Hashtag Rogue

by Chautona Havig

  Mark almost expected a burst of weeping from the crack in Tyler’s voice, but it didn’t happen. Silence followed. “Tyler?”

  “Sorry. Just…”

  “Is Flynne all right?”

  “They were really working on her according to the dispatch I heard. They went over a bridge…”

  It took a full three seconds for Mark to make a decision. “I’m coming back. Have a plane for me in Wichita Falls. I’ll be in St. Louis by midnight.”

  “Thank you.” Again, Tyler’s voice cracked. “Keith will call soon, won’t he?”

  “If he can.”

  He’d disconnected and made it upstairs before Mark decided to take one of the good vehicles. He dashed back downstairs, through the wardrobe, and across to a bookshelf of mystery and suspense novels on the back wall. It only took the flip of a latch, and the whole bookshelf rolled left without much effort. Another keypad, another sliding wall, and a flashlight that awaited him.

  With everything back in place, he bolted through the tunnel that ran between the two houses on either side of the old dirt road and keyed in the code to get him inside. A pantry wall slid sideways, the home-canned jars rattling, and Mark stepped into a reasonably bright basement.

  Once he’d finally set everything back in place, he began whistling “The Yellow Rose of Texas” and jogged up the steps as loudly as he could. Ruthanne met him at the basement door, a skillet of still-sizzling hash browns in hand. At the sight of him, she froze. “You’re not—” She took a defensive stance.

  “Ruthanne, it’s me. Aged about thirty years, maybe, but me. I go by Mendina now, which I know you’ll keep to yourself.” He braced himself for what he knew would come next.

  “What’s my baby’s name?”

  Oh, Ruthanne… I’m sorry to do it to you. He closed his eyes and asked, “Which one?”

  The answer came in a choked, “The one who will always be a baby.”

  “Sarah Jo—after your mother and Garrett’s.” When her arm wobbled and a giant tear rolled down her cheek, Mark reached for the pan, wrapping as much of his hand around the hot pad as possible, and took it from her. When twenty years doesn’t dull the pain, do I ever want to risk being a parent?

  Ruthanne wiped the tear away with the corner of her apron and wiped a few more that followed. “See,” she joked between sniffles. “You can make fun of my old-fashioned aprons all you like, but they’re handy.”

  Mark just hugged her. “Good to see you, Ruthie.”

  “Why’d you go old this time?”

  “Doc said it’s easier to do—hide scars inside wrinkles and things.”

  She nodded and reached for the spatula as he set the skillet back down. “Hungry?”

  “Don’t have time. Need to take a vehicle. Which one can you spare until I come back?”

  “Take anything but the tractor. Garrett’s needing that these days.”

  As much as he’d like to stay and lose himself in a long chat full of Ruthemisms and Texas wisdom, St. Louis beckoned. Mark kissed her cheek and promised to eat a meal with them when he returned. “Have to go now.”

  “I’ll be prayin’.”

  For the first time, Mark turned and looked at her—really looked. Their gazes met. He nodded. “Thank you, Ruthanne. That means a lot.”

  Twenty-Five

  The familiar, hushed sounds of every hospital she’d ever been in encroached on her sleep. Each muted beep, each buzzer, each moan from nearby rooms served as an alarm clock, growing louder with each step toward consciousness. The buzz and squeeze of a blood pressure cuff, however, won the prize for jerking her awake.

  She jumped, and as her eyes opened, Erika saw Keith there, holding her hand and watching her. A smile formed. “Hey, you.”

  It came out a bit muffled, too.

  “How long’ve you been there?” Before he could answer, her eyes focused better. “Whoa… what happened to you?” Her own words caused a pounding in her head she hadn’t noticed to thrum harder.

  Keith’s smile morphed into a grin—a metallic one. “Got in a fight with a couple of punks… and lost.”

  That took a moment to process. “Wait, you lost?”

  “My client had already broken my jaw when I went to restrain him. Didn’t have my gun on him.”

  Translating the muffled words proved more than a little difficult. “Why not? You did me!”

