He set his shopping bag at his feet, used the hand sanitizer, and collected a pass from the old lady. He headed for the elevator bank at an unhurried pace. No one asked what was in the bag. No one cared.
The security cameras tracked him as he stepped inside. But he had nothing to hide.
Yet.
On the third floor, he took care of his legitimate business. Then he needed to improvise. Nick Zabrowski had been transferred from the ICU to the fourth floor that morning.
He ducked behind a set of double doors that separated the more public hallways from the less-traveled ones. He passed signs for Radiation and the Cardiac Cath Lab and found the nearest restroom.
The day before, he’d bought green scrubs at a uniform supply store. He changed into them, folding his regular clothes and stuffing them into the shopping bag. His costume was authentic right down to his rubber shoes. The salt-and-pepper toupee covered his hair, and black-framed glasses concealed his eyes. He inserted rolls of cotton gauze in his mouth to disguise the shape of his face. When he was satisfied that no one would recognize him, he went back out into the hallway.
He walked down the hall, scrolling on his phone to discourage attention. He paused as an orderly rolled a patient on a gurney out of a doorway labeled Magnetic Resonance Imaging. There was an outer room that appeared to exist for prepping patients before their test. This outer room was empty. A desk was pushed against the wall, a white lab coat tossed carelessly over the chair. With a glance in each direction down the hall, he ducked inside long enough to grab the lab coat. The ID badge clipped to the pocket showed the photo of a young man. Not a problem. He merely turned the ID over to hide the picture. Then he transferred his knife from his bag to the pocket of the lab coat.
Continuing on, he took the elevator to the fourth floor.
In a patient room on the right side of the hall, he spotted an elderly man sleeping heavily. The room was marked with a yellow card that called for Contact Precautions. A cart loaded with gloves, masks, and gowns sat next to the doorway. He stuffed his shopping bag into the bin labeled Medical Waste and helped himself to a face mask. He tied it around his face and tugged it down past his mouth, as if he’d just come from the operating room.
The nurses bustled at the station down the hall. No guard stood at the doorway. Perhaps there was a sheriff’s deputy inside the room.
He glanced through the doorway. No guard.
Convenient.
Also lazy.
Who was he to judge? The lack of a guard made his job easier.
But he’d better hurry. Someone could come into the room at any moment. He entered the room, picking up the chart at the foot of the bed in case he was interrupted.
Nick Zabrowski slept peacefully. His eyes didn’t even flutter. His chest rose and fell in a deep and even rhythm that suggested sedation or exhaustion. Maybe both.
An IV line ran into one arm. No handcuffs. Interesting. Not that it mattered. Nick wasn’t in any condition to get out of bed.
Or fight back.
He wasn’t hooked up to any heart monitors, so no alarms would ring when his own heart ceased to beat. He wouldn’t even need the knife he’d brought. No. He could make Nick’s death quiet and neat.
This was going to be easier than he’d expected. And when he was finished here, Morgan Dane was next. That bitch had ruined everything, and she was going to pay.
He grabbed the pillow from the empty bed.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Consciousness tugged at Nick.
He resisted. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up. He’d done that earlier, and pain had slammed into him with the force of a bus.
On one hand, the pain had assured him that he was alive when he’d been certain he wasn’t. On the other, the agony had been so intense, he’d considered the advantages of being dead.
As he floated from the heavy depths of drugged slumber, the fire in his belly encouraged him to stay asleep. He was flat on his back, tethered to the bed by wire and tubes. Why be awake when he couldn’t move anyway?
Sure, the nurse had told him earlier that movement would aid his recovery, but really, what was his motivation to get better? The sooner he healed, the faster they put him back in jail.
What was the point?
Even if Morgan managed to convince a jury that the prosecution hadn’t proven his guilt, the whole town had already tried and convicted him. He would never be innocent in their eyes unless Tessa’s real killer was caught. Even then, he suspected some people would be forever convinced he’d committed the crime.
