Peril (35 page)

Drew took the packages from her, and Morgan pulled her stethoscope from her neck and placed the ends in her ears.

Listening to heart tones wasn't generally the strength of any nurse. But she knew what normal sounded like, and if the classic lub-dub of his heart
pounding and pushing blood through his body sounded like it was at the other end of a tunnel, it meant blood could be collecting around his heart.

His heart tones easily discerned—though fast.

Breath sounds were clear and equal.

Did the bullet miss his vital structures?
Morgan felt hope, unbidden, seeping into her fractured soul.

Drew pulled the I-stat off the top of the cart and handed it to her. “Let's see where his crit is at.” He unwrapped a syringe and placed a needle. Morgan readied the machine to run. Then he drew blood from a vein lower than his IV site.

The machine was like having a lab in the PICU, where immediate test results could save lives—information like how well the patient was breathing and what his blood counts were. That's what she and Drew needed to know fast. How much blood had Tyler lost?

Drew handed her the syringe of blood. She injected the flat cartridge with it and snapped it into place.

Now, two minutes to wait.

For the first time, Morgan stole a glance at the monitor. Each colored line represented one of Tyler's vital functions. The sharp, mountained complexes for his heart rhythm. That clipped along at 140.
Fast
. That meant his heart was pumping faster so his red cells could unload more oxygen. It also meant there were less of them to do the job, as many of their compatriots had flooded out on the tile she now kneeled on.

Same with his respiratory rate. Fast—to load up the remaining oxygen deliverers faster.

Oxygen level. Low but still normal.

The machine toned. She glanced at the numbers.

What Tyler, her husband and her patient, had clinically told her was just confirmed by her hand-held lab test.

Drew looked down at her. “He needs blood.”

“How bad?” she asked.

“Bad.”

The explosion was so loud, the pulse wave so powerful that Morgan felt like the floor was about to open up and take Tyler, her, and Drew all the way to the first floor.

Morgan's ears rang. She could see Drew was trying to speak to her, motioning to the back of the unit, to the hall where the staff lounge was.

Dust and debris billowed from there.

Morgan looked back at Drew. His eyes were wide with fright, which intensified her own angst.

This man, who survived years in prison, looks like a scared rabbit ready to run.

Evidently the back exit wasn't an option anymore.

Tyler's monitor alarmed. His oxygen levels were plummeting.

Chapter 39

1430, Saturday, August 11

T
HE EXPLOSION SHOOK
the boardroom.

Nathan gripped a chair to steady himself as his stomach sank at the implication. Even with the floor vibrating under his feet, he tore across the room to the only camera they had inside the unit.

“What in heaven's name was that!” the CEO cried from the other side of the room. Police radios squawked. Lee was close on Nathan's heels as they neared the monitor.

The picture was smoky but the interior of the room was intact.

“Lee—”

Nathan stopped. Lee Watson was speaking into his radio, checking with his officers on-site.

“It's the back stairwell,” he said after a moment. “But everyone is accounted for. No injured officers.”

Nathan slapped his hand against the top of the monitor. “But we don't know about the hostages. What's happened to them?”

Out of nowhere, Brett Sawyer plowed through the group of people and grabbed Nathan by the shoulder.

Nathan threw his hand off. “What's with you?”

“We've got problems,” Brett said.

“I know that! A bomb just went off.”

Lee motioned that he was calling the unit. Nathan nodded his head, doubtful that Scott would pick up. Would Morgan be allowed to answer?

Could she answer?

There was a plan in play, and Nathan needed to figure it out. Posthaste. Ten minutes ago.

“Remember the heart transplant girl? The dog tags?”

Nathan looked at him incredulously. “Brett, I don't have time for your murder case right now. I just had an IED explode in a children's hospital!”

Brett grabbed both of his shoulders. “I know one of the hostage takers. I know why he's here today. I think it will help you.”

“You've got two minutes. SWAT's getting ready to go in. I'm not standing back this time. Not like I did before. I'm not waiting.”

“Okay, two minutes and then you're off to wrestle with your demons. I get it.” Brett angled Nathan toward a chair.

Nathan noticed the blood on his shirt. He pointed his finger at the stain. “What's that from?”

“Gina Worthy.”

“You shot someone?”

“No. I try to limit my use of deadly force to truly violent criminals. Not for suicidal, depressed women. I tackled her when she aimed a gun at me. Accidentally broke her nose. One cat may not make it. Can't be sure at this point.” Brett pressed on Nathan's shoulders. “Listen to me, partner. Please. Sit down.”

Nathan's fist curled under a surge of fire. He wanted to connect it with Brett's face.

I'm not a two-year-old that needs a time-out.

Brett pulled his jacket over the red, crusty patch.

“Gina Worthy's husband killed Zoe Martin, I'm sure of it. Dylan Worthy's dog tags were found at the scene of Zoe's murder. He was dishonorably discharged from the military because he had a thing for teenage girls.”

“That's awesome. Now I have something more emergent.”

Brett angled down. “You don't get it. Dylan Worthy is one of your hostage takers.”

Nathan fumed. “I know that! We can add your murder to his arrest warrant.”

