by Vicki Hinze
“Detective Meyers,” Ben said.
Mark nodded. “Harvey, check with everybody in the building and see if anyone saw Lisa or the men she was with. Mel, help him.” He swiveled his gaze to the nurse. “Jessie, write down clear descriptions of Powell and Edmunds. Detailed and specific, as close as you can get.”
“Mark, don’t you think you might be overreacting?” Kelly asked. “Jessie knows Dutch. It wasn’t Dutch, was it, Jessie?”
“No, it wasn’t Dutch.”
Nora stepped forward and told Harvey, “Check the building, dearie—now.”
“Page her,” Jessie said. “Lisa told me if there was any change to page her, so she’s got her pager with her.”
He hadn’t seen a pager or a cell, but Mark jumped on it. “Do it—and call security and issue a code. Lock down the facility, Jessie. No one comes or goes without a security check.”
“I can’t do that. It’s premature.” She shrugged. “They might just have gone down to the cafeteria for coffee.”
“Do it or I’ll pull a fire alarm.” Something was wrong. Mark knew it—just as he knew now was too late; she wasn’t here anymore.
Pain shattered inside him. Fear rode hard on its heels. He stiffened, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side. “Peggy, when my team gets here, tell them to review the security tapes. I want every corner checked and everyone quizzed. Someone had to see something—and get Beth Dawson over here. See if she can figure out how they got into the hospital’s security system.” They had to breach it to pull this.
Peggy nodded. “Calling her now.”
“Don’t just stand there, Jessie.” Mark motioned with a swinging hand. “Move. Call the code.”
“Okay.” She started toward a phone hanging on the wall. “But tell me why I’m doing this before we even check the building? Because that’s the first thing security will ask me, and I don’t have a good answer.”
Mark fought panic, buried the guilt and regret and shame swamping him. Still, he was shaking so hard he could barely speak. “Because unless every instinct in my body is dead wrong, Lisa has just been abducted.”
12
T he waitress plunked down a steaming mug of coffee.
Karl reached for it, spinning the steaming mug around to grab its handle. Just as he lifted it to his mouth, his cell phone rang. He checked caller ID. Dutch. The man was a nuisance.
“Hey.” Karl crooked a finger, summoning the waitress. “Can you put this in a to-go cup for me?”
“Sure can.” She spared him a smile.
He answered the call. “Hold on.”
Dropping the money to cover his bill on the counter, he took the cardboard cup from the waitress, nodded his thanks, and then made his way out to his car.
Safely inside, he set the cup into a cup holder and went back to the phone. “You there?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“Waiting for the flat to be fixed. The spare’s shot.”
Lying. Again.
“I still haven’t heard from the hospital.”
“You probably won’t for awhile.” Karl spotted the I-10 sign. Two eighteen-wheelers pulled into the roadside café and parked. “They’re pretty busy right now.” Taylor would reason his way out of checking on Lisa for a time, but by now that time surely had expired and he had everyone in the place hopping to find out what happened to her.
“So the cargo is in tow, then?”
“Yes.” Karl sipped the hot coffee. “An associate handled the hotel. You’re in room 222. Key’s under the mat—there wasn’t a fire extinguisher close by. Your alibi is in place.”
“What about the patient?”
“ICU. In a coma.”
“She’s in a coma?” Dutch shouted, then lowered his voice. “Tell me I’m not going to be stuck taking care of a vegetable.”
“Out of my control. She hit her head on a concrete marker.”
“I can’t believe it.” A pause, then Dutch added, “So is she going to recover or die?”
That was the best he could muster for someone he loved? Karl had run into some cold ones, but Dutch Hauk put them all to shame. “Too soon to tell.”
“When will they know?”
Karl’s patience snapped. “How should I know?”
“Well, can’t you have somebody ask?”
