Left for Dead (43 page)

Staci thought of all those poor reporters outside the hospital, just itching to be in her nurse’s shoes right now. She stepped up to the window—which had criss-crossed, thin wire running through it.

A lamp was on in the corner of the hospital room, where a stocky police guard sat, reading a paperback.

The man in the bed appeared to be sleeping. The harness holding up his wounded leg hovered a few inches off the bed. He had kicked off his sheets. Straps from underneath the bed were tied to his wrists. The pale blue hospital gown he wore was blotchy with sweat stains. His dark wavy hair looked greasy, and his complexion was sallow. He’d looked a lot more handsome in his newspaper photo.

He turned toward her and opened his eyes.

Staci let out a little gasp. Those eyes were dark and puffy, yet mesmerizing. He was staring at her, and she couldn’t move.

“That’s him,” she heard the guard say. “That’s Rembrandt.”

Walter Binns gazed at the nurse looking back at him through the little window in the door. She seemed frightened. He felt a tiny, delicious rush. He shivered, but it had nothing to do with his fever.

He locked eyes with the girl. She had pretty eyes.

Walter Binns thought about how he could make them even prettier.