  “He was a paying client. I stupidly didn’t think I needed to coerce him to do what he’d agreed to. I just blew it. Probably distracted by a missing-persons issue I got ripped away from.”

  She tried to sit up and nearly screamed with the pain. Beeps and blips grew louder. A nurse entered. “What’s going on? I told you not—”

  “She just woke up and tried to sit up.”

  Erika just nodded her confirmation of Keith’s assertion.

  “This should be family only. I don’t know how you managed to get anyone—”

  Head pounding even harder at the woman’s sharp tones, Erika couldn’t take more than a few words before she interrupted. “If you try to get him out of here, I’ll leave.”

  “That’s not happening. We’re not going to have you with a pneumothorax, too.”

  That’s when Erika saw it—a drain tube coming out of Keith’s buttoned-down shirt and leading down beside him. “Wha—?”

  “I had to find you, and you can’t carry one of these things around. Your doctor obliged and reinserted it for me.”

  “Dr. Harrez has lost his mind, if you ask me.”

  This time Erika heard what she’d missed before—concern. The woman’s acerbic responses and disapproval stemmed from concern. That she could work from. “What’s your name?”

  “Molly.”

  “Molly, thanks for taking care of both of us.” When the woman met her gaze, Erika added, “I mean it. Thanks.”

  Everything shifted with those words. “Well, you just rest. If he keeps you from sleeping, I’ll kick him out myself and deal with Dr. Harrez later.”

  “He won’t. I’d kick him, and he knows it.” At the woman’s smile, Erika forced herself to add, “Besides. For reasons I can’t fathom, the guy loves me.”

  The woman plopped hands on ample hips and peered at Keith. “Well, aside from the colorful face and bad braces, he’s not bad to look at. He’ll be like my Rodney, too—look better in about twenty years. Guys are jerks—the lot of them. The best ones look better with age, while we languish under wrinkles, laugh lines, and saddlebags.” As she said that, Molly slapped her hip and gave Erika a pointed look.

  “I bet your Rod loves every inch of that face, too.” Keith winced as he shifted and added, “Once you steal a guy’s heart, he’s usually too blind to see those so-called flaws.”

  Molly-the-nurse just stared at him until even Erika squirmed. Then a smile lit her whole face—made every one of those wretched laugh lines shine. “Keep this one. He actually means it.”

  After a few adjustments to dials and buttons, Molly left. Erika asked a few more questions about Keith’s injuries before turning the conversation to what she feared most. “Okay, so Flynne…”

  “She’s going to be okay.” At her pointed look, Keith sighed. “Look, they aren’t telling me much. Tyler says Mark is on the way, and we’ll know more then. The guy, Morgan, is down in a waiting room and refuses to leave until he gets an update.” He watched her in an apparent attempt to read her thoughts before asking, “What’s up there?”

  “Seems Morgan has been interested for a long time. She flirted with him—I think to keep him away from our rental—but then it became real.”

  Exhaustion hit hard and fast. “Hey, I’ve got to close my eyes for a few.”

  “Go ahead,” Keith insisted. “The police have Knupp, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Can you go tell Morgan that Flynne saved me. I’d have died, Keith, but she saved me.”

  Confusion masked Keith’s earlier confidence. “I thought you saved her.”

  Her eyes closed agains
t her will, but Erika managed a smile. “I did. She didn’t get out of the car. I had to drag her by the hair through the window… I think. She must have run out of air.”

  It took a moment, but she felt him shift, his lips press against her forehead, his breath as he whispered, “Love you, girl,” and the emptiness when his hand released hers and he left.

  Alone in the semi-dark room with its pings and beeps and buzzes, prayer kept her tethered. Okay, I probably should thank You for a lot of things. And apologize. I kind of neglected You while I fumed at Flynne. Um, sorry. Thanks for getting us out of this mess—all of it. Especially for catching Knupp. Not sure what his deal is, but thanks for keeping us safe from him. Please heal Keith… and Flynne… and me. Thanks for helping me get Flynne out. Feels like I’ve got at least a concussion and a couple of broken ribs. Don’t know how I swam with those, unless You had something to do with that. Thanks again.