“Think about it. That would be a serious tactical error. I don’t make tactical errors.” Karl took another sip of coffee. Man, he hated dealing with amateurs—especially ones who considered themselves professionals. “In light of this unexpected development, do you want to cancel the cargo portion on your contract? If the patient survives and she is a vegetable, someone needs to take care of her. Or do you plan to do that yourself?” That was the best Karl could do to give Lisa Harper a fighting chance. With this moron she deserved one. Besides, Angel would have liked it.
“No way. The patient either fully recovers or dies.”
“So it’s full-steam ahead?”
“Absolutely.” Dutch grumbled. “I didn’t pay for a vegetable, and I am not dealing with a vegetable.”
“Hope she makes it, then.”
“Why?”
“I like her.” Annie hadn’t known Karl, but she had welcomed him into her home as Dutch’s guest with dignity and grace. She reminded him so much of Angel. His heart squeezed. How long would it take to stop missing her? Likely a lifetime. If she’d just had a chance …
“The cargo shipment is not about Annie. It’s about that sniveling brat of hers. She’s a problem, she’s always been a problem, and I’m going to stop her from ever being my problem again.”
What the man was doing to Annie was bad, but what he was doing to Lisa. He didn’t just resent the girl, he hated her. “If your wife recovers, what’s happening to her daughter will kill her figuratively, if not literally. But of course you realize that.”
No answer.
“If you didn’t, you might consider your actions a little shortsighted. Just something to think about.”
“Keep your advice and just do your job. I’ll handle my wife and her daughter.”
Karl thumbed the black plastic tab to seal his cup. Its snap echoed through the car. “Very well.” He lifted his hand and studied the spiderweb tattoo between his forefinger and thumb. “But don’t say you weren’t warned.”
Mark, Harvey, Joe, and Grant Thurman, the fiftyish, potbellied head of hospital security, huddled in Thurman’s office, waiting for him to get off the phone with Jeff Meyers.
Mark took the opportunity to confer with Joe. “Where are we?”
Joe dropped his voice. “Tim is on point at Annie’s bedside. Nick is running a third review on the security tapes. Harvey’s interviewing employees. Kelly’s talking with folks down in the ER who might have seen something, and Mel’s working the owners of all the cars parked in the lot. Sam, Ben, and Clyde coordinated with Meyers and are working Annie’s assault, talking to potential witnesses, her neighbors, and Dutch’s store employees. Basically, they’re scouting for anyone who might have seen or knows something about the attack. Nora and Peggy are calling in volunteer reinforcements and people from church to help canvass the condos, restaurants, and the marina—everything facing Highway 98 where people might have seen something. Beth Dawson and her partner, Sara, are working on the security breach from the center.”
“How’s she checking the hospital computers from there?”
“Thurman gave her clearance and a remote-access code.”
“Good.” Mark let Joe see his worry. “They’re working the assault. We need to focus on Lisa.”
Joe gave Mark a level look. “They’re connected. We have to work them both, bro. Yeah, Lisa’s position is unknown and Annie’s here getting care, but one of those connecting threads could be the one we need to find Lisa.”
“You’re right.” Mark sank his teeth into his lower lip. “It’s just—”
“You love her and you’re freaking out.”
Ma
rk blinked, then blinked again. “It’s my fault, Joe.” Just like Jane.
“You got faulty intel on the doors.”
“I should have checked myself.”
“You can’t be all and do all. That’s not fair, bro. Look, you know the drill. We control what we can, knowing we can’t control everything.”
Mark nodded.
Thurman hung up the phone and turned to Mark. “Jeff’s put out an APB on Dutch and his car.”
That could easily be justified by Annie’s condition. Anything related to Lisa would require special authorization. Without some evidence of foul play, she couldn’t be designated as a missing person for forty-eight hours.
“We haven’t found anything on the tapes,” Grant Thurman said. “One minute Lisa was inside the unit, the next she was gone. Your man and mine are going over them again, just to be sure nothing was missed.”
If there was anything to find, Nick would find it. “Is the camera covering that hallway functioning?”
“We thought it was, but it turned out to be a loop. The lens was destroyed.”
Mark glanced at Joe. He returned it with the same certainty in his eyes Mark felt down to his bones.
