Peril (15 page)

The vision of Morgan in a coffin brought tears from her eyes. Sally groped in her purse for Kleenex. Lilly stood and opened a cabinet and pulled out a small cardboard box. She tore away the perforated top and offered the box to Sally.

“Morgan lost a child?” Lilly asked.

Sally pulled a couple tissues free. “Yes, a daughter named Teagan.”

Lilly slumped back onto the stool. “I know a little bit about that.”

Again, that quiet haunted look took over. What was it about her that Sally should remember? “About losing a child?”

“Two, actually. They're not dead . . . they're just no longer mine. I gave them up for adoption.”

The vividness of the memory struck Sally full force. Lilly Reeves was the woman who'd been hunted by one of the most maniacal serial rapists on record. Her story had been all over the news a few years back.

Lilly now pulled a tissue from the box and began to shred it between her fingers, some of the thin fibers floating to the floor seemingly as substitution for the tears she couldn't cry. Sally understood a barren well where unspoken despair was all that was left.

“I don't know what it is about ER rooms, but I've had the strangest experiences in them.”

“Like what?” Sally asked.

Quietly, she rolled the remaining tissue into a ball. “I had a visitor once, at another institution. Of all things, he shared a story about when Adolf Hitler was a boy. About the angel of death saving his life.”

“Seems counterintuitive . . . the grim reaper saving a life.”

Lilly's eyes held hers. “Unless that one life is responsible for the death of millions.”

Sally tipped her head, her mind stilled at the theoretical implications. Even death always wanted more.

“After that, I began to read heavily about Hitler's life to see if I could find a reference for this tale. I never did find absolute confirmation,
but I did come across an interview with a Jewish woman who was working as a nurse during World War II.” Lilly gathered up the bits of tissue that lay on the floor. “There was one night she was caring for a soldier who had pneumonia. In those days, treatment was limited. As a doctor was rounding on the patient, he made a comment that the young man was going to die by morning. Well, this young man overheard the doctor's statement and began to panic. The nurse went to his bedside. His one request of her was just to sit with him so he wouldn't die alone.”

“Morgan often gets asked why she didn't become a doctor. That's really the main reason. Time with her patients.”

Lilly smiled at the statement. “Well, this nurse sat with this soldier all night. Comforted him in his loneliness. Early the next day, just as the sun rose over the horizon, the man woke up. The nurse pulled the curtains aside, letting the sun fall on his face, and said to him, ‘This is your sunrise. A gift has been given to you.'”

A soft knock pulled Lilly's attention to the door. A male figure motioned for her to come out. She held up a hand with five fingers.

She turned back to Sally. “The war progressed and things became very dicey for the Jewish people. German soldiers would block off both ends of a street in Jewish neighborhoods and go through the buildings room by room, gathering up people for imprisonment . . . or worse. She'd been hiding in a closet when she was discovered by a soldier who'd been sent to kill everyone in sight.”

Sally's heart knocked against her rib cage as she imagined her daughter, a nurse, and what Morgan would do if her life were ever threatened in such a way.

Lilly's eyes widened. “The soldier yanked the nurse from her hiding place, drew his weapon, and held it to her head, his finger against the trigger, but his eyes searched over her face. After several moments, he holstered his weapon and said to her, ‘I am the soldier you sat with all night. Now, I return the favor to you. This is your sunrise. Now go quickly. I'm setting you free.' It's a story that's always stuck with me. How one sacrificial act can spread like ripples over a calm surface and forever change what was common before.”

Tears fell down Sally's face. “That really happened?”

Lilly stood from the stool. “Because another woman cared for my children and gave them a home when I couldn't, I will do this for you. I'll get tested to see if I'm a match for Morgan.”

And with those words, she left Sally alone.

Chapter 16

Late Evening, Thursday, August 9

W
ITH A QUICK SNAP OF
his wrist, Dylan Worthy let the knife fly from his fingers and sink into the red center of the bull's-eye. The metal sinking into wood gave a satisfying groan. He grabbed another knife from the table and pulled it slowly through his fingers.

“I dare you to stand in front of it.”

Scott Clarke pulled the weapon from the target and walked his direction, setting it down next to the others. “We have other things to discuss. Another round?”

Dylan nodded and motioned to the waitress. He began to place the hunting knives back into their carrying case. “You never enjoy the little things.”

“Haven't you killed enough? Why keep practicing? You're not in the military anymore. Don't you think it's time to move on?”

He smiled. “Considering what we're planning, I think practice is still necessary.”

“Why are you living in Grand Junction? Staying in Denver would make this a lot easier.”

Dylan tied the leather strap and set the bundle next to him in the booth. “There are reasons I need a little distance between me and Denver right now. Plus, you don't have to be local to listen in on a wiretap. You heard about Brad?”

Scott eased into the booth on the opposite side as the waitress slid two mugs of beer onto the table. “I heard.”

“Should I keep a tab running?” she asked, a voice that could only be smoothed out if bathed in oil.

Dylan gave her a contemptuous look.
Rode hard and put away wet would be a compliment for her looks
. Brittle, store-dyed copper hair. Vacant brown eyes. He guessed too much smoking and heroin were the main
culprits behind her emaciated features and considered doing her a favor, ending her misery after she got off work. But he had other concerns at present, so he threw forty bucks on the table instead.

“Keep 'em coming until this runs out,” he said.

