“Look, I know you saw who did this. I tried to get to you in time. If I had, maybe the two of us would have made a difference. Maybe he’d be lying here instead of you. I need to know what happened out there last night. What did you see? This thing has gotten real complicated.” Donovan couldn’t help but think about all the secrets he’d kept from his friends, and how he never wanted to be in put in the position of having to explain all the lies. “It’s all my fault, everything happened years ago, but Lauren and Abigail are going to pay the price if things go wrong—hell, we’re all going to pay a price. If we knew what you saw, then maybe a certain FBI agent would go away and bother someone else.”
Donovan sat for a while and collected his thoughts. Since he met her all those years ago, Meredith was the one he measured the rights and wrongs against. But since he’d met Lauren, the torch had been passed. Lauren now held those scales. Yet, over the last few weeks he couldn’t stop thinking about Meredith. Seeing the movie, hearing her voice again, seeing her dead body, everything had welled up inside of him until she somehow seemed very close again.
When Meredith was still alive, he’d always known that being Robert Huntington was at times a burden, a double-edged sword that had ended up owning him in ways he never understood. She’d shown him ways to find a sort of tranquility and freedom, to feel what he’d never discovered for himself. Robert Huntington had enjoyed unbridled privilege, but it wasn’t until he met Meredith that he became aware of a different path. As Donovan Nash, he’d continued looking for the elusive contentment that Meredith had shown him, but he’d only drifted even farther away from his goal. All he’d found was a compromise, something he could only describe as a delicate state of negotiated peace, and all of that would vanish in an instant if the world found out Robert Huntington was still alive. The condemnation would be quick and certain. He’d deceived the entire world twenty years ago and lied to everyone he’d met since. It was a risk he’d taken. The price for failure would be the loss of anything he’d built as Donovan Nash.
He pushed himself up out of the chair, unable to sit still any longer. The fact that Montero might be peeling away the layers of his life while he sat doing nothing was pure torture. Thoughts of what would happen if he lost Michael or Lauren or any of his other stabilizing influences began to work away at him, and he was surprised to find himself wanting a drink. He buried that thought; it was only eight o’clock in the morning.
His eyes burned and he could feel the full effects of having gotten so little sleep. He blinked hard at the grit that seemed to be grinding away at his vision. Donovan went to the small bathroom, closed the door behind him, and stood in front of the mirror while the water ran. He winced at his reflection. The lines on his face all seemed to lead straight to his bloodshot eyes. He cupped his hands under the cold water and then pressed his hands to his face as if he could rinse away the exhaustion. He switched from cold to hot water but the fatigue was still irrevocably stamped on his face.
The instant he emerged from the bathroom, Donovan took in all the things that were wrong. The startled expression on the stranger’s face, the fact that his scrubs fit poorly, that his shoes were dirty. There was also no lanyard around his neck, no official ID. Donovan’s eyes flashed to Michael. The pillow beneath his head had been pulled out and hung in the man’s left hand.
Donovan saw the dark shape of a silenced pistol as he started toward the man. In the moment it took the assassin to point the gun toward him, Donovan had covered the distance. Moving fast, he grabbed the assailant’s wrist with one hand and used his shoulder to slam him into the wall as hard as he could. Donovan heard the quiet cough of the gun as it went off over his shoulder. Still pinned up against the wall, Donovan kneed the intruder in the midsection.
The man recovered quickly and swung an elbow. Donovan avoided the full force of the blow, but caught part of it off the side of his head. Donovan kept a death grip on the man’s wrist and ducked as another wild swing passed over his head. Once again, Donovan slammed his knee upward into the man’s stomach, doubling him over, then bent the gunman’s wrist backward until he felt it snap and heard the pistol clatter to the floor. The assassin grunted in pain, then swung his leg and took Donovan’s feet out from under him.
Donovan tried to break his fall, but he careened backward and crashed hard against the bedside table losing his grip on the intruder. The assassin, holding his broken wrist, kicked Donovan in the stomach. He felt the pain as the air rushed from his lungs. He rolled out of the way away just as a second kick grazed his ribs.
Donovan scrambled to his feet. He turned to rush his attacker and stopped—the barrel of the gun was pointed straight at his forehead. His eyes traveled past the black tube of the barrel and locked onto the man’s face. The assassin was breathing heavily, the man’s dark eyes flared with a mixture of pain and fury. Donovan knew at that moment he’d lost.
“Federal agent!” Montero yelled from the doorway at the same time she pulled the trigger on her Glock.
Donovan recoiled as the side of the assassin’s head dissolved into a red mist that splattered the ceiling and wall. Donovan saw the man’s eyes go dead and sightless as he began to collapse. The pistol fell from his hand, his knees buckled, and he crumpled straight down like an imploded building.
Montero kicked away the silenced weapon and then leaned over the body, her Glock poised to fire again.
“Are you all right?” she said to Donovan without looking at him.
The heavy smell of gunpowder filled the room. Behind Montero, two other agents rushed through the doorway. Montero began issuing orders to shut down the hospital. She wanted everyone who tried to leave the premises searched for weapons in case the assassin wasn’t alone. Donovan stepped away from the carnage. He went to Michael and searched for any sign that his friend had been injured. A quick inspection found blood spatter on the sheet, but it wasn’t Michael’s.
