by Mark Dawson
‘I would have said that the operation was two or three days ago, not six hours. It’s the same with her leg. The flap has already established itself. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Isabella exhaled a deep and relaxed breath. Maia stepped back so that the doctor could dress the wound again.
‘Has she ever been hurt like this before?’ he asked. ‘How does she normally heal?’
‘No,’ Maia said. ‘It’s the first time. I can’t explain it. I guess she’s just lucky.’
‘I’m going to take some blood,’ the man said. ‘I’d like to run some tests.’
‘We don’t have insurance,’ she said, hoping that might help.
‘Don’t worry – the hospital will cover it.’ He laughed and added, ‘There might be a medical paper in it for me.’
Maia smiled at his attempted joke. ‘Would it be all right if I stayed in here with her?’
‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘Of course. That’s a good idea. If she wakes up, just press the buzzer for a nurse.’
Chapter Seventy-Six
Maia put the car into gear and pulled out of the hospital parking lot. She had left the Escalade behind and taken a Nissan Murano. The back of the Escalade was covered in Isabella’s drying blood and, that apart, it would have been too hot to risk continuing on with it. The Murano was bland and uninteresting and, by the time it was reported missing, she would be out of the state and well on the way to the Mexican border.
Maia glanced back. Isabella was lying across the seats. She was wearing the dressing gown and slippers that Maia had stolen from a locker while she was looking for a wheelchair that she used to get Isabella out of the hospital. Her leg was stretched out. The fracture had been set and then immobilised with an external fixator. The bolts and screws disappeared into Isabella’s flesh, the skin around each wound bruised and livid.
Maia saw that the doctor was right. The leg was healing more quickly than should have been possible. The flesh around the bolts and screws was less livid than it ought to have been. Maia knew what that must mean, but she didn’t understand how it could be possible.
The girl had stirred when Maia had scooped her out of bed and put her into the chair, but the sedatives in her blood had quickly ushered her back to sleep. Maia knew that Isabella would be in pain when she awoke, and that she would have to find a supply of opiates to relieve her. There would be a pharmacy on the way. Maia would break in and take whatever she needed.
The thought reminded her: she would need more of her own medication, too. She had injected herself two days ago. The dose would keep her stable for four or five days, but things would quickly become critical after that. She would be too dangerous for Isabella to be around unless she was able to address it.
Maia turned back to the road. They were approaching Franklin.
They were coming for her.
She knew they wouldn’t rest.
A sign rushed by at the side of the road. There were thirteen hundred miles between them and the border.
Maia pressed down on the accelerator and the car jerked forward.
If the enemy found them, they were dead.
Crossing the border would help, but it wouldn’t stop them.
They were going to have to run and keep running.
Author’s Note
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About the Author
Photo © 2014 Tom Nicholson
Mark Dawson has worked as a lawyer and now writes full-time. His John Milton series features a disgruntled assassin who aims to make amends for the crimes in his past. The Beatrix Rose series features the headlong fight for justice of a wronged mother – who also happens to be an assassin – against the six names on her kill list. The Isabella Rose series continues the story as Beatrix’s daughter finds herself pulled into an international conspiracy. Mark lives in Wiltshire with his family.