by Angi Morgan
One of the sleep-study vets had walked into the hospital with his police escort. Shaking the policeman’s hand, he’d overcome him, then taken his gun. Now he was in the admitting office, holding hostages.
The hospital was on lockdown and the rangers were assisting the OIG in any way they could. All the police escorts had been warned about the incident, so they hoped none of the other patients would react this way. But nothing was certain.
Everyone needed answers.
Especially her.
She wished she had a phone or even a notepad to gather her thoughts. There was nothing. Actually, she wished she had Slate to talk to. Or take a look at his smile and feel completely at ease.
But even on the ride over, he wouldn’t talk about what had happened yesterday. He was more than serious about not forcing the issue. And since Heath had ridden with them from the ranch...there hadn’t been any hand holding or a kiss goodbye.
She pushed those thoughts from her mind, admitting that it was very hard to do because their time together had been so exciting and a relief after the past few days.
She had questions and focused her mind on each conversation, each movement, each person who’d escorted her from one test to the next. No one had given her a pill. Not even an aspirin.
So what had happened to her after the MRI? Then she went to the fifth floor. What was there? Something that had made her hair oily. Another test to check her...brain waves. That was it, she’d had an EEG. Women. There were two women giving her a test.
One in a white lab coat and the other had...
She jumped out of the truck, locking it behind her. She needed to search for Slate or a police officer who could call him outside. One of those two women had drugged her. There was only one person who’d given her anything all day. Mineral water with a funny taste and that probably wasn’t water at all.
Abby. The woman they’d met earlier in the week. She’d had a face mask hanging around her neck, disposable gloves on her hands. They’d even told her their names, asked her questions. How convenient.
And if it wasn’t her? Well, then at least they’d narrowed the suspects down to two instead of more than a dozen.
“Excuse me, officer.”
“You’ll have to go back, ma’am.”
“But I’ve got to get a message to one of the Texas Rangers. He’ll be with the OIG.”
The officer—or more like a security guard—wasn’t going to help her. In fact, he was already ignoring her and concentrating on evacuating the emergency entrance.
Vivian knew enough about the hospital now to walk around to the employee entrance. There was a guard there, but she waited for him to help someone who’d stumbled and then she passed through the doors like a fish swimming upstream.
Each door she came to on that floor was locked. The elevators weren’t running. Were the rangers spread out through the hospital?
Was there a chance that she’d find Slate at one of the doors? She really did have every intention of finding him. But she didn’t exactly know how to get to the different floor levels of doors or where he’d be.
If she asked permission from one of the team, he would send her back to wait in the truck. Slate would probably escort her there himself. And if she told the others the truck was locked, he might turn her over to the police. She wouldn’t put that action past any of them. By then, the EEG lab staff would probably be gone. So Vivian headed to the fifth floor.
Someone needed to stop the lab technicians responsible for all this chaos. She was available.
It was the perfect time to catch a psychopath.
* * *
THE SITUATION AT the VA Hospital was out of control. Totally out of control. And there wasn’t a damn thing lowly Slate Thompson could do about it. By the time the rangers arrived, they were just more law enforcement officers under the direction of the hospital’s OIG.
Investigating fraud or a physician’s misconduct was completely different from a hostage situation. Very hard to explain that the rangers believed the veteran was under some kind of brainwashing. Or that the situation was a cover to get one or two people out of there without being caught.
The OIG couldn’t contend with a possible scenario like that when they had a full-blown crisis actually happening. They had procedures that would be followed this time. And of course, if it did have something to do with the sleep study and the fire set by two veterans the previous day, deviating from protocol had caused those problems. So the OIG was definitely not interested in allowing any additional guesswork.
Then when the hostage negotiator arrived...the hospital received a bomb threat. Unverified of course. But instead of employees and patients remaining where they were, everyone had to be evacuated.
Each Company B ranger who made it to the hospital took a different door to watch. Their commander tried to help the OIG handle the building evacuation. His second in two consecutive days, and according to Major Clements, he was madder than an angry hornet and more stubborn than a two-headed mule.
Chaos had nothing on the mass exodus from this place. Slate kept checking his phone, looking at the pictures of the men and women who had seen Vivian the day before. The hospital had confirmed that three of them weren’t on the schedule, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be in the crowd.
There were staff members on their suspect list, and searching those exiting had made his eyes cross for a while. But now the ambulance entrance was almost empty. Easy work compared to keeping his thoughts off Vivian.
How was he going to protect her if...?
“Exactly why you shouldn’t have slept with her, you idiot,” he told himself.
A silver-haired man in a white coat passed him and smiled knowingly. Slate’s statement had probably been made by lots of men. Before he had to explain, his phone rang.
“Tell me something good, Wade.”
“I’ll tell you that I just saw Vivian run through the employee entrance and toward the stairs.”
“Dammit. What’s she doing?”
“You know I can’t leave my post, man.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
He didn’t wait for permission, didn’t check in with his commander. He ran through the building, checking for directions along the way.
