by Debby Giusti
“Sergeant Abrams called and told me to use caution. I hate to hear bad things about my son-in-law, but the officer reminded me that the twins’ safety is the most important thing.”
Relieved, Ella hurried back to the car. When she opened the door, she knew something was very wrong with Zach.
“You need to go to the hospital,” she insisted.
He shook his head. “You’re a doctor. I’m in good hands.”
Ever the optimist and always affirming.
When they arrived at her clinic, Zach was nauseous and could hardly climb the steps to the porch. Unlocking the door, Ella noticed a note stuck under the mat.
“It’s from Levi.” She read the hastily written script. “Sarah wants to visit her sister. We’re going to Alabama for the weekend.”
Traveling in a horse-drawn buggy wasn’t what she would recommend for a pregnant woman, but Levi could take care of his wife. Ella needed to focus on Zach.
She helped him into a treatment room and had him stretch out on one of the cots. He had a low-grade temperature with an elevated pulse. She gave him an antinausea medication and encouraged him to close his eyes.
“The medicine will make you sleepy. That’s the best thing you can do now. When you wake up, you should feel better.”
As he drifted to sleep, she thought back again to everything that had happened in Atlanta. The video and the information the director had provided didn’t add up. Either the data had been transposed or Ella’s memory was faulty.
The first night, Zach had said her husband’s death could have something to do with the clinic attack. She’d thought that foolish at the time, but now she realized it could all play together. If only she could find the missing link. The box of Quin’s things would be someplace to start.
Thinking of her Amish neighbors and their trust in the Lord, Ella clasped her hands and bowed her head. “Lord, direct my steps. This terrible turn of events needs to stop before someone else is hurt.” She looked at Zach, with his flushed face. “Keep Zach in Your care.”
Hurrying to the hallway closet, she pulled out a box, rummaged through the contents and found the framed picture of the three sets of Amish twins.
The twins will provide the answer, Quin had said shortly before he left for Memphis.
She turned over the frame. On the back, he had written the dates when the children had started treatment. The Zook twins—two blond-headed boys—were the breakthrough case when Quin first realized they’d developed a successful treatment.
But the director said the Zook twins had come to the clinic three months after Quin had first seen them and two weeks after his death. Ella didn’t understand the discrepancy in the dates. Nor did she understand why Ross had forgotten about the two other sets of twins.
Sitting at her desk, she clutched the frame to her heart, wishing she could clear away the confusion. Her fingers touched something wedged under the cardboard backing on the frame. Her pulse raced as she pulled out the staples that held the cardboard in place, and found a tiny flash drive.
With trembling hands, she inserted the device into her computer and opened the file. Pages of data that Quin had saved appeared, information that was supposed to have remained at the Harrisburg Genetic Research Center.
Ella scrolled through the results, her heart pounding. She was close to uncovering whatever had bothered her husband. Perhaps something that led to his death.
At the end of the last page, she read the final paragraph Quin had written. “I’m heading to Memphis this afternoon and am prepared to confront my assistant. The treatment of three sets of twins—the Yoder, Zook and Hershberger children—was mishandled. The protocol that I developed, which provided the fastest and most efficacious treatment, was not given to all the children. One child in each set of twins received a substandard and less effective medication, and those children have suffered serious complications. The mishandling of these three cases is criminal and was, no doubt, done to decrease cost and thus increase profits. I plan to get to the bottom of this problem, find the person at fault and notify the authorities of medical malpractice.”
Ella thought back to the garbled voice she’d heard. A British accent. Had Quin’s assistant tampered with or switched the medication each child was to receive? Did he know about the data Quin kept, and had he come after Ella in hopes of finding the flash drive?
Ella needed to call the director to warn her. “The data you presented today is inaccurate,” Ella said when Nancy answered her cell.
After explaining what she had found on the flash drive, Ella added, “I remember Quin saying that Ian had been involved in the production of a low-cost treatment that had been rejected early on. Maybe Ian made the switch to compare his own product against the one Quin had developed.”
“I don’t understand.”
Ella told her about the break-in and the attack in her clinic. “I called you some months ago and mentioned reading Quin’s notes. Ian must have feared that I had information that would reveal his devious scheme to gain recognition.”
“You talked to Ian?”
“Only briefly, before he transferred my call to your extension. I kept thinking about what you had said at the symposium, and the photos used for the tribute to Quin. The dates they were taken appeared at the bottom of each photograph. I wrote down the dates you mentioned at the symposium this morning, and they didn’t match. The breakthrough case was actually much earlier than you documented. It was when Quin first developed the treatment. Yet the data you used at the symposium—data Ian must have given you—incorrectly noted that the treatment was not developed until after Quin’s death. It’s Quin’s work, yet the team is claiming the breakthrough as their own.”
“You’re sure about this?” the director asked.
“I’ve got the flash drive that has everything on it.”
“Thank you, Ella. I’ve been suspicious that something underhanded may have been going on. I’ll call Security here at the hotel to apprehend Ian.”
