Christmas on the Run

by Shirlee McCoy

  She got it then. Finally.

  “Right. You’re right. Let’s go.”

  He walked beside her, scanning the doorways on either side of the hall. It would have been simple enough for the perp to step inside a room, but they all had glass windows, making it easy for the nurses to keep an eye on the critical patients and difficult for the photographer to hide. Dallas could see family members sitting at bedsides, most of them bent over phones or leaning in toward patients, keeping silent vigil. Maybe praying.

  He’d been on the other side of the glass. He’d been the one lying in the bed. He knew the heavy weight of fear and anxiety the waiting loved ones carried with them. He’d felt it every time he’d opened his eyes and seen his parents sitting by his bed.

  He also knew that it would be impossible for a stranger to walk in without the family reacting.

  Thus far, he’d seen no sign that anyone had been disturbed. No sign that a stranger had barged into a patient’s room.

  He tried a storage door to his left. It was locked. Up ahead, double doors led out of the ICU. A desk sat nearby, several nurses eyeing monitors there. Everyone seemed to be going about their morning as usual, but someone who didn’t belong had been here.

  “Do you think he’s already gone?” Carly asked, her voice whisper soft.

  “Leaving would have been the smart thing to do, but he stood a dozen feet away and snapped a photo of me and Zane, so he’s probably not all that smart.”

  “You’re assuming he’s a man.”

  “I’m not assuming anything except that he’s probably not the guy I shot in front of my house.” He hadn’t spoken to the police about that, but he’d have to. Soon. There’d been blood left at Carly’s house and blood in the street at his place. Plenty of DNA to run through the system. If they got a name, Dallas could use HEART resources to find the suspect. He wasn’t sure the police would approve, and he was equally unsure whether or not he cared.

  He pulled out his phone, magnifying the photo so he could see the details more clearly.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked, leaning in, her arm pressed against his. He caught a whiff of coffee and soap, flowers and sunshine. She’d felt good in his arms. Like she belonged there. If he’d known that would be the case, he’d never have hugged her, never have let his lips trail across her forehead and cheek. She was a habit he could easily form, an addiction he wouldn’t mind having.

  He frowned, forcing himself to focus on the photo and on the conversation. “I’m trying to figure out exactly where he was standing. There was a good reflection on the glass. I could see people moving to either side of the hall. I think I’d have noticed if someone was shooting pictures with his phone.”

  “He held the phone low and angled it up.” She pointed to the screen, her short nails unvarnished, the tiny white scars on her knuckles showing clearly in the fluorescent light. “He probably wasn’t even looking through the lens. He was probably taking random shots, hoping to get a decent one. He didn’t even need a good one. He just needed one that would prove he’d been here and was close.”

  “Right.” At least a dozen people had walked through the hall while Zane had been on his shoulders. Half of them were probably visitors. Most would’ve been holding cell phones. He’d let the DC police know, and they could pull the security footage, but that didn’t satisfy Dallas. He wanted the guy caught now. Not three or four days or weeks or months from now.

  The double doors opened, and two nurses walked through. A man followed behind—dressed in scrubs, a stethoscope hanging haphazardly around his neck. A doctor or nurse, but Dallas couldn’t see a name tag or badge. His hair was plastered to his head, a pair of glasses perched on his nose, and he looked like any other doctor or nurse walking through the corridor—serious expression, rubber-soled shoes, one hand in the pocket of his scrubs. He moved with quick, purposeful strides, and Dallas wouldn’t have thought much about him except that his gaze was fixed on the floor. Studiously and purposely avoiding eye contact.

  That was a red flag that Dallas wouldn’t ignore.

  He waited until the guy passed, let him round the corner and then followed, Carly hurrying along beside him.

  She didn’t ask where they were going. He assumed she already knew. She’d been watching the guy, too, her smooth brow furrowed, her eyes narrowed. Instinct was everything in Dallas’s business, and he thought his instinct and Carly’s were the same right now. The guy was hiding something.

  It was possible he was the on-call doctor, trying to avoid patients’ families so he didn’t have to deal with their questions, their tears, their heartache. That would make sense. It would fit the situation. It would be the best-case scenario.

  The problem was, Dallas rarely dealt with best-case. Usually he walked into the worst thing he’d imagined.

  He and Carly rounded the corner. Jazz’s room was in the middle of the hall, not far from the nurses’ station. The guy they were following scanned room numbers, knocked on Jazz’s door and stepped inside. Dallas moved forward, walking past the windows and looking inside.

  Boone was standing, positioned between himself and Zane, but the doctor or nurse or whoever he was seemed to have no interest in either of them. He was leaning over Jazz, listening to her heart, checking her temperature, adjusting the IV line and doing all the normal things a nurse did.

  There appeared to be no reason to be alarmed, but worry nudged at the back of Dallas’s mind, anxiety swirling in his gut. The nurse took a syringe from his pocket, squirted fluid in the air as if checking to be sure there were no air bubbles. Odd, but not improbable—except that the syringe hadn’t been capped. It had come out of his pocket ready to use.

