by Mallory Kane
“This is a restricted area, ma’am.”
“Oh! I didn’t see you. I need to speak to that doctor.”
He frowned at her. “What doctor?”
“Blue scrub suit. Mask. He just went through this door.”
“Sorry. You can’t go in there.”
She looked through the small round windows set high in the double doors. All she could see were dim overhead lights. “What’s back there?”
The man crossed his arms. “You want the information desk at the front entrance, where you came in. They can page your doctor.”
“But I don’t know his name. Didn’t you see him?” Sophie stood on tiptoes, trying to see through the glass in the doors. “It’s very important. I have to know where these doors lead.”
The man touched her elbow. “I’d hate to have to call Security, ma’am.”
“But—”
He lifted his chin and squeezed her elbow.
She jerked away. “Fine.” She looked at his nametag. “Jimmy.” She glared at him as if she were memorizing his face.
Jimmy wasn’t intimidated.
Sophie gave up.
As she turned and walked back up the hall toward the front of the hospital, she mentally catalogued what she’d seen.
The masked doctor had been around five-feet-eight-inches tall, a shade shorter than she was. He was Hispanic, with close-set eyes and black hair that the surgical cap didn’t quite cover. He had a sprinkling of gray at his temples. A small, jagged scar at the corner of one eyebrow made him look as if he’d been in a barroom brawl.
She remembered Samantha’s description of the man who’d attacked her outside Johnson’s room a couple of weeks ago. He’d been dressed in scrubs with a surgical mask over his face, just like this guy. But Samantha had insisted he wasn’t a doctor. She’d said his fingernails were dirty.
Sophie looked down at her shoulder, where the man’s dark hand had gripped her white blouse as he’d shoved her out of the way. There was a smear of black on her shoulder.
She could be wearing evidence of a killer.
THE MAN WALKED quickly through the emergency room doors and out into the parking lot. He’d ripped off the surgical cap and the mask and tugged off the scrub shirt, exposing his sleeveless undershirt. He sprinted around the side of the building and stood at the corner of the main entrance, pretending to fool with an empty cigarette pack he’d grabbed from the trash can where he’d stuffed the scrubs.
A couple of people walking by in the early light of sunrise gave him wary looks, but he just kept his head down, watching the entrance sidelong.
There she was. The tall blonde who’d chased him. She burst through the front doors, glancing around. She was still looking for him.
He chuckled. Now that he’d accomplished his mission, he felt the giddy euphoria that always came with a job well done. It had taken him all night to get into the perfect position to take care of Botero’s limo driver.
Luckily, he was a patient man, a careful man. He never hurried. It was what made him so good at his job.
As the woman propped her fists on her hips in obvious frustration, he studied her. He’d know her if he ever saw her again, and in a couple of minutes, he’d know her car.
She was a knockout, with those long legs and that pale hair. How was she involved with all this? More importantly, why had she followed him? What had she seen?
Was it because he’d watched her in the elevator? He shook his head. No. A woman like her—she’d just ignore him and get away as soon as possible. She’d seen something—figured out something.
She started across the parking lot.
He sidled closer to the front entrance, keeping her in his line of sight as she climbed into a BMW convertible. The maneuver revealed an incredible length of shapely thigh.
For an instant, he indulged himself in the thought of her spread-eagled, at his mercy, her cool blue eyes sunken and bright with fear. The thought made his mouth water and his groin stir and itch.
As she settled into the driver’s seat, he hit a preset number on his cell phone and spoke in Spanish.
“It’s Fuentes. Find out who this woman is. She noticed me.” He recited her license plate to the person on the other end of the line.
She pulled out of the parking lot, her gaze sweeping past him without seeing him, and drove away.
“No, I do not know. You have connections. Use them.”
He glanced at his phone as he disconnected.
Damn. That was it. He’d dressed like a doctor, but he’d neglected one important point. He squeezed the phone in his fist as he looked at his hand.
“¡Qué ingeniosa! Smart girl.”
He pocketed the phone and walked back around to the emergency room entrance. He still had about an hour before the end of his shift.
Then he’d wait to find out who she was and where she lived. It would be a pleasure to take care of her.
He’d show her what dirty fingernails could do.
AFTER A HOT SHOWER and a change of clothes, Sophie carefully placed her blouse in a paper bag and headed to Weddings Your Way. Unfortunately, she had an appointment with a bride at ten o’clock. And Rachel’s first rule was that the Confidential team never expose their cover.
When she’d entered her apartment, she’d stopped cold. Her haven, her retreat from the world was different. Sean had been there. He’d touched her books, washed up in her bathroom, waited while she’d showered.
Then in her bedroom, she’d spotted the Botero case file on her bedside table. She knew immediately that Sean had touched it. The corner of one sheet of paper was askew, its edge adding a white border to the dull yellow of the manila folder.
She’d made too many mistakes in the past twenty-four hours. Broken so many of her personal rules. Sacrificed too much of her hard-won privacy.
And for what? A brief connection with another human being? A fleeting sense that someone cared more for her safety than for his own? A glimpse of a side of family life that would never be hers?
