Tony asked, “What about before they broke in? Did you hear voices in the hall?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” In the small hospital room, Olivia heard a noise from the chair in the corner that sounded like a cross between a sharp inhale and a throat clearing. What was that about? She opened my eyes and glanced at Brian. His magazine was laying on his lap, open to some gaudy page or other. His legs were stretched straight out in front of him, but his gaze was on her, eyes sparkling. He shook his head and closed his dark brown eyes pointedly.
She unwrapped her now purple finger from the blanket and shut her eyes again.
Tony coached her, “Tell me about their footsteps when they broke in.”
Footsteps. Okay. She wasn’t in the apartment, getting the crap beat out of her. She was here, in the hospital. Two cops in the room with her. Safe. She could do this. She replayed the moment she first was knocked to the floor to the point where they surrounded her. It was hard to notice the feet, when the memory of the attack was still so vivid. She wrapped her finger again. “They were mostly quiet, I think. A few scuffs, but no hard heels or anything.”
“And when they kicked you? What did you feel? Were the shoes pointed or round? This is a hard question, I’m sorry.”
She swallowed her rising panic, licked her lips, and tried to follow the action in her mind. She was knocked to the ground. She got up and tried to fight. They surrounded her. Again, Olivia felt the angry kicks meet her own and her arms bruise from their heavy blows. Panic edged into her, overwhelming her memories and her mind veered away. She stopped, took a deep breath and focused again. She’d fought them and held them off. She’d survived. She went back to the memory where she’d left off: on the floor, fighting. “No, definitely not pointed, but not quite round either. It was like they had hard ridges on the front of them. You know, like some of those Wellies.”
“So, they had Wellington boots. All of them?”
“The ones that kicked me, anyway.”
Brian’s voice asked the next question from beside the bed now. “Were their shoes hard or soft?” Olivia started at the nearness of his voice even though she kept her eyes shut; she hadn’t heard him leave his chair, and she thought she should have, given his size. A big man like that should have made some noise.
Tony whispered, “Sit down. Let me handle this.”
Brian’s voice was subdued when he asked, “What? It’s important.” But his voice had already receded to the far corner of the room again.
Perversely, she decided to answer Brian’s question. “The ridges were hard, but I think the shoes themselves must have been soft because they had to keep changing the angle of the kick, as if their feet got sore. If that makes sense.” She opened her eyes as Brian gave Tony the “see!” gesture of open hands toward her.
Tony waved him away and addressed her. “Last question. What were they wearing on their bodies?”
She kept her eyes open, but pictured it in her mind again, feeling the fists and the feet. She’d reached out and grabbed legs, bitten them. She could still taste the warm, salty blood of her attackers. “Fur. They were wearing full costumes.”
Tony glanced at Brian who raised his eyebrows in return.
With a forced smile that Olivia thought was supposed to be reassuring, Tony turned back to her and said, “Well, that’s all for now. You’ve given us something to pursue. I have a few ideas, and I’m going to start on them tonight. Tomorrow morning will probably be the soonest I can return to see you. Brian’s going to stay with you again tonight, just to make sure you’re safe. Okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Antonio “Smooth” Silvani left, his gaze snapping up and down the hallway. Though a poser on several levels, he had proven he was skillful at interviewing. He had driven right to the heart of what he wanted to know.
She looked back at Brian who watched Tony leave with a worried expression. His elbows rested on his knees, and his hands were clasped loosely together. Snow and sleet pelted down outside the window behind him. The weather added to Brian’s gloomy frown. When he saw her observing him, he mimicked his friend’s smile, leaned back and concentrated on his magazine again.
They knew something. Olivia was sure of it.
Chapter 4
Brian picked up his magazine and chose an article at random, determined to focus on the words written there. He hated celebrity magazines, but all those in the waiting room had been the same. His fingers itched to draw, but he hadn’t brought his sketch pad.
