I TRIED TO REASON WITH THE OFFICER, EXPLAIN that I wasn’t a reporter, point out that I was in law enforcement. He wasn’t buying any of it. With my feet barely touching the ground, he marched me down the hall past curious doctors and nurses. I spotted Beth and managed to mouth, Get Aynslee, before he hustled me out to a parked patrol car and shoved me into the back. A few visitors to the hospital paused to watch the show. My face flamed with a hot flash, leaving me uncomfortably damp.
The backseat of a patrol car isn’t made for human comfort. The officer left me to cool my heels for what seemed like hours. He finally returned, leaned against the side, and placed a call. I could hear his side of the phone conversation. “Yeah, hi, Jeannie. This is Ken. Say, I caught a reporter that sneaked into the room with the girl. Yeah. Yeah. I don’t know.” He looked at me. “Do you have ID?”
“In a canvas bag. In Mattie’s room. Who—”
“Nah, no ID. Okay.” He looked back at me. “What’s your name?”
“Gwen Marcey.”
“She says her name is Gwen Marcey.” He listened for a moment. “You’re kidding. Really? Not as far as I could see. Will do.” He hung up and opened the door. “Jeannie said to let you go, but if you ever do that again, she’ll arrest you.” After unlocking the handcuffs, he paused to listen to his shoulder mic.
“Attention all units. There’s a 10–80 at 1512 West Fir—”
I knew that 10-code. Explosion. And that address. The veterinary hospital. Where my dog was locked up in a cage.
Mattie let out a sigh of relief as soon as she made it outside. The sooner they got away from the hospital, the safer she’d be. While they’d been looking for the scrubs, someone had parked a white pickup truck with a cap over the bed and left the motor running. A sign lettered on the side read Andersen Upholstery and Office Designs, Copper Creek–Missoula.
A middle-aged man in a denim jacket and jeans came toward them from the rear of the truck. He carried several large rings with fabric samples attached. “Ah, just in time. Can you hold the door?”
She bit her lip, unable to move. Aynslee stepped aside and nodded. The man strolled past them and turned right.
It took a moment before Mattie’s legs would move. She caught Aynslee’s attention and nodded toward the truck. “Can you drive?”
“I’m not stealing a truck.”
Mattie dashed to the rear. Two chairs and numerous bolts of fabric jumbled together in the back, almost filling the space.
“What are you doing?” Aynslee asked.
“If you don’t want to steal a truck, then let’s steal a ride. He left the engine running, so he’ll be right back. Come on.” She clambered up, shoved one chair aside, and slipped behind several colorful stacks of fabric samples. After a moment’s hesitation, Aynslee followed, knocking over a chair. She reached over to straighten the chair, then ducked.
The man stood by the open tailgate.
Mattie held her breath. Oh, please.
He slammed the tailgate up and pulled the door down. Clank! The vehicle rocked slightly, and the driver’s door banged shut. The engine revved as they backed from the loading dock.
The two girls huddled together, keeping their heads below the window to the cab. Aynslee pulled the plaid jacket over their legs for warmth. The day had turned cool, and the truck bed was unheated.
Mattie’s hands started to hurt. She hadn’t thought about that. “Aynslee,” she whispered. “I gotta get some drugs.” She held up her splinted hands.
Aynslee chewed on a hangnail for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. “We have to go to my house. I can call my mom and dad from there. And Mom still has some drugs from when she had cancer—”
“But the guy knows where you live! He said he was going to kill you.”
“No, it’s okay. He can’t get in. There’re bars on the windows, and we’ll lock all the doors. Mom has a cool pink rifle, and a gun too.”
Mattie stared at her. “I don’t know.”
“We won’t be there long. Just until we get ahold of my mom and dad.”
The throbbing pain in Mattie’s hands grew by the minute. “You’re sure about the drugs?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. We’ll be safe.”