IT WAS SEVEN MINUTES and eleven seconds later when Devon spotted Chad sauntering out the hospital’s front door. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been half-holding since he’d left.
She was going to be able to see Tina!
A few seconds later, Chad opened the car door and got in behind the steering wheel. “No metal detectors, but there are security cameras. Just in case someone reviews the tapes or is monitoring them, keep your head toward me when you walk to the elevator. I didn’t see anyone watching the lobby, but we can’t be too careful.”
“I’m probably not in any danger. Right?”
“If they’re really sophisticated, they’re watching the hospital with night vision equipment from a distance. You’ll be harder to spot, especially in a disguise. We have to operate at all times as if you’re being stalked.”
She nodded, knowing he was right. “What about ICU?”
“There’s a security camera at the end of the hall and one at the nurses’ station. Keep your head down. The cap and the glasses will conceal your face. You see your sister for as long as the ICU nurses allow you to stay. Then we deadhead for Atlanta.”
She nodded her agreement. If anyone was watching the Miami Airport, they wouldn’t find her.
His lips touched hers like a whisper, his mouth brushing hers, then pressing more firmly. The kiss didn’t escalate into heated passion, the way their other kisses had. It seemed to be a pledge of something deeper, more meaningful.
Love welled up inside her. What would she have done without him? It wasn’t just that he was an expert in surveillance and disguises. Having him with her made Devon less anxious, less panicky. Less likely to make a deadly mistake. With him at her side, the all-encompassing loneliness eased.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you,” she whispered. He kissed her again, and the sweetness of his kiss triggered an ache deep inside her. How did he feel? Did he truly believe she’d told him the truth? Did he love her?
“Let’s roll.”
They both stepped out of the wreck and sauntered toward the entrance, walking “the walk.” Gangsta types—even Cubans in Miami—had an attitude that showed in the way they walked. It had taken Devon almost an hour of practice to get it down.
They ambled up to the entrance, and Devon checked the shadowy parking lot but detected nothing suspicious. Inside, she turned her head toward Chad and away from the security camera. They took the elevator to the second floor ICU.
“Let me do the talking,” Chad said, his voice low as they stepped out of the elevator. “Keep your face away from the security camera over the nurses’ station.”
They walked toward a pod crammed with high-tech gear. Devon didn’t spot the security camera, but she trusted Chad to know what to look for. Several nurses were sitting off to the side, monitoring patient information relayed from their rooms to the pod’s computers.
The nurse on duty glanced up at them, then continued making notes on a chart. “Yes?”
Chad leaned over the counter in a way that would have intimidated many people. Evidently the nurse had seen a fair number of gang members and an unshaven six-foot-four guy in a filthy do-rag didn’t bother her. Devon kept her head averted from where the security camera must be concealed among an array of equipment mounted on the walls.
“My friend’s here to see Tina Layton,” Chad told the nurse.
“Immediate family only,” the nurse replied with a brief glance up at them.
“It’s Tina’s brother.”
The nurse arched one eyebrow, clearly questioning this. “I’ll need to check the records. Mr. Layton has power of attorney.” She tapped a few keys on the computer in front of her.
Please, Steven, Devon silently prayed. Have me on the visitor’s list.
“Well,” the nurse said, obviously surprised. “Here you are—”
“It’s okay to go in,” Chad cut her off before the nurse said her name out loud.
“Yes, but Mr. Layton is with the patient. I’ll have to let him know.”
The nurse trotted down the hall to a door marked 2-C. A few seconds later Steven emerged. He’d aged considerably since she’d last seen him. His wheat-blond hair had crept upward another half inch. His skin was like a turtle’s shell from hours on the golf course. Deep creases fanned out from the corners of his eyes and formed three horizontal lines across his brow.
“Samantha?” The shock in his voice pleased her. The disguise was working.
“It’s me.”
“She’s still—” Steven’s voice broke, and Devon knew he was seconds from crying.
“May I see Tina?”
“That’s all right.”
He eyed Chad with suspicion and didn’t comment when Devon told him that Chad was her friend. “Only one person in ICU at a time.”
“S’okay. I’ll wait here.” Chad gave her arm a silent gesture of reassurance.
“I’m going to slip in with you,” Steven told her. “The nurses don’t count me.”
The animosity she’d heard over the telephone seemed to have vanished. She thought she understood. Steven was an only child whose parents had died several years ago. He didn’t have anyone to help him. It was easy to be angry with Devon at a distance, but now he had someone to share this tragedy with him.