As she sped along the freeway in the bright heat and suffocating humidity, she had a mortifying thought. She glanced at the folder in the passenger seat and pictured Sean standing beside her bed, inspecting its contents.
Had he seduced her to get information? Shame blanketed her. If that had been his intent, he’d gone to a lot of trouble. He’d been in her apartment. Why bring her to his? Especially when she knew she was right about him. He hadn’t wanted her invading his private life, meeting his daughter.
Could he really have been overcome by their closeness, as she was? For an instant she sank into memory of his powerful body covering hers, his gentle lips tracing each telltale scar on her back and legs.
“Stop it!” It didn’t matter why he’d done it. It was over. He’d kicked her out.
She needed to concentrate on the case. She needed to let Rafe know about the man in the surgical mask. About the evidence on her blouse. She glanced at her dashboard clock, then dialed his cell phone.
“Montoya.” His voice was hushed.
“Rafe, it’s Sophie.”
“You okay?”
“Yes, of course,” she answered automatically. “I just need—”
“I’ll call you back.”
“But—”
“We’re getting the autopsy report on Johnson. Are you at the office?”
“On my way.”
Rafe disconnected.
Sophie sighed. The autopsy report was the most important thing. They’d soon have proof that Johnson was murdered. Her information could wait.
She changed lanes, preparing to exit. As she maneuvered the exit ramp, a dark car forced its way around her.
“What are you doing?” she shouted as she veered closer to the guardrail and braked. But the car kept coming.
Its fender scraped hers with a screech of metal.
Desperately, Sophie glanced in her rearview mirror. There was a line of cars behind her, and this madman beside her.
> She braked again, afraid to take her eyes off the guardrail to look at the other car. Her right fender scraped the rail.
Horns were honking, tires were squealing, the dark car sped up and cut toward the right.
Gripping the wheel like a lifeline, Sophie braked, expecting to feel the impact of the cars behind her as the front car cut her off.
Suddenly, the dark car shot forward, off the ramp and onto the busy highway, nearly cutting off a new Lexus.
Sophie fought to maintain control of her car and herself as she entered the merge lane and pulled forward until she could slow down and stop.
She sat there in the driver’s seat, trembling violently. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked as the full impact of what had just happened slammed into her.
She covered her mouth with shaky fingers, trying to force herself to breathe normally.
A tap on her window caused her to jump and look up in surprise.
“Hey! Are you all right?”
It was a man dressed in a mechanic’s uniform. A glance in her rearview mirror revealed a white pickup.
She nodded and lowered her window a fraction. “I’m—” Her voice cracked. “I’m fine.”
“What a jerk,” the mechanic went on, looking over his shoulder in the direction the car had gone. “I didn’t get a license, but it was a late-model Ford. Tinted windows. We should call the police.”
“No,” Rachel said hurriedly. “Truly, I’m fine. They’ll never find him.” She smiled. “You know how it goes.”
The man took a step backward and inspected her car. “You got a really bad scrape there.” He reached in his pocket. “I work with a good body shop.” He held out a card.
She took it without looking at it. “I don’t suppose you saw the driver’s face?”
The man shook his head. “Like I said. Tinted windows. Those things should be outlawed. You sure you’re okay?”
Sophie assured him and thanked him for stopping to check on her.
She dialed Rafe again, but he didn’t answer.
She started her car and pulled out into traffic, her hands still quivering, her stomach roiling.
“When did you get to be such a wimp?” she asked herself in disgust. She shouldn’t have pulled over. She should have chased the car.
But she knew it wouldn’t have done any good. He’d nearly wrecked a Lexus to get away from her. She’d never have caught up with him.
One thing she did know. The driver of the dark car had targeted her specifically. It was no accident. She glanced at the bag containing her blouse. Someone was worried about what she’d seen.
But how had they found her?
Suddenly, the truth hit her. She’d been followed from the hospital.
The killers knew where she lived.
SEAN SPENT the next couple of hours talking with the physician in charge about the specifics surrounding Craig Johnson’s death. He called and broke the news to Craig’s parents. Autopsies were automatically done in the event of a suspicious death, but Sean didn’t tell them their son might have been murdered.
Then he spoke extensively with Kenner and interviewed the midnight-shift employees who were on duty when Johnson had coded.
Just as he was finishing up with the last of the employees who admitted being on the fourth floor during the night, Rachel Brennan and Rafe Montoya showed up with a hospital security officer. Rachel was talking on her cell phone.
Sean had placed Kenner at the door to Johnson’s room to secure it. Montoya dismissed Kenner and directed the hospital’s guard to lock the door.
He stalked over to confront Montoya, nodding at Kenner to back off.
“What’s going on, Montoya?”
“Majors.” Rafe, dressed in a jacket and tie, gave Sean’s jeans and pullover shirt the once-over.
Behind him, Rachel snapped her phone shut. “Hello, Mr. Majors. I’m terribly sorry about Craig Johnson. Please offer my condolences to his family.”
Sean frowned at her. He didn’t buy her casual attitude or her easy sympathy. “I’m sure that will mean a lot to them,” he said evenly, then turned his attention back to Rafe.
