Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2 (42 page)

“I bet you weren't carrying that mace I gave you last Christmas, were you?” Rose frowned. “That stuff's supposed to be powerful enough to stop a bear in its tracks. A criminal would probably have a hard time aiming at you with that in his eyes. I've got my can of it right in that bag. Anyone tries to come at us, I'll take him down.”

* * *

Grayson would almost have liked to see that.

Laney's aunt looked about as old as Methuselah, but she moved like a woman much younger. He could picture her reaching into the bag, yanking out the spray and taking down a kidnapper.

A quick rap at the door and a young female doctor walked in, followed closely by Deputy Chief Tom Wallace. Grayson had met him at the crime scene, and he'd liked the guy immediately. Though old-school and by-the-book, he didn't have any compunction about sharing information with the FBI.

“Agent DeMarco,” Wallace said, “the chief said to let you know they've finished with the crime scene. He's going to the precinct to make sure the blood and finger prints on the gun are expedited for processing.”

“Thanks, Deputy.” So far he liked the way Chief Andrews handled things, and he wasn't surprised that Andrews was taking a very personal interest in the case. “I may head that way myself after Laney is discharged.”

“
If
she's discharged,” Wallace replied. “The
doctor
will decide that and
then
we can come up with a plan for getting her out of here.”

They
weren't going to do anything. Grayson had a plan, and he was sticking to it. He didn't bother telling Wallace that. The doctor was already leaning over Laney, flashing a light in her eyes, asking about pain level, nausea, dizziness. Laney answered quietly.

“We did an MRI when you were brought in. I'm happy to report that there's no fracture and no hemorrhage in the brain,” the doctor said, tucking a loose strand of black curly hair behind her ear and pushing her glasses up on her nose. “You do have a concussion, and the effects of that can last for a while. Expect the headache to linger for the next few days. I can give you some prescription-strength Tylenol to take the edge off the headache, or something stronger if you think you'll need it.”

“Prescription-strength Tylenol's fine.”

The doctor marked something in her chart. “You were really fortunate, you know. If that bullet had traveled a different trajectory—just a half an inch in any direction—the outcome would have been very different.” She tucked her pen in her lab-coat pocket and her clipboard under her arm. “There's really no need to keep you here overnight, assuming there's someone at home to monitor you.”

“I'll be with her,” Rose piped up.

The doctor looked over at Rose, then back at Laney, an almost indiscernible look of concern crossing her face. “Do you two live alone?”

“Oh, we don't live together,” Rose responded. “I like my space. But I'm happy to stay with her for a few days.”

“I see.” The doctor frowned. “Maybe it
would
be best if you stayed here overnight, Laney.” Her gaze jumped to Grayson. “Unless you two—”

“No!” Laney said quickly, cheeks reddening. “He's a—”

“Law enforcement.” Grayson cut in.

“I see,” the doctor responded. “It's no problem to let you stay here tonight, Laney. We can monitor your condition—”

“I'll be fine, doctor. I'm sure I'll sleep better in my own bed,” Laney insisted.

“Well, if you're certain, the nurse will be in momentarily to remove the IV. She'll give you written wound-care instructions and your medication, then wheel you out.”

“I think I can make it out without a wheelchair—” Laney began, but the doctor was already walking out of the room, with Deputy Chief Wallace close behind. Grayson figured they would discuss Laney. Though he was curious to know what they were saying, he was more interested in making sure Laney stayed safe, so he didn't follow. He just waited as Rose hovered over Laney, chatting incessantly, while a nurse arrived and removed the IV. Grayson spent the time counting the seconds in his head until he could get Laney safely home.

The nurse handed Laney discharge instructions and a bottle of pills and went to look for a wheelchair.

A few seconds later, Wallace returned. “Looks like you're clear to go, Laney. Once the nurse gets back, I'll roll you out and—”

“How about you take Rose, and I'll take Laney?” Grayson suggested.

