by Odell, Terry
He smiled again, trying to evoke sympathy from the woman, when what he really wanted was to take control of her computer. Not that it would have any reference to Elle, but if he could find Trish, he was confident he’d find Elle.
The woman sighed and gave a pointed glance over Jinx’s shoulder. Great. A line of people had appeared. Would she blow him off or try to help so he’d move on?
She clattered about the keyboard. “I do not have access to how patients arrive, or what their conditions are. I can only search by name.”
Jinx forced the smile to remain on his face. “And date of admission, right? So you’d be looking at anyone admitted yesterday. An American. Sheridan. Or Grisham.” Damn, if someone had used another name when they’d brought Trish in, he was screwed.
The woman clicked some more, frowned, and shook her head. “Sir, if she was brought in because of an emergency, she wouldn’t show up until she was admitted to a room. Depending on the hour of her arrival or the length of her treatment, it is possible she has not yet been added to my system.”
Her system? Jinx wanted to tell her what she could do with her system.
She gave him a canned apologetic smile. “It makes little difference, because visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow and we should know more.”
Jinx tried to remember what he’d read about possible treatments for Trish. If he could pinpoint the department, maybe he’d find someone who knew medicine, not how to look up a name in a computer. “One more question, please. If she was brought in for emergency surgery for a blood clot in her lung, where might she be?”
The woman shook her head. “Sir, even if I knew, I cannot give out medical information.”
“I’m not asking for medical information. I’m trying to find a person. Please.”
“Emergency is in another building. You can follow the signs.” Her smile was forced now, but so was his. She gestured to a set of glass doors to his left. “They are in English as well as Spanish.” She lifted her head and spoke over Jinx’s shoulder. In Spanish.
He left her to the couple standing behind him and went through the doors she’d indicated. The path was lined with trees and flowers, reminiscent of his recent tromp through the jungle, but the smell of car exhaust was an additional layer to the tropical aroma.
Sirens blared, and he heard a helicopter whirring above. He followed the sound and watched it land on the roof of the building he was about to enter. For a fraction of a second, he let himself dream it was Fozzie. Or the med-evac helo carrying Trish. And Elle. But that was impossible. Ahead of him, the doors swooshed open at his approach.
Inside, it was a high-class counterpart of the clinic where he’d first looked for Trish and Elle. Same smells, same crying babies, same undercurrent of anxiety and despair. Except for the hushed voices speaking Spanish, and the announcements coming over the loudspeaker, the hospital could be an ER in the States. He scanned the room for Elle, not really surprised when he couldn’t find her. But disappointed all the same.
If they’d brought Trish here, they’d have records. With a sinking feeling this was his last and only chance to locate Trish and Elle, he squared his shoulders and stepped toward the counter.
Play it cool. Concerned relative.
This time, he opted for leaving out the names. Instead, he asked about an American woman brought in by helicopter and described what he knew about Trish’s medical condition.
“Please,” he said, hearing the desperation in his tone and knowing it wasn’t a stretch to produce it. “Her family—we’re very worried about her.”
The woman, older than the clerk in the main building, gave him a compassionate smile. “I remember the helicopter, yes. A big emergency.” Her unpainted fingernails clicked against the keyboard. Her brow furrowed. “Yes, we have someone being treated here, but not an American.”
Jinx’s stomach twisted. There couldn’t have been two people who needed emergency treatment for blood clots, could there? Could the hospital not have been able to treat both, so they sent Trish elsewhere?
He tugged at his hair. He needed a fucking computer. What made him think coming to Mexico City, doing his own legwork, was the way to go? He could be gathering the intel he needed from headquarters. That’s what he was good at.
Because you needed to find Elle. In person.
Since he was here, he had to deal with it.
Stop. Think.
He stepped away from the counter and found a seat in a far corner of the waiting room. Forced himself to breathe.
If he were at HQ, what would he be doing? They found missing people all the time. He could do this.
Cursing his stupidity, he called Zeke. “Don’t hang up,” he said as soon as Zeke answered. “Email me pictures of Trish and Elle. I might have better luck with a visual.” Especially since it was obvious not knowing what name they were using was waving red flags everywhere.
“You’ve got it. I’ll dig up a few. Should have thought of that myself.”
“We both should have,” Jinx said, too tired to play any one-upmanship games. “Do it.”
He disconnected and went in search of a vending machine while he waited. He took it as a good omen when the machine dispensed cans of Red Bull. He shoved money into the slot, pressed the button, and the can clattered into the tray. He popped the lid, turning to see two men, one wearing a jumpsuit with a helicopter and a red cross patch above the pocket, the other in blood-stained scrubs.
“Excuse me? Do you speak English?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jumpsuit said. “Can we help you?”
“Did you bring a woman to this hospital last night? From a clinic in Santo Felipe? She had a clotting disorder.”
The two men exchanged a glance. Jumpsuit spoke in Spanish to Scrubs, who shook his head. “Sorry.” He gestured Jinx aside, pointing to the vending machine.
