He exhaled as forcefully as he could, rolled his shoulders forward and slid the rest of the way into the basement. He fell hard on a cold concrete floor. But he was in. That's all that mattered.
The light dim, Max blinked as his eyes adjusted to the lower light level. He made out an open door...
Oh, God, a body. He rushed over to it.
Male. Where the hell was Nikki?
He found the door, bounded up the stairs to the first level ... and tripped over Nikki at the top of the stairs.
Breathless with fear, he touched the side of her neck feeling for the pulse that would tell him she was alive. It was there, but barely.
“Nikki.” He put his cheek next to her mouth. She wasn't breathing. He placed his mouth over hers and exhaled.
How many times? Why hadn't he ever taken courses? Every one ought to know how to do this. He continued, desperate for her to respond.
Breathe, dammit. Breathe.
The front door crashed in.
He kept forcing air into Nikki's lungs.
“Hands up!"
Max heard the order, but ignored it. “She's ... not ... breathing,” he gasped between breaths of air.
“Get the paramedics.” The first officer dropped down on his knees beside Max. “Here let me."
“No ... down ... in the ... basement."
Chaos reigned as the house filled with the SWAT team, officers, paramedics and the FBI.
A soft hand touched Max's shoulder. “Come on. Let the paramedics take over."
Max looked up and saw Lorena, then fell back, giving the paramedics room. In a matter of seconds, two intravenous lines were started and a tube was put down Nikki's throat and attached to a portable respirator. “So she can breathe,” one of them explained unnecessarily.
For the first time Max realized that Nikki was nearly nude. He pulled off his jacket and covered her with it.
Carefully the paramedics lifted her to a stretcher.
“Holy shit,” the paramedic exclaimed, “She's got a needle in her shoulder. He drugged her.” He removed the syringe, wrapped it in a plastic bag and stuck it in his uniform pocket. “We'd better keep this. The doctors will need to know what he injected her with."
“Is she going to be all right?” Max asked, dreading the answer.
“Too soon to tell, but she's still with us. There's still some drug in the syringe. Whatever it is, she didn't get all of it."
Max looked over his shoulder, down the stairs. “He's down there."
Another paramedic stood up and clambered down the stairs. “We've another one—in the basement,” he called out. “Need another stretcher and a back board."
The two remaining paramedics lifted Nikki, stretcher and all. “We're taking her to Long Island Jewish Medical Center. You can ride with us, if you want,” the small redhead told him.
“Thank you.” Max turned to look at a frowning FBI agent. “I can go with her, can't I? You're not going to arrest me, are you?"
“That's still under consideration,” she said. “Go on. Get out of here, before someone decides that's exactly what we need to do."
He followed behind the paramedics, afraid to let Nikki out of his sight. Another team of paramedics rushed by him. Personally, he hoped the SOB was dead. As they neared the ambulance, multiple flashes dazzled his vision.
The press. Can't have a rescue without them, he thought bitterly.
As soon as the paramedics had secured Nikki, Max climbed into the ambulance. The last thing he saw was Nikki's editor, standing handcuffed and yelling at a police officer. Had McHugh had something to do with the kidnapping, after all?
Fifty-two
After the desperate ambulance ride to Long Island Jewish Medical Center, Max paced back and forth in the hallway outside the intensive care unit. Fear gripped his gut. By his reckoning, Nikki had already been unconscious for at least two hours. Concern for her well-being welled up and threatened to choke him. The neurologist had been with her for more than forty-five minutes. The longer the physician took, the greater Max's apprehension.
Alone he waited. Nikki's mother was on her way from Florida, and he'd refused Alexa's plea to come to the hospital.
The electronic double-door, separating him from Nikki, swung open. Finally, he thought. He walked forward to meet the neurologist, a short man, immaculately dressed in a starched white lab coat. The doctor emanated an air of God-given authority, leaving Max feeling like a penitent before a priest. The physician extended his hand. Max took it. Should he kiss the ring, genuflect, or would a bow be sufficient?
