by Tiffany Snow
Abruptly, my stomach gave a lurch. I frowned, pressing a hand to my abdomen. To my horror, nausea bubbled fast inside me.
“Excuse me,” I mumbled, launching myself out of the booth.
I barely made it to the bathroom in time.
I threw up all my pancakes and bacon, which totally sucked, the heaves wearing me out until I had to rest my head against the wall of the stall. I closed my eyes and just tried to breathe.
“Ivy, are you all right?”
Devon’s anxious voice from outside the single-stall bathroom.
“I’m okay,” I replied, my voice weak. “Just not feeling well.”
“Let me in.”
I flushed the toilet and wiped my mouth before getting laboriously to my feet. I unlatched the door and Devon came in immediately.
“Ivy, good lord.” The stricken look on his face had me glancing in the mirror and that’s when I saw the blood coating the skin beneath my nose.
“Crap.” I grabbed some paper towels and wiped my face.
“What happened?” he asked, turning me around to face him. He grabbed some more paper towels and wet them beneath the faucet, pushing aside my hand to swipe gently at the bloody streaks himself.
“I was just sick, that’s all,” I said. “It was probably throwing up that caused the nosebleed.”
“You’re ill?” he asked. “Where do you feel bad?”
“It was just too many carbs,” I said. I didn’t really think that was the case, but I didn’t want to worry him.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” he said.
I took the paper towels from him and turned to look back at the mirror. “And how could we possibly do that? In case you’ve forgotten, I have no ID. I’m wanted by the FBI, and you’re a spy.”
“There are always ways.”
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. I’m just tired. Let’s go, okay?”
“Ivy—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. Leaning over the sink, I ran the water and washed my mouth out and splashed water on my face. When I stood back up and dried off, Devon was studying me in the mirror, his expression shrewd.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.
I grimaced. “Nothing.” I passed him and went out the door. The waitress had left water along with my decaf coffee and I took a tentative sip. Devon tossed some cash down on the table, then took my elbow and led me outside.
I was weak and shaky, but I hid it the best I could, forcing myself to act normal as Devon rented us a room and we took the elevator upstairs. By the time we’d made it to our room, I nearly collapsed onto the bed, too tired to change into pajamas. I toed off my shoes and pulled the quilt up over me, then I was out.
I didn’t wake until Devon shook me.
“Ivy! Wake up, darling.”
I mumbled something, turning away from where he sat next to me. In a flash, I was hauled upright in his arms.
“Thank God,” he mumbled into my neck. “I was about to call an ambulance.”
That helped wake me up in a hurry. I forced my heavy eyelids open. “What’re you talking about?” I asked. “Why would you do that? Because I was sleeping?”
Devon pulled back to look at me. His arm still supported me or I would’ve flopped back onto the mattress, which sounded like a really good idea.
“You’ve not been ‘just sleeping,’” he said. “You’ve been out for nearly fourteen hours.”
Fourteen hours? Wow.
I glanced behind him at the windows. Yeah, the last rays of sunshine were disappearing over the horizon. I guess I had slept for a while. You’d think I’d feel more rested.
“No need to worry,” I said. “I was just sleeping heavy.”
“Bollocks,” he retorted. “I’ve been trying to wake you for thirty minutes. Only the fact that you were still breathing kept me from calling for assistance.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I don’t want you to be sorry,” he said, his voice gentling. “I want you to tell me what’s going on.”
I shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve had a couple of nosebleeds and I feel tired. A headache yesterday morning, but that was because we’d been up for almost twenty-four hours straight. Then I got nauseous last night.”
“How many nosebleeds?” he asked.
“Three, I think.”
“Does it hurt when you get them?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll find you a doctor,” he said. “Today. Right now. And bring him here.”
“How in the world are you going to do that?” I asked. “They don’t make house calls. Not in this country.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it,” he said, settling me back down on the bed. “I just hate to leave you alone.”
“I’ll be all right,” I assured him. If he really thought he could find a doctor to come back here, I didn’t want to dissuade him. What was happening to me was a bit unnerving, and having a medical professional tell me it was nothing and would pass would greatly ease my mind.
“Are you sure? I swear I’ll be as quick as I can.”
I nodded. “I’ll be fine. But where are you going to find a doctor? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“No, we’re on the outskirts of Atlanta,” he corrected me. “And there’s a hospital about ten miles away.”
Oh. I’d missed that somehow last night.
“Do you need anything before I go?” he asked. “Something to eat or drink?”
My stomach rolled at the thought and I shook my head. “No. I’m just going to rest.” I squeezed his hand. “I’ll be fine until you return.”
He looked skeptical, but got up from the bed. I watched him change into slacks and tuck his wallet into the back pocket. He grabbed the car keys, then pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“Take care, darling.”
I dredged up a smile for him, then watched as he walked out the door.
Ugh. I felt like crap and my mouth tasted gross.
Getting up, I made my way to the bathroom where I brushed my teeth and took care of business. A bath sounded great, but no way was I taking a bath in a motel tub, so I took a shower instead. I had to sit down on the edge of the tub several times because I got light-headed, but I figured it was from low blood sugar. Maybe I should’ve had Devon get something for me before he left.
