by Angi Morgan
“Watts. Vivian Watts,” a nurse called her name, waking her.
She pushed up from his shoulder and they both walked to the door.
“Sorry. No one but the patient can go back.”
“You can’t make an exception?” he asked.
“No.” The nurse held out a hand, stopping him. “She’ll be fine. We’ll take good care of her.”
Slate pulled her to him for a hug and whispered, “Text me where you are. I’ll find a way back there.”
She nodded and he kissed her cheek. The door closed and once again he found himself praying that his gut instinct about this operation was wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Abby got her list of patients for the day, dropped the clipboard and had to apologize. She quickly picked it up, holding it in her gloved hand, and just as quickly ran to the ladies’ room.
“What is she doing on my list of patients?” She asked the question several times expecting the answer. Nothing came.
Was the woman in the mirror disappointed in the mistakes that had been made? Is that why she wasn’t imparting the right path? Allan Pinkston was a disappointment, she thought, then said it out loud, attempting to begin the conversation.
“We do not have resources to waste at this time to eliminate her,” the perfect voice finally answered.
“You know if she’s here for a test, then he’s not far away.”
“If you run the experiment on her, then they’ll find you. Our research will be over. We won’t ever be together.”
“But she must be eliminated.”
“There are other ways. You have cash. Use it. You have access to drugs...procure them. Use your head, girl. Stop being a ninny.”
That wasn’t perfection. Those words were cruelty itself. Her father. The voice in the mirror was gone. She was on her own to find someone to deal with this matter.
She had until one o’clock before Victor’s sister was getting nodes attached to her head. Abby hated to be off schedule. It would send her day into disarray. She wanted neatly run, smooth, orderly clockwork. Everything had a place. The things she did had a time to do them.
She could deviate from the daily schedule today in order to get the annoyance out of the picture. She used the stairs to arrive in the emergency department. She pulled her mask over her mouth and nose and ventured into the emergency room to recruit help.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wrapped in a paper gown and blanket, Vivian sat in a hall for at least half an hour before anyone said, “Follow me.” She went into a waiting room with lockers and was instructed to put her clothes and everything with her—including Jack’s cell—into the locker of her choice. Each locker had a key that could be worn around your wrist.
“This is going to drive Slate so crazy,” she mumbled to herself.
The idea of keeping in touch with him evaporated into the bad-smelling spray someone had used in the corner.
She was on her own—completely on her own—through the first test. But she’d had an MRI before. Nothing went wrong. Her brain was still there, according to the doctors. In an aside, the technician said everything looked good, but the doctor would give her the results later.
Vivian didn’t find anything or anyone in the area suspicious. It didn’t look like anyone would have an opportunity to brainwash a veteran. She wondered about that. Heath had mentioned sleep tapes. So whoever was possibly hurting the patients would need to have an extended period of private time with them.
It seemed like a logical conclusion. At least to herself. She’d have to go with it since there was no one else to ask. She was waiting to be escorted to her next test. The people around her seemed to treat her with kid gloves. She had to wonder what story the OIG had told to everyone.
She flipped through the only magazine on the table, reading just about every article and advertisement inside. She was starving and super tired, but she continued to wait. She slapped the magazine down on the table.
A lot of people had gone to a lot of trouble for today to happen. It didn’t matter if she was hungry and wanted a certain bed in a certain ranger’s home.
“Miss Watts?” a woman with a clipboard asked.
“That’s me.” She felt silly for answering since no one was in the waiting area with her.
“I was hoping you were here. Word came down to work you in for an EEG today. We’re running ahead of schedule and thought we squeeze you in. Come this way.”
Vivian followed the woman down the hall and into the elevator.
“What’s an EEG?”
“It’s used to monitor brain activity. Basically, we put gel on your scalp, connect a bunch of electrodes to your head and monitor you for a while. It’s harmless and completely noninvasive. The worst part about my test is that you need to wash your hair afterward.”
They got off the elevator on the fifth floor. Her guide opened a door and gestured for Vivian to go inside. “Abby will get you all prepped. I’ll be back in a few minutes to get the test started.”
“Oh, hi.” Vivian recognized the woman who had spoken to her and Slate just two days earlier. “I think we met a couple of days ago.”
“Oh, my gosh, you’re the woman from the cafeteria. You were with that tall Texas Ranger. You know I’d never met one of them before. He’s quite handsome.”
“Slate is great.”
“Were you both working on Rashid’s case for some reason?”
“Actually, Slate is a friend. I mean husband. It’s all so new. We just got married.” Hopefully that explanation covered her mistake. “He brought me to the hospital because I fell and hit my head. While he was here, he got curious and started asking questions about the attack.”
It was the story they’d agreed on. If anyone asked, they’d come here for her, not because of any case.