Montero holstered her pistol and then dug in the pocket of her blazer. She produced a latex glove and snapped it over her hand. She leaned down and turned the gunman’s head to get a good look at his face. She swore under her breath, whipped out her cell phone, and dialed. As she waited for an answer, she raised an eyebrow at Donovan. “Are you still wishing I’d go away and bother someone else?”
CHAPTER NINE
Donovan’s ribcage throbbed from where he’d been kicked. The would-be assassin lay in a pool of blood. FBI and hospital personnel were running in and out as they followed Montero’s orders to set up a perimeter in the hallway. He glared at Montero as her words began to seep through his fear at having nearly been killed. His fury grew exponentially as it became clear what she’d done. He pushed away from the wall and stood directly in front of her.
“You used the room’s intercom system to listen in on me. You knew someone might try this, didn’t you?”
Montero hardly made eye contact with him as she surveyed the work being done to move Michael to another room without disturbing the corpse on the floor. “I’m going to need you to get out of my way for now. But don’t leave the area.”
“You almost got him killed. As far as I’m concerned, we’re finished.”
Montero straightened and her jaw tightened. “You and I aren’t finished, and don’t even dream of leaving Florida, let alone this hospital, until I say you can. Now, go wait in the lounge until I have time to talk to you one-on-one.”
Donovan stormed out of the room, pushing through the security detail that had cordoned off the hallway. He found an empty waiting area, dug out his cell phone, and dialed.
“William, it’s me. Where are you?”
“I’m in the main lobby waiting for an elevator. Lauren just found me and told me you were on your way here.”
“Is she still with you?”
“They’re moving Michael to a room. Susan took the boys to the cafeteria. Lauren went to find them. We’re all going to meet on Michael’s floor shortly. Why, what’s going on?”
“Someone just
tried to kill Michael—and me in the process.”
“Are you okay? Is Michael all right? Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Everyone’s fine. I’ll fill you in later. I want to fly everyone out of here as soon as possible. Call Peggy and see what she can do about getting a medevac flight and crew to take Michael home.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“How much has Lauren been able to tell you about what else is going on?”
“She whispered to me that the three of us needed to talk. What’s going on?”
“An FBI agent may have started to put some things together. Is the airplane you flew down here still available? We might need to go visit Stephanie.”
“Are you sure? Is this agent a blonde woman named Montero? I met her; she didn’t come across as much more than a pushy Fed. How could she possibly know anything?”
“I might be wrong, but a partial fingerprint led her to an old mug shot taken in California. I have a bad feeling this whole thing is about to break wide open. Right now I need to talk to a doctor and find out exactly what Michael needs to make a safe trip home. Then we’re out of here, even if I have to buy the whole damned hospital to do it.”
“We need to arrange some kind of private security we can trust,” William said. “I don’t think we should leave Michael unprotected for a second.”
“I like that idea. Do you remember that Navy SEAL, Howard Buckley? I met him during Hurricane Helena. He’s a good man. I think he’d be the place to start.”
“If I remember correctly, he was connected with General Porter from the Joint Chiefs,” William said. “I’ll have someone in my office track him down. Do you want me to talk to him, or should I have him call you directly?”
“Have him call me.” From where he was sitting, Donovan could see more and more cops walking up and down the hallway. “I think it might be a good idea for you to take care of all of our plans before you come up here. The place is crawling with police right now.”
“I understand. I’m also going to call someone I know at the Fairfax County Hospital. We’ll plan on taking him there,” William said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Thanks.” Donovan ended the call, made his way through the growing crowd, and went to the nurses’ station.
“Can I help you?” A nurse asked as she looked up.
“I need the neurosurgeon that did the operation on Mr. Ross up here as soon as possible.”
She pulled a clipboard closer and ran down the list of names. “I’m not sure if Dr. Richardson is still on call.”
“After what just happened, I suggest you find him.”
The nurse pursed her lips as she nodded. Without further comment, she reached for a phone. Donovan didn’t stay to listen; he suspected the doctor would show up soon enough. He snaked his way through the small army of FBI agents. He avoided the room where the gunman lay dead and instead turned into a room across the hallway. Michael lay in his bed, the only difference from before was the armed FBI agent next to him.
Donovan ignored the agent and went to Michael’s side. He studied the monitor, and then his friend’s face, looking for the slightest change in Michael’s condition.
Montero stuck her head into the room. “If you need any medical attention, go down and get examined in the ER.”
Donovan turned at the sound of her voice, his eyes burned with anger. “Where in the hell were you? Where was security? Why didn’t you intercept that guy until he was in the room and started shooting?”
“I’m not going to discuss tactics with you.”
“Because it was illegal or because it was stupid and irresponsible?”
“It was neither. There was some confusion on the part of hospital security. Simple mistake, really.”
“Yeah, I bet. Want to try and explain the intercom? Was it fun listening in on my conversation?”