“Now, wait just a minute,” Rose protested. “I'm staying right here with my niece until she leaves this building.”

“Rose,” Laney interrupted. “Don't argue. Just do what you're asked so we can get things moving. I want to get out of here quickly, and I don't really care how it happens.”

Rose's face softened. “Of course, love. But don't you worry. I'll have Tommy bring me to your house. I'll be there when you get home.” Rose began to turn away but stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot, I brought you some clothes and your spare house keys. They're in the bag on the bed. Do you need help dressing?”

“I'll manage.”

“Then I guess I'll see you at home. Come on, Tommy.” She grabbed Wallace's arm and dragged him to the door.

“That's your cue to leave, too,” Laney told Grayson quietly. She'd regained some of her color, but she still looked too fragile for Grayson's liking. He wasn't completely happy that she was being released tonight. He would have preferred she stay in the hospital under guard until they found the kidnappers, but since that wasn't going to happen, escorting her home was the next best option.

“I thought we agreed that we're going together.”

“We may be leaving together, but I'm not putting on my street clothes while you're standing in the room.” She reached into the bag Rose had brought and pulled out what looked like a huge pink sweater. “Great,” she muttered.

“Don't like the color choice?”

She turned the sweater so he could see the front. A giant white poodle with fuzzy yarn fur stared out at him.

“Nice,” he said, swallowing a laugh.

“If she brought me the matching leggings...” She pulled out bright pink leggings covered in white dog bones. “She did.”

“A Christmas gift?”

“Birthday. Two years ago. Needless to say, I've never worn them. Typical Rose, bringing them for me when she knows I have no other option but to put them on.”

Grayson smirked. He wasn't into fashion, but even he could see why a person would not want to be caught dead in that getup.

Then the smirk died on his lips, the thought sobering him instantly. The truth was that if he wasn't vigilant, that is exactly what could happen to Laney Kensington.

“You have options,” he said. “It's that or the hospital gown. Pick your poison.”

“Right.” She pulled the outfit to her chest. “I'll change in the bathroom.”

It took her longer than it should have. She might have told the doctor she was feeling okay, but Grayson wasn't buying it. Her eyes had been glassy, her complexion still a little too waxy. If she passed out in the bathroom, he wouldn't know it.

“Laney?” Grayson rapped on the door. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She opened the door, her body covered from neck to ankle in pink and white.

He shouldn't have smiled. He knew it, but he couldn't stop himself.

“Wow,” he murmured as she met his gaze.

“And not in a good way, right?”

“You almost make it work.”

She offered a wan smile and sighed. “I'm not worried about making it work. I'm worried about everyone in the hospital catching a glimpse of me in it. If we're trying to slip out of here undetected, this outfit isn't going to help.”

“I can fix that,” Grayson said, shrugging out of his jacket and setting it on her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, and he tugged the hood up over her hair, his fingers grazing silky skin.

That he noticed surprised him. Since Andrea's death, he'd devoted himself to his job. There wasn't room in his life for anything else.

He stepped back. The jacket hung past Laney's thighs, the sleeves covering her hands.

“It's a little big,” he said.

She scowled, pulling at the pink leggings. “Not big enough, I'm afraid.”

He laughed. “Well, at least the poodle is covered.”

“There is that.” She grabbed Aunt Rose's bag from the bed. “Do you think if I press the button, the nurse will come any faster? I'm ready to get out of here.”

“You can give it a try,” he responded. He was anxious to leave, too. He had an uneasy feeling that said things weren't going to go down as smoothly as he wanted them to.

Laney jabbed the call button. “Really, I think a wheelchair is silly. I'm perfectly capable of—”

The lights went out, the room plunging into darkness. No light seeping in under the door. No light filtering in from behind the curtain. When he'd driven in, Grayson had noticed construction signs for a new wing—perhaps the power outage was related to that. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford to assume anything.

“What's going on?” Laney whispered.

