When Patrick opened the ER door and started down the hall, a guard rose from behind the desk. "No visitors at this time of night."
"I'm meeting Mr. Gilbert, the father of the nurse who was attacked Thursday night. I need to see the girl."
"I can't let you in."
"Has Mr. Gilbert arrived?"
"No one's been past this desk since nine thirty."
"Then I'll wait." Patrick leaned against the wall and stared at the glass doors. Snow fell faster. A man entered and stamped his feet against the floor.
"Mr. Gilbert?" Patrick asked.
"Yes, and you must be Mr. Macleith."
Patrick held out his hand. "Thanks for coming."
Mr. Gilbert clasped Patrick's hand. "Let me call ICU." He reached for the phone on the security desk. A short time later, he turned to Patrick. "They'll let us in. Just before I left home, I heard Larry is dead. When you talk to Julie, be careful. My wife and I don't want her to learn until tomorrow when we're both with her."
"I agree. Things have been rough enough for her."
They strode down the hall. Mr. Gilbert paused at the door to ICU. "Are you sure Susan's in danger? Julie's frustrated because she can't remember. I don't want to put her through more stress."
Patrick let out his breath. "Susan's in danger and Julie will be too. What's to stop the killer from reaching her when she's transferred? She's the only one who can name him."
Mr. Gilbert reached for the door. "I'll go in and talk to her first."
Patrick paced from the closed door to the entrance to the ICU corridor. He wanted a phone to call Susan's unit to ask her to wait for him. The only phone he'd seen was at the security desk and he didn't want to go that far.
The door opened. Mr. Gilbert motioned to Patrick. "I tried, but she blocks on the name. She wants to see you."
Patrick moved past Mr. Gilbert. How could he help Julie find the name? He paused outside her cubicle and prayed for a way to trigger her memories.
Susan closed the care plan book and looked at the clock on the wall across from the Desk. Impossible, she thought. I'm finished. The oddity of the situation stunned her. She turned to the night nurses. "Are you sure I've told you everything? I've never finished this early before."
"You've never had nine patients instead of twelve and a full staff. Why is Meg being sweet?"
"More like Grace Greene. Meg's not due back until Monday. I'm not sure there's a reason. The census for the entire house is down."
"Let's enjoy the lull while it lasts, especially with the way the snow's coming down. Go home. Weren't you here last night waiting with Julie's parents?"
"I was and I learned a lot about patience."
"Spare me the lecture. You were born patient, kind and thoughtful." She handed Susan the phone. "Call. Heroines deserve a reward."
"I'm hardly that." As Susan tapped the numbers, the two part-time nurses finished report. "Grace, it's Susan Randall... Hardly, just a favor. We're done and I'm beat. All of us... Thanks." She hung up. "We can go."
"Even me?" Kit asked.
"She said the entire evening staff."
"How did you manage that?"
"I asked." Susan walked to the lounge and pushed the door open. "We're free," she called to the practicals. "Someone grab my teapot."
"Hey, this is cute," Tina said. "Where'd you get it?"
"Julie bought it at the Potter's Wheel."
In the rush and confusion with seven people banging lockers and acting like prisoners freed from captivity, Susan reached the elevator carrying the teapot, her oxfords and the heavy stethoscope. Oh well, she thought. If she returned the shoes to the locker, she would hold the others back.
At the ER exit, the guard waved them on. "Take care, ladies. Don't anyone leave before everyone's in their cars."
"And check the back seats for strangers," Kit said.
Snow swirled through the air. Flakes melted on Susan's face. "I'm glad we're on our way home."
"It's too soon for snow," Kit said. "Should have waited until closer to Christmas."
"There's plenty of time for several storms before then," Tina said.
"I hope it doesn't snow all night." Susan juggled the shoes as she stepped from the curb. "Since I live so close, they'll call and ask me to work. They'll even come for me."