“I assume you’re here because Sophie called you.”
Montoya lifted his chin, his eyes glittering. “That’s right, Majors. She called us. If I were you—”
“Mr. Majors.” Rachel took a minuscule step forward. “Perhaps it would be best if you let us deal with the hospital officials.”
“This is a murder, Ms. Brennan. Not a misplaced bridesmaid dress.”
Montoya bristled, but Rachel held up a manicured finger. “In fact, we don’t know yet that Mr. Johnson was murdered. I’d like to handle this with a minimum of publicity, so why don’t we meet in the chief medical director’s office in—” she glanced at her watch “—ten minutes?”
“Publicity,” Sean spat. “Yeah. That’s the most important thing.”
Rachel’s mouth tightened. “I feel sure you have no more desire than we do to stir up the media. I know Mr. Botero doesn’t need the added stress.”
Sean clamped his jaw. He couldn’t quite dislike Rachel Brennan, but her extraordinary composure combined with an undeniable instinct for handling difficult situations made him suspicious.
This woman knew what she was doing, and she and her staff were more than what they seemed to be. It galled him that he couldn’t figure her out.
Her or Sophie.
Without waiting for an answer, Rachel smiled at him and headed for the elevators. Montoya moved into step beside her, and the hospital guard followed meekly behind.
Sean stared at the locked hospital room, frustration and regret weighing heavily on his heart.
“Sort of makes it seem final, doesn’t it?” Kenner spoke at his elbow, voicing his thoughts. “That Johnson was a nice kid. He had tons of stories from his tour in Iraq. Wonder how he got mixed up in all this.”
Sean shook his head. He’d thought Craig was a nice kid, too. And he’d always prided himself on his judgment. How had he been fooled by Johnson?
He could only think of two reasons why anyone would risk coming into a hospital to kill someone. Either Johnson had seen something, or he’d been involved. Given his admission about gambling debts, Sean was certain it was the latter.
“I remember when he was hired. I couldn’t believe he was old enough to be out of college.” Kenner rubbed his chin. “When was that? Three years ago, wasn’t it?”
Sean nodded. “In the fall.” Three years ago. That was right after Michaela was born.
Unhappy memories blindsided him, throwing him back in time.
It should have been the best time of his life, but Cindy had been unhappy and jealous of the baby. It was only a couple of months later that she’d left Michaela and him.
Right about the time he’d hired Johnson. He cursed to himself. If he hadn’t been distracted by Cindy’s abandonment and the needs of his new daughter, would he have made a different decision?
“Sir?”
“Nothing, Kenner. Get back to Carlos’s. I need you to sit down and write out every single thing you remember, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant.”
“Mr. Majors, I feel responsible—”
“Don’t. It’s obvious that whoever did this was waiting for the perfect opportunity. It was going to happen sooner or later. If anything, it’s my fault. I should have posted two guards.”
Sean squeezed Kenner’s shoulder. “You did a good job. Now give me your report. Your observations will help us find out what happened.”
“Yes, sir.” Kenner stood a little taller as he headed toward the elevators.
Sean glanced back at the locked hospital room and shook his head in regret.
“Oh, Mr. Majors.” Kenner approached him again. “I meant to tell you. There was a woman lurking around here about the time you and the doctor were taking Johnson downstairs. At first, I thought she was a doctor. She was carrying a chart.”
Sean waited.
“But sh
e didn’t have a coat or a name tag.”
“Well, who was she? A visitor?”
Kenner looked thoughtful for a second, then shook his head. “No, sir. I don’t think so. She was listening to us.”
“To who?”
“The nurse and me. While everybody was cleaning up from the code, the night nurse was explaining to me about how a dose of potassium into an IV could stop the heart.”
Listening. A dread certainty took hold of him. “What about the woman? What did she look like?”
Kenner smiled and shook his head. “I have to tell you, she was a knockout. Tall and blond, with legs—”
Sean blew out a frustrated breath. “How was she dressed?”
“Some kind of little skirt and top, with black stockings.”
It was Sophie. It had to be. There couldn’t be two blondes in Miami who would be dressed in black stockings at the crack of dawn. His brain surprised him with the remembered feel of those stockings against his palm, against his cheek. A shiver of longing coursed through him.
“How long was she here?”
“Can’t say. But she was one of the last to leave. All the patients were back in their rooms and Housekeeping was mopping up Johnson’s room. I asked her if she needed some help and she spouted some story about looking for her cousin.”
“Thanks, Kenner. Make sure you put that in your report.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Kenner left, Sean gritted his teeth. Damn it. When he’d left her in his bed this morning, he’d told her to leave. He should have known she’d follow him here.
He didn’t know who or what she was, but it was a cinch she wasn’t just an invitation designer for an upscale wedding-planning salon.
She was too savvy. She’d played him until he’d agreed to let her make the ransom drop. Then she’d played him some more.
She’d tapped into too many of his secret places. His secret fantasy of long black-stockinged legs. His protective instinct. The compassion that rose so easily when he saw injustice or abuse.
And she’d done it all for one reason. To find out everything he knew. The question was, why?