“I don't know,” he responded, grabbing her hand and pulling her close to his side. “But, I can tell you this. We're not waiting for the wheelchair.”

FOUR

L
aney's nerves were on edge, her vision adjusting to the darkness as Agent DeMarco guided her toward the door. It flew open as they reached it, and Detective Jensen barged in. The door slammed shut behind him. “What do you make of this, DeMarco?” His voice was low and tense. His hand rested on his holstered revolver.

“Could be a power outage from the construction that's going on or—” the agent glanced at Laney “—something less innocuous. It's hard to say, but I don't like it. We need to get Laney out of here.”

“You have a plan for doing that without attracting too much attention?”

“Laney and I will leave now, through the hospital service entrance on the ground floor. I'll take care of getting her home. You call Chief Andrews and fill him in. We're going to need a couple of guys down here to investigate—we need to know for sure what caused this outage.”

“Do you really think this power failure could be connected to the kidnapping?” Laney interjected. “It seems like that would be a lot of trouble to go through.”

“How much trouble is too much trouble if it's going to keep a multimillion-dollar operation running?” Agent DeMarco asked.

It was a good question. One that Laney couldn't answer. Agent DeMarco struck her as levelheaded and calculated, completely focused on the investigation. If he thought the hospital's power failure could be staged by the kidnappers, she wouldn't write off the idea.

“Are you sure you don't need me for backup?” Detective Jensen asked, brows furrowed in concern.

“I'd rather you stand your post. Act like you're still guarding the room. Make note of everyone that comes by—hospital employee, electrician, patient—everyone,” Agent DeMarco replied.

“Will do.” Detective Jensen pulled the door open, stepping out of the way, and Agent DeMarco pressed a warm hand to the small of Laney's back.

“Stay close,” he said as he led her into the hall.

She didn't need the reminder. She planned on staying glued to his side until they exited the building. The emergency generator must have turned on. The hallway wasn't quite as dark as the room had been. A row of red lights illuminated the area, providing just enough light to see down the corridor to the dimly glowing exit sign.

A nurse made her way down the corridor, peeking into rooms as she went, calling reassurances to patients, inquiring about the occupants' welfare. Other than that, the hallway was empty, the stillness of the hospital unsettling. Agent DeMarco took Laney's elbow, urging her toward the stairwell.

“We're going to have to take the stairs,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side, the protective gesture somehow reassuring. “We're on the eighth floor, do you think you'll be able to make it?”

“Yes, I'll be fine.” She didn't have a choice.

“If you need to take a break, let me know. If you get dizzy or—”

“How about we just go?” she cut him off, because the longer they stood around talking, the more her head ached and the less energy her legs seemed to have. They were on the eighth floor, which meant navigating seven flights of stairs down to the ground floor. She was fit and healthy. She had to be to train dogs the way she did. On most days, she could sprint up ten flights of stairs and barely break a sweat. This wasn't most days.

“Just remember,” he responded, opening the stairwell door and ushering her onto the landing, “you pass out and I'll be carrying you out of here like a sack of potatoes, not worrying about maintaining your dignity.”

“If I pass out, dignity won't be first on my priority list.”

But neither of them would have to worry about it, because there was no way she was passing out in the stairwell like some damsel in distress. That wasn't her style. It was bad enough she was forced to make a covert escape from the hospital in tight, itchy leggings and a fuzzy poodle sweater. She wasn't going to do it lying over Agent DeMarco's shoulder.

Not if she could help it.

By the time they reached the fifth-floor landing, she wasn't sure she could.

Her head throbbed with almost every jarring step. She was dizzy and nauseated. The only thing that kept her on her feet was the horrifying vision of herself slung over Agent DeMarco's shoulder, her puffy sweater–clad torso slapping into his back as he jogged down the stairs.

Just five more flights of stairs. Four more. She counted them off in her head, forcing herself to take one step after another. She'd do everything she needed to do to buy the FBI and the MPD some time if that meant there was a chance of finding Olivia and the other children.