Scott slid the drink his way and gulped a third of it before setting it down. “You must have something if you asked me to drive all the way out here.”

Everything in him wanted to draw this conversation out—to absorb every nuance of the tortured look on his comrade's face. The urge for blood was becoming strong again. He brushed his fingers over his newest tattoo. “I have a way for you to bring Thomas Reeves to his knees. A way to bring the whole city to its knees.”

“What did you find out?”

“He has a daughter.”

“We already know that. Lilly Reeves. I decided not to go after her because of her cop husband.”

Dylan leaned forward. “No, another daughter. Morgan. Morgan Adams.”

“What's the benefit of going after her?”

“Because she's Dr. Tyler Adams's wife.”

Scott's eyes widened. “You're serious?”

“I didn't just bug Reeves's office. I did Adams's home as well. I know for sure she's his daughter.”

“And exactly how is this information going to crumble a city?”

Dylan smirked. “Know your enemy's greatest weakness.”

“Which is why I don't see what you're so excited about. We know Reeves isn't a chummy family man. Another reason I decided not to go after Lilly. He's too driven. Work is his god. I like my plan better. Just blowing NeuroGenics up.”

“Of course a munitions guy like you would want that. But we don't want to incinerate evidence either. If we're ever going to find out what's causing our trouble, we need that place intact.”

“Then explain to me why this other daughter is so attractive to you,” Scott said.

“For one, she works in a pediatric ICU.”

“So?”

“We're going to take it hostage.”

Scott slumped back in the booth, grabbed the other two-thirds of his beer, and drank it without breaking Dylan's gaze.

“I've already got Jose working on some interior photo shots. I'm monitoring dispatch. We'll need to disable the helipad so they can't come at us that way.”

Scott tapped his empty beer mug in thought. Mission leaders always took too long to weigh all the odds. It was their supposed strength.

Dylan continued. “No one is going to be able to tolerate kids and nurses being held hostage. The media exposure will bring Reeves down.”

“He's going to disclose top-secret research because of media pressure? Reeves is more worried about the government than the media. I already tried to leak some of his documents and that didn't work.”

“You can't call conspiracy websites the media. People in power don't give any credit to those. Plus, who can understand all the scientific mumbo jumbo in those papers? It's not personal enough to people.”

Scott broke Dylan's gaze.

Not tough enough to do the dirty work. Always been his problem.

“I'm stunned you don't see the brilliance,” he said. “The pressure isn't just going to be on Reeves. You're forgetting about Dr. Adams. He won't be able to tolerate seeing his wife in danger. His sad, debilitated wife who needs a kidney transplant. He's the one that'll cave. He'll give us everything.”

“You're talking about kids. Sick kids.”

“Exactly.”

“We're not going to get sympathy. We'll be viewed as more evil than the devil. Especially after Sandy Hook.”

“Do you want it to stop? This research and what it's doing to us? This will put an end to it.”

“But it's also going to end us. We might as well buy burial plots right now.”

Chapter 17

Midnight, Thursday, August 9

T
YLER FLIPPED ONTO HIS
stomach, pulling the covers over his head, Morgan's news like a can of Red Bull. She'd taken a call from her mother—even though Morgan preferred distance because she didn't know how to handle all the emotions that came with the recent revelation. Reeves was her father. His mother-in-law had asked him for a kidney. He refused.

His pager toned. Another patient had seized and been rushed to CT.

The first patient's post-seizure scan had shown a mild bleed that could have precipitated that event. This time was different. The radiologist insisted that Tyler come personally to view the second scan. He had summoned Dr. Reeves as well.

Now Tyler knew for sure this night wasn't going to be a good one, particularly when the need for Reeves wasn't for his insight into the protocol but for his surgical skills.

And Tyler had to face him knowing he'd potentially denied saving Morgan's life.

The radiologist scrolled through the computer images, and Tyler's stomach ached as acid spilled into his gut. How could this have happened?

“It's a big mass,” the radiologist said.

Reeves's hands were fisted at his sides. “A tumor? Somehow he developed a baseball-size tumor in the span of a few days? It's not medically possible.”

The radiologist shrugged his shoulders. “His presurgical scans were clean.”

Tyler's eyes hazed the black-and-white brain images into gray. “You're sure about that? Are you absolutely positive you didn't miss something that was there before?”

Reeves cut him in half with his glare. “Are you serious? A first-year
medical student could clearly see a tumor that size in this young man's head. It's not exactly a subtle finding.”

Now I'm the enemy?

Reeves shoved his hands deep into his lab coat. “We'll need to biopsy it. Schedule him for the OR first thing tomorrow morning.”

The man turned on his heel. Every sane part of Tyler's mind begged him to keep his mouth closed, but his concern for the safety of his research participants pushed the words from his mouth. “Sir, what about the others?”

Reeves turned as if he'd been thumped on the back of the head. “What are you asking, exactly?”

Tyler clenched the patient's chart tighter. “Well, we know that this mass is where the graft was implanted.”

“Your point?”

“This could be the graft . . . malfunctioning.”

“A biological specimen doesn't malfunction. It's not a computer chip we put in the man's head. They are cells.”

“Yes, but we know that immature cells have a way of misbehaving. They tend to wander and grow other places. Or they grow faster than the normal cells they're replacing. Other research using harvested cell lines have already shown this.”