An image of Tessa formed in his mind, and physical pain took a backseat. The knife he’d taken in the belly couldn’t compare to the invisible one twisting in his heart.
Tessa.
Dead.
Really, why bother waking up? Why had they saved him? They should have let him bleed to death.
He let his mind sink, welcoming the utter blackness and wishing it smothered him.
A rubber sole squeaked on the floor. He’d been in the hospital a few years before, for an emergency appendectomy. The nurses had been in and out of his room constantly. But this time, they entered his room only when absolutely necessary, and usually their entrance meant something painful was going to happen. He sensed resentment from the hospital staff, but then who would want to take care of a man arrested for a brutal rape and murder?
Thinking of how Tessa had died amplified his grief. How dare he feel sorry for himself when she’d suffered far worse.
He stirred, stretching a leg out. The small movement tensed his severed abdominal muscles and red-hot agony sang through him in a fresh burst of pain. His next breath hurt so much, he tried not to repeat it.
But his stupid body had other ideas. He couldn’t simply stop breathing. He opened his mouth, and his lungs sucked in air. The deeper-than-usual breath causing enough pain that he nearly blacked out.
Unfortunately, he didn’t.
Shit that hurt.
He concentrated on slow and shallow breathing, his focus completely absorbed by minimizing movement and the resulting pain. A few breaths later, he gave up on being unconscious and opened his eyes. Daylight from the window blinded him. He squinted at a blurred figure clad in green scrubs moving around his room.
Nothing unique about that.
He blinked dry eyes a few times, his vision gradually clearing, the figure taking a man’s shape. Gray hair. An older doctor.
The figure picked up a pillow and walked closer. At first Nick thought he was going to make him sit up.
He opened his mouth to say, “I can’t.” But his voice sounded like rusted metal. He swallowed and tried again.
But his words were cut off when the pillow came down on his face. Nick reached for the man, but his arm was tethered by the IV. His free hand grabbed at the man’s shirt and pulled, but he had the strength of a newborn baby.
His lungs burned. The pain in his belly went ballistic.
But soon it would all be over. He gave up, stopped fighting, let go.
And waited for the end.
Chapter Forty
Morgan stepped out of the elevator. She couldn’t wait to tell Nick the DA had dropped the charges against him. She followed the signs to his room and walked inside.
A doctor was on top of Nick. At first, she thought maybe he was administering CPR, but then she saw the pillow over Nick’s face.
Oh my God.
He was trying to kill Nick.
She shook off her shock.
“Hey,” she yelled, grabbing the man by the back of his collar and pulling him off Nick. The man had been focused on smothering Nick, and she took him by surprise. He tumbled backward off the bed and onto the floor. His glasses flew across the room and his dark hair fell off, revealing a blond-and-silver head.
But Morgan had no time to stare at the wig on the floor.
Nick!
She lunged to his bedside.
“Help!” she screamed, hoping her voice would
carry to the hallway. “Somebody help me in here.” Without turning her back to the man on the floor, Morgan snatched the pillow from Nick’s face.
Is he breathing?
She jabbed the call button with her forefinger. Come on. The attacker was scrambling to get his feet under his body. Morgan faced him, keeping her own body between him and Nick.
Shock rippled through her as she recognized Nick’s attacker.
Phillip Emerson.
Dressed in scrubs and a lab coat, he stood. His jawline was oddly puffy. He reached into his mouth and pulled out two wads of cotton.
“You bitch.” Emerson pulled a knife from the pocket of his lab coat.
The knife shone in the fluorescent light. Fresh fear washed over Morgan. She glanced around for a weapon or something to use as a shield. She couldn’t run. Nick would be defenseless. But there was nothing between her and Emerson.
Not. A. Damned. Thing.
Morgan couldn’t even reach the curtain that went around the bed. Sweat dripped down her back as her heart kicked into high gear. She had no weapon. No way of protecting herself or Nick.
“What’s wrong?” A nurse hurried through the doorway. Her momentum carried her to the foot of the bed before she realized what was happening and stopped. Her eyes opened wide in shock as she glanced between Emerson and Morgan.
