Diana was unconscious. Her skin was pale and mottled with bruising around her wrists and ankles. There was a bruise forming on her cheek. Her hair stuck to her forehead. Her clothing had been removed. She wore a paper hospital gown and was strapped to a table. She was corpse-like.
Peter gasped which, through his mask, half-choked him. His guilt was becoming a living, breathing thing that was threatening to smother him. This was all his fault.
He rushed to her side and checked for signs of life. Thank God! A guttural sound escaped him when he saw the cut on her cheekbone and the skin around her left eye turning purple. But, he reminded himself, she was alive! He took his gas mask off and gently placed it over her face. Pulling out his phone, he called dispatch to send out the closest ambulance.
“The paramedics are on their way,” the dispatcher promised soothingly. He must have sounded really desperate.
Looking back at Diana, he grimaced. He undid the straps holding her down. He couldn’t risk carrying her. He had no idea what they might have done, and he didn’t want to injure her further. She looked so vulnerable. Nothing like the spitfire he had started getting used to. He wanted to go back outside and have a nice, up-close, and personal discussion with those goons. But he was already in enough trouble. Instead, he stood, silently waiting, standing vigil over Diana’s inert body.
Eventually, after what seemed like an age, the ambulance arrived and the paramedics rushed in. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back to let them attend to Diana. It had been forty minutes since he made the call.
“Will she be alright?” he asked. One of the paramedics looked at him and nodded.
“As far as we can tell, she’s been drugged and has some light contusions, but seems fine otherwise. She’ll have further tests to make sure.”
Another sigh of relief. His chest felt lighter, he could breathe again. She’d be alright. It was time to call Superintendent Donaldson and tell him the good news. Time to let the boss know they could take Brodeur down.
Diana came around slowly. She felt so groggy, she could barely lift her eyelids. When she did, the bright lights shot darts of agonizing pain through her head. She immediately closed her eyes again.
“You’re awake. Good. That’s an excellent sign. I’m Doctor Fraser, by the way.”
Diana groaned. “Doctor, why do I feel like a rhinoceros sat on my head?” She tried opening her eyes again. More slowly this time. Now, the stabbing was a dull ache. She could live with that.
“You don’t remember what happened? The kidnapping?”
“Oh,” she said as the memories came flooding back. She’d discovered precisely how short a fuse “Mr. Smith” had had when she’d pushed him a little too far, hoping to get him off balance so she could make a run for it. She hadn’t expected him to turn around and punch her. After that, she remembered little.
“It’s alright,” the doctor soothed. “You’re safe now. The police rescued you. You’re at Mount Sinai Hospital.”
Diana groaned again. “What hurts?” the doctor asked worriedly.
“My head,” she replied honestly. But to be completely truthful, she didn’t like hospitals. In fact, she hated them because they reminded her of who and what she had lost. “When can I go home?”
“Well, you were really lucky. Other than a few bruises and a heavy dose of anesthetic that knocked you out cold, you seem to be fine. No concussion. But still, I’d like to keep you here another twenty-four hours for observation. Then you can go home. Is there anyone you’d like us to call?”
Diana shook her head. “No, thanks.” She paused for a moment. “Actually, I think it was the punch to the face that knocked me out. I don’t remember being injected with anything.”
“They probably gave it to you after you were hit. To make sure you didn’t give them any more trouble.”
Diana nodded. It made sense. “How long have I been here?” she asked.
“You were brought in last night. A Detective Hopkinson asked us to notify him as soon as you were awake.”
Diana nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly. She closed her eyes when the doctor left. She’d rest a little more, and then she’d get out of there. She drifted off to sleep.
What felt like minutes later, but since it was now dark out, must have been hours, Diana awoke with a start. She opened her eyes and was pleased to find the pain was now almost non-existent. She got up slowly. That’s when she noticed the flowers on the nightstand. She gingerly picked up the card with them.
I’m sorry. Peter Hopkinson.
She smiled gently. He must have come to see her while she was asleep. She glanced around. The walls were starting to press in on her. She needed out of the hospital, and she needed out now. She got dressed slowly, wincing every time the fabric rubbed against her chafed ankles and wrists. She was relieved to see her purse had been recovered, along with all its contents.
Grabbing the flowers and the card, she made her way out of the room. She walked out of the hospital, head held high, trying her best to hide the pain. She didn’t need anyone stopping her when she was just moments from freedom.
She hailed a cab and gave him her address. Half an hour later, she was walking into her apartment to Max’s happy yipping. She locked the door behind her and walked into the living room. After she had put the flowers down on the coffee table, she sank onto the couch and patted her leg. “Come on, boy.” Max wasn’t usually allowed on the couch, but if she bent over to pet him, she might just fall over. He jumped up happily, licking her face until she giggled. She hugged him. “I missed you, boy,” she whispered into his fur.