"I'm glad I live upstate," one of the part-time nurses said. She pushed Susan's shoes into a better position. "The trip home will be bad enough. No one's about to ask me to come in tomorrow morning."
"Take your phone off the hook," Kit said. "That's what I do."
"I have an answering machine that broadcasts the caller's message so I can decide if I want to talk," Tina said. "Get one like that."
Susan shook her head. "I don't need an answering machine." She stopped beside her car and while searching for her keys, juggled shoes, stethoscope and teapot.
Once she settled behind the wheel, she started the wipers and waited for the others to reach their cars before she backed out. A train of cars followed her to the gate. In hopes of finding a weather report, she turned on the radio.
"...another bizarre death involving a nurse from Bradley Memorial Hospital." Susan's hands tightened on the wheel. "Police report the bodies of Trish Fallon and Lawrence De Witt were found earlier this evening in the doctor's riverfront apartment. Further details are expected as the investigation continues."
The voice droned on. Susan felt sick. When Trish had talked about De Witt's involvement in her addiction, she had barely controlled her anger.
What about Julie? How would the younger nurse handle this news? Though Julie had broken with De Witt, she said she still loved him.
Susan sighed. With De Witt dead, the truth about the attacks would never be learned.
Patrick entered Julie's cubicle. No miraculous method of memory recovery had occurred. If she couldn't tell her parents or Susan, why did he think he would succeed? He clenched his fists. He had to find the answer. Susan was in danger.
After drawing a deep breath, he walked to the bed where Julie sat propped by pillows. Only the luminous eyes in the pale face beneath the white turban seemed familiar. "How are you? Thanks for agreeing to see me." He stared at the monitor on the wall above her bed without understanding the meaning of the moving lines.
"I'm fine. Dad said you think Susan's in danger from the man who attacked me." She shifted her position. "I know you're right, but I can't remember why."
She looked away but not before he saw sadness creep into her expression. "Do you remember who attacked you?"
"He...he..." She crushed the sheet. "I'm sorry. This happens every time I try to say his name."
Patrick stepped closer to the bed. "Are you protecting someone? Susan thinks De Witt attacked you."
"Larry, no way." She licked her lips. "It was him... he...why can't I say his name? I can hear his voice, deep and threatening. He brought her presents."
"Susan?"
"No... Maybe...I mean his mother. She was here. A patient. Why can't I say his name?"
Patrick stared at the monitor. Susan had received presents but he had thought they were part of a practical joke or something equally nonthreatening. Was there a sinister connection? He shifted from foot to foot. Should he tell Julie that someone had killed Trish Fallon. Something had to shake the name loose.
"Could your attacker have been a former patient? Someone whose name sounds like Bola or Vola?"
"Volunteer." Julie threw the covers back and reached for the side rail. "That's who it was. The volunteer."
"Are you sure?"
"He came out of the fog and grabbed me. I fought and nearly got away but he caught me. I'll never forget the look on his face."
"One hundred percent sure?"
"A thousand. You've got to warn Susan. 'You hurt Mommy.' That's what he said. Susan likes him. She thinks he's nice." Tears rolled down her face.
Patrick felt torn between learning more and dashing to the phone. He should have called Susan before he left the house. "What happened to his mother?"
"She died. During a code. About a year ago." Her eyes widened. "Barbara, Ms. Vernon, Mendoza and Larry were there, too." She grabbed Patrick's hand. "You've got to warn Larry and Susan. You've got to stop Mr. Martin before he hurts them."
Patrick stepped back from the bed. "I'll try." He backed to the door. When Julie heard about Trish Fallon and De Witt, would she blame herself? He pushed past Mr. Gilbert. Susan would help the girl understand she wasn't at fault, but only if he reached her in time to prevent another tragedy.
Several strides took him to the desk. "What's the extension for Five Orthopedics?" As the nurse replied, he tapped the three-digit code. The phone rang once and was answered. "Susan Randall, please."
"She's not here."
Patrick gripped the receiver. "It's not eleven thirty."