“Doctor DiSilva, how is she?” he asked.
“Mr. Devereaux, Miss Prentice is stable for the present,” the dapper physician assured him.
“May I see her?"
“Not yet. Let me explain first what we've done and what we know ... and what we don't know."
“I'm listening.” Max's tone was impatient, but he didn't care.
“First of all, the electroencephalogram shows normal brain activity, which means that she hasn't suffered any irreparable brain damage."
“That's good, then?” Max asked, hoping for an affirmative answer. Why can't the man use simple words? Why drag it out? The waiting room wasn't a stage, but the neurologist acted as if it were.
“Yes, of course. Now, we've taken body fluids for drug screens, and the results are pending. Whatever she's been injected with hasn't shown up on any of the more common panels. In addition, we are checking out the residue in the syringe. Without knowing the actual drug used, I can't give you any estimate on how long her recovery will take, or if there will be other organ damage."
“Make an educated guess,” Max demanded. He wanted answers, not equivocations.
“I told you we'll know more when the spinal fluid screens come back, and that won't be for eighteen hours, at least. You'll have to be patient. We've given her every drug antagonist we can safely give her. Her vital signs are stable, and her respiratory status is improving. At this rate, she'll be off the ventilator soon."
“How soon is soon? Will she be conscious?"
The physician sighed and continued his pedantic explanation. “She already has some spontaneous respirations. We are weaning her off the ventilator. I would expect her to start awakening within the next several hours. Again,” he paused, emphasizing, “until we know what drug was used, I can't predict anything for certain."
“Perhaps, the FBI or the authorities have faster labs."
“That's entirely possible, but our tests are already underway. Right now, my concern is the young woman in the ICU. The hospital toxicology department and the authorities will do their jobs. And I would appreciate it if you would allow me to do mine."
“Fine, then see that she doesn't die.” Max shoved his hands in his pockets and continued pacing.
On hearing Max's response, DiSilva's eyes narrowed. He pivoted on his heel, leaving Max to his pacing.
“Maybe you should've been nicer to him, Daddy."
“Alexa?” Max whirled in the direction of his daughter's voice, then sighed. He should've known she would come, anyway. She was as stubborn as he was. He hugged her to his chest, and stroked her hair, glad to have the unexpected warmth and comfort of her presence. “I'm glad you came."
She hugged him back. “Is Nikki going to be okay?"
Max looked at his daughter's upturned face, tension and worry furrowing her brow. “The doctor thinks so."
“You were really giving him a hard time. You must be worried about her."
“I am."
Alexa looked up at him. He saw a calculating gleam in his daughter's eyes. He waited.
“You—uh, love her, don't you?"
He swallowed. It was time he admitted it aloud. “Yes, little one. I do."
Alexa flashed him a wide grin. “I knew it. I told her you did."
“You did? When?"
“Well, let's see. Hmm, several times while you partied around in Paris."
“Oh?"
&nbs
p; “Yeah, she was really upset over all those tabloids. She tried to pretend that she didn't care, but she did. I could tell."
“Really, how?” A feeling of well—smug relief passed through him. Nikki did care about him, no matter what she'd said.
He stopped pacing and sat down on the nearest vinyl-covered sofa. Alexa sat beside him, close to his side and still clasping his hand. Her features grew animated as she talked.
“Yes, her face would get red, then she'd chew on her bottom lip. She'd stick her nose up in the air and tell me she wouldn't discuss it."
“I know. Those damn photographs. I couldn't stand that woman. The tabloids blew it all out of proportion. That's how those rags make their money."
“I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't listen. “Her grin grew wider. “She's even more stubborn than you are, Daddy.” Then her expression turned serious. “Is her mother coming?"
“Yes, I called Mrs. Prentice as soon as we found Nikki. A neighbor answered and said she was already on her way to New York."
She nodded, then asked, “So what did he do to her? Who was he?"