  Boone said something, and the guy shrugged, reaching for the IV line.

  Boone grabbed his arm, pulling him away, and Dallas shoved open the door, the muted sound of Christmas music following him as he grabbed the guy by the back of the shirt and dragged him away. The man in scrubs cursed, grabbing the IV pole, yanking it onto its side, crushing the bag of fluid and the lines under his feet as he dropped the needle and pulled a knife from beneath his shirt.

  An alarm sounded, the quick sharp chirp filling the room.

  Boone and Zane were gone, probably hiding behind the locked bathroom door. That was protocol, protection of innocent life always the team’s priority. Carly stood near the door, scanning the room, probably looking for a weapon she could use to help. And Dallas was eye to eye with a guy who’d probably do anything to get away before the police showed up.

  “I just want to leave,” he said reasonably. “You let me do that, and no one will get hurt.”

  “No one is going to get hurt if you put the knife down,” Dallas countered.

  “Sorry. Not going to happen.” He slashed the air, the blade rasping through the empty space between them.

  Dallas had a gun, but he didn’t pull it. He wouldn’t fire it in the hospital and risk the bullet going through a wall or window and hurting an innocent bystander.

  Carly stepped farther into the room, moving into Dallas’s periphery.

  “Don’t,” Dallas cautioned. The last thing he wanted was her getting in between him and the knife.

  Carly froze, stopping short a few feet away.

  The perp scowled.

  “Back off, buddy,” the guy said, the knife still pointed in Dallas’s direction. His hand was fisted around it, his knuckles white from the strength of his grip.

  He was afraid, and scared people did stupid things. Like lose their focus, forget what they should be concentrating on.

  “Put the knife down,” Dallas countered.

  “I don’t take orders from anyone.”

  “So you’re the boss, huh? The one who called the shots and decided to attack an incapacitated woman?”

  “I wasn’t attacking anyone,�
� he responded, falling for Dallas’s bait, chasing the verbal rabbit, the knife lowering a little.

  “What do you call trying to kill someone?”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill her!” he nearly shouted.

  “You were putting something in her IV. What was it?”

  “Just something to make her heart rate increase. He wanted a distraction, but he didn’t say anything about murder.” The blade of the knife was pointing toward the floor, the man’s dark eyes narrowed, his skin ruddy with emotion.

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. If he’s good for the money, it doesn’t matter.” His attention shifted to Carly.

  She was standing directly in the path of the only exit.

  “Move!” the perp barked, forgetting, it seemed, that Dallas was a much bigger threat.

  Because scared people really did make a lot of mistakes.

  Dallas dived toward him, knocking the knife from his hand and tackling him to the ground.

  SEVEN

  Dallas had the guy pinned in seconds, forearm thrust under his chin, arm pressed against his trachea. He’d gone from defensive posture to dangerous in three seconds flat. Carly took a step back, edging toward the door.

  But of course, she couldn’t leave.

  She had to make sure Jazz was okay; she had to check on Zane.

  She changed trajectory, edging by the two men and lifting the IV pole as Dallas barked, “Who’s paying you?”

  “I don’t know,” the guy gasped.

  “I think you’re lying.” Dallas’s voice was ice-cold, his expression hard. He didn’t look like the uncle who’d lifted Zane to his shoulders or the guy who’d smiled at him because Zane was the kind of kid everyone smiled at. He didn’t look like the man who’d pulled Carly into his arms, kissed her forehead, her cheek. Stilled her fears for long enough to get her thinking again.

  He didn’t look like any of those things.

  He looked like the person described in the news stories Josh had collected—tough, driven, hard. The kind of person who got things done, who didn’t let anyone stand in the way of his mission.

  “I’m not lying. My buddy set me up with the gig.”

  “You call killing a woman a gig?” Dallas didn’t move, but Carly had the distinct impression he could have easily crushed the guy’s windpipe. A little more pressure, a little more effort, and the knife-wielding man would die.

  “Dallas,” she began, planning to warn him, to encourage him to back away from the fight.

  “I told you, I wasn’t trying to kill her. I was just creating a distraction, so...” His voice trailed off.

  “So what?”

  “I have a kid, man!” he responded. “He’s sick, and I don’t have insurance. I need the money.”

  “I think that’s a lie, too,” Dallas retorted, his face just as hard, his tone just as cold. “So how about you try again?”

  “It’s not a lie. He’s two floors up in the children’s cancer unit. Loyal Richards. You can check it out.”

  “The police can, but it won’t matter. It’s sure not going to make anyone more friendly with you, and it isn’t going to keep you from going to jail.”

  “My kid is sick,” the man said again, and for the first time, he looked afraid. “I can’t go to jail.”

  “You should have thought of that before you came in here.”

  “I needed the money.”

  “There are other ways of getting money. Ways that don’t involve hurting other people.”