“Get help!” Morgan yelled.
The nurse raced from the room.
Emerson lunged at Morgan. The knife beelined for her midsection. She barely blocked it with the back of her forearm.
But he came at her again. “You destroyed my life.”
Morgan wanted to respond, but her heart was pumping hard enough to make her breathless.
She had nowhere to go that didn’t leave Nick vulnerable. Never had she wished she had her weapon more than right at that moment. Fear turned her belly to ice. But as frightened as she was, she couldn’t run away.
She couldn’t let Emerson kill Nick.
A security guard appeared in the doorway, his weapon drawn and aimed at Emerson. “Stop right there. Put down the knife.”
But the guard’s hands were shaking so badly Morgan almost wished he’d put the gun away. He could just as easily shoot her or Nick as hit Emerson.
Emerson grabbed Morgan by the bicep and pulled her in front of him. Her back slammed into his chest. He put the knife to her throat, forcing her to be his human shield.
“Move out of the way or she’s dead,” he said, tightening his grip on her arm.
Emerson’s breath was hot in her ear, and the acrid scent of panic rose from his skin. He moved sideways, yanking her with him.
The guard kept his gun trained on Morgan and Emerson as they shuffled toward the door. If the guard pulled the trigger, even by accident, he’d hit Morgan.
Emerson pulled her along the floor toward the door. The guard backed up as they neared. What would happen when they reached the corridor? Surely, there were more guards. What would Emerson do when he realized he’d backed himself into a corner and there was no escape?
His forearm was across her windpipe, the blade of the knife kissing the side of her neck. Morgan couldn’t remember whether her jugular vein or carotid artery was on that side, but it didn’t matter. He could kill her by slicing either one.
Chapter Forty-One
Lance raced down the hallway.
An orderly shouted at him. “You can’t go down there. The floor is closed off. There’s a hostage situation.”
Lance ignored him. He skidded around the turn and pulled up short.
Emerson was backing down the corridor. Dressed as a doctor, he dragged Morgan along the hallway, hiding behind her body and holding a knife to her throat. Lance wasn’t a violent man, but at that moment, he wanted to kill Phillip Emerson.
Lance reached for the weapon on his hip, then realized the SFPD hadn’t returned it yet.
Fuck.
Thankfully, he still had his backup piece. Nobody had asked for it and he hadn’t volunteered.
His heart knocked against his ribs. He couldn’t let anything happen to Morgan, but he could see the desire to hurt her in Emerson’s eyes.
A security guard had his weapon drawn and pointed at Emerson and Morgan. The guard was obviously out of his element because his hands were shaking hard. Terror filled Lance as he imagined the security guard shooting Morgan by mistake.
Lance stopped at the end of the hall. “Let her go, Emerson!”
If Morgan moved just a few feet . . . one clear shot. That’s all Lance needed.
“One step closer and I will cut her lovely throat,” Emerson said, his voice oddly cold.
He wanted to do it. Lance could read the desire to end it on Emerson’s face. He knew he was trapped. He knew there were only two ways out of the situation: prison or a body bag. He looked as if he wanted to take Morgan with him.
Morgan’s gaze met Lance’s. One of her hands grasped Emerson’s forearm, as if to pull it away from her neck. She wheezed, “I can’t breathe.”
“Shut up!” Emerson shifted his grip, lifting his arm from her windpipe and grabbing a handful of her hair with his free hand instead. Her head tilted back, exposing her throat. But now there were a few inches between Morgan’s neck and the blade.
“We know Jacob killed Tessa. You can’t cover up for him anymore,” Lance said.
“Jacob didn’t kill Tessa,” Emerson shouted. “How stupid are you? I killed her.”
“I don’t believe you,” Lance shot back. “Jacob drugged and raped her back in July. Then he got mad that she was giving Nick what she’d refused to give him. He decided to teach her a lesson and got carried away.”
Emerson kept shaking his head. The knife quivered next to Morgan’s throat.