“Dylan is hungry for fame. It's why he did Reeves's experiment. To become greater than any other man. But the entire protocol is being kept quiet, so his abilities aren't public knowledge. Well, turns out that situation doesn't fulfill the psychopath's greatest need. Bad side is Dylan's hunger for girls, but Dylan doesn't want that to become known because that's what keeps him alive. So he has to have something big that will make him more famous than the hero the military won't let him be. But he doesn't want to go down with a needle in his arm either.”

Nathan saw the cards falling into place. “He wants a hero's death.”

“Exactly. And if he dies for a cause, it may not matter to the public what his other ills were . . . like murder. That's your main problem. He wants to die. He served his country. Wasn't enough. He got lots of money through nefarious means. Burned through all of it. That wasn't enough. Then he found out Reeves was using relatives for these graft donations.”

“What do you mean?”

“Matches. Reeves paid Dylan's wife to terminate her pregnancy. That's where he got the neural cells for the transplant.”

Nathan struggled to understand. Was his father-in-law that callous to use unborn babies for parts? “On all of them? All of the soldiers?”

“I don't know for sure. It seemed that Reeves made that choice late in the protocol because they were having trouble with rejection. But now, imagine it's an infant that would have been
your
child stuck in
your
head. Problem is, I don't think Reeves was very forthright with the families about that little caveat. Where's Tyler Adams? Can't you ask him?”

Nathan's chest felt heavy. “He's in the PICU.”

“You gave them Reeves's little minion? What—”

“I got people out. I got children out. That's what I was thinking. Lee was in agreement.”

Brett stood and ruffled his hands through his hair. “Regardless, Dylan Worthy wants this to be his blaze of glory, going to his death in protest of Thomas Reeves's wicked science.”

Nathan nodded slowly.
If that's Dylan's motivation, then what is Scott's?

The noise in the room suddenly intensified. Nathan saw a photograph from a tabloid newscast flash on one of the TV screens. He came up out of his seat like a bullet.

Tyler Adams was on the floor in the PICU. Sticky redness on the left side of his chest.

Shot? Is he alive?

When Nathan turned, Lee was a few inches behind him.

“How did we not hear that shot?” Nathan yelled.

“Silencer. More importantly, why did they do it? That's what we need to figure out. They're not stupid. They know this is going to bring us in on their heads.”

Nathan furiously drummed his fingers on top of the monitor. The boardroom was in chaos. This was not the vision any CEO of a children's
hospital wanted to deal with. The tranquil image of this institution as a place of healing just blew up like the IED. Closing his eyes, Nathan thought through all the possibilities.

Why now? Why Adams?

“It's to force Reeves's hand,” he said out loud.

“Why not pick the daughter?” Lee asked, instinctively picking up the train of thought.

“Because Scott's probably figured out by now that Reeves and Morgan aren't close. Otherwise, Reeves would have done something to save her life. I take it you couldn't get Morgan on the line?”

“No answer.”

The sharp shrill of the phone silenced the room. Nathan picked it up.

“This is Nathan.”

“I need blood.” Morgan's voice—tightened on the verge of hysteria.

“Is Tyler alive?”

“How did you know?”

“It seems our hostage takers sent a photo to a tabloid reporter who didn't have any qualms about posting it. They released the photo on television. Was he shot?”

“Yes. I need blood. Two units of O negative packed cells from the blood bank.”

Nathan snapped his finger to the CEO, who hurried toward him. The nursing supervisor followed. He cupped his palm over the receiver. “Whatever you have to do, get her what she's asked for. I need it done in the next two minutes. SWAT can get it up there.”

“No.” The supervisor shook her head. “There's a tube system. The blood bank can send it that way.”

“Good, get it done.” Nathan uncupped his hand from the phone. “Morgan, we're getting those to you. What was the explosion? Do you know?”

“The stairwell. It's not passable.”

“Is Scott there with you?”

“No, he and Dylan are by the door.”

“Does he see you on the phone?”

“He gave permission for me to call for the blood.”

“Why did he shoot Tyler?”

“To buy Reeves's confession.”

Morgan's words confirmed Nathan's suspicions. But Scott hadn't fatally wounded Tyler.
Why not?
That was an unknown. Nathan's mind worked furiously to sort out known variables.

Dylan Worthy may have a death wish
,
but maybe Scott Clarke still wants to live.

That meant there was room to bargain.

Chapter 40

1520, Saturday, August 11

D
R
. T
HOMAS
R
EEVES GRASPED
Lilly's hand as she worked to adjust the tie around his neck. What he deserved at her hands was a noose. What she was giving him was a lifeline. At his touch, her piercing blue eyes gazed into his, question and promise unrealized.

“Why?” he said.

Lilly rested her palm against his chest for a brief moment, then busied herself with picking off invisible particles of lint. “Why what?”

“Why are you still here?”

“You asked me to go with you.”

His heart ached. Would knowing the truth ease this pain he'd carried? His mind pled his mouth to speak the words. “Why did you actually come in the first place? Was it really just for Morgan?”

So much in Reeves admired the woman Lilly had grown into—and grieved in the same breath at how little he'd had to do with it. His distance. His abandonment. His hope for a moment like this, now realized, but given in the worst instant of his life. Why did there have to be both joy and sorrow in this day?

“I know, and yet I don't know.” She turned to the desk and handed him a cup of coffee. “Double strength.”

He took the cup from her hands. The warmth begged off the chill of what his mind pleaded against him doing, teetering on a fence of indecision. “I really do want to know.”