* * *
VIVIAN WALKED THROUGH a panicked hospital, asking directions, looking at signs. She hadn’t passed additional rangers or law enforcement. Just confused patients and employees. She finally got close to the stairwell that should take her to the fifth floor when she noticed a woman in a lab coat wearing a mask.
When Vivian caught up with her, it wasn’t Abby or Lucy. A sense of relief and disappointment swept over her as she entered another stairwell and continued walking to the fifth floor.
This set of stairs was the one a nurse had told her led directly to the wing where the EEG lab was located. It was a long process getting up the stairs while people were coming down. But the initial crowd had thinned.
Someone seemed to be running just below her, also heading up the stairs. She stopped a second later after she squeezed past a wheelchair wedged to hold the exit door open on the fourth floor.
She looked around for some way to defend herself and found nothing. She stepped behind a door that separated the elevators from the rest of the hall. The wheelchair stuck in the exit moved.
What would she do?
“Vivian?”
“Oh, God. Slate?” She ran out from her hiding place. “I can’t believe you found me.”
“Why aren’t you in the truck?”
“It’s the EEG lab. They gave me a bottle of mineral water. It could have been drugged. I remembered and I’ve been trying to find you. They wouldn’t let me inside.”
“Slow down, babe. They wouldn’t let you inside because they’ve had a bomb threat.”
“I thought it w
as a man with hostages.”
He nodded. “What’s this about the EEG lab?”
“It’s either Lucy or Abby. You remember the woman who introduced herself in the cafeteria? My money’s on her. She was curious about what we were doing and had one of those surgical masks tied around her neck. I saw it hanging around her neck both days.”
He snapped his fingers. “The person who hired the veterans to pull the fire alarm wore a mask. Let me text their names to Heath.”
“We need to go. Now. The women might still be in their office.” She laced her fingers with his and started toward the stairwell. He didn’t budge.
“I text first. Then we have backup on the way. Heath will call for background on both of the women.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. Both of them were already on our list. If they tried to leave, we would have seen them.”
Slate’s texting took longer than she thought it should. He was clicking his screen so slowly that she almost offered to type the message for him. But it was obvious he’d had some responses, maybe instructions.
When he put the phone in his back pocket, he took his badge out and clipped it to his chest. He also took his suit jacket off and removed his weapon from its holster.
“I hope they’re not telling you to take me back to the truck or lock me in a broom closet.”
“No closets. You’re staying with me. It’s the only way I can guarantee your safety. Afraid we’re heading down to the first floor, though.”
“Slate, please. You have to catch whoever’s responsible for yesterday. For today. For all those men and women affected. Don’t stop when you’re so close. They’re going to get away and—” She couldn’t say that her bother would go to jail for murder.
They were so close.
And she was three steps ahead of him. She darted to the stairwell. He was right behind her, but at least he was still behind her. The stairs going up were clear, but he caught her just three steps from the fifth floor.
“Come on, Vivian. You know we can’t go in there.”
They were both breathing hard. She sank to the step, knowing he was right.
“I need...I need to rest.”
He sat beside her. “Jack’s checking it out. We’ll know soon. But remember, we have to find evidence, babe. Without evidence we can’t do anything.”
“But I remember.”
“You remember one of them handing you a water that could have been drugged by anyone with access to the lab. I’m not a lawyer, but that’s a pretty big pool of people.”
“I know it’s the assistant. There’s something off about her. She tries too hard.”
He took her hand and stood. “Let’s go.” He led her back to the fourth floor to the two chairs in a waiting area near the elevator. “We’ll stay here. But I swear, I’ll cuff you if you run again.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
His phone buzzed and she waited impatiently while he silently read first one message, then another and still another. She bit her tongue, waiting for him to tell her what was going on.
“Jack’s called for an emergency unit. The lab tech is unconscious.”
“The tech or the assistant? Medium height or short?”
“He’s got his hands full.”
“It’s safe now, right?” She walked toward the door. “We can go see.”
He seemed to ignore her, checking his phone again. But as soon as he put it away, he rattled his handcuffs and led the way to the staircase. “You are staying in the hall. No exceptions. None. I’ll see if I can identify her and you aren’t doing anything. Please don’t make me regret this.”
“Thank you.”
In spite of the bomb threat, an emergency team stepped off the staff elevator for transporting patients. They ran down the hall while she and Slate skirted the wall. The closer they got to the EEG lab, the harder it was to move her feet.
“I can’t...I can’t go.”
“It’s okay. Stay here and I’ll go check.”
“But—”
It was no use. A part of her mind kept telling her she didn’t have an appointment. Her mind kept silently screaming that she couldn’t return to the EEG lab without an appointment. She knew it.
She wanted to reach out and force Slate to take her with him, but nothing worked. Not her feet or her mouth or even her hands. She latched onto the handrail running the length of the hallway and hoped she didn’t fall down.