Lance needed a distraction. “Did you know Tessa was pregnant?”
Emerson’s eyes went wild. “That’s impossible.”
“The police didn’t make that public,” Lance continued.
“You’re lying.” Emerson scanned the hallway and edged toward Lance. “Move back.”
Lance kept pushing. “No one blames you for covering for your son. That’s what parents do, right? But the DNA test will come back, and it’ll show that Jacob was the father of her child.”
“He was not!” Emerson jerked his head toward the corridor that led to the elevator. “Now move out of the way or I’ll kill her.”
If Emerson thought he was doomed, he might kill her anyway. Hatred gleamed darkly in his eyes.
Morgan’s free hand was on her thigh. She was shaking her fist, as if trying to get Lance’s attention.
He watched as she extended three fingers, then two, then one.
What is she going to do?
Her hand shot upward between her neck and the blade while her body dropped to the floor. Blood streaked the back of her arm as the knife sliced it open.
As soon as she hit the floor, Lance had a clear shot at Emerson. He squeezed the trigger twice.
The bullets struck Emerson in the shoulder and chest. He jerked backward. The knife sailed from his grip and clattered to the floor.
Morgan rolled away, and Lance rushed forward. He had a boot on Emerson’s arm, pinning him down. Emerson’s fingers clawed for the knife.
“You’re going to pay for what you did.” Lance loomed over him, anger coursing hot through his veins. “You and your son.”
“My son had nothing to do with it,” Emerson wheezed. “I killed Tessa Palmer.”
Lance leaned closer. “Did she threaten to tell everyone how Jacob raped her?”
“No.” Emerson shook his head. “I didn’t even know about those pictures until the police called me.” He wet his lips with his tongue. “I loved her.”
Lance couldn’t believe what he’d heard. “What?”
“I loved her from the first time I met her.” Beads of sweat broke out across his brow. Blood welled from the wounds and stained the green scrubs and stolen lab coat red. “She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She w
as going to betray me. She made me do it. It was all her fault.”
A doctor rushed forward and began treating Emerson, but he grabbed Lance by the shirt.
“You have to hear this. In case I die. Jacob didn’t do it.” Emerson licked his lips again and kept talking. “Jacob came home from the party. He told me about the fight with Nick over Tessa. He was in his room when she called. She told me to meet her at the gazebo. If I didn’t show up, she’d tell everyone. I knew she was going to break it off with me so she could be with Nick. Jacob had said they’d gone off together, but I had to have her one more time.” He took two wheezing breaths. “Afterward, she was crying. She said it would never happen again. She was going to tell her grandparents. I lost it. How could she turn on me? I loved her. I barely remember attacking her, chasing her, killing her. It’s all a blur. I couldn’t stop myself. When it was over, I realized what I’d done . . . I knew she’d been with Nick that night, so I drove to his house and buried the knife in his yard.”
His hand dropped from Lance’s shirt, too weak to maintain his grip. “It was me. Not Jacob.” His eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.
Lance holstered his weapon and went to Morgan. A nurse was holding a pressure bandage on her arm. Emerson’s blade had sliced the outside of her arm open from wrist to elbow. But the wound wasn’t critical, and relief poured through Lance like cold water.
He could have lost her.
“Did you hear any of that?” He took her uninjured hand.
“Yes.” Her face was grim, either from the pain or from the truth they’d finally discovered. “Tessa moved here when she was twelve. I wonder how long it was going on?”
“Long enough to be sick.” Lance watched two orderlies hoist Emerson onto a gurney and wheel him away. He almost wished his aim had been a little truer. Lance had no pity for Emerson, not after what he’d done.
“And long enough to be a felony,” Morgan said.
Long enough for exposure of his crime to be a motive for murder.
“I’ll bet she was going to tell him she was pregnant, but he never gave her the chance.” Lance turned from the sight of Emerson disappearing down the hallway. “I can’t believe that either Emerson or his son could be the father. Two monsters, one family.”
Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1) Page 31