She looked around and smiled. She felt terrible, but at the same time, she felt amazing. She was alive! She grinned. This was cause for celebration. She got to her feet slowly and made her way into the kitchen. She pulled out the dog food first. Her poor baby must be starving. But when she went to pick up his bowl, she found it half-full. Curious. She never left food out for Max. He had a regular feeding schedule, his food doled out in exact quantities to keep him from turning into a barrel on legs.
She picked up a bottle of red wine and opened it. She didn’t have the patience to let it breathe, so she went ahead and poured herself a generous glass. She took a sip. That was good.
Next on the celebratory list? Chocolate! She pulled out the chocolate truffles she kept for special occasions and sighed with pleasure as she popped one into her mouth. Wine and chocolate.The best way to celebrate life.
Grabbing the bottle of wine, her glass, and the truffles, Diana slowly made her way back to the living room. She laid everything out on the table and sat down slowly. She put on some soft music and allowed herself to finally relax. She was home. She was alive. Life was good.
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later that the doorbell started ringing. Diana groaned. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t have the strength. But, she had no choice.
“Hang on,” she shouted, then regretted it as a surge of pain ripped through her skull.
Before she could stand, Diana heard the lock rattle. The door opened.
As she expected, Peter Hopkinson walked through the door. “Hey, Detective,” she said softly.
“I think we’ve gotten to the point where we can use our first names, wouldn’t you say?” he said as he walked into the living room. He looked rather disheveled and more than a little contrite. For once, Max didn’t move a muscle when he saw the detective. He remained curled around Diana.
“I guess you rescuing me from the clutches of death gives you the right to call me Diana,” she said with a small smile.
“Yeah, and you nearly dying to help me solve my case definitely gives you the right to call me Peter. Jackass, too,” he grimaced as he studied her, “but I think we should stick to Peter.”
Diana laughed softly. “Wine?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m driving. I just came to check on you. I heard you disappeared from the hospital, and I wanted to make sure you were okay
. Should you be drinking? After what you’ve been through, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“I doubt a glass of wine or two will kill me.”
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Noted. Now, will you please sit down? You’ll give me another headache. How did you get in, by the way?” She nodded toward the front door of her apartment. “I locked it.”
“I’m a police officer. I know a few tricks of the trade,” Peter replied.
“Huh,” Diana’s response was muted. She thought back to Max’s half-full bowl and looked at him curiously.
Peter sat down but he still looked like death warmed over. “I’m really sorry,” he whispered then.
She looked at him. “It’s not your fault. If anyone is to blame, it’s that Brodeur woman.”
“Georgina Dillon.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s her real name. Georgina Dillon. “Jo-Jo” as she’s commonly known. She’s got a rap sheet as long as your arm. Jonathan Abbott hired her and her goons to help him get some replacement organs.”
Diana gasped. “Jonathan Abbott, the oil tycoon?”
“Why am I’m not surprised you know who he is,” Peter said with a smile. “It turns out he got some tropical disease two years ago. It damaged his kidneys and liver to the point where they couldn’t do anything more for him. He’s been living hooked up to machines ever since. He was on the transplant list but –”
“His typing made it difficult to find a match,” she filled in.
“Precisely. And, apparently, when you have so much money and are knocking on death’s door, your conscience takes a flying leap off the first cliff it can find.”
“So, he decided to take matters into his own hands?”
“Pretty much. He hired Dillon and the others to procure Leonardo Perez for him.”
“But who did the surgery?”
“A doctor who’d lost his license for engaging in unsafe practices. It seems that Abbott should be thanking his lucky stars he’s alive. Then again, since he’ll be going to prison for quite some time, I’m not sure that he will.”
“I don’t think he deserves to be alive,” Diana said softly. “Having money doesn’t entitle you to take someone else’s life so you can live.”
Peter nodded. “Dean Browning, Abbott’s nurse, was the one who left the keycard, the blood, and the Swiss Army knife. He said he’d been paid a lot of money to participate in Perez’s operation, but he had thought it was only to remove a kidney and part of the liver. He hadn’t expected them to remove the organs without anesthetic or kill the man. He tried to leave us as many clues as he could.”
“But why did they do it without anesthetic? It seems unnecessarily sadistic.”
“No idea. They obviously had the stuff because they used it on you. Maybe they simply forgot it in their haste when they went to perform the operation at the hotel. They couldn’t afford to delay, so just went ahead,” Peter shrugged his shoulders.
“Ugh,” Diana scrunched up her face and shivered.
“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” Peter asked.
Diana sighed. She quickly explained what occurred from the moment she left her apartment building to the moment she’d been punched, from which point she could remember nothing.
“He punched you?” The low and controlled tone made Diana look at him quickly. His jaw tightened, a vein pulsed on his forehead, and his fists clenched.
“Hey, I’m fine,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “Sorry. I just hate it when men beat up women.”