"I know but sometimes miracles happen. She finished early."
"How long ago did she leave?"
"Ten minutes or so."
Patrick hung up. How long would it take her to get home? Could he catch her? He had to try.
"Are you all right?" Mr. Gilbert asked.
"Susan's left the hospital. I have to go after her."
"Do you want me to come?"
"No. Call the police. Ask for Greg Davies. Tell him Julie named her attacker as a Mr. Martin, a volunteer on her unit." Patrick gulped a breath. "Tell him to send a man to 1447 Broadway to warn Susan."
"Will do."
"Thanks." Patrick hit the door at a run, barreled down the hall past the security desk. He dashed across the snow-covered parking lot to his car. On almost a single movement, he started the car, fastened his seatbelt and pulled away. The wheels spun on the slick pavement.
A short time later, the CB crackled with an alert for Fred Martin, five foot ten, one hundred and ninety pounds, gray hair. A description of his car and license plate followed. "Be alert. He may be armed."
Patrick erased everything from his thoughts except the road and his fear for Susan. Would he be in time?
As Susan pulled into the driveway, a series of yawns caused her eyes to water. She set the handbrake and slumped in the seat. Exhaustion made her body limp. As she gathered shoes, stethoscope, teapot and purse, she was tempted to leave all but her purse in the car.
She reached for the door and realized Patrick's car wasn't there. A cascade of relief rushed through her thoughts. There would be no need for lengthy explanations about her failure to wait for him to drive her to work. By the time he returned she hoped to be asleep. In the next instant, a perverse need to see and touch him demanded her attention. She shook her head, slung her purse over her shoulder and left the car. She grabbed the other things.
Where was Patrick? Hadn't he said the concert was over before eleven? But that had been when he had planned to pick her up at the hospital. Had he gone to meet her? There was no way he would think she could leave early.
Anticipation of a scene like those Jim had staged when she had failed to follow his instructions tightened her shoulder muscles. She locked the car. Patrick wasn't like Jim. Patrick listened. She tucked her shoes in the crook of her arm and held the teapot against her chest. Snow blew against her face. She looked toward the porch and held in a gasp. Something white gyrated in the wind. She took several steps away from the car.
"Susan." She looked around. Had someone called her name or had it been the wind. "Susan." She turned a half-circle and peered through the falling snow. "Over here." She whirled and nearly dropped the teapot. A dark figure emerged from behind the clump of rhododendrons. He moved across the lawn. Light from the porch illuminated his face.
"Mr. Martin, what are you doing here?"
"I came to see you. I brought you some presents."
His voice held an odd stilted quality with none of the warmth she usually heard when he spoke. A gust of wind whipped snow from the ground and veiled the volunteer. Susan swallowed a gulp of cold air. A tinge of fear crept along her nerves. His gray hair and black jacket blurred. Julie's attacker. Susan pressed against the car. How could she have mistaken him for De Witt? As she sought an escape route, she tried to calm her racing thoughts. He blocked the path to the house.
"What's wrong?" His deep voice held a sinister tone.
"Nothing." With her right hand, she stabbed the keys against the car in hopes of making contact with the lock. She lost her grip on the teapot. It shattered on the ground at her feet. He continued to walk toward her. A scream throbbed against her vocal cords. She couldn't let him know how frightened she was.
"Why did you attack Julie?" She barely recognized the voice as her own.
"She killed Mommy. You were supposed to protect her. She protected you."
A pulse throbbed in her throat. He was insane. Barbara, Mendoza, De Witt. Even Leila had been present at the Code.
"No one killed your mother. We did everything we could." The key flew from her shaking hand.
"She promised she would never leave me. She said they would have to kill her first."
Susan slid along the side of the car. His advanced marched with her retreat.
"She was going to tell everyone how bad I was. We made a bargain. I would be good and she would never leave me. She did. They killed her. They're dead and you have to be like Mommy."