“I would never have recognized you,” Steven said as he put his hand on the lever to open the door into the room.
“That’s the idea. Forget I was here.”
Steven knew she was in WITSEC. As her closest relative, Tina had been informed immediately, when the FBI removed her from Houston and turned her over to the Federal Marshals who ran WITSEC. Tina had never been told where her sister had been relocated or that she’d been moved a second time, so Steven didn’t know anything, either. It was just as well. Devon had long ago decided her brother-in-law was a little weak. He would give her up in a heartbeat.
“Tina?” she called softly as she entered the room and halted. For a moment she couldn’t believe it was her sister. Her face was like aged parchment, pale and dry. An oxygen clip pinched her turned-up nose. The lower part of her body was in some sort of contraption to stabilize her fractured pelvis.
There wasn’t the slightest vestige of Tina’s heartwarming smile. Only the curly lashes Devon had always envied and her Cupid’s bow lips told Devon this was her sister. Fear seeped from every pore, hitting her with a mind-numbing punch as she grasped the seriousness of her sister’s condition.
Critical.
She’d heard the term, known what it meant, but seeing Tina like this almost shattered her fragile self-control. She stood motionless in the middle of the room, gazing at her sister and silently acknowledging Tina might die.
Devon forced herself to move forward and kiss Tina’s cool, dry cheek. She took her sister’s right hand into both of hers. The other hand was attached to a frightening array of tubes and wires.
“It’s me,” she whispered in her ear. “It’s Sammy.”
No one but Tina had called her Sammy since grade school. It was too boyish, she’d decided the moment she’d discovered the opposite sex was good for something besides climbing trees with her.
“She doesn’t hear you,” Steven said. “I’ve been trying for two days.”
Devon stroked her sister’s hand. “I know, but I’ve heard it stimulates the brain. It might help her regain consciousness.”
“Can’t hurt.”
“Tina, remember the time you locked me in Aunt Meg’s steamer trunk? When you finally let me out, I made you swear to eat my veggies for a week.”
Nothing.
“It’s Sammy. It’s Sammy,” she whispered directly into Tina’s ear. “Talk to me. I’ve missed you so.”
The only sound was the annoying plink-plink of an IV attached to her sister’s arm.
“What do the doctors say?” she asked.
“She should wake up, but they can’t guarantee it.”
Devon again whispered in her sister’s ear. “Tina, remember our marmalade cat you named Moe? You swore it was a boy. Then Moe had six kittens, remember?”
Tina’s left eye flickered.
“Did you see that?” she cried with excitement.
“Yeah. She moves her eyelids now and then. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Devon’s heart lurched against the wall of her chest. She’d imagined a heart-to-heart talk with her sister—not this. She’d been unrealistic, of course. She should have known; she’d been told repeatedly Tina was unconscious.
“Tina,” she whispered again. “Please. I haven’t got long. I’m here. I love you. Steven loves you. So does Ariel. Wake up. Talk to us.”
Nothing.
“Where’s Ariel?” she asked.
“Perhaps if she spoke to—”
“No. I won’t allow it. If worse comes to worst, I don’t want Ariel to remember her mother like this.”
Devon couldn’t argue. Until now, she’d always carried a mental image of Tina’s ceaseless smile. Seeing her this way would stay with Devon forever if her sister died.
Devon slipped into the hall to talk to Chad. He was turned so his back was to the security camera. He pulled Devon close to keep her out of range, as well.
“Tina’s still in a coma,” she whispered to him. “I’ve tried talking to her, but she isn’t responding.”
“It’s been only forty-eight hours. It might be days…”
“I don’t have that long.”
“There’s a red-eye tomorrow at midnight from Atlanta. That’s the latest we can stay, if you want to return to Honolulu without anyone realizing where you’ve gone.”
Two nurses rushed by them and charged into Tina’s room. A wild flash of panic ripped through Devon. “She’s dead.”
“No,” Chad assured her. “There wasn’t a Code Blue alert.”
Steven came out, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched over. “Tina’s moaning. The nurses are checking her.”
They waited in the austere hallway frozen in silent anticipation for a few agonizing minutes. No one came out of the room.
Finally Chad asked Steven, “Have the police located the driver who hit Tina?”
“No. I called them from the coffee shop about an hour ago.” Steven shook his head, clearly disappointed. “No sign of the car.”
“It’s bound to have front end damage,” Devon said.
