by J. V. Speyer
And now that the need to escape was past, Luis couldn’t focus on that instead of on the pain. He had to actually feel everything, and that wasn’t fun at all. The pain came with Luis’ familiar friend—fear. He’d survived Hyena Lady, but what about the injury? Would he be able to keep the leg?
There was no way he’d be able to stay in the field.
He yanked the wheel to the right as an oncoming motorist flashed their lights at him. He’d drifted into the wrong lane again.
“Close call, Gabe.” Mike eyed him from the front passenger seat. “Why don’t I just take over behind the wheel?”
“Yeah. Okay.” Luis nodded and moved over, which was agony, but he knew he wasn’t in shape to drive.
It would look odd, if anyone looked. They’d see a battered man in the passenger seat and no one at all behind the wheel, unless they were able to see ghosts. Then they’d get a real sight to behold. Luis laughed at the thought and turned the heat on.
The heater wasn’t working. Of course it wasn’t.
“I’m pressing charges against Hyena Lady for the van alone.” He shuddered, and then he realized he couldn’t stop shuddering. It was more of a shiver, and that wasn’t good.
He tried to focus on his breath. He could do this, if he kept his cool. He’d been in worse situations, right? He’d been shot in the chest and survived, and taken down a serial killer to boot. He wasn’t going to die out here on some backcountry road, in some filthy van with his leg held together by a makeshift splint.
He was going to get back to Donovan. He was getting back to his desk, getting that damn ring, and giving it to the man he loved. Donovan could decline, but at least Luis wasn’t going to—
Mike sideswiped someone’s mailbox. The sound of metal against metal hurt his teeth. He hoped it at least took out the improbable breasts in the artwork.
He passed out for a few minutes again.
Captain Lightfoot revived him with a slight jolt. “Can’t have ye sleeping on the job. Not for long, at any rate. Some of us need ye if we’re going to be able to touch things in the living world.” He jerked his head toward Mike.
Mike grinned, manically, and honked the horn. “I won’t pretend this doesn’t feel good. I miss driving. Think anyone would mind if I did a few doughnuts on their lawn?”
“I think this old wreck would fall over if you did doughnuts on someone’s lawn, and we’d be screwed. Well, I’d be screwed.” Luis chuckled, even though his stomach lurched at the thought. If they wrecked the van, his trip to the hospital would be delayed, and he’d never make it. “Once I’m at the emergency department, you’re welcome to do all the doughnuts you like. Do them on the hospital’s lawn. It’ll be fun.”
“Do you think I could?” Mike’s features got a little more solid as the idea took hold.
“Sure, why not?” Luis’ leg felt like it was on fire, even though he was so cold he had to have hypothermia by now. Or frostbite. One of the two. “Everyone’s grumpy at the hospital. They won’t be able to see you, so think about it. They’ll just see a beat-up old van, driving in circles on its own. Think about their reaction. Think about them going home and telling the grandkids or the grandparents.”
Millie laughed and clapped her hands. “I’m going to see how fast I can make the wheelchairs go in the hallways!”
“Boom!” Boom-Boom shouted in glee. A pile of leaves on someone’s lawn ignited as they drove past.
Lightfoot patted Luis’ bare shoulder. “Ye’re a good man, lawman.”
Mike brought the shag van skidding to a halt in front of the emergency department. A security guard gaped as Luis let himself out of the passenger-side door and braced himself against the van. The guard could see that Luis hadn’t been driving.
Luis didn’t care. He couldn’t waste time on that kind of thing right now. “I need help.” He gestured at his leg. “I’ve been shot.”
The guard nodded and stepped into the hospital. Luis lost track of him as he let himself fall to the ground. He’d done what he came here for. He could pass out now.
He came back to himself a few minutes later, on his back, moving through a hallway. A white woman in maroon scrubs looked down at him. “Sir, do you know where you are?”
Luis’ teeth clattered. “Norwood Hospital. My name is Special Agent Luis Gomes. I need to tell—”
She looked at someone on Luis’ other side. “He’s delusional.”