I decided to try and fend for myself once I’d pulled on some clothes. My hair was wet and tangled, but I just pushed my fingers through it. I didn’t have the energy to mess with it. Grabbing a couple of bills from some money Devon had left, I shoved them and the room key in my pocket. Maybe they had a vending machine with some juice or candy bars or something.
I wandered down the hall, following the sound of the ice machine. I felt like I had the flu. My hands were shaky and I wasn’t that steady on my feet, but I kept going. If I could just get some food in me, I was sure I’d feel better.
The image of the dog Maisie whining at my feet flitted through my head, sending a chill down my spine. I shook it off the best I could.
Jackpot! Vending machines fully stocked with every kind of junk food imaginable. I took my time, trying to see if one thing seemed more appetizing than another. And which was more nutritious? Doritos? Or potato chips? Corn versus potato? Neither really, though maybe Snickers was better since there were nuts in it . . .
I was just putting money in the slot when something reflected in the glass of the machine caught my eye. A man was standing right behind me.
Devon paused for a moment in the hallway. He hated leaving Ivy alone but had no choice. It was painfully clear she couldn’t continue without medical care.
Sickness. A complication he hadn’t foreseen, and one he could do very little about. If someone was threatening Ivy, he could kill them. But an illness . . . that he was powerless against. A doctor would be able to take care of her, and Devon could provide one of those. He prayed they’d be able to help her. He didn’t want to c
onsider the consequences if they could not.
He drove to the largest hospital in Atlanta, which took longer than he wanted. The traffic was grueling. He parked in the lot reserved for emergency-room patients. Devon eyed the entrance to the ER, noting the busy flow of people in and out of the building. An ambulance had just pulled up, and paramedics jumped out to open the back as a male doctor and two female nurses hurried toward it. A stretcher was lowered, carrying an elderly woman, and then she was obscured from his view by the medical team surrounding her.
Devon got out of the car and strolled inside, following them.
The cacophony inside assaulted his ears, and the smell of antiseptic and bodies that had been sitting for too long in a too-warm environment affected his nose. He grabbed a seat and pretended to be amongst those waiting either for treatment or for a loved one.
Devon kept an eye out for the old woman, making note of a little old man who came rushing into the ER, the wispy white hairs on his head swaying in the breeze as he hurried to the desk.
“My wife,” he said, out of breath. “They brought my wife in here—”
The rest of what he said was lost as a man hauled a woman past Devon, arguing loudly with her. The nurse led the old man back toward the patients, and Devon lost sight of him.
A few doctors caught Devon’s eye and he rose, wandering to the back of the ER. Picking up a clipboard from a desk, he snagged a dangling stethoscope as well. With the scope around his neck and the clipboard in his hands, he was able to pass through the ER without arousing concern. It was a lesson Devon had learned a long time ago: look like you belong and nine times out of ten, no one will question you. People didn’t like confrontation and always believed what they wanted to believe, no matter evidence to the contrary. Those human traits had served him well.
A female doctor caught his eye, her professionalism and speed struck Devon as more top-notch than some of the others, and he watched her. Others deferred to her opinion, which meant she knew what she was doing. Then he noticed the ring on her left hand and a handmade pasta necklace tucked beneath her physician’s coat. Married with children. No, that wouldn’t do.
Devon moved on.
The doctor who’d been tending the old woman stepped out of a curtained alcove, issuing orders rapid-fire to a nurse taking notes as he marked items on a chart. Devon sidled closer, flipping through the pages on the clipboard he’d nicked as he listened.
“—and make sure we have a comfortable place for her husband,” he was saying. “He’s about to lose his wife. The least we can do is make sure he spends his last few hours with her in something other than a plastic chair. Have someone move one of those old La-Z-Boys from the lounge into her room for now. And if you can’t find someone, come get me. I’ll move it myself.”
“Yes, doctor,” the nurse said, still taking notes as she went one way and he another. Devon kept the doctor in his sight and earshot. He glanced at his name badge.
Dr. J. Matthews, MD.
Next Dr. Matthews went into an alcove containing a woman and a child—a little girl about four with brown hair and huge, terrified blue eyes. She clutched her mother’s hand and hugged a ragged stuffed bunny to her chest.
Dr. Matthews glanced at her chart, flipping through it quickly, then set it aside.
“Hi. I’m Dr. John,” he said, pulling up a chair to the side of the bed and sitting down so that he was lower than the little girl and had to look up at her.
A perfect example of trying to set her at ease, making him seem less threatening and putting her in a stronger position than him, Devon thought. Instinctive on the doctor’s part or had he been taught that?
“You must be Molly,” he continued. “Who is your friend?” He gestured to the rabbit.
The little girl hesitated, glancing at her mother, who nodded in encouragement. The mother looked drawn and weary, dressed in a well-worn uniform from a local shop.
“Ruffles,” she said in a voice barely audible to Devon.
“And Ruffles has a tummy ache, is that right?”
Molly nodded.
“Can you show me where Ruffles hurts?”
Molly pointed to the rabbit’s side, down low.