Diana chuckled. “It was my own fault. I should have contained him but he took me by surprise. I did attempt to kick him in the balls.”
“You only attempted?”
“He was a lot faster than I gave him credit for,” she replied with a shrug.
“I’m pretty sure you could have castrated him verbally,” he said with a grin.
She laughed. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
He smiled. “Well, I have to get going. I have a mountain of paperwork to get through.” He stood.
“Thank you for coming to check on me,” she said.
Peter turned to look at her, his face pinched. “No. You shouldn’t be thanking me. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference. You underestimate how determined I can be. I hate mysteries. I would have found a way to insert myself in this one, trust me.”
“It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have let it happen. But thank you for your help. Without you, cracking this case would have been a lot harder.”
“My pleasure, but I’m quite certain you would have managed without me.”
He shrugged. “Thanks anyway.”
She nodded. “Next time, though, try not to accuse me of being the perpetrator, okay?”
“Next time? Who said anything about a next time? You are not coming within a mile of anything this dangerous again. I won’t allow it.”
At that, Diana burst out laughing. “You won’t allow it?”
“Look, I know you test out with a genius-level IQ and hold degrees in criminal psychology and forensic science. I also know that you have consulted for the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, and you could probably go over my head and get assigned to my cases, but I refuse to put you in danger like that again.”
“If you know all that about me, then you know that it’s not really your call, right?”
“I don’t care. You will not be working on any other cases with the Vancouver Police Department if I have anything to say about it.” With that, he turned and stalked out of her apartment. She watched him go and then gently squeezed her dog.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we Max?” She grinned. The whole kidnapping experience had been horrifying, but she’d enjoyed the rest of it. She would have to make a few phone calls. She took another sip of her wine.
“After all, Max, we need to keep the good Detective Hot-kinson on his toes. Can’t have him getting complacent, can we?” Diana popped another truffle into her mouth. And smiled.
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DIANA HUNTER WILL RETURN…
Want to know what happens next for Diana? How her relationship with Peter develops? Find out in the subsequent book in the Diana Hunter mystery series, Stolen. You’ll find an excerpt on the following pages.
PROLOGUE
THE STREET IN front of the elegant building that housed the Four Seasons Hotel was packed. A throng of people crowded around the red carpet leading to the entrance. Camera flashes exploded almost every second. Dozens of limousines were queuing up, waiting to let their occupants out. As the long, black vehicles rolled to a stop, a team of valets swooped in to open the doors for Vancouver’s élite, all dressed up in their glittering, shimmering finery. Rich businessmen, politicians, TV and film personalities exited the cars and, collecting themselves as they took their first strides toward the entrance, prepared to enjoy an evening of dancing and dining to support the British Columbia Children’s Hospital.
Charlene Evans surveyed the scene with approval. She had been instrumental in organizing the evening and was pleased to see it turning out so well. She watched as men in tuxedos accompanied women in beautiful dresses adorned with sparkling jewelry as they walked the red carpet. They paused to have their pictures taken and then walked into the hotel, crossed the marble floor of the lobby, and into the winter wonderland that the ballroom had been transformed into.
White silk drapes hung from the ceiling. White tables and free-standing bars lit from within with blue lighting dotted the discothèque area, while the dining room featured large, round tables with snowy white tablecloths. Even the chairs had been draped in white fabric to add to the wintery feel of the room.
“I have to give it to you, Charlene. Everything looks amazing,” said Neil Johnson, the chairperson of the BC Children’s Hospital Foundation.
She smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad all that hard work paid off. Now, let’s hope it pays off a little more literally in donations.”
“I’m sure it will. Who can say no to helping sick kids?”
Charlene laughed. “Well, even if they could, they won’t because they all want the good publicity that comes from donating to a cause like ours.”
“I’d accuse you of being cynical if you weren’t completely correct,” he said with a laugh. “Now, let’s get out there and rustle up some money for the hospital.”
Charlene nodded and they went their separate ways.
A few hours later, after the four-course dinner had ended, the band started to play and a few of the attendees made their way to the dance floor. Charlene picked up her glass and took a sip of champagne. She leaned in to her neighbor, who was trying to tell her something. Suddenly, she felt groggy. It was almost imperceptible and at first, she didn’t realize anything was wrong. But something wasn’t quite right. She could feel it. She put her hand up to her throat and froze. Her diamond necklace was gone…the diamond necklace she’d been lent by a prominent jeweler and committed to wear in return for a hefty donation to the hospital.
Her heart began to pound. Exclamations of surprise sounded throughout the ballroom. It was like an echo that, instead of getting fainter, built up momentum as one person after another cried out in astonishment and indignation. The music petered out. Charlene looked around, her palms sweaty, her breathing picking up speed.
Snatched (A Diana Hunter Mystery Book 2) Page 8