“The police are checking him out, and he's not talking. He was found at the bottom of the stairs with a neck and head injury. They took him to Bellevue. We won't know what he did until some of the tests come back."
Max's worst fear, beyond losing her, was that the stalker had harmed her in a more devastating way. She was nude when he'd found her, bruised with scratches and terrible marks on her wrists where she'd been bound. In the emergency room, the doctors had refused to tell him if she'd been raped. After all, he wasn't a relative.
Alexa squeezed his hand. “She has to be okay. She just has to."
Max looked at the tears welling up in her eyes. “She will be,” he reassured her. “The doctors here at LIJ are excellent,” he told her, then added mentally, even if the neurologist is a first-class prick. However, DiSilva's personality was of less consequence than his skills, and his reputation was among the best.
On the opposite side of the lobby, the elevator door whooshed open. Nikki's mother rushed toward him, her face pale and drawn. He'd never seen the woman with less than perfect make-up or coifed hair. Now, she stood before him, wringing her hands, casually dressed and without a single piece of jewelry.
“Where's Nikki? Where's my baby? Is she going to be all right?"
Max nodded toward the double doors that led to the ICU. “She's in there, but Dr. DiSilva said she would be conscious soon, maybe."
“My baby's in the intensive care unit. Maybe she'll be all right? Omigod, what have I done to deserve this?” Jessie collapsed into a fit of weeping and wailing ... and into Max's arms. He eased her toward the sofa where Alexa scooted over to give her room.
He cringed, wishing he could slap some sense into the woman, but she was only giving into maternal guilt. Instead, he patted her hand and attempted to console her. “Mrs. Prentice, the doctor said there was no brain damage. Apparently, the stalker injected her with something just before we found her. She's still unconscious, but the doctor is hopeful of her recovery."
“W-was she,” Jessie hesitated, looking at Alexa at the far end of the couch, then dropped her voice before adding, “hurt any other way?"
Max shook his head. “I don't know. They wouldn't tell me, but I'm sure they'll tell you."
“I am her mother after all.” Jessie folded her arms across her chest and cast a baleful look in his direction. “This is all your fault. You should've taken better care of her."
A flash of white-hot rage blazed through Max, laced with a heavy dose of guilt. More than once, he'd thought the same thing. He understood Jessie Prentice only too well. Upset and powerless, she needed a scapegoat. He'd always been her favorite target. So be it.
He bit back his anger. “I'm sorry. I didn't know about the stalker, until it was too late."
Jessie appeared to consider his words, then nodded. “Nikki always kept things to herself. I don't guess she's changed much. Stubborn too."
“Yes."
“Will they let me see her?"
“Soon, I'm sure."
Mrs. Prentice leaned back and heaved a sigh. “I guess I'll have to be patient."
Alexa reached over and patted the older woman's hand. “She'll be okay. I just know it."
He watched in amazement. A small smile flickered over the woman's face. He'd never seen a genuine smile on her face, however tiny.
“Thank you, Alexa. I'm sure she will too,” she said feebly.
If only he knew for sure.
Fifty-three
“She's been in there for hours,” Max said to no one in particular. He sat wearily on the sofa outside ICU. He'd given up pacing, but not watching the clock. The adrenaline rush of the early morning had dissipated. More than twenty-four hours had passed since he'd slept, and his tuxedo had seen better days. Dr. DiSilva had announced that Nikki was coming around. Her mother had been allowed to see her, but he hadn't ... yet. Frustrated and afraid, he waited. Nothing the doctor said would reassure him. Only seeing Nikki for himself would.
Alexa handed him another cup of coffee; he'd lost count long ago.
“No, Daddy, it just seems like it.” Alexa sat down beside him and patted his knee.
His chest swelled with love. His daughter, nearly a woman, was comforting him. Her ski trip had been spoiled and she hadn't mentioned a word. He couldn't help but wonder how many teenagers would've handled a disappointment so maturely.