  “My son—”

  “Your son wants a father he can look up to.” Dallas yanked him to his feet as a security guard barreled into the room.

  The rest happened quickly. Another security officer arrived. A nurse sidled into the room, the DC police right behind her. There were lots of voices, noise and activity, and Jazz was still and silent on the bed. Her face pale, her eyes closed. Not even a flicker of movement.

  Carly touched her cheek. “Hey, you in there?”

  She didn’t get a response, but she thought Jazz’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” Carly continued, hoping she was right, that Jazz would get better, that she’d have her New Year’s Eve wedding, that her life would be the wonderful romantic dream she’d told Carly she wanted when they were college students sharing a dorm.

  Things had been so much less complicated then. Jazz had been the dreamer. Carly had been the practical one. They’d liked each other enough to room together for two years. Then life had happened. Carly had met Josh, and she’d fallen hard, and everything that had been easy became complicated.

  “I need to get in there, hon,” a nurse said, nudging her out of the way.

  Two other nurses converged on the bed, and Carly was displaced, standing in the middle of a dozen people but suddenly completely alone. This was one of those times when it would feel good to know that she had a husband or sister, mother or father or brother she could call, someone who cared enough, was invested enough in her life to leave whatever he or she was doing and rush to her side.

  “You okay?” Dallas said, and she realized that he was standing beside her, studying her face, looking for an answer. All the hardness was gone, the coldness replaced by warm concern. He was a different man from the one who’d had his forearm to a guy’s throat, and she couldn’t help wondering which man was the real one.

  She wanted to believe this one was—the one who seemed to care, whose palm slid up her arm, cupped her nape, kneaded the tense muscles there.

  She could have melted into a puddle on the floor.

  She could have leaned toward him, allowed herself to dwell in the comfort of the moment.

  She stepped away instead.

  “I need to check on Zane.” She turned away.

  She’d made her mistake. She’d done her time.

  She had Zane because of that, and she wouldn’t regret it, but she wouldn’t repeat it, either. And the first step to repeating it was being interested, asking questions, trying to get to know the person behind the handsome face and the stunning eyes.

  It all led to a broken heart.

  That was how it had played out with Josh. Based on her track record with men, that shouldn’t have been surprising. She’d dated a lot in high school. She’d been with guys who’d used her and tossed her aside. Then her perspective had changed during her senior year; her values had shifted. She’d realized she was going down the same path her mother had, and she’d been determined to change. So she’d shaped up. She’d given up the dead-end relationships, the useless flirtations. She’d always been a good student, but she’d become an exceptional one.

  College had been her goal, and she’d achieved it. She’d thought she’d achieve all the other things, too. The husband and kids and happy life together.

  She scowled, raising her hand to knock on the bathroom door.

  “You can knock, but Boone isn’t going to answer,” Dallas said, and she swung around, found herself looking straight into his eyes.

  “I want to see my son.”

  “Do you want your son to see this?” He gestured toward the bed, where nurses were working to set up a new IV. Then to the security guards and police who’d surrounded the attacker. The knife was still on the floor, the syringe a few feet away.

  Of course she didn’t want Zane to see any of it.

  “Boone can let me in. Zane doesn’t have to see anything.”

  “Except you looking terrified?”

  He had a point, even if she didn’t want to admit it. When it came to Zane, she’d always been the decision maker. There’d never been a second parent to consult with, no grandparents. Jazz mostly kept her nose out of decisions regarding Zane. She didn’t give unsolicited advice or tell Car
ly what she should or should not be doing with her son.

  So having someone telling her what was best for Zane was new, and she didn’t particularly like it.

  She was pretty sure Dallas understood that.

  “You want me to butt out,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.

  It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “I’m not going to deny that.”

  “And I’m not going to remind you that you approached me and asked for my help.”

  “You just did,” she pointed out, and he smiled.

  She couldn’t help herself. She smiled, too.

  “That’s better,” he said, his expression gentle and open. She could have fallen into it if she’d let herself. What she couldn’t do was look away. She couldn’t stop studying the lines and angles of his face, the ocean-blue depths of his eyes.

  “Ms. Kelley?” someone called, and she used that as the perfect excuse to break eye contact.

  Sergeant Wright was walking into the room, her expression stern, her dark eyes scanning the crowd before settling on Carly. “The hospital has graciously allowed us the use of a conference room. We’ll all be more comfortable there. One of my officers will escort you, and I’ll join you once things are settled here.”

  “I’d rather wait for Zane.”

  “It will be easier for everyone if you don’t,” she responded, waving an officer over.

  “Easier how?”

  “We don’t need this many people in the room. Besides, the sooner your interview begins, the sooner it will be over and we can move on to Zane. I’m sure you’d like to get out of here at some point today.”

  “I would, but I don’t want to leave my son down here alone.”

  “He’s not alone. There are a half dozen law enforcement officers in this room. Plus your friend,” the sergeant pointed out. “And none of us are going to let anything happen to Zane.”