"You're not making any sense." Susan hated the way her voice cracked. Keep him talking until Patrick comes, she thought. "Would you like to come in for coffee so we can talk about your mother's death?"
"Not tonight. I have two presents for you. One is on the porch." He edged closer. "Did you like the gifts? Mommy always did."
"So you were the one who left them."
"Did you know what they were for?"
Susan couldn't force an answer past her trembling lips. On the porch, the nightgown danced like a ghost. She stepped back. The gown continued its macabre gyrations.
"Mommy wore that gown the night she died. Would you put it on for me?"
Susan's hand flew to her mouth. Though she felt she had endured an eternity of terror, she knew only minutes had passed.
He reached into his pocket. "I brought Mommy's bracelet for you."
She saw the glitter of gold in his hand. She moved back and stumbled. Of course. The bracelet Barbara had worn had belonged to Mrs. Martin.
She reached the end of the car. He grabbed her purse. A scream built in her chest until it exploded in a single word. "No!"
To wait for his attack was foolish. He wouldn't listen to anything she said. A memory of his angina arose. Exercise and stress could trigger chest pain. She turned and ran up the driveway.
"Stop!"
She stretched her legs in giant strides and was aided by slides along the snowy sidewalk. Her purse banged against her side. Snowflakes fluttered in the air. Christmas lights on houses cast multi-colored patterns on the snow. She clutched the shoes and pressed the bell of the stethoscope against her chest.
"Don't run away. You're just like Mommy. She promised she would never leave me."
His voice sounded loud. In anticipation of being caught, her body tensed. How long could she outrun him? She sped past dark houses and some that were brightly lit. She dashed past lines of cars parked at the curb. She scurried across two side streets that promised no escape because they led up steep hills.
The houses on the fourth block abutted the sidewalk. Lights in the far house on the corner revealed a group of people inside. Though her breath should have been saved for flight, she screamed. Chill air burned her lungs. Pain shot down her shins. A sharp ache stabbed her side. Why didn't one of the people standing near the windows turn and see her? She had to gain someone's attention.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw she had gained ground. She slid to a halt and banged on the door of the corner house. Another glance showed the volunteer had nearly reached her. She hurled one of her shoes at the multi-paned window and then smashed the bell of her stethoscope against the glass. "Help!" she screamed. She tried to hit 911 on her cell but the phone fell from her hand and slid along the snow. There wasn’t time to return for it.
"Now I have you." His voice boomed in her ears.
She turned. Mr. Martin stretched his arms to grab her. She ran. He caught the sleeve of her coat. With a twisting movement, she pulled free. His labored breathing sounded in sync with hers. Tears stung her eyes and lay like crystals on her cheeks. She inhaled and swung her purse. The contact nearly overbalanced her. She swung again. The purse strap slid from her chilled fingers.
* * *
Patrick's car skidded around the corner and barely missed the snow-covered car parked across the street from the house. He steered into the driveway and slid to a halt several yards from Susan's car. His relief was momentary. The house was as dark as it had been when he had left. He jumped from his car and strode to hers.
The shattered teapot caught his attention. Another gift? He picked the card from the snow and saw Julie's name. When he looked up and saw the white garment hanging on the porch, his heart stuttered. "Susan," he cried.
The snow around her car was trampled but he saw no signs of a struggle. Then he fished her keys from the snow. The CB radio in his car crackled. He turned and listened to the message.
"Car 27 proceed to 52 Broadway. EDP breaking windows with white shoes and other objects."
Automatically, Patrick translated the code. "Susan." He dove into his car and closed the door. Pride in Susan's resourcefulness brought a smile. He shifted into reverse and shot out of the driveway. A car loomed in the rearview mirror. He tapped the brakes and blew the horn. The other car swerved and skidded into the snow-covered car that stood across from the driveway.
Damn, Patrick thought. There was no time to argue about the blame. Susan needed him. As he shifted into drive, a man jumped from the other car and ran toward Patrick's. He rolled down the window. "Catch you later. Greg, what are you doing here?"
