by Laura Scott
She dug into her purse for her keys, using the fob to unlock the vehicle. She slid behind the wheel, leaving Mitch to fold himself into the passenger seat. The area along the side of his neck was awash with fresh blood, and she realized he must have broken open his stitches.
“You’re bleeding. We need to get you back inside,” she said, turning toward him. “You’ll need several of those sutures repaired.”
“No time. Let’s go. Hurry!”
With a sigh she started the engine and backed out of the parking space. As soon as she put the car in Drive and rolled forward, she saw him.
The guy wearing the face mask was sprinting across the open parking area, heading straight toward them, his hand still gripping the knife.
“Go, go, go!” Mitch shouted.
She hit the accelerator and sent the car flying through the structure. She took a corner, heading away from the man, which also brought them closer to the exit. Thankfully, she was on the first floor and the gate was up, so she didn’t have to slow down too much.
After exiting the structure, she cranked the wheel hard to the right, taking them far away from the bright lights of the hospital into the inky darkness. Risking a glance at her rearview mirror, she tried to see where the guy was.
There was no sign of him. Her shoulders slumped in relief, until it hit her.
Obviously, he must have a car there, too. Was he right now jumping inside to follow them?
“Take another right,” Mitch said, drawing her attention from the knife guy. “The freeway on-ramp isn’t far.”
“The freeway?” She glanced at him in confusion. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere. Preferably as far away from this hospital as possible,” he muttered in a grim tone. “We need to make sure he hasn’t followed us.”
She couldn’t deny she wanted the exact same thing. She drove through the night, the bitter taste of fear coating her tongue.
The events that had taken place in the past few minutes seemed unreal. The more she thought about it, the less it made sense.
“But why?” she pressed, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. “Why would he follow us? I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Frankly, I don’t, either.” Mitch tentatively felt along the side of his neck, where the oozing blood was beginning to congeal into a tacky mess. “But I have a bad feeling I’m being set up.”
She took the on-ramp and pressed the accelerator down to get up to freeway speed. As her compact car ate up the miles, her thoughts whirled.
Had Mitch suffered some kind of head injury? Or was he just being paranoid? There was no denying the knife-wielding guy had intended to cause him harm, but to show up at the hospital? Who did that? This whole situation was downright crazy.
“Set up for what, exactly?” she asked.
Mitch was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke. “Murder.”
TWO
Bracing himself with one hand wedged against the glove compartment, Mitch scanned the area, trying to think of a way out of this disastrous turn of events.
He hated the fact that he’d dragged sweet Dana Petrie into it, too, but there hadn’t been another option. No way was he leaving her behind. Not considering that his assailant knew what she looked like. Although there had been something about the way he moved that seemed familiar. If only he’d gotten a look at his face.
“Murder?” Dana’s voice rose a notch. “What are you talking about?”
There were several sets of headlights behind them, making him nervous. What if one of them belonged to his attacker? “Take the next exit,” he directed. “We need to change directions.”
“No.” Dana’s mouth thinned into a stubborn line. She’d cut her blue-black hair since the last time he’d seen her, wearing it in a chin-length silky bob that accented her dainty features. She was as beautiful as he remembered. “I’m not driving around willy-nilly until you tell me exactly what’s going on. Why do you think you’re being set up for murder?”
He ignored the ache in his head and forced himself to concentrate. “Please,” he said in a low voice. “Please take the next exit. I promise I’ll explain everything, but I need to be certain that man isn’t following us.”
“Fine,” she muttered harshly, taking her foot off the accelerator and heading toward the exit. “Happy? Now start talking.”
“I was attacked earlier this evening at the site of a warehouse fire,” Mitch said. “Just before I was hit from behind, I saw a pair of jean-clad legs sticking out from a pile of rubble.”
She stopped at a stoplight, then turned to face him. “What makes you think the body was a result of murder?”
“The light’s turned green,” he said.
She scowled and hit the gas. “You’re not making any sense.”
He rubbed his temple and acknowledged she was right. He needed to start at the very beginning. “My boss, Fire Chief Rick Nelson, left me a message telling me to meet him at the warehouse at nine,” he explained. “I didn’t get the message right away, so I was almost thirty minutes late. When I arrived at the warehouse, which also happened to be the site of a recent fire that I deemed to be caused by arson, I thought the place was empty. But then I went inside and saw a pair of jean-clad legs in the beam of my flashlight. Before I could go over to investigate, someone hit me from behind. I turned, so the strike connected along the side of my neck and shoulder, but there was enough force that I fell to the ground. My head bounced on the concrete.” He gingerly felt along the back of his head, fingering a lump the size of a golf ball.
“Should I keep going straight? Or head west?” Dana asked when she came to the next intersection.
“West.” He didn’t have a destination in mind, other than to avoid going to his place or hers. There was the slim possibility that the guy chasing them might have gotten her license plate number.
