Dangerous Sanctuary

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Then what’s going on?”

  “I don’t like this. Any of it,” he muttered. “Somehow Absalom showed up at this hospital, found your room and fired a shot into it. He had to have been told you were here. Had to have been given your room number.”

  “Or, he just chanced into both. There aren’t a lot of hospitals around here, and he could have driven to several before he came here,” she suggested, but he was right. She knew it, had known it from the moment she’d seen the flash of light and heard the shattering glass.

  “You don’t believe that, Honor.”

  “No, I don’t, but the only other option is that someone is feeding him information. I hate to think of any of Officer Wallace’s men being dirty.”

  “They’re not.”

  “You’ve already checked into it?”

  “He pulled phone records before I asked, because he was thinking the same thing. He has twenty officers, and none of them were in contact with Absalom or anyone affiliated with The Sanctuary.”

  “He could be responsible,” she offered.

  He shook his head. “He pulled his phone records, too, because he knew we’d want to see them.”

  “Okay,” she said, sorting through the facts, trying to move her way from point A to point C without stopping at point B, because that was the point that would sit directly over someone she knew, and she couldn’t think of anyone who’d have Absalom’s contact information except...

  “She would never do that to me,” she said.

  She didn’t say the name.

  She didn’t need to.

  He’d sorted through the same facts and had made the same connections.

  “I know Mary Alice is your friend, Honor, but Wren called her parents to let them know she’d been located. They said they’d already spoken to their daughter. Mary Alice had called them an hour before agents arrived at the training center, said she missed all of you and that she’d been trying to call you to let you know she was okay. They’d heard about your hospitalization and had gotten the room number from Bennett, so that they could send you flowers. They gave her the hospital name and the room number. I called to confirm that five minutes ago.”

  “That’s circumstantial evidence at best,” she protested, but the words rang hollow, because everything he was saying all made sense.

  “Honor?” He touched her chin, urged her to look into his eyes. “It’s possible we’re reading the situation wrong, but Wren has asked agents to bring Mary Alice in for questioning. She’s agreed to allow you to be there if you want.”

  “What I want,” she said, turning away, because she didn’t want him to see the tears in her eyes, “is to get this IV out of my arm.”

  “Avoiding the issue isn’t going to make it go away,” he cautioned.

  He might be right, but at that moment she didn’t care.

  She had no desire to discuss Mary Alice, Absalom, The Sanctuary. All she wanted was to be left alone.

  “I need...to wash my face.” She walked into the bathroom, closed the door with a quiet snap that wasn’t nearly as satisfying as slamming it would have been.

  He knocked. Of course, because that was how he was at work—persistent, willing to follow every lead, in the office early every day of the week, staying late. Writing reports, doing research, making calls and then moving out into the world again, going after the worst kind of pond scum, the foulest human beings.

  “Honor? It’s going to be hard to wash your face with your hands bandaged,” he called.

  “I’ll manage,” she responded, turning on the water and watching as it poured into the sink.

  * * *

  He thought about knocking again.

  He almost did, but Wren walked into the room.

  “How’d it go?” she asked, her gaze on the closed bathroom door.

  “About as horribly as we expected.” Which was why he’d wanted Wren or Henry to break the news to Honor. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. He didn’t know how to take the sting out of his words, make situations seem less bleak than they were.

  Pretend things that weren’t true.

  He’d wanted to, though. He’d looked into Honor’s eyes, he’d known how much she was hurting and he’d wanted to agree that Mary Alice hadn’t betrayed her, that their friendship was everything she’d believed it to be.

  He’d wanted to, but he couldn’t.

  The truth mattered. Always. Even when it hurt people he cared about.

  “In that case, I’ll assume you didn’t get to ask her why Mary Alice might want her harmed,” Wren said, grabbing her bag from the corner where Henry had left it.

  The bathroom door flew open, and Honor stood on the threshold, face pale, eyes blazing. “She wouldn’t.”

  “You’re upset,” Wren said. “Rightfully so.”

  “I’m not upset,” Honor replied, her voice cold and devoid of emotion. “I’m just making my opinion known. Mary Alice wouldn’t kill a fly that landed in her jam. When she was in kindergarten, she accidentally stepped on an ant, and she cried because it died.”

  “People change, Honor. And sometimes they don’t. Sometimes, they make poor choices and big mistakes. Good people sometimes do bad things. You’ve been in this business long enough to know that,” Wren replied, shuffling together papers that had been left on a table, tucking them into a manila folder and dropping it into the bag.

  “That’s the angle you have to take, Wren, because you’re leading the case, but I’m on medical leave. I don’t have to think like a federal agent. Right now, I’m choosing to think like a friend.”

  “I understand,” Wren said calmly. “I’d feel the same if I were in your situation. I want you to know that.”

  “I appreciate it, but it doesn’t help.”

  “I understand that, too.”

  A nurse stepped into the room, young and fresh-faced, a broad smile on her face. Her gaze darted from person to person, and the smile faded.

  “I’m sorry for interrupting. I’ll come back in a few minutes,” she said.