“That’s evidence of foul play, isn’t it?” Harvey asked Thurman.
“Against the camera but not against Lisa.”
Harvey frowned. “What is it, Mark?”
He hated thinking it, much less saying it aloud, but truth was truth. “Dutch didn’t do this—well, he might have paid for it to be done, but he didn’t execute it. It’s obvious the two doctors were complicit in getting Lisa out of the hospital.”
Harvey shrugged. “Anyone who’s ever watched a crime show can destroy a camera, even Dutch.”
“Yeah, but not everyone can hack into the hospital’s security system and upload a film loop.”
“Joe’s right,” Mark said. “Powell and Edmunds are professionals.”
Thurman lifted a hand. “They don’t have privileges to practice here, and we can’t find anything in the directory on them being on staff or having privileges anywhere else in the area either.”
Definitely professionals and apparently not doctors. “Are Edmunds and Powell working directly for Dutch, or is this part of something bigger?”
“Bigger?” Thurman looked at Mark, who nodded.
Understanding passed between them. “We’d better get Jessie busy viewing photos.” Thurman clearly knew Mark’s Special Operations past and knew or intuited it was time to stop asking questions.
“After she gets her descriptions down. We don’t want to muddy her memory.” Jeff Meyers would agree on that. “Grant,” Mark said to Thurman. “How did these two clowns get into your ICU as docs?”
“They said Lisa called them to consult on Annie.”
“That’s all it took?” Surely not. That would be beyond bizarre in a post-9/11 world.
“Yeah.” Thurman flushed. “Believe it or not, we don’t have problems like this. There was no reason to doubt them, especially with Dr. Harper having privileges here. It wasn’t logical that they’d be here under false pretenses.”
“Well, they were, so you’d better develop a different policy.” Heat flooded Joe’s voice. “You’ve got this kind of problem now, and the media is going to chew you up and spit you out for a week on it—and that’s if Lisa is found safe. If not, you might want to spruce up your résumé.”
Thurman took exception to that comment, and he and Joe barked back and forth.
Mark ignored them and prayed Lisa would be found safe. She’s accomplished at self-defense. She’s sharp. She’s determined. She’s a survivor. She’ll do something to help us help her. Somehow, she’ll do something.
In the meantime, Mark would keep looking. He walked out of Thurman’s office.
Harvey came up behind him. “While they’re arguing, I’m going back downstairs to continue interviewing employees.”
“Good idea. I’ll walk down with you.” Mark interrupted the argument. “Joe, I’m going to take a look at the parking lot.”
He acknowledged with a quick nod, then lit into Thurman again. Mark should have put a stop to it, but the truth was, Thurman had it coming, and as pointed as Joe was being, he was calm and cool. Mark wasn’t.
Harvey and he took the stairs down and then entered the corridor. “I have a whole new empathy for what Ben went through, not knowing who was behind the incident with Susan. All the possibilities that keep running through my mind—they’re making me crazy.”
Harvey looked over, the tail of his lab coat lifting behind him. “But remember that Lisa isn’t Susan. This is a different situation, and Lisa’s trained in defense. She’ll find a way.”
“I’m counting on it.” And praying harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life.
“If you hear anything—”
“I’ll let you know right away.”
At the cafeteria, Harvey peeled off.
Mark kept walking, went out the sliding door, and then turned right. Most people automatically turned right on entering or leaving someplace.
He glanced at his watch. One in the morning. Crisp and dark, except for the amber light cast from tall streetlights in the lot and lining the sidewalk. He scoured the concrete. Found loose gravel, two old cigarette butts, a scrap of paper with tire-tread marks on it, and a wad of chewing gum. He turned back, passed the door, then walked down the left. Nothing.
Frustrated, he trotted over to his SUV, grabbed a flashlight, and then rechecked the sidewalk.
Nothing.
Went back to the right of the door.
Again nothing.
Sinking deeper and deeper into despair, he swung the light and turned for the door. This was a waste of time and ener—The beam fanned onto the street and something glinted. Mark stopped.
