“No, you’re not listening,” Isaac said. “If I don’t leave, I’m a dead man.”
“Why didn’t you have protection on your door?” Ruthie asked softly.
“What?”
She sighed. “Usually when a cop’s life is in danger, he has officers on his door for protection. There’s been no one on your door, no one watching your back.”
He nodded. “Usually. But there won’t be any cops here. They don’t care if I live or die.”
Ruthie straightened and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe that. The chief wouldn’t tolerate that kind of behavior from her officers.”
He shrugged, then winced. “Sounds like you know the chief.”
“A bit. I also know if she knew what was going on, she’d have an officer here.”
“Maybe, but I’m better off without one than with one who thinks I’d be getting what I deserved if I wound up dead. Because if you know the chief then you know that while she keeps her finger on the pulse of the city’s finest, she doesn’t always know the details of each and every one of her officers—or how they feel about one who snitched on a brother, especially one who is denying everything and looking like he’s going to get away with it. The only way to prove I’m right—and get my career back—is to stay alive. If I can’t find the evidence I need, I might as well resign.” He tried to stand, but slid to the floor, his IV tube clanking against the pole, reminding him he was still trapped. He reached for it and stopped when warm fingers closed over his. He met Ruthie’s eyes.
“You snitched on another cop?”
“Yep.”
“I see.” Her expression didn’t change, but he could feel her judging him.
He sighed. “No, you don’t. Nobody does.”
“Hm.”
“It’s like if you see another doctor taking drugs from the pharmacy and you ask him what he’s doing. He says nothing and puts them back. But now you’re suspicious. Then you find out it’s a regular thing going on. What do you do?”
“Report it,” she said softly.
“Exactly.” He pressed a hand to his shoulder and grimaced.
“You’re going to run, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I am. But only so far. I’m really close to proving that there are some cops in my department who are giving the good ones a bad name—and others who are helping them cover that up. There’s one person who can make this all go away, but he went off the grid. I’ve got to find him and the evidence he has and convince him to do the right thing.”
“They’re trying to kill you because of that?”
“Apparently. And while I know that not every cop in the department is bad, I don’t know who is and who isn’t anymore. My uncovering this one situation has led to something huge, and it’s up to me to stop it.” He drew in a deep breath and blinked at the stars swimming in his vision. “Now . . . I’ve got to go. I can’t be a sitting duck in this hospital bed.”
For a moment, she simply watched him. “If you move wrong, you could tear open that wound and cause some serious bleeding.”
“Will it kill me?”
“Probably not. At least not quickly. Your biggest threat is possible infection.”
“No, my biggest threat is the guys who want me dead. And there’s only one way to stop them.”
“By finding the guy with the evidence.”
“Exactly.”
“Where is he?”
“On the run. But he’s got a sister in the mountains of North Carolina. If I can track her down, I can probably find him.”
“Don’t you think the guys who tried to kill you can find him, too?”
“Yes. Which is why I need to find him first. He’s not answering his cell phone or using his credit cards or social media. He’s disappeared completely.”
Her gaze never left his. “Once the pain meds wear off, you’re going to be hurting.”
“Won’t be the first time.”
Another sigh slipped from her, and he wished he could read the thoughts going on behind those blue eyes. She gave a decisive nod. “All right, then. I can see you’re about as stubborn as they come. Can you give me about fifteen minutes so I can gather some supplies to send with you? To take care of the wound?”
He started to protest but could see she was probably just as stubborn as he was. “Fine. Fifteen minutes. No longer.”
She started to turn, then whirled back to him. “They’re probably watching, aren’t they? The room, the hospital?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Probably.”
She turned to the nurse, who’d been observing the whole conversation. “Meg, you stay on the door. Don’t let anyone in here. No doctors, no staff, no one. And especially no cops. If anyone asks, tell them he’s taken a turn for the worse and is being moved to ICU.”
Meg’s eyes went wide, but she simply nodded.
“Good. Come on.”
The two ladies stepped outside the room, and Isaac wilted back onto the mattress, his head spinning, nausea churning. It had been all he could do not to show any weakness in front of them. Now he was debating the wisdom of trying to leave.
But, like he told the very pretty doctor, if he didn’t, he was a dead man.
True to her word, Ruthie had gathered supplies and shoved them into a backpack she’d borrowed from the lost and found. Next, she’d grabbed an empty gurney, which she now rolled toward the room where she hoped Isaac still waited.
A short breath of relief puffed from her lips when she rounded the corner and found Meg pacing in front of the door. Ruthie rolled the gurney to the door and Meg held it while she pushed her way inside. Isaac sat on the bed, looking pale. She tossed a set of scrubs on the bed next to him. “Let’s get you changed.”
He looked up and blinked. “Huh?”
“Well, you can wear the gown if you prefer, but I thought you might like everything covered up for our little ride.”
“What ride?”
“The one where you play dead.”
“Good idea. Then what?”
“You tell me where you want to go, and I’ll take you there.” He hesitated and she raised a brow. “You really think you have the strength to do this on your own?”