  Though she tried to stay conscious, Erika felt everything drift away until she couldn’t think at all.

  They lay there asleep. Erika on the bed and connected to monitors and an IV, Keith in the chair-bed shoved as close to her as he could get it. A chest tube drained into a canister already filling with a frothy pink liquid. Mark’s heart squeezed as Erika whimpered when she shifted.

  Keith’s eyes shot open, and he gazed at her, reaching for her hand, ready to do whatever it took. When she continued her rhythmic breathing, he leaned back on his chair and met Mark’s gaze. “Hey…”

  The curtain ruffled in his wake, but the metallic scratches on the track didn’t rouse Erika. “How is everything?”

  Keith rose in slow, ginger movements and carried his cannister. “Out here.” They’d barely stepped from the room when a well-rounded woman sent a piercing gaze down the hall. Keith grinned. “I think that’s Molly-speak for, ‘Go in the waiting room and don’t wake my patients.’”

  “Dragon nurse?”

  “Heart of gold’s more like it,” Keith murmured.

  The waiting room held two men—one old, bent, wrinkled, and drooling out of one corner of his mouth. The other young, muscular, handsome, and drooling out of the other side of his mouth. Keith stood just inside the door and pointed. “Morgan—Flynne’s friend.”

  “How is Flynne?”

  “They won’t say. Tyler said you’d handle it so we could get news.” Keith jerked a thumb at Morgan. “You’ll want to get them to let him in, by the way. They’re… close.”

  “Uh, oh.”

  The sigh told it all. “I didn’t tell Tyler. Didn’t know how.” Keith rubbed the back of his neck, sagging a little against the door frame. “I figured it was her business, anyway.”

  It might be true, but Mark couldn’t risk it. She’d have to work with Tyler. He’d have to trust her. Now he wouldn’t—not deep down. That could get people killed. And what happens if you and Claire don’t work? Will that make her not trust you? You not trust her?

  Mark beckoned Keith to follow and moved down the hall closer to the elevators. “Tell me. What do you think? When this is all over and Flynne is back home, then… what?”

  Keith’s shrug said everything.

  “Okay, thanks. I’m going to go get an update on her and get approval to bring him back there.” Mark hesitated with a glance back at the waiting room. “Do we like him?”

  “So far, so good.”

  “Okay. And Erika’s still hanging in there? No water in the lungs or…?”

  The pained expression on Keith’s face told a lot more than he’d meant to. “They’re pumping antibiotics into her to combat any bacteria she may have swallowed. She has two broken ribs on the left side and severe bruising all over. Concussion… I think she’d have sprained wrists or shoulders—even a broken arm—if she hadn’t been bound with duct tape. That probably saved her.” He glanced around as if looking for the “dragon with a heart of gold” and added, “I think she’s favoring her knee, too. Can’t be sure.”

  “I’ll watch for it. Okay. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  He’d taken three steps before compassion overrode business. Mark returned, gave Keith a gentle hug, and said, “Thanks for being here—for putting yourself out there.”

  “Erika…”

  “You’d have done it for Corey even on the day she went off on Erika. You might not have wanted to, but you would have.” Mark didn’t wait for a reply. He took off for the elevators at a quick clip and rode two floors up to the ICU, ready to deal with the woman at that desk.

  It was a man—six foot, seven if he was an inch and built like Paul Bunyan’s brother. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, bright smile—right up to the moment Mark stated his business. Dark expression. “You’re not family. You can’t go in.”

  “Call Dr. Levoski.”

  Narrowed eyes and pursed lips challenged him. Mark didn’t back down. After a few taps on the keyboard and a few more of the mouse, the man held out his hand. “ID, please.”

  Never had anyone asked for ID before—not at a hospital. Not when he wasn’t a patient. Mark passed over his driver’s license and waited.

  “You’re not family, though?”

  “I’m her boss. She doesn’t have family here, and she was on the job when she got injured. Dr. Levoski—”

  The man’s huff could have intimidated a Navy SEAL. “People who throw around connections disgust me.”

  “People who allow patients to suffer alone without people who know and care about them disgust me.”