"Warning Susan Randall."
"She isn't here. Her car is but she's gone."
"Shit, that's Martin's car. Did you check the house? He might have her in there." Greg slid into the passenger's seat.
"I found her keys on the driveway. She's the EDP." He shifted gears and sped down the street.
"I should have listened to you."
A sense of bitterness filled Patrick's thoughts. "Fine time to decide that."
"Look, we had a suspect and the Gilberts wouldn't let us see their daughter."
"You could have insisted. Got a court order."
"When we found Martin's rifle at De Witt's that was the next step. His name was etched on the stock. Can you believe that?" Greg shook his head. "This has been a bizarre case. I even gave Martin the derringer to check out. I bet it was his."
Patrick ran a red light. Susan had been in danger since the first death. "If it makes you feel better, I didn't have the slightest idea who until Julie told me. Susan liked the man."
The flashing dome light of the patrol car caused Patrick to brake. A crowd milled on the sidewalk. Greg touched Patrick's arm. "Sit tight. I'll extract her from the mob and you can take her home."
* * *
He lumbered after Susan. His gloved fingers touched the bleeding spot at the corner of his mouth where her purse had struck him, twice. The dull, yet ever present ache in his chest threatened to bloom into agony. He couldn't quit the chase. As long as he could see her, there was hope. He chuckled. She was headed in the right direction. The dark cliff of the Overlook loomed at the end of the street.
Each breath of cold air, each step, compounded the pain in his chest. An exquisite thrill leaped from his heart and sped down his left arm to jolt his fingertips. After exhaling slowly several times, he reached into his jacket pocket for the nitro bottle. He flipped the lid. One tablet, two and finally a third dissolved beneath his tongue. A wave of near euphoria followed the diminished agony.
The vial tumbled to the snow. While stooping to retrieve it, he remembered the monument situated near the foot of the trail to the Overlook. The circle offered Susan a chance to escape that he couldn't permit her to seize. He forgot the vial and pushed his body forward.
"Susan," he shouted.
She stumbled and fell. Before she scrambled to her feet, he grasped her wrist and pulled her struggling body erect.
"Please," she said.
He smiled and ran his tongue across his lips. Her ruddy cheeks and the audible wheeze in her breathing reminded him of Mommy during one of her attacks. Fear darkened Susan's hazel eyes. He savored the feelings of strength and power that rose in response to her fear.
"You're just like Mommy." He drank the dread mirrored in her staring eyes. Hazel eyes, Susan's eyes, Mommy's eyes. Dark eyes reflecting fear.
* * *
Sit tight, Patrick thought. He tapped an impatient beat on the steering wheel. How could he pretend calmness when Susan was in danger? He scanned the group gathered around the patrol car and failed to find her. He had to move, to act. He jumped from the car.
A dozen voices shouted comments. People pointed in every direction. Patrick stared at the snow-covered walk and saw tracks leading away. He trotted across the side street and nearly fell when he stumbled over a black purse. He picked it up and opened the clasp. Susan's ID from the hospital was the first thing he saw. If Susan's purse was here, where was she?
The trail continued as far as he could see. The Overlook. From this point, there were no side streets and no escape. Patrick wheeled and ran back to his car.
"The Overlook. She's headed there. He must be on her heels." He got in his car and started forward.
In the rearview mirror, he watched Greg and the uniformed officer dive for the patrol car. A siren sounded. Patrick gripped the wheel. Susan would hear and know help was on the way, but so would her pursuer.
As Mr. Martin pulled her up the path to the Overlook, Susan struggled to free herself from his bruising grip. He grasped her wrist so tightly, she feared the bones would break.
In summer, trees and bushes grew along the path. The winter skeletons seemed too thin and too distant to grab. For several seconds, she wondered why she continued to fight. Once they reached the picnic area at the top of the trail, there would be no escape. She felt too tired to run. Her attempt to push him into an angina attack had failed. Had he been lying about his heart condition to gain her sympathy?