Her feet seemed leaden, every step more difficult than the one before, but she kept going, because she didn't want the image of Olivia's fear-filled eyes to be the last one she had of the girl. She wanted to see photos of her being reunited with her family, wanted to see her smiling and happy and playing the violin she'd been carrying when she was abducted. She wanted this time to be different. She needed a happy ending for Olivia. An ending she'd not been able to offer her teammates' families...

She stumbled, her legs nearly giving out.

Agent DeMarco's grip tightened on her waist. “Do you need to sit for a minute?” His voice rumbled close to her ear, his breath ruffling the fine hairs near her temple.

“No. I'm fine,” she lied, and kept walking.

* * *

Laney was lying, and Grayson knew it.

He wouldn't insist she sit down, though. He wanted her out of the hospital, and this stairwell, as quickly as possible. If that meant carrying her out, so be it.

Voices drifted into the stairwell as they neared the third-floor landing. Grayson tensed, wary of who might be approaching. He didn't believe in coincidences, and a power outage at the hospital while the key witness to a kidnapping was in it would be a big one. It was possible the construction crew had knocked out the power, but he wasn't counting on it. If the kidnappers were responsible for the power outage, they might be on a fact-finding mission, hoping to discover who Laney was and whether or not she was actually deceased.

If they already knew she was alive, Grayson had a new problem. Namely that someone who knew Laney had survived had leaked the information to the kidnappers. Though he hoped it wasn't the case, a leak could explain why the kidnappers always seemed one step ahead.

Laney stumbled again. He pulled her closer, steadying her.

“We're almost there,” he murmured, leading her down the stairs as quietly as possible. By the time they reached the second floor, she was visibly weak, her hand clutching the railing as she took the final step onto the landing.

Even in the dim red light, he could see the paleness of her skin, the hollows beneath her cheeks. Her eyes were glassy, her skin dewy from perspiration. She might have the will to make it out of the stairwell, but he wasn't sure she had the strength.

He pulled the hood from her head and pressed a palm to her forehead. Her skin was cool and clammy, her breathing shallow and quick. “Maybe you'd better sit for a minute.”

She backed away from his touch, squaring her shoulders and yanking the hood back up over her hair. “I appreciate your concern, but if we stop every time I feel light-headed or dizzy, we might not make it out until morning.”

Her matter-of-fact tone left no room to argue, so he stayed silent. Now was not the time for a struggle of wills.

“Three more flights to go,” he pointed out, and he thought he heard her sigh quietly in response.

It was taking forever to reach ground level, but then, Grayson wasn't the kind of guy who liked to do things slowly. He liked to have a plan in place and execute it with efficiency and as much speed as was prudent.

In this case, that meant going at a snail's pace.

It would have been quicker and easier to carry Laney the rest of the way down, but she wouldn't have appreciated it, and he needed her cooperation.

Somewhere above them, a door opened and shut with a bang.

How many floors above? he wondered. Four? Three?

Grayson stilled, listening. A quick shuffling of feet, then nothing.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty.

The stairwell remained eerily silent. He didn't like it. Someone was up there, still and listening, and he had a hunch it wasn't a hospital employee. If he was right, his witness's identity had been compromised. Peering over the railing, he scanned the stairwell below, its dark corners untouched by the dim emergency lights. There were now only two flights between them and escape. Multiple doors that the enemy could enter. He and Laney were vulnerable here, sandwiched between whoever had entered above and anyone who might be waiting below.

If there had been any other way out of the hospital, he would have selected it over the stairwell. Experience had taught him stairwells were prime locations for an ambush. A gunman above, a gunman below, and a person could be taken out in an instant.

Caught between floors, they had no choice but to continue down. He doubted Laney would make it up even one flight of stairs. Meeting her eyes, he held a finger to his lips, then guided her quickly down.

On the ground floor below, another door opened. He could hear heavy footsteps coming their way.

Not good.