The person on Luis’ other side mumbled something unintelligible. Luis could barely make out the word courthouse.
“Yes!” Luis seized on the word and hoped he was doing the right thing. “I was grabbed outside the courthouse. She drugged me. I just escaped. Let me call my—”
The first woman just patted his hand. “It’s okay, buddy. You can tell us all about it when you’re feeling a little more coherent.”
Luis let out a little shout of frustration as the unknown people wheeled him into a treatment bay. It looked like any other room in any other emergency department. He’d been in a few, as a patient and an investigator.
Another woman, Black with short hair, strode into the room and looked Luis over. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Anderson. I’m going to order imaging on your leg, but I can tell you right now we’re not the facility to treat it. You’ve lost a lot of blood, your temperature is dangerously low, your heart rate is erratic, and you’re having trouble staying conscious.”
“Shock.” Luis closed his eyes for a second. Then he grabbed the rails on the gurney and hauled himself into a sitting position. “Listen, please. I need to get in touch with my supervisor and tell her where I am and where the suspect is.”
Dr. Anderson glanced at the two nurses. “You were found with a gun in your pocket and a cell phone, but no identification.”
“Yes. That’s my service weapon. The bullet in my leg will be a match to it.” Luis fought for breath. “Just let me call SSA Holcombe. Or my partner.”
“Sir, you’re in bad shape. We need to stabilize you for transfer to a level-one trauma center—Tufts, most likely.” She pressed her lips together, and then she sighed. “But yes, bring him his phone.”
“What about the gun?” The nurse in maroon glanced back at her friend, who grimaced.
“If he is who he says he is, he needs to know where it is at all times. I don’t feel comfortable having it in my ER, but we’ll make that call when we get to it.”
Maroon ducked out and returned quickly. She carried a plastic tub and brought it to Luis’ side. He checked the gun without taking it out of the tub, since it seemed to make the staff nervous, and took out the phone.
Before he could call anyone, it rang. Luis blinked and answered it.
“Agent Gomes.” He closed his eyes as the room lurched to the right.
“Luis?” Patricia sounded close to tears. “Oh my God, you have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice. Donovan said the building was on fire.”
“Patricia.” Luis let himself fall back onto the gurney. Who would have thought he would be so relieved to hear Donovan’s mother’s voice ten years ago? “Thank God. Yeah, the building’s on fire. It’s part of how I got away. I’m at Norwood Hospital, but they’re going to transfer me. Would you maybe explain to the doctor who I am and tell Donovan I love him? I think I’m going to pass out again.”
Dr. Anderson took the phone from Luis’ hands. He didn’t pass out, but he did surrender to the lassitude of shock and exhaustion. Nurses asked him questions about his blood type, gave him fluids, washed his filthy body as best they could, and covered him with warmed blankets.
He liked the warmed blankets.
Through it all, Dr. Anderson spoke with Patricia. “Hello, this is Dr. Anderson at Norwood Hospital. Who am I speaking with?” She straightened up a little. “Captain Carey. I see. Well, he’s only just arrived. He appears to have driven himself? He’s in terrible shape, honestly, and we don’t have the facilities to treat him here. We can stabilize him and pass him on to Tufts. Yes, ma’am. They’re a lev
el-one trauma center, and they’ll be best equipped to deal with his leg. The technical term is a hot mess, ma’am. I can’t give a more accurate diagnosis until I get some imaging, but first we need to get him stable. Yes, ma’am. That will absolutely take long enough for family or colleagues to get here.” She caught Luis’ eye and winked. “They might want to bring him some pants. The ones he came in with are trashed.”
Luis cringed as the nurse cut away the offending garments, but he couldn’t argue about it. They were shot.
Kind of like his leg.
“Thank you, Captain. I’m glad to help.” Dr. Anderson hung up the phone and handed it back to Luis. “Captain Carey sounds like the kind of mother-in-law everyone wants—as long as they can stay on her good side.”
Luis hummed in contentment as he burrowed into his warm blanket. “I’m a lucky man.”