"Did you kill Dr. Barclay?" she asked.
"I must have. Who else would want him dead?" He stopped so abruptly she nearly fell. "No, he did. I watched him follow the doctor into the woods."
"Who?"
"The doctor Mommy didn't like. He's dead. They're all dead. Even Julie."
For a moment, Susan believed him. But news that dreadful would have spread through the hospital like a flu epidemic. "She's not dead."
"She has to be. Mommy told me wishing makes things come true. I've been wishing hard. You shouldn't have saved her when you didn't save Mommy."
The singsong rhythm of his voice chilled her more than the bitter December wind. He yanked her several feet closer to the top of the hill. Susan saw the branches of a bush dangling over the edge of the wall. She grasped them in an attempt to keep from being dragged further.
He jerked her hard enough to break the thin branches. Her arms felt as though he had pulled the bones from the sockets. She screamed. He pushed her so hard she fell on the snow-covered ground. Though she was free, she couldn't move. He pulled her upright and held her in a tight embrace. His chest heaved. A whistling wheeze sounded each time he gulped a breath. Susan felt her grasp on reality slip.
"I killed them. Years and years ago. Daddy yelled at me and he died. Mommy brought me here. It was the best day of my life. They ruined our special place and I made them dead. The boarder came. Mommy didn't need another man 'cause she had me. He left and never came back. Mommy made me promise to be good. She said she would never leave me but she did."
His babble continued until it lost sense and form. Inch by inch, he forced Susan across the picnic area. In an attempt to resist the pressure of his body against hers, she locked her knees.
The wail of a siren halted him. Susan's body sagged. Somewhere, there was an emergency and help was on the way. Not here. For her, there would be no rescue. Unless she found an escape, she would die.
Patrick, she cried silently. When he came home and found her car, he'd be frantic. Though she wanted to shout and plead, she didn't want to feed the pleasure on his face or the hunger in his eyes.
"Will Mommy be proud of you?" she asked. "Won't she think you're a naughty boy?"
Patrick pumped his brakes in an attempt to slow the car. The monument circle was too close. Several seconds of fancy steering kept the car from slamming into the concrete and metal statue. He left the engine running and leaped out. Long strides carried him to the path leading to the Overlook. The scuffled snow bore witness to Susan's struggles.
"Susan," he shouted. The wind flung the words against his face. He used the stone wall beside the path to propel himself up the trail. Evidence of her fight grew with each step he took. At the midpoint, he paused and gasped for breath.
A siren blared and ended in a gurgle. "Pat, wait," Greg shouted.
"I can't. Susan's alone with a madman."
"Be careful. He may be armed."
Instead of growing cautious, Greg's warning spurred Patrick along the path. Was Martin armed? Wouldn't he have shot Susan at the house? Patrick's breathing became labored. On Monday he intended to start working out. He gathered a handful of snow and lunged the final few feet to the level area.
The struggling couple teetered at the edge of the Overlook. "Fight, Susan, fight." As he ran toward the couple, he aimed and hurled the snowball. His foot hit an icy patch and he fell to the ground.
* * *
"Fight, Susan fight."
He flinched. The commanding voice startled him. Who had come here and why? This was his special place. "No," he screamed in defiance.
Not fair. Not fair. Why would anyone want to save Susan? He had trusted her. She had let Mommy die.
A lightning storm of pain, exquisite and awesome built in his chest. Numbness crept down his arm.
"Mommy, help me," he cried. "Not yet. Not yet. It's much too soon. Help me, please help me." Tears ran down his face. He braced for a final attempt to push Susan over the railing. "Help me, please help me."
* * *
"Fight Susan, fight." She heard Patrick's voice, but he wasn't here. The words rose from her unconscious mind. There was only the cold, the snow and the man who wanted to kill her. The encouragement acted as a goad. She had to save herself.
"Mommy, help me. Not yet, not yet. It's much too soon. Help me, please help me."