“True,” Steven agreed. “The witness gave a good description. A late model Lexus. Beige with Florida plates.”
Devon glanced at Chad. She knew what he was thinking. After forty-eight hours the odds went down that a crime would be solved. An elderly man in a damaged Lexus shouldn’t be this hard to find.
A nurse poked her head out the door. “She’s asking for someone named Sammy.”
Devon was momentarily speechless with surprise. Thank you, God. Thank you. Tina was asking for her.
She noticed Steven’s bleak expression and choked back an elated cry. She grabbed Steven’s hand, pulling him along with her. “She’ll ask for you any second.”
Inside, the nurse was adjusting the oxygen clip in Tina’s nose.
“‘Ammy.” A low, guttural moan. “Sammy?”
Her sister’s voice, a painful echo of the past when they’d been young. Happy. A thousand forgotten memories swept through her, in a second each was stamped with her sister’s image. She couldn’t control her spasmodic trembling. Tina was calling to her, the way she had when they’d been children.
A lifetime’s memories of childhood days played through her mind. Her sister, her best friend. Unlike some sisters who were sibling rivals, they’d always cherished their relationship. Over the years, it had become a priceless source of inner strength. When Tina needed someone to help during childbirth, she’d turned to her sister.
Luck had deserted Devon back in Houston and hadn’t been with her since. She’d been terrified her sister would be taken from her, as well. But Tina was speaking, calling her name. Didn’t it mean she was getting better?
Holding raw emotion in check, Devon leaned over the bed. “I’m right here, Tina. Can you open your eyes?”
Tina’s lids fluttered and she moaned again, louder this time. Her lids slowly lifted until they were at half-mast and revealed pain-glazed, unfocused blue eyes. A suffocating sensation tightened Devon’s throat. If only she could take her sister’s pain away. Make it hers instead.
“M-M-Moe’s…under…house. What’s he…doin’ there?”
Devon clutched her sister’s hand, careful not to dislodge the IV. “Moe’s not a boy, remember? She’s having kittens under the house.”
“What the hell?” asked Steven.
“Sh! She’s talking about a cat we had when we were kids.”
“It’s not uncommon,” the nurse assured them. “She’s reliving an event in the past. Now that she’s conscious, she’ll move forward in time.”
Tina groaned again and tried to move but the contraption around her broken pelvis held her in place. “Kittens? Daddy…won’t…”
“We can talk to Daddy, but I don’t think he’ll allow us to keep a kitten.”
“I—I…”
A middle aged man with a stethoscope draped around his neck barged into the room. He wore an expensive suit a shade darker than his gray hair and had an arrogant air that made Devon bristle inwardly.
“Dr. Wells,” the nurse said, her tone reverential. “The patient is regaining consciousness.”
“Everyone out.”
“I’m her—”
“Out!” he barked at Steven.
Devon followed Steven into the hall where Chad was waiting for her, his shoulder still braced against the wall, blocking the security camera.
“She’s awake, but her mind is in the past.”
“At least she’s regained consciousness.”
“I want Tina to know I’m here,” Steven said. “I’ve been here the whole time.”
Her brother-in-law’s voice was whiney. Always self-centered and easily peeved, Steven was now exhausted and upset that Tina had asked for Devon instead of him. No matter what happened, coming here had been worth the risk. She’d helped the sister she loved and missed so much.
Dr. Wells emerged from Tina’s room. “You’re Mrs. Layton’s family?”
They all nodded. The doctor didn’t seem the least fazed to be confronted with a powerhouse in a do-rag and a person whose sexual orientation was questionable. This was Miami. There were enough weirdos around to give L.A. a run for its money.
“I’ve medicated Mrs. Layton. She’ll sleep all night.”
“But she just woke up,” Devon protested. “Wouldn’t—”
“Her body needs time to adjust to the pain. When we reduce the medication in the morning, she’ll be more fully awake.”
“She’ll be able to talk to me?” Steven asked.
“I guarantee it. The worst is over.” The doctor checked his watch, obviously anxious to leave. “Go home. Get a good night’s sleep and come back in the morning.”
BROCK BUFFED THE HOOD of his red Gull Wing. It was already gleaming so brightly in the warehouse lights that it could have blinded someone. He didn’t care. It eased his tension to tend his babies.
The Gull Wing had been a hit in St. Louis, but the show had left him with a hollow feeling. His car was a sensation because Jordan’s Gull Wing had been scratched. Being second best put him in an even worse mood than he’d been in lately.
