Griffith asked, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.

  “It’s the kitchen,” Leslie supplied and then panicked when he thought of the box of rat poison he’d left on the counter. He’d been so confident his plan would work, he hadn’t even bothered to hide the evidence. Now he was frozen with fear at the thought of what the cops might discover. How would he explain why there was an open box of rat poison on his kitchen counter? Fresh sweat broke out on his brow.

  “Let’s take a look,” the second officer murmured and Leslie’s panic ratcheted up another notch.

  With no reason to refuse, he turned slowly and headed for the door. With every step that took him closer, he wracked his brain for a reasonable excuse.

  “Help!”

  The croaky plea reached his ears and for a moment, he thought he’d misheard. He continued on toward the kitchen and then heard the noise again.

  “Please! Help me! I need help.”

  “Holy shit!”

  The sound of one of the officers cursing in surprise and alarm, had Leslie spinning on his heel and he gaped at the sight of Morgan. Stumbling barefoot into the room with blood soaking most of her sleeve, she arrested everyone’s attention.

  “What happened? Who are you? Griffith, call the ambulance again. Where the hell are they? They should have been here ages ago.”

  The second officer rushed forward and helped Morgan to a seat. Griffith pulled out his phone and turned away. Leslie watched the scene unfold as if he were in a dream. Everything he’d planned was crashing down around him, crushing every one of his dreams.

  “What happened to you?” the officer asked Morgan once again.

  Morgan looked straight at Leslie and his gut went cold. “It was him. My uncle. He shot me and Colt. Colt’s hurt. He’s in the first room down the hall. Please hurry, he needs an ambulance. Please…”

  Leslie heard the words echo around him, as if they’d been shouted into a canyon. With the sound of them ricocheting off the walls, he turned tail and ran. The gun was still in the bathroom. There was no way he’d reach it in time. Instead, he headed toward the kitchen and the back door. There were more guns in the shed.

  He’d barely taken three strides across the kitchen floor when he was tackled from behind. With his legs taken from underneath him, he fell heavily. Pain burst through his chest as the air was ripped from his lungs. Gasping for breath, he tried to move and found Griffith pointing a gun at his head.

  “Don’t fucking move! Hands out where I can see them!”

  Leslie dropped his head back on the floor in defeat, anger surging through him. The sound of sirens reached his ears and he cursed loudly and bitterly. So close. He’d come so close and now the game was up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The pain was excruciating. It felt like an elephant sat on Colt’s chest. He tried to breathe, but it hurt too much. He squinted against the bright light that burned into his pupils and lifted a hand to ward it off.

  “He’s coming round.”

  The words echoed in his head, but they didn’t make much sense. The same voice spoke again.

  “Colt, it’s Beau. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

  Beau… His brother… Beau was talking to him, asking him to squeeze his hand. Okay, he understood that one. He felt movement beside him and then Beau’s hand brushed against his fingers. With a concentrated effort, Colt lifted his hand and closed it over his brother’s.

  “Oh, thank goodness!”

  It was a female voice, breathy with unguarded relief. The voice sounded familiar… Morgan…

  She was all right. She must be. She was close, somewhere in the room. He opened his mouth and tried to form his lips around her name. “Mor…”

  A moment later, her lips pressed against his cheek and he was enveloped in her warmth and her scent.

  “Oh, Colt! You’re awake! Thank goodness you’re all right!”

  He squinted up at her. She was a blurry shape in front of him. “My head…chest….hurts.”

  “You took a bullet, buddy. You’re lucky you’re still here.”

  The words were spoken by his brother. He turned his head in the direction of the voice and winced. His head felt like it had been split open with an ax. In fact, he hurt everywhere. The pain pulsed through him like a live thing, hot and vibrant and aching. Where the hell was he and why wasn’t anyone giving him something for the pain?

  “Pain,” he gasped.

  “You’re in hospital, Colt,” Beau replied. “You’re hooked up to a drip. You’ve come out of surgery. The bullets have been removed. The surgeon’s happy with how it went. The pain meds will kick in soon, but you’re going to be sore for quite a while. There’s no doubt about that.”

  A soft, cool hand pressed against his cheek and he sighed in gratitude. “Your wounds will heal, Colt. We’re just thankful you’re alive,” Morgan whispered.

  Colt tried to acknowledge her words with a nod, but the movement was beyond him. With a sigh, he gave up and collapsed against the pillows. It was the last thing he remembered.

  * * *

  Morgan watched Colt, feeling anxious and scared. Despite Beau’s reassurances, she was far from confident Colt was out of the woods. He’d arrived at the hospital in the back of an ambulance, already unconscious. Despite a nurse who insisted Morgan needed help herself, she’d watched, terrified, as they’d rushed him straight into surgery. Only then did she agree to be treated.

  Though she’d vomited over and over at her father’s house, the doctors still pumped her stomach to make sure they’d removed all of the poison they could. They also took blood to determine the nature of the toxins, even though she told them she was almost certain it was rat poison.

  She was whisked off for a scan to check for internal bleeding. Along the way, she discovered one of the active ingredients in rat poison was warfarin, an anticoagulant. The thought that she might be bleeding to death and nobody knew it frightened her almost out of her wits and she was beyond relieved when the doctor finally confirmed that it appeared the poison wouldn’t cause any lasting ill effects.

  They were more concerned with her bullet wound. Luckily, the bullet had passed through the fleshy part of her shoulder and had exited out the other side. After cleaning the wounds thoroughly, they were dressed with bandages. Shots for tetanus and penicillin were added for good measure.

  The medical sta
ff had wanted her to stay in hospital overnight, but Morgan insisted she needed to be with Colt and she found herself waiting outside the operating theater with Beau by her side.

  She wasn’t sure how he’d discovered they were there, but she guessed the police officers had told him. She didn’t find out until later that Beau had arrived in Armidale only an hour earlier, intent on paying Colt a surprise visit.

  Morgan winced. She’d had enough of surprise visits. She wouldn’t care if she never paid a surprise visit again, though she was certainly grateful for Beau’s presence.

  Her uncle had been taken away in handcuffs and the memory of all that had happened still stunned her. Before the shooting, Colt had appeared convinced her uncle had something to do with the disappearance of her father. The very thought sent a flood of confusion rushing through her veins, but she couldn’t deny there was a growing sense of acceptance that sat like a cold, hard lump in her belly. She was almost certain she would never see her dad again. Sadness clogged her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  “Morgan O’Brien?”

  She started at the sound of her name. Turning, she saw an ICU nurse waiting at the end of Colt’s bed.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a detective waiting outside. He’d like a few words with you.”

  Morgan nodded. Pressing another kiss against Colt’s lips, with a whispered promise to return soon, she left the room. A man who looked to be about Colt’s age, with dark blond hair and a weary expression on his face stood outside the doors to the ICU. He approached her with a measured tread.

  “Morgan O’Brien?” His voice was low and rough and reminded Morgan of sandpaper and whisky and late, late nights.

  “Yes, I’m Morgan O’Brien,” she replied. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I’m Detective Jared Buchanan of the Northern Tablelands Local Area Command. I work in the Armidale office with Colt. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. Do you know Leslie Lexington?”