The volunteer's desperate and strained cry brought the realization that his exhaustion was as deep as hers. She shook her head. Why had he asked her for help? Why did he want her to contribute to her own death?
She gulped a breath of frigid air and braced herself. The pressure of his hands against her shoulders slackened an infinitesimal degree. She tightened her muscles and lunged against him. He staggered back. She pushed again, then twisted her body and smacked him with her hip. He toppled. She landed on his chest and rolled across him. She stared at the snow. Exhaustion kept her from accepting the chance to escape.
Like a crab, he moved across the ground. Hypnotized by his steady progress, she stared until some niggling thought told her she was the quarry. She slid away.
"No," he screamed. "Mommy!"
His cry extended into infinity. Susan collapsed with her cheek against the snow. She felt so cold. She had to move. Finally, she lifted her head and watched the man lying on the snow.
There was something she had to do. She pushed to her knees and got to her feet. Her hands brushed her snow-clotted coat. The world narrowed to focus on the man who stared at the dark sky.
She knew him. His hands clawed the snow the way his mother's had clawed the sheets.
"Mr. Martin, are you all right?" The familiar words formed a path through the chaos of her thoughts. She knelt beside him. His hands stilled. His eyes lost their terror.
Dead, he was dead. She smiled, then shook her head. How could she rejoice over a death? She was a nurse. Nurses helped people. A response, carefully honed and nurtured, guided her actions. Her fingers touched his neck and searched for a carotid pulse.
Patrick gasped for breath and rose to his knees. The belly whopper on the snow-covered grass had winded him. Slowly, he got to his feet and stared at the scene on the other side of the picnic area. What was Susan doing?
"Mr. Martin, are you all right?" she shouted.
Her question startled Patrick. He strode past the picnic tables. Was she crazy? CPR for the man who had murdered her friends and tried to kill her?
"No pulse. Check respirations."
Her toneless voice frightened him. Her hazel eyes, devoid of expression, stared into the distance. "He's dying. Call a code."
"You're not at the hospital."
"He killed Leila, Trish, Barbara, Mendoza and De Witt. He hurt Julie. He has to live so he can pay."
"Did he kill Dr. Barclay?" From the corner of his eye, Patrick saw Greg and the uniformed officer top the rise.
"He must have. Who else wanted him dead? No. De Witt did. He saw it happen." Tears flowed down her cheeks. "I have to help him."
"Someone else will." Patrick drew her away from the body. He touched her hair and wiped her tears with his fingers. "You're safe." He pulled her into an embrace. The instant his arms tightened around her, she began to struggle.
Though she felt too exhausted to fight the arms that held her too tight, too close, she tried. She didn't want to die. Patrick waited for her and she wanted to live and be with him.
Why was Mr. Martin so strong when she was so weak? She put her hands on his chest and pushed. She kicked at his legs. Tears born of her frustration fell freely.
Lips touched hers. She twisted her head away from the kiss. Hands caught her head and held it fast. She stared into blue eyes, not dark ones glittering with madness.
"I love you."
The whispered words removed the last vestiges of her fear-edged insanity. "Patrick." She clung to his name and to him.
"Why didn't you wait for me this afternoon? Why did you leave work early? Why didn't you stop to see Julie before you left the hospital? You could have been killed and left me to endure a long and lonely life. I want you in my arms forever, but if not, for as long as you'll have me."
His words battered her. His confession soothed. She waited until he sputtered to a halt.
"I love you," she said.
His lips brushed her cheek. "I'm glad."
While still held in the circle of his arms, she looked back at the volunteer. "Did I actually try to revive him or was that part of the nightmare?"
"You tried. I thought you'd gone crazy."
"I had. Thank you."
"For what? You saved yourself."
"For being here. For being you." She smiled. "Do you think we can learn to be partners?"
"We're going to try." His kiss was tender yet filled with desire and love.