“I still don’t understand.” Dana turned the steering wheel to head west. “The police are notified for each ambulance call. They would have met up with you here in the ER and would have placed you under arrest if you were suspected of murder.”
“I’m aware of how it works,” he said in a dry tone. “A few of my brothers are cops. Thankfully, I only blacked out for a few minutes. When I came to, I went over to check on the person lying half buried in the debris. The body was that of a young woman with long blond hair, and she was dead from a gunshot wound to her chest.” He wasn’t quite ready to admit that he not only knew the dead woman but had dated her a year earlier. “I heard the sirens and knew that whoever had hit me must have called the police. I managed to get away before they arrived.”
“You drove yourself to the hospital,” she concluded.
“Yes. My goal was to get stitched up and quickly discharged. I didn’t anticipate that I’d be found and attacked again.” He was ticked off at how ruthlessly the guy had come after him, not even caring about injuring an innocent woman in the process. Then again, maybe he was the same guy who’d murdered Janice Valencia in the first place? If that was the case, the guy was capable of anything. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess.”
“It’s hardly your fault,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction. “Do you want me to take you home?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t go home. This guy obviously knows who I am. Which means he’ll easily be able to figure out where I live. I have no idea why someone has decided to frame me, but it must involve the dead girl somehow.”
“Okay, so where to, then?” Thinly veiled frustration convinced him that Dana was clearly anxious to get rid of him, not that he could blame her.
“Maybe a motel,” he said, thinking out loud.
“A motel?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why not get in touch with your family?”
“I’m not putting them in danger.” He considered giving Mi
les a call, but it was already approaching midnight. Better to wait until morning. Miles was a Milwaukee homicide detective, but he also happened to have his hands full with a new baby son.
His other brother, Matt, was a K-9 officer but he was currently on his honeymoon with his new bride, Lacy. His mother and grandmother were taking care of Rory, Lacy’s newly adopted son, and Duchess, Matt’s canine partner.
Dana let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, fine. There’s no need to stay in a motel. You can bunk at my place. But only until the morning, understand?”
As much as he was touched by her offer, there was no way she was going home, either. “Listen, Dana, I need you to understand that you could be in danger now, too. Unfortunately, I can’t let you go home. Not yet. It’s not safe.”
The car swerved as she turned to gape at him. “What are you talking about? I’m not the target here, you are. This is your problem, Mitch Callahan, not mine!”
He winced, wishing there was something he could say to smooth things over. Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d failed to save her rookie firefighter husband’s life three years ago? To think she’d actually come over to thank him, only to be placed in harm’s way!
“I’m sorry, Dana. But I think we have to assume the guy may have gotten your license plate number.”
“So what if he did? Are you saying he has the connections to find my home address? To track me down?”
She had a point, but he couldn’t get over the fact that his boss had been the one to set up the meeting at the warehouse. Especially after handing him all of Jeff Walker’s cases where he’d found several irregularities. What did it mean? Why would Rick try to set him up? Or had the phone call been someone pretending to be his boss? No, that didn’t make sense, either; the call had come from Rick’s office number. Not many people had access to the office of the fire chief.
The throbbing in his head hurt the more he considered the various scenarios, none of which sat well.
And how did Janice fit in? He felt sick that she’d been killed. They had broken up a year ago, after he’d found her in bed with another guy, Simon Wylan, also a firefighter. But that seemed to be a weak motive to set him up for murder.
“Well?” Dana demanded, looking madder than a queen bee.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is possible he could track you down. And that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.” He reached out to lightly touch her arm. She was still wearing a pair of bright green scrubs, the color matching her eyes, topped with a thin scrub jacket that was white and decorated with shamrocks. “Please, Dana. I need you to go along with me on this. We’ll get adjoining rooms. I just need a little time.”
“Time for what?” she asked, her voice brittle. She didn’t look toward him at all, but kept her gaze focused on the road.
He hesitated, considered how to best encourage her to go along with his plan. “Time to make sure that you’re safe.”
There was a long pause as a full minute went by. Then another.
Finally she let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll agree to this crazy madness for now. But not one second longer than necessary, understand?”
“I do. Thank you.” He dropped his hand from her arm, relieved that he didn’t have to fight with her anymore. “Do you know where The American Lodge is? I know the owner—he’s a retired firefighter and a friend of mine.”
“Yes.” She didn’t say anything more and he didn’t push her. Right now, he was satisfied to have a destination in mind.
Mitch put his hand to his neck in an attempt to assess the damage he’d done to the wound. It throbbed painfully, as did the lump on his head.
“Don’t touch it,” Dana said, her sharp tone making him quickly drop his hand. “Check inside the glove compartment, I have tissues and hand sanitizer in there. We’ll take them inside with us so I can clean up that incision.”
He found the items and set them in the empty cup holder in the console between them.