Grayson had no intention of being caught in the middle of an ambush. Better to go on the offensive—meet trouble one-on-one. Grayson urged Laney down to the first floor landing, gently pushing her into the shadows. Drawing his gun, he peered over the rail.

A shadowy figure ascended the steps quickly, the barrel of a gun glinting in the dim emergency lights. From above, footsteps echoed loudly as the second person rushed down the stairs.

Grayson needed to act now. And it wouldn't be by the book.

If he announced himself, he'd lose the element of surprise. If he took a bullet, Laney would be easy pickings.

There's no way that was happening.

He had to time it perfectly. The gunman slowed as he neared the landing, cautiously stepping around the corner, gun first. In one quick motion, Grayson cracked the butt of his service weapon on the guy's wrist, eliciting a startled howl of pain and sending the gun clattering down the stairs.

The guy turned back—whether to flee or retrieve his gun, Grayson couldn't be sure. Reaching out, Grayson grasped a handful of the guy's sweatshirt and brought his gun forcefully down on the man's temple. The blow sent the man crumpling to the ground in a motionless heap.

Grabbing Laney's arm, Grayson pulled her forward, ushering her around the fallen assailant. The unmistakable pop of a silenced pistol echoed in the stairwell, a bullet slamming into the concrete wall a foot from Grayson's head. He shoved Laney forward, placing himself between her and the gunman as they raced down the last few steps to ground level.

He shoved the door open, scanning the hallway and the open door of the room beyond. Backup lights illuminated the hospital's laundry room, the huge cavernous area the perfect cover for anyone who might be lying in wait. Footsteps pounded on the stairs above, the second gunman moving in quickly.

Grayson dragged Laney into the hallway, shielding her from any threat that might be waiting.

“This way.” He motioned toward a glowing neon exit sign pointing them to their escape route. They ran toward the far wall, turning the corner as the stairwell door slammed open once more.

Grabbing Laney's hand, he sprinted toward the exit. He knew she was struggling to match his pace, but slowing down wasn't an option.

Right now he couldn't worry about anything but getting her to safety—as safe as any place could be for the only witness against a very large, very lucrative crime ring.

They barreled through the exit door into the employee parking lot.

“Come on,” he encouraged her. “I parked my car out here.”

* * *

Agent DeMarco didn't let go of Laney's hand as they ran through a near-empty parking lot. Silver streaks of moonlight managed to break through the intermittent cloud cover, providing some visibility beyond the shadows of the building. Too much visibility if their pursuer ran out of the building behind them. Laney shuddered at the thought.

She didn't want to be within sight of that door if it opened and the gunman appeared.

Her body was wearing down, though. No matter how much she wanted to keep sprinting along beside Agent DeMarco, she wasn't sure how much farther she could go. Her legs shook, every pounding step across the pavement making her head throb.

She stumbled, and his grip on her hand tightened.

“You can do this,” he urged her.

Maybe she could.

If wherever they were heading was closer than a few steps.

They rounded the corner of the building, putting brick and mortar between themselves and the door. She wanted to feel safer because of it, but fear pulsed through her veins, churned in her stomach. They had no idea how many men were after them—or where their attackers might be lying in wait.

A sudden clatter from around the building, like a can kicked across pavement, had Agent DeMarco snagging the arm of the jacket she wore, yanking her behind a large metal Dumpster.

“Stay hidden. I'll be right back,” he ordered before easing around the Dumpster and moving soundlessly into the night. She stood still, keeping as quiet as possible. Listening. She could hear nothing but the deafening rush of her own blood in her ears. Without Agent DeMarco, she felt exposed and vulnerable. Releasing the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, she tried to shake off that feeling.

She'd worked under stressful, even dangerous, circumstances in the past, and she'd never had to rely on anyone to get her through them. She couldn't allow herself to rely on Agent DeMarco, either. Playing the part of the victim just wasn't her style. After all, if something happened to him, she would have to take care of herself.