His sigh echoed hers. With a quick look at her, then Meg, he finally shook his head. “No. I know I don’t.”
“So you do have some common sense,” Ruthie said.
He shot her a dark look. “Occasionally, I give in.”
“Perfect. You need some help getting dressed?”
“I can dress myself.” He glanced at his shoulder. “The pants anyway. Turn around.”
Ruthie wasn’t sure he could, but she turned her back to him without argument. Meg did the same with a roll of her eyes that would have done a teenager proud.
With a few low groans through clenched teeth and a bit of careful maneuvering, he managed to get the pants on.
“You’re not in danger of passing out or falling or anything, are you?” Ruthie asked. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. She’d rather cause him a bit of embarrassment than have him fall on the floor, reinjuring his shoulder and possibly adding a head injury to his assortment of wounds.
“Close, but I’m managing.”
Not the answer she expected. “Let me help you.”
“No. Turn around.” He shot her another dark look and she quickly turned her head back to stare at the far wall. But the image of his olive complexion, dark eyes and hair—and muscular chest—stayed with her. The only reason he wasn’t on the floor unconscious was because he was in tip-top shape. Not that she had a personal interest in that. It was just a professional observation.
Right. A grunt had her turning.
“You know you’re being silly. I’m a doctor.”
“Don’t care. You’re also a pretty lady. Eyes on the wall.”
That shut her up. She ignored Meg’s snorting laugh and focused on her patient’s voice. He sounded breathless and done in. “Can we turn around now?”
<
br /> “Yeah.”
He’d gotten himself on the gurney and lay there, chest covered in sweat, dragging in deep breaths. “I probably should have let you help.”
“Not going to argue with that.”
“I couldn’t get the top on.”
Ruthie handed the shirt to Meg, then the two of them worked together to put it on him with as minimal movement of his shoulder as possible. Pulling the sheet up to Isaac’s shoulders and locking eyes with him, Ruthie said, “Catch your breath, concentrate on keeping your breathing even, but shallow. We don’t want the sheet to move up and down since you’re supposed to be dead.”
“Got it.”
“No talking, no moving, no doing anything that makes it look like you’re alive.”
“Come on, doc. I got it, I promise.”
“All right, then.” She pulled the sheet up the rest of the way and gave a satisfied grunt when he didn’t move. She really couldn’t even tell that he was breathing. With one last look at Meg, she nodded. “Let’s roll.”
three
ISAAC LAY UNDER THE SHEET, his shoulder throbbing, mind whirling, while he tried to keep his breathing shallow. He was riding blind and he didn’t like it one bit. The vulnerable position caused his nerves to itch and his heart to pound. Used to being the one in control, this new situation rankled him.
And, whether he wanted to admit it or not, it scared him senseless. Relying on someone else was something he usually avoided at all costs.
And now he found his life in the hands of a surgeon.
Once outside in the hallway, Isaac listened to the commotion. Then he was rolling, hand twitching, wishing for a weapon. Where was his Glock? Cole probably had it. No matter how he felt about Isaac, his partner wouldn’t have left it on the kitchen floor where Isaac had dropped it when the bullet slammed into him.
Footsteps passed him. Paused. Then headed back his way.
“Ruthie?”
The deep voice sounded much too close. Isaac tensed as the wheels squealed to a stop.
“Lee.” Ruthie’s brief, professional response impressed him. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. But what are you doing?”
“Taking this patient down to the morgue. What does it look like?”
“That’s not your job. That’s what the flunkies are for.”
Flunkies? Isaac supposed he meant the transport unit employees.
A chuckle escaped his pretty doctor, albeit the sound had a harsh edge that made Isaac lift a brow.
“See, that’s the problem with you, Lee,” she said. “You think you’re too good for things. Doing stuff like this keeps your head the right size. You ought to give it a try.”
“Such a do-gooder, Ruthie.” The bass voice caused Isaac’s head to pound harder. “You’re not going to make chief of surgery with that kind of attitude.”
“Maybe not. Now, do you mind? I’ve got other things to do than stand here and swap career advice with you.”
Admiration for her warmed him throughout. She was spunky. He liked that. He was starting to think she might just help him stay alive after all.
Would they really come after him like this? Because he’d reported something that he’d had no choice but to report?
Yes, he admitted grudgingly, there were a few who might take it this far. He should have known, should have been prepared, but he’d been so busy focusing on stopping them, he hadn’t prepared well enough to keep them from stopping him.
And he should have. After all, even his partner had given him the cold shoulder. He’d even gone so far as to tell Isaac he’d better have his own back, because after filing his report, no one else would.
And now this.
Isaac replayed everything from the call to the arrival at the house. Three cruisers had responded. Six officers. He and Cole had gone in first. Had it been a setup? A way to get rid of him? Teach him a lesson? If he’d died, who would question the report by the other officers? Chilled at the thought that his own partner would go so far as to risk his life, he bit the inside of his cheek.