Right. Jinx got out of their way. They paid for their snacks and were about to walk away when Jinx stopped them. “Wait. There must be records, flight information, some way to find out.” His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and saw Zeke’s email coming through. “Please. A minute. I have pictures. Maybe someone will recognize them.”
The men shrugged, but didn’t leave. “We can try,” Jumpsuit said, extending a hand for the cell.
Jinx raised a finger. “It’s coming. Cheap phone.”
The men kept looking over their shoulders, as if they had somewhere else to be. Jinx tapped the screen in a futile attempt to speed the process. Once he had a picture of Trish, he showed it to both men. “If you find out anything, please let me know.” He searched for something to write the new cell number on. Whoever had sent the phone had stuck a label on the back with the phone’s number on it. He scraped at it, trying to peel it off.
The radio in Jumpsuit’s pocket squawked something in Spanish. The urgency of the tone was unmistakable, even if the words weren’t. The men turned and jogged down the hall. “We will ask,” Jumpsuit said.
Jinx tossed his soda into a nearby trash can and rushed after them, still peeling the tape from the phone. It came free, a bit wrinkled, but he handed it to Jumpsuit. “Call me. Any time.”
The radio squawked again. Jumpsuit and Scrubs broke into a dead run. Jinx slowed, watching them rush around a corner and out of sight. Staring at the picture of Trish, he made his way to the front desk, where the counter was blocked by a throng of milling people, shouting and gesticulating.
He tucked the phone into his pocket and sidled toward a set of double doors and tried to peek through the frosted glass pane in one of them. Distorted figures rushed a gurney down a hallway. Definitely the treatment area.
Doing was better than sitting. What could happen? They’d ask him to leave, and he’d be in the same boat he was in now. Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, he pushed the door open and slipped inside.
Chapter 39
Jinx pressed against the wall, waiting for a lull in the action, devising a cover story. Base
d on the few Spanish words he understood, there’d been a multi-vehicle car accident. Much as he hankered to grab anyone who passed and show them Trish’s picture, he let them do their work.
Two non-doctor types wearing yellow disposable jumpsuits ambled by, engrossed in conversation. Jinx caught enough to understand the word coffee, and the other’s affirmative response. He fell in behind them, and they passed through a door with a frosted glass pane. Jinx peered through after the men were inside and found a small lounge.
He entered.
A few exhausted-appearing medical staff sat around small square tables. None looked up when he entered. The two men he’d followed sat apart from everyone else, and Jinx figured he had a better shot of making himself understood if he found a doctor. He zeroed in on stethoscopes, and tried to get close enough to read badges, seeking “Dr.” or “MD.”
A man and a woman shared a table, but weren’t paying attention to each other. The woman was a blue-eyed blonde whose ID proclaimed she was a Doctor Andrews. Odds were she spoke English. Jinx strode to the table, phone ready with Trish’s image displayed. He hooked his foot around a chair leg and pulled it out, sitting down as if he belonged.
“Excuse me?” he said quietly. No need to have the entire room inspecting the interloper. “This woman. Have you seen her? Her family is very worried about her. She would have come in by helicopter yesterday.”
The two exchanged a skeptical look.
“Please,” Jinx said. “I need to know if you’ve seen her. Where she is. Her condition was critical. If she died—” Almost embarrassed his voice cracked, he held up the phone. “Maybe someone else in here knows? I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Spanish. If you didn’t see her, could you ask?”
Dr. Andrews shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I was here when they brought her in. She was very lucky the drugs administered by the medics kept her alive until she got here.”
“Where can I find her?” Jinx asked. “Is she here?”
“Here, no,” the doctor said. “We released her to the hospital once she was stabilized.”
“Can you find her room? Please? Check the computer system? I have to tell her parents she’s all right.”
The woman stared at her coffee, sighed, then set the cardboard cup on the table. “You wait here. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thank you. So much.” The doctor’s table companion drained his coffee, got up and slam-dunked his cup into the trash can. Whether or not he’d understood what Jinx had said was moot. Dr. Andrews was going to give him Trish’s room number.
Jinx sat back with a smug inward smile. He’d come, he’d schmoozed, he’d conquered.
He jerked to attention when the doctor returned. “She is still in ICU. No visitors, and I don’t think you’ll have as easy a time sneaking in there as you did down here. But she should be in a room tomorrow.”
Without a name, he was still screwed. “Can you tell me what name she was admitted under? She might be going under her maiden name.” That was the best he could do.
The doctor didn’t seem to be buying it. “I wouldn’t know. What’s her maiden name?”
Jinx tried to follow the logic. If the name he gave wasn’t the one Trish had been admitted under, then he should still have an out. “Sheridan,” he said.
The doctor shook her head. “No, her admissions form said her name was Patricia Torres.”
He grinned and pumped the doctor’s hand. “Torres. That’s her. I appreciate it. Big time.” He scooted out of the break room before she could ask him any more questions.
Did the ICU have a waiting room? If Trish wasn’t allowed visitors, that’s where he’d find Elle. Where the hell was ICU? Why had he let the doctor get away? Where was his brain? Too busy being proud of himself for getting a piece of information he needed.
He went to the lobby, found the directory. The word intensiva popped out at him. Second floor. He took the stairs, figuring someone would point him in the right direction if he stepped into forbidden territory.
