Gannon had to hurry to catch up with his friend as they crossed the street for the hospital. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest when instead of heading for the ER entrance like normal people, Barber veered off left into the lot.
Around the corner at the rear of the facility was an enormous dumpster with a loading dock on the other side of it. Gannon groaned silently as he noticed the propped-open door atop the concrete.
“Are you sure about this?” Gannon said as Barber immediately mounted the steps beside the dumpster.
The narrow corridor inside was dim and empty of people. As Gannon entered it, Barber was already a half dozen steps ahead, pulling open a door on the left.
It led into a cement stairwell, and as Gannon caught up on the second story, Barber opened another door into a bright hallway.
They walked down between what looked like patient recovery rooms. A man with a broken wrist was inside the third one they passed. An old smiling woman in a wheelchair was in the next.
On the other side of the push door at the end of the hall was a nurses’ station with a black-haired very young-looking nurse behind it. She looked up at them in surprise.
“Sheriff’s office,” Barber said without the slightest hesitation. “I think we got turned around somehow. We’re here to talk with the wounded FBI agent?”
“Of course. Miss Hagen. Room 207. First room on the left through the hall door there,” she said pointing. “She just woke up.”
Room 207 was a large suite with a huge window behind the bed that showed a stunning view north of the snowcapped mountains. Lying in the bed beneath its window was a woman asleep. She was pale and pretty with reddish-brown hair. As they stepped over, Gannon looked at the massive wrapping of gauze at her left shoulder. Her entire left arm was strapped into an elaborate sling.
The woman’s eyes suddenly opened. They were pale brown and glazed from the painkillers. They fixed immediately on Barber’s face.
“You...you made it,” she said.
Barber smiled down at her.
“No, Agent Hagen. I’m not who you think I am. I’m Owen’s younger brother John. Owen died. He was shot dead. You were there, right? Did you see it? That’s why I’m here. I’m trying to find out what happened to him.”
“What in the hell is going on here?” said a woman’s voice from behind them.
Gannon turned to where three people—two men and a blond woman—had just come in through the hospital suite doorway.
“Shit,” he mumbled as he noticed the blue windbreakers the men were wearing over their business clothes.
Why didn’t I wait in the car, again? Gannon thought as half of the FBI west of the Mississippi suddenly appeared in front of them.
“Are you deaf? Who are you? And who the hell let you in here?” said the woman.
Barber and Gannon looked at her. At her short blond hair that looked expensively colored. At her slightly masculine strong-jawed face that looked surgically tightened. Her clothes were too nice for an agent.
Some kind of lawyer, Gannon thought. Some jackass Fed administrator or Fed PR spin doctor or something.
“My brother, Owen Barber, was killed this morning is who I am,” Barber said glaring right back at her. “Who the hell are you?”
“Owen what?” the snippy blond woman said, baffled.
“The Park Service employee who was killed, ma’am,” said the taller of the two FBI agents with her.
The woman’s taut cheeks puffed and her eyes flashed as she wheeled around at the guy.
“You have got to be shitting me!” she cried. “What in the hell is this, Patrick? A joke? This is secured? You call this security?”
“I’m sorry,” the tall agent said stepping forward. “Mr. Barber, is it? I’m Agent Fitzgerald. I’m so sorry for your loss, but you can’t be in here. No one can talk to the agent. She just came out of surgery. You have to leave immediately. Please.”
“And you are?” the other shorter agent said, suddenly standing there right next to Gannon.
Gannon blinked at him. He was in his early forties, broad-shouldered and thick-featured with receding blond hair. Beneath his intelligent blue eyes, his slightly homely plain face exuded an almost convincing harmlessness.
“I’m...nobody. I’m Mike,” Gannon said nodding calmly. “I’m John’s friend. I’m just a family friend of the Barbers.”
“What happened to my brother up on that mountain?” Barber said, still glaring as he stood his ground beside the hospital bed. He looked past tall Agent Fitzgerald, who was practically breathing on him, at the pushy woman.
“What happened up on that mountain?” he said again.
“I’m done with you,” the woman said. “You’re not authorized to be in this room. You have exactly one second to leave or you will be cuffed.”
“Cuffed?” Barber said, tilting his head back with a genuine laugh. “Cuffed? Is that right? My brother is dead and now you’re going to cuff me? That’s interesting. Really? I gotta see this.”
“Please, sir. Everyone, let’s be reasonable,” Agent Fitzgerald said.
Barber stared at the blond lady for a long beat, then slowly turned down toward Agent Hagen in the bed.
“You get your rest, okay?” Barber said, smiling with a wink. “We’ll talk later.”
“Oh, no, you won’t,” said the woman in the suit.
Barber ignored her. He was too busy staring at Agent Fitzgerald until the agent finally stepped out of his way.
“Alrighty then,” Gannon said as they came out of the room. They headed quickly past the nurses’ station and down the hall toward the back stairs.
“I told you this was family stuff,” Barber said. “I told you to wait in the car. Hell, I told you to stay back in Utah, but you insisted.”
“Don’t remind me,” Gannon said. “Now what?”
“How about we find a hotel? Cool our heels for a bit?” Barber said.
“I like that idea,” Gannon said as they reached the back stairs. “A lot.”