Ten minutes later, Dana pulled into the parking lot of The American Lodge. He slid out of the passenger seat, wishing there was a way to hide the bloodstained shirt he was wearing. Thankfully, The American Lodge was used to dealing with the Callahans; in fact, Matt had recently paid for extensive repairs several months ago, which had given them extra brownie points. The damage hadn’t been entirely his brother’s fault, but they’d pooled their money to pay for it anyway. So when he presented himself at the front desk, the woman behind the counter didn’t give him any trouble, obviously recognizing his name. She took his offered cash and slid two plastic key cards across the counter.
“Thanks.” Mitch walked back outside and found Dana standing near her compact car, her arms crisscrossed over her chest. “Here, you’re in room three. I’ll be next door in room four.”
She took the card, slipped it into the pocket of her scrub jacket and got back in behind the wheel. He reached in to take the tissues and sanitizer, then walked over to the motel door, leaving her to park the car.
He unlocked his side of the connecting door and then sat down in a chair at the small table to wait. A few minutes later, Dana unlocked her side and stepped through the opening, carrying an ice bucket full of warm water and towels tucked under her arm.
“I need to cut part of your T-shirt collar out of the way,” she said, pulling a pair of bandage scissors out of her pocket. He wondered what else she had in there and counted his blessings that she was a nurse capable of providing care.
“Have at it,” he said.
She didn’t hesitate, and he found himself mesmerized by the intensity of her green gaze as she worked on him. After cutting away the bloodstained fabric of his shirt around his neckline, she began cleaning the wound. Then she tsk-tsked under her breath.
“Three stitches need to be replaced,” she said, taking a step back. “Leaving it open will only increase the risk of infection.”
He didn’t like it, but nodded. “Okay. Can you do it?”
“Me?” Her eyes widened comically. “Are you crazy? I need a sterile needle, suture, instruments...” Her voice trailed off. “No.”
“Come on, you can improvise. I saw a small sewing kit in your glove compartment,” he said. “There’s a book of matches in the lobby, too.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “You really won’t go back to the hospital?”
“No, I can’t. It’s too dangerous.”
She sighed again and tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling, as if she might find answers written there. “You understand the risk of infection? And how much this will hurt? I’ll need to clean the area with the sanitizer, which will burn like mad.”
“Better pain than infection and death.”
Her lips thinned; she was clearly not happy with his suggestion, but then she abruptly turned and went back outside to find the sewing kit and matches.
Another hurdle cleared. But he had no idea how many other barriers he’d have to navigate before getting to the truth of who’d killed Janice and why.
And even more important, who hated him enough to frame him for her murder?
* * *
Dana tried not to think too much about what she was about to do as she gathered everything she needed to replace the three sutures in Mitch’s incision. How had this happened? How was it that she had ended up here, providing care to Mitch Callahan while he hid from the law? This kind of thing didn’t happen to her. Her life was boring—well, other than the variety of patient scenarios she encountered at work.
Oddly enough, her earlier exhaustion had vanished, leaving an unusual sense of exhilaration in its wake. She told herself it was because she was just as crazy as Mitch for agreeing to his harebrained scheme, but deep down, she knew that wasn’t really the source.
The sad truth was that she’d been living by rote. Work, eat, sleep and work. Volunteer at the local food pantry, then go back to repeat the process a
ll over again.
Giving herself a mental shake, she focused on the task at hand. First she used a match to sterilize the needle, then threaded it with black thread. She washed her hands with the antimicrobial solution.
“This is going to burn,” she reminded him, before pouring a dollop of hand sanitizer on his neck. Using the tips of her fingers, she cleaned the area around the incision. To Mitch’s credit, he held himself perfectly still and didn’t utter a sound.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath and picked up the needle and thread. She’d learned how to suture in nursing school, during a rotation in the operating room, but that was different. The patients were under general anesthesia and couldn’t feel the needle poking through their skin. And nurses didn’t place stitches in the ER, doctors did.
She braced her hip against Mitch’s chair, taking another couple of deep breaths. For some odd reason she was far too aware of the scent of his skin, something pine beneath the faint smell of smoke.
“Are you okay?” Mitch asked.
He was the patient, asking her if she was okay. Pathetic. Enough of being a wimp about this.
“Fine. It’s going to hurt,” she said, pressing the tip of the needle against his skin.
He sucked in a breath but didn’t move or make any other sound of distress. Sweat beaded at her temples and the room felt impossibly warm. She passed the needle through the other side, then used the thread to pull the edges of his skin together. She tied the knot, cut the thread with the bandage scissors and released her pent-up breath. “One down, two more to go.”
“You’re doing great,” he encouraged, as if this whole thing was harder on her than it was on him.
“So are you,” she murmured. She subtly wiped her temple on the sleeve of her scrub jacket, wishing there was a way to do this without hurting him. There wasn’t, so she resolutely picked up the needle again and went back to work. This time, she tried to keep going steadily along, figuring that the sooner she repaired the wound, the sooner she could stop hurting him and the sooner he’d feel better.