She felt as though she had come home. Patrick wasn't Jim. Silence would have been her husband's punishment for her failure to step to his tune. She leaned against Patrick. "Let's go home."
"Shouldn't you go to the hospital to be checked out?"
"Home. Everything I need will be there."
Patrick squeezed her hand. Tomorrow there would be questions and answers. Tonight, she wanted to be held and loved by him and no words.
The End
Books We Love
Books by Janet Lane Walters
Seducing A Pair of Blakefield Friends
Seducing the Blakefield Sisters: Double Feature
Seducing the Blakefield Brothers
Seducing The Baker (At First Sight Book 6)
Seducing The Attorney (At First Sight Book 5)
Seducing The Doctor (At First Sight Book 4)
Seducing the Innkeeper (At First Sight Book 3)
Seducing the Chef (At First Sight Book 1)
Seducing the Photographer (At First Sight Book 2)
The Cancer – Capricorn Connection (Opposites in Love Book 4}
The Gemini – Sagittarius Connection (Opposites in Love Book 3)
The Taurus – Scorpio Connection (Opposites in Love Book 2)
The Aries – Libra Connection (Opposites in Love Book 1)
A Marriage Takes Two
Sanctuary's Ending (The Goddess of Solunda Book 1)
Dragons of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 2)
Wizards of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 3)
Temple of Fyre (Island of Fyre)
Pursuing Doctor West
Bast's Warrior (An Alternate Egypt Book 1)
Horu's Chosen (An Alternate Egypt Book 2)
Toth's Priest (An Alternate Egypt Book 3)
Amber Chronicles
Shattered Dreams (Moonchild)
Rekindled Dreams (Moonchild)
Melodic Dreams (Moonchild)
Divided Dreams (Moonchild)
A Double Opposition
Moon Summoned
Lines of Fire (The Guild House - Defenders Hall)
Code Blue
The Doctor's Dilemma
Heart Throb
Books We Love Special Edition - Janet Lane-Walters
Gemstones
Choices
Healwoman
Young Adult books By J L Walters
Escape (Affinities Book 1 - Young Adult Fantasy)
Havens (Affinities Book 2 - Young Adult fantasy, Books We Love)
Searches (Affinities Book 3 - Young Adult Fantasy, Books We Love)
Confrontations (Affinities)
Janet Lane Walters was born in Wilkensburg, Pennsylvania on July 17, 1936, reported to be the hottest day of the summer. She has been a published author since 1968 beginning with short stories and moving into novels when an editor told her a short story sounded like a synopsis for a novel. In the 1970s and 1980s she published four sweet nurse romance novels. Then she returned to school to earn a BS in Nursing and a BA in English. Returning to work as a nurse to help put four children through college, she put her writing career on hold. In 1993 she retired from nursing and began writing again. A new nurse romance followed in print. Then she discovered electronic publishing and since 1998 has been electronically published.
Janet calls herself an eclectic writer since she moves from genre to genre. There are mysteries featuring Katherine Miller, a former nurse who seems to stumble over bodies wherever she goes. Using her interest in Astrology, she has several series that use Astrology as a premise for the stories. Once she earned enough money to travel to Ireland by casting charts for people. She has many books in the romance genre, some of them are contemporary and are nurse romance, and others fall into the fantasy or paranormal forms of romance. Interested in reincarnation, she has used this as a jumping point for at least two novels. Two of her novels deal with alternate worlds using a love affair with Ancient Egypt.
Under her other name, J.L. Walters, she has written a YA fantasy series called Affinities. She has also written a non-fiction book with co-author Jane Toombs that won the EPIC Award in 2003 for best Non-fiction. During her career she has received other awards and has a number of great reviews.
Besides her four adult children, she has seven grandchildren. Five of them are the models for the YA series. The other two arrived too late to play a large role in the series. Four of her grandchildren are bi-racial and three are Chinese so the eclectic even invades her family. She has been married to the same man for more than 50 years. He's a psychiatrist who refuses to cure her obsession for writing.
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