“May I touch Ruffles?” Dr. John asked. The girl tentatively nodded and he pressed a couple of fingers into the stuffed animal’s fur. “Hmm,” he said. “I had better check that same spot on you to make sure I’m hitting the right spot. Can I do that, just like I’m doing to Ruffles?”
Another glance to her mom, another encouraging nod. A nurse stepped up to help and soon they had the little girl lying down as Dr. John carefully probed her belly.
“Does it hurt here?” he asked, moving his fingers and repeating the question several times. She nodded and winced at one point, her pale face going whiter.
“Let’s get her in for an MRI stat,” he said in an undertone. “Possible case of appendicitis.” He spoke in a normal tone again for the benefit of Molly and her mother. “Looks like we need to take a picture of Ruffle’s insides. Do you know how we do that?” She shook her head. “It’s super quick and easy. We just lay Ruffles down, and this really big camera moves around his belly. Do you think you can hold him while we do that?”
“Does it hurt?”
“He won’t feel a thing. I promise.”
Dr. John spoke with the mother while the nurse took care of Molly, who was smiling and touching the rabbit Ruffles on one of the bedraggled ears. After a few minutes, he stepped into the hallway, glancing curiously at Devon who returned his attention to the clipboard in his hand.
“She needs to be moved to the front of the line,” the doctor said to the nurse. “Her appendix appears swollen and symptoms point to a problem if she’s not in surgery pretty damn quick.”
“I’ll do my best, but two surgeons are gone today and there are three procedures ahead of her,” she replied.
“Do what you have to do. I’ll get ahold of Pierson. Get her moved up.”
“Got it.”
They parted and the doctor went for one of the phones sitting behind the nurse’s station. Devon didn’t have to listen to know he’d found his guy. Good bedside manner, genuinely cared about his patients, took steps to do what needed to be done no matter the rules or red tape. No wedding ring either. Perfect.
The fact that the doctor was a young man in pretty good shape didn’t deter him. It wouldn’t take much effort to subdue him, not with the proper incentive.
Devon waited until the doctor saw two more patients and checked again on Molly, then followed him down the corridor. There were fewer people around, which suited his purposes.
“Pardon me, Dr. Matthews,” Devon said, coming up behind him. The doctor turned.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
He surveyed Devon suspiciously. Not a fool, then.
“I’m Dr. Clay.” Devon held out his hand, which the doctor automatically shook. “I need a consultation, if you have a moment. A very ill woman’s life is at stake.”
Suspicion was replaced by concern as the doctor’s brow furrowed. “Of course. Where is she?”
“That’s part of the problem,” Devon said. “She’s off-site and unable to come in.”
“We can send an ambulance for her,” Dr. Matthews said, taking three steps to a phone hanging on the wall. “What’s the address?”
“Don’t touch the phone,” Devon said, his tone was such that Matthews stopped in surprise. “Come with me now and I won’t hurt anyone.”
“Hurt anyone? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I have a bomb set. And I’ll be quite happy to detonate it, unless you come with me.” Devon palmed his cell phone and flashed it at the doctor. “It’s amazing what a cell phone can do, is it not?”
Devon guessed that this doctor would be more concerned about threats to others than to himself, given his age and obvious sense of right and wrong, fairness, and ethics.
Matthews swallowed, his gaze darting around, and Devon knew the thought p
rocesses going through his head. Denial first, which would be overtaken by the doctor’s logical mind and deductive capacity. Then he’d deal with the problem, coming up with scenarios to get himself and others out of danger, each discarded in turn.
“Nothing you do is going to help, and will likely only get you and a lot of other innocent people hurt,” Devon warned. He didn’t have time for heroics. Ivy was waiting. What if she’d gotten worse since he’d been gone? “So get a bag of your medical supplies and come with me.”
“And if I do that, if I come with you, what then?” he asked. “Is there really a sick woman?”
“Of course there is,” Devon scoffed. “I wouldn’t be going to all this bother if there weren’t. Now come along. We’re running out of time.”
He could tell when Matthews made the decision to cooperate. There was always a resignation that came into their eyes and in their body language.
“This way,” Matthews said. “I have to get my bag.”
“Excellent.”
They got a large black duffel, to which Matthews added more supplies. Devon had been right that he’d be concerned for the mystery patient, no matter the circumstances—and wouldn’t try to make a break for it until they were in the parking lot. Honestly, he’d lasted longer than Devon thought he would.
Popping the boot on the SUV, Devon motioned for the doctor to climb inside. It wasn’t a proper boot, but was far enough away from the driver’s seat to not present a problem. A few zip ties, and he’d be trussed, alleviating any threat.
But Matthews didn’t climb in. Instead, he shoved the duffel at Devon and started running. Devon was on him in seconds, taking a flying leap and sending both of them crashing to the ground. He landed on top of Matthews, who let out a grunt at the weight crushing him.
“Serves you right, mate.”
Devon hauled Matthews to his feet, his hand fisting the man’s collar. But then Matthews locked his hands around the top bar of the fence surrounding the lot.
Bloody hell, Devon thought. He knew it was next to impossible to break that particular hold, not without turning the man upside down, which would certainly attract unwanted attention.