He felt Olivia staring at him, her gaze burning into his forehead. More than anything, he wanted to tell her the truth about the attack. It bubbled to his lips, wanting to pour out.
A movement on the periphery of his vision caught his attention. Tony beckoned to him from the hall, beyond the edge of the window. With relief, Brian set down the magazine and escaped from the room, Olivia’s gaze following every step he made.
The sting of antiseptic and medicine pinched his nose the moment he entered the hallway. In the room, it had been noticeable, but out here, it lay like a heavy fog on his senses. It echoed from the sparsely decorated white walls, the white tile floor and the white desk covered with charts and books. The nurses and doctors all reeked of it. He smelled something else on them, too. Decaying flesh. The sick, the wounded, the dying. In the distance, a dinner cart began its rounds.
He stifled a sneeze as he approached Tony.
His friend grimaced. “I know. Pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“I hate hospitals. I really do.” Brian shook his head.
“You heard her, the feet felt like they had ridges. Good call, by the way.”
“Thanks. So it’s Hall.”
Tony fidgeted. “I don’t know for sure yet. My sources have all gone underground.”
“Running scared.”
“Yeah. Something big is happening.” Tony stared down the hall, watching the dinner cart. Brian could almost see the wheels turning in his mind.
“Any ideas? The attack on Olivia couldn’t be a coincidence.”
“Nope. Stay close to our rescued angel. I’ll be back when I learn something.” He clapped Brian on the shoulder and turned to leave.
“I have a cell phone, you know.”
Tony waved his hand by means of answer and disappeared around the corner.
Brian turned for Olivia’s room again. The food cart caught his eye. It had progressed much farther in the brief time he’d been speaking to Tony. Farther than it should have, if it had stopped at every room. He used a supporting pillar at the nurse’s desk to hide behind and watched the driver of the cart.
As men go, this man was unremarkable. Dressed in the traditional white uniform, he had sandy brown hair, was of medium height and stature. Unremarkable. He walked with a straight forward purpose, not hesitant, not careful he might miss something. He neither looked left nor right, nor did he glance at the list hanging on the handle of the cart. Rather, he seemed to be focused on only one room: Olivia’s.
Brian pressed his lips together. Trouble already. He considered his options. He could go around the corner through a connecting hall and come up behind the guy. The cart would be at Olivia’s room by then. Or, and Brian nodded at this plan, he could step right up to the guy and take care of him, face-to-face.
He waited until the cart approached a maintenance closet. After a brief glance up and down the hall to discern there would be no witnesses, he moved out from behind the pillar, ducked his head, and walked toward the cart. As he closed the distance, he moved to the side of the hall as if he were trying to avoid a collision. As he passed, the sharp, acrid smell of the driver’s breath breached the odors of the hospital. At the same time, he heard a low menacing growl and the man straightened to face him.
With no hesitation, Brian shot a quick punch in the driver’s face. Stunned, the man staggered back and Brian moved in. He gripped the man’s opposite shoulder and pushed him around until he was in a choke hold from behind. A cardboard cutout of Santa in his sleigh smiled at
them from the opposite wall. The muffled noises of the skirmish seemed loud, so he coughed to cover the sound, hoping it wasn’t enough to bring someone to investigate. As the cart driver clawed with his fingers at the choking arm, Brian dragged him into the closet and held him until he lost consciousness. Lowering him to the floor, he checked the man’s clothes for identification. He found none. He flipped open his phone and called Tony.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“I have someone for you to pick up.”
“Are you kidding? Already? I haven’t even made it to the car yet.”
“Yeah, well, look at it this way: at least you don’t have to look for another parking spot.”
“Fine. I’m on my way back up. Where is he?”
“Maintenance closet, this floor.” Brian hung up and stepped out of the tiny room. No one was in the hallway, so there truly had been no witnesses except on security camera and Santa. He was pretty sure Santa wouldn’t tell, and Tony would take care of the video. He rolled the cart next to the wall and walked to Olivia’s room.