  “Wait,” Honor said. “I’ve decided to head home. I’d like the IV removed.”

  “The doctor feels it’s best if you stay for at least twenty-four hours, Ms. Remington.”

  “I know, but I have an elderly grandmother who hasn’t seen me in two weeks. She’s worried sick, and that’s making me worry. I’m sure you understand.” She smiled, and Radley could almost believe she wasn’t upset. Almost.

  “I have two,” the nurse replied, stepping further into the room. “They both excel at worrying about me.”

  “Then you do understand. Dotty won’t sleep a wink until I’m safely home, and I won’t sleep until she does. I know the doctor prefers me to stay, but I can legally discharge myself.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And I have a wonderful medical team in Boston.”

  “I love Boston,” the nurse gushed, pulling gloves from a container hanging on the wall. “I’m hoping to get a job in the city once I have some experience under my belt.”

  “You could probably get one now,” Honor replied, keeping up the cheerful chatter as the nurse opened cupboards, took out gauze and bright-colored wrap and removed the IV.

  As soon as she left the room, Honor fell silent, all the faux cheerfulness falling away.

  “Just so you know,” she said quietly, “just because I don’t want to believe that Mary Alice is involved doesn’t mean I can’t see why you both would. It makes a terrible kind of sense. All of it. But I’m not ready to discuss it. For now, I’ll just say I have no idea why Mary Alice would want to harm me, and I’ll leave it at that.”

  She sounded tired and a little defeated, but in that moment, Radley had as much respect for her as he’d ever had for anyone. It took strength to push aside emotion and look at things through clear lenses. It
took guts to admit that something painful could be the truth.

  He wanted to tell her that, but a police officer arrived with their bags, and Wren offered to get everyone a cup of coffee for the road. Henry returned, and the opportunity was lost in the hubbub of planning their trip back to Boston.

  With Absalom still on the loose, they had to be meticulous in their attention to detail. Every road, every stop. All the places where they could be ambushed or preyed upon pinpointed and highlighted.

  He changed clothes when Wren returned, pulling the holster back into place, double-checking the gun. He’d prefer his own firearm, but this was better than nothing.

  When he stepped out of the bathroom, Wren was at the door, bag slung over her shoulder, gaze sharp.

  “Everyone ready?” she asked. “Let’s head out.”

  She opened the door, hesitated. “Do you smell that?”

  “No,” he began to say, but the scent of something drifted into the room. Dark and musty, acrid and harsh.

  “Yes,” he corrected.

  “Smoke? If that’s what it is, why isn’t the alarm sounding?” Henry asked, his hand on Honor’s arm.

  As if his words had conjured it, a shrill alarm sounded, the high-pitched scream chilling Radley’s blood.

  He knew what it meant, what it heralded.

  Absalom was somewhere nearby, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

  NINE

  She should have been terrified, but Honor had three of the best federal agents she knew playing bodyguard, and mostly, she just felt tired. She wanted to leave the shrieking alarm, the hospital, the beautiful state of Vermont. She wanted to go home.

  Not to the cute apartment she rented in downtown Boston.

  Home to the farm. To the wide fields and fenced pastures. To the barn that she’d painted brick red the previous year. She wanted to sit in Dotty’s kitchen, sipping coffee and eating cookies from a plate piled high with them.

  And she wanted to forget that her best friend might have betrayed her.

  Why?

  That was the question that filled her mind, and it seemed to be chasing everything else from her thoughts. She barely cared about the smoke billowing into the room, or Henry’s tight grip on her arm.

  She did care about survival, though, and when Wren sprinted to her side and hollered, “Out into the hall. We’ll take the nearest stairs. He won’t know which room you’re in, and so he’ll either be in the lobby or outside. Stick close to Henry. Radley and I will take care of the rest.”

  She sprinted into the hall, something niggling at the back of her mind, a worry she chalked up to the screaming siren, the smoke streaming up from the floor, her own nervous energy. She knew her team members could handle the situation. She knew they’d handled worse, but still...

  She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

  Henry guided her past nurses who were running into rooms. The hospital was small as hospitals went, but it served a large community. She prayed that the fire was contained, that no one was hurt, because if anyone died, she’d blame herself.

  She’d brought Absalom here.

  She kept pace with Henry, staying just a few steps behind Wren and Radley. They reached the stairwell, stopped at the door.

  Radley turned, motioning for them to wait while he and Wren entered the stairwell. He glanced through the small window in the door, searching the area beyond. Before he could open it, the siren shut off midscream, the sudden silence deafening.

  A nurse hurried through the corridor, offering a wane smile. “Everything is okay. It was just a small trash fire in a bathroom. You can go back to your room,” she said as she passed.

  “Thoughts?” Wren asked, her gaze focused on Radley.

  He didn’t look like the man in the yurt—the one who’d held water to her lips, supported her as she tried to sit, the one who’d smiled, chuckled, helped her make it through acres of forest when it would have been easier to go on ahead.

  He looked hard. Dangerous. Angry.