“You certainly are. She’s going to make the necessary phone calls for you. Someone from your office should be here soon to help you out. In the meantime, let’s get down to business. She grimaced down at Luis’ leg. “That probably doesn’t feel great.”
“The kidnapper shot me with my own gun, ma’am.” He closed his eyes. “Close range.”
“You did a pretty good job of splinting it up, considering the circumstances. We’re going to have to undo the splint to get the images we need though. And I’m going to redo the splint with better materials, because we have them. That’s going to suck.”
Luis winced. “The good part is I might well pass out in the middle.” He managed a grin.
He didn’t know if he could trust this. Maybe he’d wrapped the van around a tree on the way off the hospital grounds, and this was another deathbed hallucination.
He’d ride it out, if that was the case.
Donovan got in touch with Phil Hamilton, who he’d decided was in charge of the uniformed officers right now. They sent some units out to look for the van, which must have left an impression on at least someone. Donovan didn’t want to think about the state Luis would have been in if he was driving.
He’d lost a lot of blood. Donovan could see that in the video. He’d been drugged and beaten, shot, and he’d be in a ton of pain. If he made it more than a few blocks, Donovan would start going to church again. It would be the clearest proof of the existence of a kind and benevolent deity anyone had seen yet.
He almost ignored his phone when it rang. Luis didn’t have his phone, and Luis was the only one he wanted to hear from right now. Then he remembered the phone Lightfoot had sneaked to Luis. It must be giving off a signal. Maybe Alex or Patricia had picked it up and had a clue about which direction Luis had chosen.
“Carey.” He didn’t waste words as the fire department came screaming up the long dark driveway.
“Don’t you Carey me. I just spoke with Luis.” Patricia’s grin was evident in her voice.
Donovan lost his breath for a moment. Scott had to come over and pound him on the back. “He’s okay?” he sputtered, when he remembered how to speak.
“Pretty far from it, actually. Get your butt over to Norwood Hospital. They’re stabilizing him as best they can before they send him on to Tufts, where they’ll have the facilities to treat him. He needs the level-one center, I’m afraid. But he’s alive and more or less coherent.”
“How come he called you?” Donovan turned away from the burning building.
“He didn’t. I saw that the signal was active, and I called the number, just in case it went dark again. I’m glad I did. Apparently when half-naked men show up with gunshot wounds and no ID, the doctors don’t believe it when they claim they’re with the FBI. Go figure. I’ll come down with Alex when you get settled in at Tufts, and then I’ll go pick up Jose at the airport. Are you in the car yet?”
Donovan chuckled, even as his heart raced. “I’ve got to go tell Kevin. He’s got the keys. Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too. And you tell sweet Luis I love him when you see him.” Patricia disconnected.
Donovan hugged John and Scott and told them the good news. Then he ran to go find Kevin.
Kevin was arguing with the fire chief. “Look, I know it’s an old derelict building, but there might be a living federal agent trapped inside. We can’t just stand back and watch it burn—”
Donovan put a hand on Kevin’s arm. “Agent. He’s alive.”
Kevin turned around. “Excuse me? Do we have an ambulance? Did you not see how much blood he lost?”
“Escaped. By himself. Stole the suspect’s vehicle and drove himself to the hospital.” He couldn’t hold back the hysterical laughter. “I kind of need a ride.”
“Isn’t someone going to stay here to supervise the scene?” asked one of the firefighters.
“Yeah, aren’t you worried about there being more hostages or something?” The chief curled his lip a little.
Donovan’s fist clenched, but Kevin stepped on his foot just in time to restrain him. “We’re not, actually, but thank you for your concern. Officer Phil Hamilton is on the scene. So is Sergeant Scott Carey.” He handed the chief his card, as well as one for Captain Power just to be safe. “Thank you for your assistance.”
He jogged toward Kevin’s giant gas-guzzling SUV. If he keyed the fire truck on his way past, Kevin didn’t say anything about it.