It was a strange sensation that she’d never experienced before. But somehow she knew she had.
“Hello, Vivian. I was hoping we’d meet up today.” Abby Norman came out of an office across the hall. “Remember, Vivian. You don’t have an appointment. Come with me.”
Help. She could only shout the word in her mind. She couldn’t call for Slate or anyone else. Abby’s face was covered, she was in a lab coat that had Lucy’s name on it and she had a wheelchair.
“This is going to be fun, Miss Watts. Lots and lots of fun.”
Chapter Thirty
Vivian was in a state of complete numbness. Abby put a face mask over Vivian’s nose and mouth, a knitted hat over her hair, tilted her head to the side and draped a hospital blanket across her lap. She used the elevator to go downstairs. Once in the lobby, Abby was joined by a man in a lab coat, and he escorted them out the ambulance entrance.
The man took over pushing the wheelchair. Abby bounced down the ramp, across the sidewalk and down to the street. Abby showed her hospital badge to the police officer there and they continued across northbound Lancaster Road.
“I can take it from here, Roger. See you tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll get to work all day.”
“See ya tomorrow.” He waved and crossed southbound Lancaster.
“See, Vivian,” the awful woman whispered in her ear. “Nobody has any clue that I’m responsible for everything that’s happened. I literally wheeled you out of the hospital and no one even knows.”
Vivian wanted to cry out. Scream. Yell. Pull the woman into the street and have a brawl that would gather a crowd. But she couldn’t move.
Drugs or brainwashing or even a simple hypnotic suggestion...she didn’t know which. She couldn’t force herself to move.
Abby pushed her to the marked disabled entrance for the Rapid Transit. She was being so casual about everything. Her voice remained calm and in charge, but Vivian watched her adding a set of cloth white gloves to the disposable pair she already wore.
Speak, she commanded herself. Nothing happened behind the surgical mask.
Abby sat on a bench next to the wheelchair. “I can see you getting frustrated and upset. The more I try to understand the emotions everyone cares so much about, the more I’m glad they don’t affect me. I hope you’re smart enough to realize that I thought through my escape.”
They were joined by two additional hospital workers, who waved at Abby as if they knew her. They weren’t surprised Abby was there and if they were curious about her pushing a woman in a wheelchair, they kept the questions to themselves.
Vivian concentrated on lifting her hand, trying to reach out for the door or seconds later one of the poles within the train car. It worked until Abby saw her hand and moved it back to her lap.
“Stay there and obey.” Two stops and Abby got them off the train. “I could leave you here, but I’ve been told you’re my insurance policy. A guarantee that I get away. Personally, I don’t see why you’re worth the effort. But the advice is from someone close to me so I’ll follow it.”
The Rapid Transit station was on a hill. Vivian was grateful someone advised keeping her alive since Abby could have pushed her down what amounted to two flights of stairs.
There would have been nothing she could do except fall.
* * *
“YES, SHE’S MISSING. And yes, she left the truck earlier. But I’m telling you, sir, she d
idn’t have a reason to leave.” Slate had explained this to Major Clements, who had taken him at his word. It was the VA OIG who didn’t believe him.
Slate was just outside the south side of the building in a command center. The hostage negotiator had successfully kept the sleep-study patient talking while SWAT stormed the office and took him into custody before he could kill himself.
Minutes were ticking off the clock that had begun the moment he’d stepped from the EEG lab. Lucy was dead of an overdose. They didn’t know what had killed her, but the water bottle near her smelled of almonds so everyone assumed she’d been poisoned.
The building was being cleared floor by floor because of the bomb threat. Slate had unsuccessfully tried to get security to also look for Vivian. But his gut told him she wasn’t there. She’d been certain Abby Norman was responsible. And now Abby’s supervisor was dead.
Too much of a coincidence.
“Hey.” Heath caught his attention.
“Did you get it?”
“She lives a couple of blocks from here. I’ll text Jack and Wade where we’re headed.”
“No. Only one of us can afford to be fired. This is on me and me alone.” Slate took his badge off and put it in his jacket pocket. “Text me the address.”
“Don’t do anything crazy, like get dead. Your mom will kill me.”
“Give me fifteen before you tell the old man I’m gone.”
“You got it.”
The address came through and a couple of clicks later Slate was following the directions. Heath had been correct. Denley Drive ran parallel to Lancaster Road. He turned at the second intersection when the Rapid Transit train left the middle of the street.
He parked in front a gray house that was clearly built outside of the surrounding price range. Brand-new house on a block where the neighbors clearly didn’t pay for garbage pickup. The end of the street just past the Rapid Transit lot was full of bags and loose trash.
Abby Norman’s home was directly across from the Rapid Transit commuter parking. A person could drive straight from her driveway right into the lot. The yard was fenced off, surrounded by trees and groomed bushes. It had a detached garage but no sign of a dog. Which was good, since Slate had opened the gate to go to the front door and knock.