“It was an accident. Someone must have inadvertently pushed the button. I’m told it happens all the time. Good thing I happened by.”
“You’re quite the hero. I want to talk to your supervisor. Who’s in charge of the FBI here in South Florida?”
“The special agent in charge is Hamilton Burgess,” Montero said. “He’ll be here any minute.”
They both heard a commotion in the hallway, and Donovan stepped out of the door behind Montero just in time to see the collection of people in the hallway part as if they were the Red Sea and Moses had just arrived. Dressed in a dark suit and tie, a short wiry man with narrow, pinched features was walking toward them with purpose. His blond hair was so thin that his face and scalp both burned the same bright red. Donovan thought the man looked like he was about to explode.
Donovan watched with interest as the man pushed past Montero and stepped into the room across the hall.
The man blew out of the room moments later and turned to face Montero, his jaw muscles worked back and forth in what appeared to be a mixture of anger and frustration. He shook his head, and then turned toward Donovan as if seeing him for the first time. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I’m Donovan Nash. Who are you?”
“I’m Hamilton Burgess.”
“Sir, I was just about to escort Mr. Nash down to the emergency room to be examined,” Montero said.
“I’m fine,” Donovan said.
“Special Agent Montero,” Burgess said, “you’re done here. You’ve been involved in a shooting. You know the drill. I’m placing you on administrative leave, pending the outcome of the investigation.”
Montero lowered her voice. “I recognized the guy in there. He’s one of the people who may have been responsible for Alec’s death. He’s not even supposed to be in the country. Our intelligence sources place him in Venezuela. We need to find out why he’s here and why he tried to kill Mr. Ross.”
“Please, no more talk.” Burgess held up his hand. “You know how this works. The Inspection Division will conduct its investigation. You’ll cooperate fully with them. Once you give them your statement, go back to the office, finish the paperwork, then go home. No argument. You’ll hear from me when the shooting review board schedules the hearing.”
Montero pivoted smartly and walked away, and then she stopped, turned, and said, “Nash is clean. You can let him go.”
Donovan turned to Burgess after Montero was gone. “Just for the record, I’m not amused with what’s taken place here today. Your agency, your agent, put a man at risk.”
“You’ll get your chance to make a statement,” Burgess replied.
“As soon as we can get clearance from the doctor to move Mr. Ross, we’re out of here.”
“Feel free to do what you need to do, I can’t stop you. Where do you intend to take him?” Burgess asked.
“We’re flying him to Washington, D.C.”
“Officially, he’s a key witness to a felony, but under the circumstances I have no problem with a transfer as long as you agree to cooperate with our Washington office. I’ll arrange for someone to follow up and take a statement from Mr. Ross when he’s conscious. Can I get your assurances on that point?”
Donovan nodded. “Can you make sure Michael is protected until all of our arrangements are made?”
“It’s already done,” Burgess replied. “But before you go, I want to tell you that I’m not making apologies for Special Agent Montero or my department. She’s a good agent. I wish I had ten more just like her. You can file whatever complaint you want, but keep in mind what the end result was here today.”
Relieved that Burgess didn’t try to stop him, Donovan hurried back to the nurses’ station. The nurse he’d spoken with earlier assured him that they’d found Dr. Richardson and that he was on his way up. Relieved that he seemed to making some progress, Donovan was standing there when the elevator opened and out stepped Lauren, Susan, and the kids. They all stopped at the sight of the activity in what they fully expected to be a quiet wing of the hospital.
Donovan worked his way in their direction.
Lauren held a sleeping Abigail. Donovan hugged Susan and shook the boys’ hands. Then he took his daughter from Lauren. Abigail stirred briefly but continued to sleep, and Donovan reveled in how good it felt to hold his little girl. He’d missed her. In fact, it was good to see familiar faces, but he hated the deep concern etched in everyone’s eyes.
“Where’s William?” Lauren asked.
“I just spoke with him,” Donovan replied. “He said he’d meet us back here in a little while.”
“Donovan, what’s going on?” Susan asked again, her patience quickly evaporating.
“The FBI stopped someone who they think was trying to get to Michael. Nothing happened, Michael’s fine.” Susan’s eyes flew wide then she set her jaw and stepped forward as if getting ready to bolt for her husband’s room. “Hold on, they stepped up security for the time being. The good news is the doctor is on the way, and I’m hoping he’ll give us the go ahead to take Michael home later today. Once we have the go ahead, we’ll put everything into motion.”
“Why is the FBI involved in this? Some FBI agent started asking me questions about you and Michael. She kept asking me how long I’d known you and William, and how long you and William had been associates. When William finally showed up, she asked him the same questions. When William asked her why she needed to know, she excused herself. It was strange.”
“Don’t worry about her—she’s just doing her job,” Donovan said. He gave the whole episode a dismissive shrug, but inside, his internal alarms were going off. Lauren, too, made the same observation and shot Donovan a momentary look that spoke volumes. Montero was digging, trying to make a connection that stretched back twenty years.
A nurse stuck her head above the counter at the nurses’ station. “Mr. Nash, Dr. Richardson just arrived and is in with Mr. Ross.”
Zero Separation Page 6