“I have to say that they got you in for testing fast. Your name must be on someone’s favorite list. Things usually move real slow around here.” Abby picked up a clipboard. “I have to ask you some boring questions that you’ve probably already answered. Everything’s routine and I have to write it down again for our charts. Okay?”
“So that’s the part you do?”
“Questions, and I get to attach the connector node goo. I’ve enjoyed working here and decided to go back to school to become a certified lab technician to perform the test myself. I find it very interesting. Now, you said you hit your head?”
“Yes, and I’ve had trouble sleeping since then.”
“Any loss of consciousness or sign of a seizure?”
“No, I’m learning to ride horses and fell.”
“Oh, my. I hope you got right back on it.”
Vivian nodded and answered all the same questions about her head injury. The one difference in this department was that Abby used a clipboard with real paper. All the other departments had input the information directly onto a portable tablet.
She wanted to ask about it but was busy observing the assistant. There was an artificial awkwardness emanating from her movements and words. She smiled, but it was carefully in all the right pauses. She giggled, but it didn’t quite seem real.
So was the assistant’s behavior strained because she was covering something up? Or strained because she knew Slate was a Texas Ranger? It could be simply because Vivian as a patient had been labeled a VIP. Or none of it could mean anything and it could all be wishful thinking on Vivian’s part.
How could a person investigating something on this scale tell which idea to follow? Make her own judgment call? Wait for feedback from the rest of the team? Perhaps she lacked the experience to discover anything useful after meeting all of these potential suspects. How would she narrow her impressions down to a manageable number?
Abby continued to part Vivian’s hair and apply the spots of gel that would hold the electric nodes in place
for the test. She was either concentrating very hard on a procedure that she’d done hundreds of times or ignoring normal conversation.
Why did the assistant’s movements and expressions feel calculated? Was it just Vivian’s desire that somebody she met today be worthy of an investigation? Or was it Vivian projecting her need to have someone seem guilty?
First thing, she had to calm down and go through all the motions. There wasn’t a mirror, just a one-way glass at the end of the room. She looked very strange with her hair parted in rows, white gel that looked like toothpaste in dots across her head.
“So what happens now?”
“Lucy will be back any minute. She’ll add the actual electric nodes and then she’ll begin the test.”
“What do I do?”
“Well, a lot of people fall asleep. We get the best results when you’re relaxed.”
“I’ve been up all night. A nap sounds extremely good right now.”
“Would you like a bottle of water?” Abby reached into a small fridge and handed her a small bottle of mineral water.
“That would be great. Thanks.”
Lucy came into the room and finished the preparations. She began the test, checked the EEG machine and told Abby she’d return in about half an hour.
Abby dimmed the lights and pulled the door almost closed. Vivian was thirsty and emptied the bottle of water. Then she closed her eyes and that was it. She awoke totally refreshed when Lucy touched her shoulder.
“My goodness, you were so sound asleep,” the technician said. “Let’s get you cleaned up now.”
“I don’t remember falling asleep.”
“Well, apparently you needed a bit of rest. Good for you.” She pulled wires, wiped the gel and then gave Vivian a disposable comb to pull through her tangles.
Abby waved from her desk when she left with Lucy to go back to the waiting area on the third floor. She walked into the room to find an almost frantic Slate.
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her, kissing her forehead. “Dammit, I’ve been worried.”
“You look like you should have had that last test. I fell asleep and feel great now. Completely refreshed and ready for the next thing.” She pulled away and looked at him. “I thought you were supposed to wait downstairs?”
“Yeah, well after the first hour that just wasn’t going to work for me. I finally slipped through the doors. It took me a couple of hours to find this room.”
“You must have just missed me before I left for the EEG.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I feel like I have conditioner in my hair now. It’s so greasy.”
“Are you okay?” They sat in two chairs in the corner.
“Yes. I know my hair’s a mess, but I feel great. Don’t I look okay?”
“As a matter of fact, you do. It’s just that...”
“I haven’t found anything. Everyone’s been nice and accommodating. They’re treating me like a VIP...” she lowered her voice “...because they think I am.”
“No one gave you any drugs or shots?”
“Nope.” Vivian slapped her thighs, twisting in her seat, wanting to press her body next to this gorgeous man. What am I doing? “Slate, could we just get out of here?”
“Are you sure no one gave you anything?”
“Positive.” She slipped her hand from her leg onto his thigh. “Maybe we could just find an empty room.”
She did feel good. Too good.
“That’s it. Something’s wrong.” He jumped up, leaving her alone in the corner.
Her skin felt all tingly. Not itching...just tingling and alive. What was wrong with him? She’d seen him in his plaid boxers. Why wouldn’t he want to fool around?
Oh, God. Something was completely wrong with her.
Slate opened the door and shouted for a nurse. He pulled his cell from his back pocket and turned to face her again. “Where are your things?”