He found a room with a few people in civilian clothes, not medical garb. The worried expressions on their faces told him he was in the right place. But Elle’s face wasn’t among them. Could family be allowed with ICU patients? Was she taking a bathroom break? Getting coffee? He nodded to a middle-aged man who held an open magazine on his lap. Jinx took an empty seat where he could see the door, crossed his arms, stretched his legs in front of him and settled in to wait.
Twenty minutes later, Elle hadn’t appeared, nor had the man turned a single page of the magazine. A woman about the same age as the man came into the room. Everyone’s attention snapped to her. She took the man’s hand, and he stood. She said something in Spanish, and everyone else in the room breathed a collective sigh of relief. They gathered in a group hug, and left.
Jinx picked up the magazine the man had left behind and held it on his lap. He wouldn’t have been able to focus enough attention to read it even if it had been in English, but somehow, it conveyed a feeling of hope. The man had been holding it, and good things had happened.
Ignoring the total lack of logic, Jinx pulled a small coffee table closer, toed out of his shoes, and propped his feet up. If Elle had been in the restroom, she’d have been back by now. According to the clock on the wall, it was almost eleven p.m. A little late for a serious meal break. So, she was either with Trish or wasn’t here… yet. He couldn’t see anything short of being shipped off with the cartel’s women keeping Elle from her sister.
His gut somersaulted. What had been an out-of-the-box thought suddenly hit him with the stark reality it could have happened. Trish was here, but despite Elle’s apparent willingness—and ability—to move mountains, the cartel was all-powerful. What if she had been shipped off? He replayed what his memory allowed.
They’d been at the hotel. She’d gone into the room to search for clues. He’d been on guard duty—a task at which he’d failed miserably as someone had snuck up and drugged him. Dalton had come to his rescue. If someone had taken Elle out the back, Dalton would have seen it. But nothing said the creeps couldn’t have walked Elle out the front door. Or kept her locked up in the hotel.
There were too damn many possible pathways in this scenario. And what had seemed the most logical course of action was starting to look worse and worse. He had to see Trish, and for that, he had to wait until morning. Or did he? He put his shoes on and went into the corridor. It appeared there was only one way into the actual ICU rooms, guarded by a nurse’s station. He gave it a shot, approaching the pinch-faced woman in a blue smock who sat behind the counter.
“Señorita Torres?” he asked.
She frowned and said something in Spanish.
“Habla Inglés?” he asked.
Her mouth turned down even farther. “No. Horas de visita mañana.” She pointed to her wristwatch, held up ten fingers. “A las diez.” She stabbed a finger toward the elevator and rattled off more Spanish.
He didn’t think even Dalton could schmooze his way past this martinet. He wondered if she ever left her station, if he could sneak a peek into her computer. Which, he was sure, didn’t habla Inglés either, but he had Trish’s alias. That might give him what he needed.
He strolled toward the restrooms which were set in a small alcove. From here, he could see the desk, but he wouldn’t be easily visible to the nurse’s station. He watched doctors and nurses come and go, but the desk was never left unattended.
He checked the time on his phone. Midnight. He had ten hours until visitors would be admitted. If the overzealous sentry at the nurse’s desk was on duty until morning, Elle wouldn’t be allowed in to see her sister, either.
Plan A. He could spend the night in the waiting room and see if Elle showed up when visiting hours started. Plan B. He could get a hotel room and come back in the morning. Plan C. He could get the hell back to HQ and do what he knew how to do. If the cartel had her, Elle could be anywhere, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to find her by sitting on hi
s ass in a hospital waiting room.
Chapter 40
Elle eyed the window. She seemed to be using them as much as doors lately. The shouting stopped. She waited, listening. Slippered footfalls scuffed along the floor, following by a gentle tapping. “Miss Elle? It is Consuela.”
Elle opened the door. “I am sorry,” Consuela said, “but you must be ready now, not later. Your driver must leave shortly, even though I do not have all my preparations. He will not wait. He is on an errand and cannot delay.”
“I’m ready.”
“I tell him half an hour. I can have your things finished.”
“Things?” Elle asked. She appreciated the change of clothes, and the shower was nice, but what else did she need? “I’m grateful for anything you have, but I’m sure you understand I need to get to my sister as soon as possible.”
Consuela reached out, touched Elle’s hand. “I do understand, but it is not so easy. I have papers, but they are not good. Better ones would take several hours, but I will see what I can do. Come with me now.”
Consuela shuffled out of the room and led Elle down a narrow hallway into a darkened space. Lights clicked on, revealing a windowless basement storage room, shelves filled with boxes and jars of home-canned food. Consuela went between two of the shelving units and pulled down a small wooden box. “Go to that wall,” she said, pointing to an empty space across the room.
Puzzled, Elle complied. Consuela joined her, a small digital camera in her hand. “Look this way, but no smile.” She backed up and raised the camera.
Elle obeyed the instructions, and a flash went off. “You’re making me a false ID.”
“You must not think of it as false,” Consuela said. “This will be your new true identity. And now I must trace your sister’s identity.”