Elevator doors swished open. She rolled him in and the doors shut. “We’re in a service elevator,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It will take us down to the basement, then I’ll find a wheelchair and we can roll you out to my car. I’ve got one more stop to make. You need meds.”
He assumed they were in the elevator alone and wanted to demand she not make any more stops. He could live without pain meds. But he clamped his lips tight and worked to control his breathing.
Dead men didn’t talk—or argue.
Ruthie hated that she’d caught the attention of Dr. Lee Porter. Of all the people to run into, it had to be him. With a grimace, she slid her hand under the sheet and found her patient’s fingers. “Squeeze my hand if you’re okay. You’re doing this dead thing way too convincingly.”
The strong grip reassured her, and when the doors slid open, she pushed him out of the elevator. “Almost there,” she said softly.
Things should be relatively slow at the moment down here. Hopefully. Then again, it wasn’t like she came to the morgue on a regular basis.
Hospital security officer Brad Channing saw her coming. “Evening, Dr. St. John. What brings you down here?” He swept a hand toward the gurney. “Other than the obvious.”
“That’s about it. I didn’t feel like waiting on someone to transport him, so I thought I’d do it myself.”
“I can take it from here if you like.” He stepped forward to take her place.
“Ah . . . no, that’s all right. If you’ll just get the door, I’ll roll him in. I’ve . . . um . . . got some paperwork I need to fill out before I’m finished.”
She tensed, hoping he wouldn’t insist. When he simply shrugged and opened the door for her, she exhaled a slow breath of relief. “Thanks, Brad.”
“Any time.”
And then they were alone.
Where was Christy? The morgue technician was usually on duty for second shift, but right now the place echoed emptiness, which worked great for her purposes. Moving quickly, she unlocked one of the cabinets and found bandages, tape, and items she would need for stitching. Once she had everything signed out according to protocol, she stuffed the items into the bag she’d packed in his room and set it aside.
“What are you doing?”
Ruthie spun to find her “dead” patient sitting up and pressing a hand to his wound under the sling. His pale features belied his “I’m fine” attitude. “Gathering a few more supplies you’re going to need. You better lie down and pull that sheet back up before someone walks in here and realizes you’re not dead.”
“What’s the plan?”
“To get you out of here. Then figure out how to keep you alive long enough for you to heal.”
“Good plan.”
“Thanks.”
“But I’ll have to take it from here. If you get involved further, you could get hurt,” he warned.
“Well, if you don’t let me get involved, you could die.”
He raised a brow. “A slight exaggeration.”
“Maybe. In the medical sense. But I think you need someone looking out for you. Someone who has your back.”
His jaw tightened. “I’ve gotten pretty good at watching my own back.”
“Right. That’s why you have a bullet hole in you. The truth is, you won’t get far on your own. If they’re willing to go this far to kill you, they probably have people at every exit watching for you.”
He stilled. “You think like a cop.”
“It’s second nature.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s not important.” She walked to another cabinet and pulled an item off the top shelf. “Right now, our priority is getting you somewhere safe.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Can you stand up?”
“Of course.”
He managed, but even she could tell the effort it cost him and moved fast, laying the b
ag on the gurney. She unzipped it.
“A body bag,” he said.
“Yes. Now get in.”
Isaac swallowed. He wasn’t superstitious or even terribly claustrophobic, but the thought of being zipped up in that black bag turned his stomach. He’d seen too many bodies carted off in those things. Instead of airing his fears, he settled himself on top of it, and she wrapped it around him.
The rasp of the zipper sent chills along his nerve endings. She stopped when she got mid-chest. “I won’t zip it all the way if you prefer. I can leave you a finger hole at the top. You’ll be able to get out if you need to.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t recognize the huskiness in his voice. Fatigue and nausea had taken over, and he wondered if he might pass out. At least if he was unconscious, he wouldn’t be worried about being zipped up like a dead man. The fact that she’d picked up on his internal angst surprised him. He thought he was better at hiding his emotions. Then again, he’d been shot, had surgery, had almost been killed in his room, and was running from those who wanted him dead. A little noticeable angst was probably normal.
The zipper continued its journey up over his face and then stopped at the top of his head. True to her word, a sliver of light filtered through the small hole she left. Knowing he could get out without a massive struggle allowed him to breathe a little easier.
“All right, here we go,” she said. “Should be a piece of cake from this point on.”
The gurney rolled. The whoosh of the doors and the rise in temperature told him he was now outside the hospital.
“Hey, doc, hold up a second.”
The gurney stopped. His heart rate kicked it up a notch at the voice. Cole Guthrie, Isaac’s partner—the man who’d made his life miserable for the past three months. Cole had made it clear he thought Isaac was betraying the badge and the men and women behind it by pushing to find a fellow cop guilty of something he couldn’t prove. The conversation hadn’t gone well.
“Let it go, Isaac,” Cole had said. “He put the money back.”
“He did. This time. But I feel certain that wasn’t the first time he’s taken some, and if I don’t do something about it, it won’t be the last.”
The Cost of Betrayal Page 24