She lifted her wrist, unable to tell him her locker number in the dressing room behind one of the doors. Not the one he was standing at, but another door. There were lots of words on the tip of her tongue, but none would actually form to create a sentence.
Wow. My mind is totally not in control of anything.
It did wow her that she seemed like two people. One who just observed and one who was stuck, unable to really communicate. She couldn’t even point. It was like being stuck in a nightmare, unable to wake up.
Slate rolled the keyring over her wrist. She tried to grab his hand, but he was too fast.
“I’m telling you, someone drugged her. We’ve got to get her out of here. What do you mean, take her to the emergency room? Whoever did this might be treating her. She’s leaving. Meet us at the door.”
She shook her head. Back and forth and back and forth until she was dizzy.
Oh, wait. She was more than dizzy...she was about to be sick. Extremely sick. She rose from the chair but fell to her knees.
“Vivian. Can you understand me? Can you even hear me?”
“Bath...” She tried to crawl toward the changing room. “Sick.”
After clawing at the carpet a couple of times, attempting to drag herself to the dressing room, she gave up. She just wanted to pass out. Lying on the floor was a very good solution.
Slate picked her up around her waist and practically flew through the door. Her feet barely skimmed the floor he got her there so fast. And just in the nick of time. She lost what little there was in her stomach.
He stayed next to her and handed her paper towels, dabbing at her face and forehead until her own limbs began to obey her orders again. Her mind began clearing as embarrassment set in. Slate whispered into the phone again, probably telling the guys why they weren’t downstairs.
He left her alone for a few minutes, and she overheard him talking to a nurse through the door. My wife this and my wife that didn’t completely register as referring to her until Slate returned with towels to clean her up.
Which he did. Alone. He also had a clean hospital gown that he helped her slip into.
“I prefer my own clothes,” she managed to tell him.
He ignored her since he didn’t dress her. She could barely lift her head from resting on the tiled wall and couldn’t argue.
“It’s been years and years since I’ve thrown up. I feel like I’ve been drinking all night and have a hangover.” Vivian dropped her head into her hands, totally at a loss as to why it felt so dang heavy.
“Feeling better?” Slate asked, towering over her.
She couldn’t raise her head to convince him she was.
“We’re leaving as soon as you can walk to the elevator.”
“Clothes?” she asked hopefully.
“The nurse got your bag.” He pointed to the one hanging on the back of the door.
“I can get dressed.”
“Nope. Not waiting that long.”
Completely humiliated by throwing up in front of someone she wanted to find her sexy, she let him wrap his arm around her and leave the waiting area. She was totally out of it. She couldn’t even tell if the ties on the gown were done correctly or if the hospital gear was exposing her to the world.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They were leaving. Walking out. Calling a halt to the operation. The team would punt. Slate was not going to risk Vivian’s life again. Who were these monsters? He was about to call Wade and tell him to contact the OIG when the elevator jolted to a halt.
“What’s happening? Why are we stopped?”
“Fire!” The shouts were clear even through two sets of steel doors.
Stuck in an elevator while the building was on fire. He checked his cell for reception. Nothing. Right. Inside an elevator.
“Do you think someone just pulled the alarm so they could leave the building without us seeing?” she asked.
“We can hope.” He popped the emergency call panel open, pushing the button. “No one’s answering. We might be on our own.”
“Do we need to climb? Is there an escape hatch on the ceiling?”
“Only in the movies. Firefighters have keys, but when an elevator stops, the safest place is inside until they get it moving again.” He kept trying the emergency button. The alarm was deafening in their ears, making it difficult to talk.
“Unless there’s an actual fire.”
“Yeah. But we don’t know if it’s real. Like you said, someone could have just pulled the alarm.” Slate tested the door’s open and close buttons again, just to be certain they weren’t jammed.
“Either way, people are going to be hurt,” Vivian said, sliding down to huddle in the corner. “What if someone is trampled or...or worse? Oh, my God, this is all my fault.”
“You didn’t pull the fire alarm or set a fire.” He sat next to her. Hopefully the smoke would rise inside an elevator, too.
“Actually, you don’t know that. I could have set the fire and not remember anything about it. Just like Victor...”
“Feeling any better?”
“Much. I can walk and most important, think.” She hugged her hospital-issued plastic sack with her clothes inside.
The alarms were sounding in perfect time on the floors above and below them. They could hear people shouting and running. Everything was amplified inside the elevator shaft.
“Hey, anybody in there?” someone banged on the doors from the hallway. It was faint, but distinct.
They both shouted. Slate kicked their set of doors with his boots.
“Hey! Hey, man! Someone’s still in there. Get something to help me!” the voice yelled.
Slate and Vivian waited on the floor, holding hands after a few minutes. As the doors inched opened, smoke poured inside, replacing the breathable air. They covered their mouths and noses as best they could, but Vivian was still in a hospital gown.