He stepped off the sidewalk and bent down for a closer look. A ring.
Lisa’s ring. Actually, her mother’s thin gold band from her marriage to Charles. Lisa always wore it. To take it off her finger, she had to be desperate.
Chills swam up and down Mark’s torso. He examined the pavement. Black scuff marks discolored the concrete. Etched lines—drag marks from her high heels. And a scrap of pale blue fabric. God help him. It was the same color and fabric as Lisa’s gown.
A pager rested near the curb. Jessie’s words echoed through his mind. Lisa had said to page her.
His worst fears confirmed, he whipped out his phone and conference called Jeff and Joe. “I need forensics in the main parking lot.”
“What did you find?” Jeff asked.
Mark squeezed his eyes shut, hating the words he was forced to say. “Proof that Lisa was abducted.”
Dutch drove slowly past the Stateline Hotel’s office door. In the window beside it hung a paper flier. He stopped to read it. Lost puppy. Mixed breed. Call Nina …
Smiling, he drove on. It paid to do business with friends.
Five minutes later, he lifted the edge of the mat outside his door and spotted the key. Masson might be an interfering, opinionated jerk, but he was a gifted cleaner and had made good on his word.
Inside, the place smelled musty and moldy. Annie would never put up with that; she kept a fine house, even if he hated living in it. Twitching his nose, Dutch turned down the thermostat, forcing the air conditioner on to blow out the stench. He messed up the bedding, tossed a couple of potato-chip bags he’d brought with him into the trash can, then snagged a soda from the minibar. Walking into the shoebox-size bath, he poured the drink down the sink, dumped the can into the trash, and messed up three towels washing his hands. Leaving on the light, he returned to the bed area. A few more minutes’ work, and the room appeared as if he’d been in it for hours.
Satisfied, he grabbed the remote and clicked on the television, and then he waited. The hospital had been calling about every fifteen minutes for the past hour. He checked the clock; 1:35 a.m. shone on its face in bold, red numerals. Still had a few minutes to go before they called again.
&n
bsp; After dropping onto the bed, he cranked back on the pillows and closed his eyes. A catnap wouldn’t hurt. It’d be a good thing to sound as if he’d just awakened.
He slept like the dead.
The blasting-horn ringtone he’d installed startled him. Dutch sat straight up, grabbed his phone from the nightstand between the two double beds, then fumbled it open. “Yeah.” His voice was thick with sleep. He rubbed at his eyes to clear the blur and checked the clock. Two o’clock, straight up. He must have slept through the 1:45 attempt to call.
“Mr. Hauk?” a woman asked.
“Yeah.” He cleared the fog from his throat. “This is Dutch Hauk.”
“This is Rose Paxton. I’m an RN over at Seagrove Village Community Hospital.”
“Yes?” She would be the one to call. He bit down on frustration and rolled out of bed ready to go. Leaving the room lights on to signal a hasty departure, he walked out and let the door slam shut behind him.
“I’m afraid that your wife is with us. She’s in our Intensive Care Unit.”
“Why? Who is she visiting?” Nice touch—to not assume she was a patient. He took the elevator down, stared up into the security camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. There’s your proof I was here.
“She isn’t visiting anyone, sir. I’m afraid she’s our patient.”
“Annie?” Good job on the shock. Played just right. “What for? She was fine when I left home this morning.”
“She was assaulted. The police found her on Highway 98.” Regret laced the nurse’s tone. “Mr. Hauk, you need to know your wife is in critical condition. We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
“I—I’m in Georgia on business. I guess I’ve been out of range.” Nice touch. “Annie’s critical? What’s wrong with her?”
“She has a lot of cuts and bruises and some serious internal swelling, but as far as we can tell, she’s not bleeding internally.”
“That doesn’t sound critical.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s been a bit hectic. Your wife suffered a blunt-force trauma to the head,” Rose said. “She’s in a coma.”
Outside now, Dutch rushed his steps to the office door, opened it wide, and hurried inside. “Just a second, please.”