The moment of father-daughter bonding was interrupted by Agent Judson emerging from the elevator. Along with her was Nikki's editor McHugh—no longer in handcuffs.
Out of habit, he stood up, nodded at Lorena and McHugh.
“How is she?” the editor asked.
“Still in the ICU, but coming around, the doctor says. Her mother's with her now."
“I'll have to debrief Nikki, but not until she's stable,” Lorena said. “I've already talked to her kidnapper."
“He's still alive?” Max raised a brow, his fists clenched at his side. “I hoped he was dead."
“Alive and—uh, talkative."
Max nodded at McHugh. “Why is he out of handcuffs?"
McHugh gave a wolfish smile. “One of my better moments, I thought."
“Really?” Max glowered.
“Really,” Lorena added with a frown. “The diversion he created allowed you to make your heroic rescue."
“You tried to break through the barricade to help me?"
“Anything for Nikki,” McHugh said. “Friend of mine on the force gave me a heads up. When I arrived, I saw you edging toward the house, somewhat conspicuous in your tuxedo, and figured what you were up to. Just thought I'd give you a hand. You can thank me later—or not."
Max stared at the editor and nodded. Perhaps, McHugh wasn't such a jerk, after all.
McHugh stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. “You're welcome."
“Later.” Max turned back to Lorena. “What about the kidnapper?"
“He has a spinal cord injury. The neurosurgeon is uncertain whether or not it's permanent, but he won't be stalking or kidnapping anyone else for quite a while."
“Good!” Max and McHugh said together.
“Did he tell them what he used on her?"
“Yes, he used a curare derivative, used in paralyzing patients for surgery. She's very fortunate that it was injected into her shoulder and not a vein. Apparently, he had diluted it as well for his purposes. Full-strength and Nikki wouldn't be coming around, ever."
“Mon Dieu.” He sank back on the sofa, overwhelmed by how close he'd come to losing Nikki forever.
“Another minute or two and—"
“I get the picture,” Max said with a groan.
“Your intervention saved her, Max. She's very lucky."
“It should've never happened. I should've protected her."
“But you didn't know about the stalker."
“True, but I'd been warned she was in danger.
The agent's eyes widened. “Warned? I thought you—by whom?"
Shifting uncomfortably on the couch, Max considered just how much he should reveal. “Uh—a friend of my mother's in France—she's a bit of a psychic. Anyway, she warned me Nikki was in danger. I left as soon as I could, but there were complications before I could come back to the States."
Lorena smiled wryly. “Complications would be your arrest."
Restless, Max stood up and started pacing again. “Yes, yes. I was detained briefly. It's all been straightened out. You know that already."
“Yes.” Lorena stood with her arms folded across her chest. “Go on."
“When I returned, I tried to warn her, but she was still angry with me and wouldn't listen."
“Angry?"
“It's personal. Personal."
“I see."
“I thought Nikki would be safe as long as she stayed in the townhouse. The security system is excellent, however, after my return, she left on her book tour. Before she left, she insisted on moving most of her things to the Alden's."
“Basically, you lost control of the situation."
“Control? There is no controlling Nikki. She's stubborn."
“Apparently."
The door to the ICU opened and Jessie Prentice walked out, wiping her eyes and sniffing. “My poor baby."
Fear overcame Max. He rushed to Nikki's mother. “What? Is she conscious?"
Mrs. Prentice took Max's hand, leaning on his arm for support. Again, he resisted the impulse to shake the silly woman and led her to the sofa.
“Oh, Max. My baby's going to live. That's what that nice Dr. DiSilva said."
A wave of relief washed through him. “What else did he say?"
“Well, they took that awful tube out of her throat. She's still groggy, and very hoarse, but she knew me.” She leaned back, placing her forearm to her head in a truly dramatic gesture.
“Thank God. May I see her now?"
DiSilva walked up behind Mrs. Prentice. “Of course, Mr. Devereaux, if her mother doesn't mind.
See You In My Dreams Page 39