  Eyes locked, the two men didn’t blink or budge. Only the screaming of a machine sent the nurse bolting from behind his desk and into a glass-walled room. A few steps toward the door was all he needed to know it wasn’t Flynne—much too old. And the wrong gender.

  Mark spun in a circle, looking at the rooms that served as almost wedges in a pie around the center station. Flynne was two doors down. A glance into the room where another nurse now bolted—where a few more people flew—told him he could go to Flynne. They couldn’t stop him now. Prudence told him to wait. He needed these people on his side.

  Ten minutes later he heard the solid tone of a flatline. How? How could he hear it so clearly from fifteen feet away? The team kept working until the antithesis of Nurse Bunyanator stepped back in an obvious show of resignation. A lovely woman, tall and Nordic, also stepped back from the rest and made a discreet signum crucis.

  I could have prayed. Didn’t even try. At that moment, it also occurred to Mark that he could pray for Flynne. Okay… The temptation to cross himself formed, but he’d never known which direction what happened. Some of those things were offensive if done backwards—devil worship and all that. Might not be a Christian, but I’ll choose that over the alternative.

  Still, Keith never made gestures when he prayed. He just grew silent, eyes cast down when possible. Mark had seen it enough to know that much.

  In movies, they address You as a ‘heavenly father’ or ‘God’ or ‘Jesus.’ Not sure which one is best, but that prayer Jesus prayed mentioned ‘Father in Heaven’ so… Why was it so difficult? He’d been to church. He’d listened to TV preachers and pastors at weddings and funerals. Still, he couldn’t remember a single prayer that wasn’t in a movie or in that place in the Bible. Not one.

  Keith always says, “Faith isn’t a formula, it’s a relationship.” Maybe that meant casual, respectful deference would suffice. Mark started there. It seems presumptuous to throw scattered thoughts at You now and then and then appear here asking for something. Well, if You’re Who I think You might be, You might also be the only One Who can help. So here goes. That man in there? Please help me know if I can do anything for him or his family. If not, please be a comfort to everyone who loves him. Flynne…? He choked back emotion. When it didn’t help, he gripped the counter of the nurses’ station and worked to steady himself.

  The Bunyanator appeared at his side. “Are you all right?”

  Mark nodded.

  “Give me a minute. We—”

  “Go ah
ead. I’ll wait.” And he did—waited for the man to finish what needed to be done and for a moment of privacy to continue that prayer.

  I want both of them well and healthy, of course, but Flynne… Once more, he fought back fears he couldn’t even name. She was right about all this. I was wrong. I put her here. His hands shook at that thought. I put her here. Please get her out—alive and well. And if it’s possible at this point—after it’s already been done… I’d really appreciate it if there’s a good reason for that Cayman account.

  Peace followed those thoughts. Mark hoped it meant something. He’d just decided that an “amen” was in order when a thought came out of nowhere and released itself into the cosmos. And please protect The Agency—especially my agents. We’re under attack. Amen.

  Two shoes appeared in his line of sight just as the thought, “Attack? Where’d that come from?” occurred. A glance up showed The Bunyanator watching him.

  “Are you ready to see her?”

  He nodded. “What can you tell me about her condition?”

  The man froze, pivoted, and retraced his steps. “I was checking for that when I got interrupted. Just a moment.”

  The Bunyanator obviously found what he needed, because he began speaking before he even stood. “She’s doing as well as we can hope at this point. The EEG looks good, so we don’t have signs of severe brain damage, but we can’t assess beyond that until she’s more alert.”

  “Is she in a coma?”

  “No, no. Her body is just working hard. We were dealing with mild hypothermia, arrhythmia, fluid in the lungs, her kidneys started failing—”

  “Nooo…”

  The Bunyanator led Mark to Flynne’s side as he explained how things were. “They’re doing better now. If her heart and lungs can stabilize, I’ll feel a lot better, of course, but…”

  “Will she make it?”

  “I can’t promise anything…”

  Mark glared at the man. “I’m not asking for a promise but for an opinion. Do you think, with all your experience, that this girl will live?”

  Only a short nod followed. “If I have anything to say about it, she’ll thrive.”