  “It was him. I don’t need proof to know that.”

  “Then, we stay on our guard and move out the way we planned. Down to the basement. Out the service door. We’ll make sure the stairwell is secure,” Wren said, opening the door and stepping across the threshold. “You two stay here until I give you the signal. I feel confident he’s waiting for us to emerge from the building, but let’s play it safe anyway.”

  And there it was again, the gnawing worry at the back of Honor’s mind, a woodpecker tapping at her brain. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t figure out what.

  “What’s wrong?” Radley asked, somehow sensing what she hadn’t dared share. She worked in front of computers. She followed cyber trails. She did not run through the woods being chased by bad guys, track down villains, set traps or snares to bring in monsters. If her coworkers felt confident in the plan, she should too.

  “Nothing,” she said, because she still couldn’t put her finger on the problem.

  “Something,” he responded, glancing at the stairwell door. “Would you mind going with Wren, Henry? I’ll stay here.”

  “It’s not part of the plan, but I’m not going to argue, as long as we get this done.” Henry stepped into the stairwell, and it was just the two of them, looking into each other’s eyes.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

  “I don’t know. Just...a feeling.”

  “About?”

  “Absalom. Like I should know something, but don’t.” She frowned. “That makes no sense.”

  “It makes as much sense as anything else that has happened the past few hours.” His phone buzzed, and he frowned. “That’s the signal. The stairwell is clear.”

  “Then we’d better go,” she said with more confidence than she felt, her mind still trying to work the problem out, the constant tap-tap-tapping in her brain like the clack of computer keys when she was writing code. She knew how to manipulate information. She knew how to go in through back doors. She’d been an ace student at MIT, earning her master’s degree a year after she’d gotten her bachelor’s degree. She should be able to figure this out.

  He opened the door, stepping in ahead of her while her brain clicked along, snapping bits and pieces of information into place, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

  “She called me,” she said, her words echoing in the stairwell as she followed him onto the stairs.

  “Who?”

  “Mary Alice. She called the hospital.”

  “And?”

  “The lines are direct. If you have the room number, you don’t have to go through the operator. She’d have called the first room I was in because that’s the room number everyone associated me with. When she didn’t reach me, she’d have called the information line and asked for my room number.”

  He swung toward her, apparently processing the information a lot more quickly than she had. She could see understanding in his eyes, knew that he was thinking what she should have been before they’d ever walked out of the room. If Mary Alice had given Absalom her room number the first time, she could just as easily have done it again.

  The knowledge hurt. Physically. Pulsing in the region of her heart, because for as long as they’d known each other, she and Mary Alice had been each other’s greatest cheerleaders and closest confidants.

  At least, Honor thought they’d been.

  “This doesn’t mean I think she gave him my room number,” she said, but Radley was already sprinting up the stairs, grabbing her arm, pulling her in the opposite direction of where they were supposed to go.

  In years to come, she thought she’d remember that more than anything—the way Radley immediately assessed the situation, made a decision and acted on it. There’d been no hesitation. No checking with Wren or Henry. He’d known what needed to be done, and he was doing it.r />
  They passed the third-floor landing, bounded onto a narrower track of steps. This one led to a door that she thought would open to the roof. A huge sign was plastered across the front—Emergency Exit Only!

  Somewhere below, a door flew open, banging against the wall. Her heart skipped a beat, raced forward again. Absalom was coming. She knew it. He’d been waiting for her to walk past the second-or first-floor door, planning to shoot her through the window, or open the door just as she passed. Either way, he’d planned for her to die.

  She wanted to know why, but she wanted to live more than she wanted to stay and ask.

  Radley’s phone buzzed twice, and she was sure Wren and Henry were trying to contact him. He ignored it, shoving open the door and setting off an alarm that nearly pierced Honor’s eardrums. It didn’t seem to be enough to chase Absalom away. He was a floor down, and she could see him clearly. No longer wearing flowy white clothes, he looked like what he was—a drug-addicted thug, his face gaunt, his shirt hanging from a concave chest.

  She caught just a glimpse of his dead eyes as Radley pulled her out into a small alcove and slammed the door.

  There was nothing to block it. No way to keep it closed. A few feet away, metal rungs led to the rooftop.

  “Come on,” Radley lifted her onto them, gave her a gentle shove upward. “Climb!”

  She did, scrambling up faster than she’d have ever believed possible, slipping on concrete as she reached the roof and clambered onto it.

  There were several structures jutting up from the flat surface, and she thought she saw another alcove and the top edge of rungs like the ones she’d just climbed. There was more than one stairwell in the hospital. There had to be more than one entrance to the roof.

  She sprinted in that direction, but Radley grabbed the back of her shirt, swinging her around in the opposite direction.

  “That’s where he’ll think we’re going, but doors like these lock from the inside. The only way to get back into the building is with a key,” he said.

  They darted around a thick chimney stack and raced across the roof, rain splattering around them. When they reached the four-foot wall that surrounded the roof, she knew they were trapped. A three-story fall in front of them. Death behind them.