Steeling himself, he entered and felt her gaze on him immediately. He wondered briefly if she’d heard something or could see far enough down the hallway to watch what had happened, but decided she couldn’t. She said nothing to him even though he smiled at her.
Returning to his chair, he picked up his magazine, chose another random article, and began reading again. Still, he could feel her watching him the whole time.
Another attack, so quickly. He didn’t feel comfortable trying to protect her here. The hospital was too open, too easily accessible. He wanted her some place he could control. He had to figure out how to get her on his turf.
Chapter 5
Why the hell were Tony and Brian so interested in what shoes her attackers had worn? And what did the smell of mud mean? Had the attackers been out tromping around in a muddy field somewhere? Was that what Tony was trying to discover? Was there another attack before hers? Or had he and Brian been following the costumed men from or across a field? Brian had also had the smell of mud on him. Was this interview fact finding or identity confirmation? The more Olivia thought on it, the more she was convinced it was the latter.
Worse, Tony had mentioned it would be Brian’s second overnight presence. It insinuated that they expected a possible encore from the perpetrators. But could he protect her, by himself, against those brutes of men? She wasn’t so sure, but they both apparently knew what they were up against. Besides, with all the staff and visitors around the hospital, how could the costumed bear-men expect to prevail here? Still…
“Brian, what do you two know about these people who attacked me?”
He set down the magazine with a careful smile. His liquid brown gaze met hers. Even with the smile, frown lines creased his forehead. They’d been there since Tony left. She didn’t like seeing them; they unnerved her. He said, “I can’t tell you. Even if I did, which I can’t, you wouldn’t believe me.”
She almost dropped her jaw. What the hell? “Try me. At this point, I’d believe anything. It’s my life we’re talking about here, and I need to know.”
“I realize that. But I still can’t tell you.” He shrugged and picked up the magazine again. He held it higher to forestall any further questions. Olivia stared at the trashy cover. His answer sent her fuming. Damn him! And damn Silver! Of all the arrogant, secretive, self-serving, annoying posers who could have rescued her…!
Determined to not speak to Brian again…ever…she snatched the TV remote from the cabinet by the bed and jabbed the “on” button. The TV slowly warmed into life, and she clicked violently through the channels, one right after the other. She had no idea what she saw in the brief glimpses until she stumbled upon a shot of her apartment building. She stopped and listened to the anchor woman tell her story.
“—this peaceful picture last night. But it didn’t stay calm. At approximately eleven p.m., an unknown group of assailants broke into the bottom floor of this apartment building and attacked the sole occupant, Olivia Bonaparte. Be warned, these images are graphic and not suitable for all audiences.”
Brian lunged out of the chair and came to watch, standing beside her. For such a big man, he moved pretty damn fast. His musky cologne wafted past her in the breeze of his motion and the heady scent nearly distracted her from the news story. But then the camera scanned across the outside of the apartment dwelling and then showed an interior shot. The place was ruined, and her coat, which had somehow gotten ripped off her back during the fight, was crumpled on the floor near the end of the couch. Chunks of her wheat-colored hair littered the floor. She lifted her hand to her head to be greeted by scabs and thin patches. Damn!
The news woman continued, “Ms. Bonaparte is in Boulder Community Hospital and is expected to make a full recovery. Police are conducting an investigation.” Again, the camera swept the inside of the apartment. The place was devastated. It was obvious that a great deal of rage had caused most of the damage. And now, thanks to the media, the men who had done it knew she was still alive and where they could find her.
Olivia looked up at Brian, called a truce in her mind, and quietly said, “Your job is to keep me safe. Protect me from these thugs. Right?”
“Yes.” His voice was just as soft, but he never took his eyes off the repeating scene on the TV.
“Do you feel you can do that here, in this place? Protect me from those vicious people? And protect yourself? Or any innocent people that might be in the immediate area?”
He looked down at her, his grim head shake mirroring his frown. “No. Not here.”