He’d tried locating Jordan using the XtremeX Web site. It was connected to an anonymizer that encrypted e-mail and rerouted it through a variety of servers until it was impossible to tell where a message originated. This was illegal, of course, and told him the bitch was probably trafficking in drugs or porn. Why else would she cover her tracks in cyberspace?
The cell phone in his pocket vibrated. He’d kept it two days—a full day longer than he should have—because his operatives in Miami hadn’t checked in yet today. He had to give them the new cell number before he could ditch this one.
“251, this had better be you,” he said, his voice echoing in the large warehouse where he kept his cars.
“Right.” He recognized 251’s voice.
“We think Samantha Robbins visited her sister at the hospital tonight.”
“Think? Shit! Don’t you know?”
“The audio sounds like it.”
Brock choked back a curse. He’d devised an elaborate plan to tail Tina Layton and hit—but not kill—her. He’d even arranged for 251 to pose as a vacationing kid from Des Moines to give a bogus description of the car and the driver. He knew word would get back through WITSEC to the bitch.
“What do the security cameras show?” 251 had paid off a night worker at the security company to make copies of the ICU tapes.
“Hard to say. You know security tapes.”
Indeed Brock did. Most security camera tapes had no audio. They were often grainy and taken from an odd angle. Still, plenty of perps had been nailed with shots from security cameras.
“Copy what you’ve got to a disk and e-mail it to me at the office.” Brock pitched the used lint-free wipe toward the trash bin in the corner. “Same with the audio. I’ll enhance the video and get back to you. Go on standby mode.” He instructed 251 to call him back on the agent’s line at Obelisk or on the new cell number he gave him.
On the way back from the warehouse to his underground bunker at Obelisk, Brock drove by Jordan’s apartment to kill time while 251 converted the tape. There was a single light on not far from the window facing the street. He parked in the loading zone and rang the bell. Nearly a minute passed and no one responded. He rang again. Nothing.
Shit!
He couldn’t contact Jordan Walsh. He could highlight an ant on a leaf in the Amazon, but he couldn’t find this woman.
In a huff, Brock drove to Obelisk and was waved through the security check point. Brock parked in his space and noted no other executives at the company were working late. Well, what did he expect? They were home counting their money and fucking their girlfriends.
Not that Brock cared.
When this was over, he would have something better than a broad. He would have a one-of-a-kind Gull Wing Mercedes. Who needed a woman?
In his office, Brock pulled on his microfiber jacket, then wriggled his fingers into the gloves. He smoothed the lightweight material across his palms and made sure his fingers were free to work on the computer.
He had AgCom on his computer. The age progression software had been developed to show abducted children as they grew older, employing digital imaging techniques. He could take the most washed-out or shadowy photograph and enhance it until it was National Geographic quality.
He’d used AgCom to compare a photograph of Samantha Robbins with women in Western states who had applied for driver’s licenses. He hadn’t found her, but that didn’t mean it was AgCom’s fault.
The whir of the incoming field line alerted him to what had to be 251’s electronic transfer of the pictures of ICU taken by the security camera. The audio transcript captured by the parabolic mike would come through another system. It would be more difficult to analyze, but with the special enhancement equipment Obelisk had, Brock was sure to have a clear audio transcript by morning.
He peered at the incoming security tape. Miami-Dade Hospital couldn’t have ID’d Godzilla with their security cameras. The tape showed a tall man—well over six feet—wearing a prison gang’s do-rag around his head and a smaller male in his late teens.
He watched the tape as the twosome meandered with all the bravado gang members could muster toward the series of doors that led into individual ICU cubicles. Out came Steven Layton who greeted them.
What the fuck? Who were these jerk-offs?
This required a photo-analysis. He reversed the tape and froze it at the shot from the nurses’ station. It was a full-frontal shot of the tall man, but the teenager wasn’t facing the camera. What little of his face could be seen was shadowed by a Marlins ball cap and black-rimmed glasses.
He tapped a few keys, and AgCom converted the video to a still photograph. The computer would eliminate the security camera’s distortions and lighten up the shadows. Every photograph could be reduced to pixels—pinpricks of light—millions of them. The special software sorted through the pixels and deciphered their relationship to other pixels.
In less than a minute, a clearer image appeared on the screen. It was still disappointing. The square-jawed tall man’s features had improved slightly, and the shadows from the cap had been removed. But Brock still didn’t have a clue who they were.