“Be careful, Nancy. The person who came after me was armed and dangerous. Quin didn’t take his own life. I’m convinced Ian killed him.”
“He’ll be arrested within the hour. Keep this confidential until he’s apprehended. I wouldn’t want anything to undermine the charity work that was done tonight. And again, thank you for being with us and for all Quin did for the research team.”
Ella hung up, relieved that everything was coming to an end and that the truth about Quin’s death would soon be revealed.
“Ella?” Zach’s voice sounded weak.
“Are you okay?” She hurried to the treatment room.
His face was beet red, and he was gasping for air. “I...can’t...breathe...”
She grabbed a syringe and a vial of epinephrine. “You’re having some type of allergic reaction.”
Had he inadvertently eaten seafood?
She filled the syringe, tied a tourniquet around his left arm and started to inject the medication.
A noise sounded behind her. Before she could release the tourniquet and completely dispense the epinephrine, someone grabbed her shoulders.
She screamed and fought against his hold. The syringe dropped from her hand.
Zach struggled off the cot and threw himself against the man who held her bound. The guy punched Zach in the chest. He doubled over, wheezing. His legs buckled, and he fell to the floor. His head hit the hard tile.
“No!” Ella threw her arms back against the assailant and kicked her legs. “He needs the rest of the injection or he’ll die.”
“You will, too,” her captor snarled. “On the wooden bridge not far from here. You’ll die like your husband.” His hand tightened around her neck. “Where’s the flash drive?” he demanded.
“I’ll never tell you.”
He cursed and struck he
r head. She cried in pain and struggled to get free.
“You can’t get away with this, Ian.”
“You’re not even smart enough to know your killer.”
She jerked, trying to see his face, but he held her tight against his chest and started to drag her out of the clinic. They passed a glass-fronted cabinet containing medical supplies. She saw her own reflection in the glass.
Narrowing her gaze, she gasped, never expecting to see the face of the man who wanted to kill her.
“Ross!”
* * *
Zach dug his way back from oblivion and gasped for air. He’d heard Ross and knew the bridge he mentioned. Fall rains had raised the water level. Ella wouldn’t—couldn’t—survive in the angry current. Zach’s heart pounded and his pulse raced. He had to save her.
After rolling to his side, he pushed himself upright. A red rash covered his hands and arms, and a metallic taste filled his mouth.
The syringe lay on the floor nearby, more than half filled with medication. The little bit he had received had opened his airway somewhat. Still, he labored to breathe.
Needing to inject the rest, he reached for the syringe, fumbling as he tried to grasp the slick plastic barrel. His fingers were stiff and swollen, the back of his hands splotched with hives.
Angry with his own clumsiness, he willed his limbs to work. Ever so slowly, he grasped the barrel and lifted the syringe off the floor. The tourniquet was still tight around his left arm. Blood seeped from the initial injection site.
Using his right hand, he held the syringe over his vein. His vision blurred. He blinked it back into focus, feeling light-headed as a wave of vertigo swept over him.
Determined to remain conscious, he clamped down on his jaw, slid the needle into his vein and pushed in the plunger. Heat coursed up his arm.
He thought of his mother who had died from an allergy treatment that should have saved her life.
Would the injection do harm or good? He’d know soon enough.
Please, God, help me survive so I can save Ella.
NINETEEN
Buried alive.
That’s how Ella felt, locked in the trunk of Ross’s car. She forced down the panic that overwhelmed her and focused on getting free.
Ross was driving fast—too fast—over unpaved back roads. Her head crashed against the floor of the trunk with every bump and pothole. Lying in a fetal position as she was, her legs were crammed against her chest. Using her hands and feet, she pushed against the top of the trunk. If only it would open.
What had she seen on television about disengaging the wiring in the taillights to alert law enforcement?
She dug at the carpet that covered the floor and walls of the space where she was confined. Feeling a raw edge, she yanked with all her might. A portion of carpet lifted. She jammed her hand into what felt like a web of wires and tugged on anything that would pull free.
The car slowed to a stop.
Her heart lurched. Had Ross heard her?
She needed a plan.
Think. Think.
When he opened the trunk, she would kick him with both feet. He’d be thrown off guard long enough for her to crawl out and run to safety.
Zach’s face played through her mind. He was dying at her clinic. Hot tears burned her eyes, but she couldn’t cry. Not now. Nothing could interfere with her getting away from Ross. Only then would she be able to return to her clinic and save Zach.
Footsteps sounded on the gravel roadway.
Ella pulled in a deep breath.
The trunk opened. She kicked, catching Ross’s chin. He gasped and took a step backward.
She scrambled out of the trunk, but he grabbed her before she could run.
“You deserve to die,” he screamed, and slapped her face. “You’re like your husband. He never cared about anyone on the team. He insulted us with his put-downs and negativity.”
She fought against Ross’s hold. “You tested your own treatment protocol on three children. Quin’s was effective, and yours wasn’t.”