She reached over and squeezed his forearm. “Then, let’s get out of here. Go find my clothes in the closet, please.”
There was no hesitation from him. He turned and did as asked. Olivia swung her legs off the bed and started removing the IV drip and pulse-ox monitor. He came back, shaking his head at her shoes. “I guess your clothes were ruined. This is all that you have.”
She stared at the shoes and then up at his face. “I can’t wander around in a hospital gown.” He set the shoes on the foot of the bed, held up his index finger and then left the room.
Chapter 6
Brian walked down the hall toward the maintenance closet and Tony. Olivia’s panic urged speed into his steps. Though he tried to walk quietly to keep from alerting anyone to his and Tony’s activities, the heels of his running shoes squelched harshly on the white tile. Santa was where he’d left him, still guarding the closet and grinning like an oblivious fool.
A wheelchair draped with a blue hospital blanket blocked the door to the tiny room and Tony was inside, staring down on the cart driver. “Are you sure he’s not dead?”
Brian shrugged and removed the blanket from the chair. “He wasn’t when I left him.” But, sometimes things happened. In truth, it had taken everything he had to not kill the man who’d wanted Olivia dead.
Tony leaned close and sniffed. “He reeks, but I think he’s all right. Help me get him in the chair.”
“You become a weakling lately?”
His friend chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. You’re a regular Bob Hope. Just hold the chair.” He sat up the unconscious man and then, with a heave, lifted and pivoted him. Then he dropped the driver into the seat.
The chair, though locked, pushed backward, shoving Brian into the hallway. He glanced at the nurses’ desk and saw a physician staring at him. The doctor began walking toward him, white coat flapping with each step.
“Trouble coming.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Tony said. One-by-one, he bent the cart driver’s knees and placed his feet on the footplates. He straightened, stretched his back and motioned to the hall. “Go ahead and take him to the elevator. I’ll join you there.”
Brian nodded, threw the blanket over his passenger’s body and pulled the chair back. Tony stepped out of the closet behind it.
“Hey.” The doctor’s voice came stridently down the hall, echoing smoothly off the fla
t tile. Two nurses poked their heads over the counter of the station desk to see the commotion.
Pretending he didn’t hear the call-out, Brian wheeled the unconscious man toward the elevator. He pushed the button and turned to watch the show. Tony flipped open his wallet to a fake police ID, walked up to the doctor, flashed it and shut his wallet again before anything could be closely inspected. “I’m sorry we disturbed you. This man,” he gestured toward the wheelchair, “escaped his guarded room on the floor below. We’re just lucky we caught him so soon.”
He leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s a murderer, you know.” He clapped his hand on the physician’s shoulder. “Lucky for everyone, we caught him hiding in your maintenance closet.”
Through it all, the doctor hadn’t said anything. His mouth slowly opened more and more as the story continued. Now, he closed it with a snap and said, “Well, thank you for handling it so quickly.” He shook Tony’s hand and returned to the nurses’ desk.
The elevator arrived and Brian pushed his cargo onto it. He’d seen the bluff before. Still, it amazed him how willingly people believed it. Tony joined him and pushed the button for the basement floor. The elevator stunk of mold and sickness from the stained green rug. Brian breathed through his mouth, but he still could taste the stench. Trying not to think about what went into his lungs, he asked, “What excuse are you going to give for taking an unconscious man in white hospital uniform out of here?”
“We’re not leaving the hospital. I’m sure we can find a nice quiet corner where I can question him. When I’m done with him, I’ll take care of the video.” Tony’s voice, also, was tight, and Brian saw his friend was having the same problem with the smell as he.
Brian nodded at Tony’s answer. It made sense to keep the man in the hospital. Why cause a problem when it could be avoided? “Maybe you two aren’t leaving, but this is only the first attempt on Olivia’s life after the attack. There will be more. I have to get her out of here.”
The Last Griffin Page 2