Kevin needed the GPS to take them to Norwood Hospital. It wasn’t one of the larger hospitals in the area. It was a small community hospital. The ER could probably handle basic childhood accidents like broken bones or sports injuries, but gunshot wounds would be pretty far outside their typical practice. Kevin didn’t know Medfield well at all, it not being a hotbed of federal-level crime, and Donovan wasn’t all that familiar with it either.
The GPS said it would be a twenty-one minute ride. They made it in twelve.
Donovan didn’t notice much along the way. His thoughts were all on Luis. How close had it been? Had they passed in the darkness or had Luis already been gone by the time Donovan arrived on-site? Did Luis just not have faith in Donovan or the FBI to save him, or had he felt he was in too much danger to wait?
He did notice a few smaller fires on the way—a dumpster here, a pile of leaves there. He couldn’t make himself believe there wasn’t a connection, but he couldn’t tease it out of the ether either. “The hospital caught fire, which allowed Luis to make his escape. Right?”
“That’s what it looks like.” Kevin gripped the wheel and took a corner on two wheels.
“So why are there so many fires along the way? I don’t see him stopping to lob Molotov cocktails while he was driving.”
“Maybe it was Lightfoot. He’s volatile enough.” Kevin shrugged. “Could be his way of trying to attract attention, if he didn’t think Luis could get himself to the hospital in one piece.”
“Hm.” Donovan couldn’t think of an argument against it, not one strong enough to distract Kevin from his awful driving. Lightfoot was certainly volatile, but he wasn’t a firebug either.
They screeched into the parking lot at Norwood Hospital’s emergency department. Donovan barely let the car stop moving before he jumped out of the vehicle and ran toward the entrance. The receptionist looked him up and down. “Have a seat and tell me your symptoms, sir.”
Donovan glared and pulled out his badge. “Lieutenant Donovan Carey, Massachusetts State Police. I’m here about a gunshot wound victim who showed up a short time ago.”
She widened her eyes and picked up the phone. “Hi, can you tell Dr. Anderson someone’s here about that patient? Thanks.” She turned back to Donovan. “Sorry. Are you sure you aren’t here for yourself?”
Kevin popped in behind him. “It’s been a rough couple of days. There’s nothing wrong with Lieutenant Carey that a good night’s sleep won’t fix.” He patted Donovan’s back and showed the receptionist his credentials. “Agent Kevin Rourke, FBI.”
Some of the hacking, miserable patients waiting their turn for treatment took an interest. This was definitely more excitement than a typical
community hospital saw on a weeknight. Donovan couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable.
Fortunately, a nurse in maroon scrubs appeared. Her cheeks were bright pink. “Are you here about the gentleman who came in earlier? Please, follow me.”
Donovan forced himself to breathe as he followed the short curly-haired woman down the corridor. He could hear an elderly man moaning in a treatment bay and someone vomiting in another. The smells in an emergency department could be overwhelming, and today was no exception.
Luis had been put into a room with walls, if not a door. It gave him a little bit of privacy and dulled the shouting from the other rooms. He looked downright gray. He was covered in blankets, more than Donovan had ever seen on a hospital patient. He was receiving fluids and blood through an IV, and a nasal cannula provided extra oxygen. His eyes were closed, but they fluttered open when Donovan and Kevin walked into the room.
“I’m dead.” His voice was soft and a little loopy. “I’m dead, and somehow made it into heaven. I guess Mike was right after all.” He smiled blissfully.
Donovan glanced at Kevin, who shrugged.
“Who’s Mike?” Donovan took Luis’ hand, the one that didn’t have the IV in it. “Luis, was there another hostage?”
“Not living.”
Donovan groaned quietly. They were going to have to keep Luis quiet while he got the painkillers out of his system. They couldn’t afford to have him talking about ghosts while he was high as a kite.
“That’s fortunate.” Kevin stood behind Donovan. “How in the hell did you get out?”
“Almost made it the first time, so she shot me. Hyena. Didn’t think there was time to wait. Bleeding too much. Lightfoot found crutches. Whacked her in the head.”