He snarled in rage. “Mine was cheaper. Cutting cost is as important as rapid recovery.”
“Not when you’re dealing with children’s lives.” She clawed at his face.
Incensed, he seized her hands. “No one died except Quin. You will, too. People saw you leave the ballroom, upset by the video. They know how distraught you’ve been since your husband’s death.”
“Distraught because I knew he didn’t take his own life.”
Ross wrapped his fingers about her neck. “They’ll think you’ve taken your life just the way he did. That’s true love, to follow your husband into death.”
Unable to breathe, she jerked a hand free from his grasp and reached for his eyes. He slapped her once, twice, knocking her to the road. Gravel cut her knees and hands. She crawled away from him on all fours. He kicked her. Air whooshed from her lungs, and she gasped with pain.
He kicked her again and again.
Unable to gain her footing, Ella curled into a ball.
She’d rather be beaten to death than die in the water. At least the police would know she hadn’t taken her own life.
Grabbing her wrists, Ross pulled her hands behind her back. Pain seared through her arms and up her neck. “No!”
He dragged her over the gravel. The rough rocks scraped against her legs. She lost a shoe. Something sharp cut her foot.
“Help,” she screamed, knowing there was no one to hear her. She wouldn’t give up, not until every breath was taken from her.
Nearing the side of the bridge, he wrapped his left arm around her waist and shoved her against the guardrail. The glare from the headlights of his car blinded her. She heard the rush of water and looked down at the dark swell of the raging river.
A cry welled up within her, a plea so forceful it was as if her entire being was focused on three words that circled through her mind, words from scripture she remembered from her youth.
Save me, Lord.
The sound of an oncoming car made Ross hesitate and gave her the motivation to keep fighting. Ella kicked her feet and connected with his shin.
He groaned, trying to lift her over the railing. She threw her head back, crashing against his nose. She made her body go limp, her dead weight forcing him off balance.
The sound of a car engine grew louder. Someone was coming to rescue her, but would he arrive in time?
* * *
Zach’s head pounded and his eyes blurred. He was driving wildly and riding the middle yellow line, but no one else was on the road tonight. Levi was in Alabama, and Tyler was out of town. Zach had to rely on his own wherewithal. He had called Abrams. Two squad cars were on their way from Freemont, but they wouldn’t arrive in time.
His hives had subsided somewhat, but his fingers were still swollen, and his mouth was as dry as cotton. At least his throat was less constricted and he could breathe.
Ross had mentioned the wooden bridge over the river. Zach took the shortcut along the dirt road that wound close to the Fisher home. The bridge stood at least fifteen feet above the river. If Ross hurled Ella into the water, she wouldn’t survive. The current was strong and would quickly wash her body downstream.
Rounding a curve in the road, Zach spied headlights ahead. Accelerating, he raced to the bridge, screeched to a stop and leaped from his car. Still woozy, he stumbled toward the crazed researcher who was trying to shove Ella over the railing.
Tackling Ross with one hand, he grabbed Ella with the other. She collapsed to the ground as he punched Ross in the gut. The guy hit back. Zach deflected the blow and struck him again and again.
Ross pulled out a Glock.
Ella screamed.
Zach lunged for the gun. The two men dropped and rolled, fightin
g for control of the weapon. Zach’s eyes blurred, and a roar filled his ears. His grip weakened.
Ross angled the gun at his head.
Amassing the last of his strength, Zach twisted his opponent’s wrist a fraction of a second before the researcher pulled the trigger. A round exploded. Ross grabbed his gut and twitched with pain, then let out a dying gasp, and his body went limp.
“Zach,” Ella screamed. “Are you all right? Talk to me!”
But he couldn’t respond. He didn’t have the strength. Ella was alive. That was all that mattered.
TWENTY
Ella turned at the sound of a car approaching on the far side of the bridge.
“Help!” She ran toward the oncoming vehicle and flailed her arms.
A late-model sedan braked to a stop. She gasped with relief. The driver’s door opened, and a woman stepped to the pavement.
“Nancy?”
The director held a gun and aimed it at Ella. “Did you plan to escape? Don’t you know that we need to get rid of you? Your husband proved to be a problem, and we got rid of him.”
“You’re working with Ross?”
Nancy didn’t realize that her partner in crime was either dying or already dead, and Ella wouldn’t be the bearer of bad news.
“Don’t you see that our research and the work we do is more important than one man’s life?” the director explained. “Quin stood in the way of us finding the most cost-effective treatment. He was convinced his own protocol was best.”
“But it was,” Ella countered.
“Only we needed to hold on to our capital, so we could help more children. If Quin had worked with us instead of against us, he would still be alive.”
“He knew you were hurting children with subpar treatment.”
“And he was so insistent that his protocol was the way to go. We eventually came to that same conclusion, but at a later time.”
“After you killed him.”
The woman shrugged, as if taking Quin’s life had been inconsequential. “Now you’re forcing me to kill you, Ella.” She glanced around. “Where’s Ross?”