CASSIE SAW HER chance when one of Kasanov’s teenaged thugs rushed through the office door and handed him a phone. He waved Cassie to silence right in the middle of the most exciting part of Rosa and Paddy’s hospital escape, got up, and, accompanied by two more of his men, strode out the door. The kids in the office scrambled away, out of sight. Cassie watched through the window as Kasanov kept going past the reception desk and through another door, vanishing.
That left only one guard. He wasn’t much taller than Cassie, but had the bulky build of a weight lifter. Not very old, maybe late teens. She was still puzzled by that. Other than the middle-aged lady she’d met at the gallery, the fake psychic, Natasha, they were all very young. Why was that? A way to keep himself at the top of the power pyramid with no one to challenge him?
Vincent had squirreled himself into the shadows behind a large wheeled toolbox similar in size to the crash carts in the ER. He caught her gaze and nodded, holding his knife at the ready. No way was she about to risk a kid’s life, but she might not have to.
She squirmed and shifted her weight. “I need to use the bathroom.”
It was a tried and tired escape ploy, but had the advantage of being true. The guard frowned at her then looked away as if deciding she was beneath his notice.
“I don’t think Mr. Kasanov wants to sit here smelling urine all night,” she tried again.
He considered that and stepped forward. He hoisted her onto her feet and shoved her in the direction of the office. She fell sprawling back to her knees.
“Either cut my ankles free or carry me,” she told him. She had a glass shard secreted in her fist and could have cut herself free, but she hoped she’d seem more vulnerable, less of a threat, by letting him do it.
Of course, the larger question was then what? As she’d spun her tale for Kasanov, she’d been massaging her legs back to life; she thought she could run. But first she’d need to incapacitate the guard. She had a weapon. Small as it was, the shard was sharp enough to slice flesh down to a major vessel or take out an eye. With her Kempo training and medical knowledge of a body’s vulnerabilities, she could kill or maim.
But to take a life? Despite Kasanov’s threats, he’d made no move to harm her—in fact, it was obvious he needed her alive until he learned whatever secret from Rosa’s past he thought Cassie held.
If this were a movie, the gutsy heroine wouldn’t hesitate to slit the nasty guard’s throat and make her escape. But Cassie had killed before. With her own hands. Betraying everything she believed in, everything she worked for with every patient she treated.
It had been an act of desperation; the only way to save her and Drake. Deemed justifiable by law, by society, by anyone who heard the story. But not by Cassie. The weight of that act, the final screams that had dwindled to sad whimpers before an infinite silence, these haunted her.
Could she do it again? No, she knew she could—she was physically able. The question was would she kill again?
There was no one else’s life at stake here except her own. In fact, by escaping, she might be endangering Muriel.
But one thing she knew. She could not stay and allow Kasanov to continue to use Drake’s mother as hostage against her. She had to save Muriel.
All this went through her mind faster than the time it took the guard to decide to cut her bonds.
“On your belly,” he ordered. Cassie obeyed, rolling over to lay face down on the oil stained concrete floor. The guard planted one foot on the small of her back, pinning her in place, then bent down and pulled her skirt up. There was the click of a knife blade snapping into place. He tugged at the zip ties encircling her ankles and sliced through them.
When he was done, he took hold of her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Don’t try anything.”
“Thank you.” Cassie kept her face lowered and her gait wobbly, pretending that her feet were still numb. She leaned heavily on him, stumbling, as he guided her to the office door. In her peripheral vision, she saw Vincent, as silent as a shadow, move from his hiding place to follow them.
They crossed through the door and she realized the space she’d thought was an office-reception area was actually part of a much larger building. The door Kasanov had disappeared through was across the waiting area and had a window that revealed a wide-open space beyond it. It also had a keypad lock on it as did the door she and the guard had just come through. Which meant she was now trapped in this small section of the building.
A car dealer’s showroom? she wondered, straining to see more through the tiny window. But the guard wrenched her in the opposite direction, down a short hall to a small unisex cinderblock bathroom behind the service desk. No windows and it stank as if it hadn’t been cleaned in decades.
“Could I have more water, please?” she asked.
“Drink from the sink.” He shoved her inside the room and stood in the doorway. “Go on.”
She said nothing, merely glanced around the room and then pled silently as she met his gaze. It was obvious there was no escaping from this room barren of everything except the toilet and sink. There wasn’t even a paper towel dispenser or toilet paper holder she could rip from the wall and use as a weapon. Just a soggy, tattered roll of paper on the back of the toilet.
The strange staring match continued, Cassie remaining silent and meek, until the guard finally flushed, looked away, and closed the door, giving her privacy. She quickly used the facilities, then ran the water, washing her face and cuts, but mostly drinking as much as possible. Leaving the water running, she pulled the lid off the back of the toilet. It was a better weapon than the glass shard, if not as elegant.
Only problem. She’d get just one shot with it, and it was so bulky that there wasn’t enough room to swing it inside the cramped quarters of the bathroom. No way could she smuggle it out of here, so she returned it to the toilet and grabbed her shard of glass.
It was about two inches long, curved on one side, from the heavier base of the bottle, which meant she could hold it without being cut herself. She braced herself and opened the door.
The guard leaned against the wall outside, waiting.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile at him.
Again, he looked away, as if embarrassed being caught being kind. She stepped past him then stumbled back as if she’d lost her balance. Instinctively, he caught her before she could fall.
Pushing off with one leg, Cassie pivoted, jabbing her palm up under his chin hard and fast. He cracked his head against the wall he was pinned against. With her other hand, she pressed the sharp edge of the glass against his cheekbone so that if he made the slightest movement it would pierce his eye.
Vincent appeared from the other end of the short hallway. Together they hustled the guard into the bathroom, Cassie exchanging the glass for Vincent’s dagger. The guard said nothing—by that time, Cassie had the dagger at his throat—but his expression was murderous.
He had zip ties in his jacket pocket. Vincent quickly hogtied him, then used the man’s socks and shoelaces to gag him. Cassie took the guard’s knife and pistol—he had no cell phone, unfortunately. They locked the bathroom door from the inside and left, the whole thing had only taken a few minutes.
A rush of adrenalin sparked through Cassie. They’d done it—she was free! Now she just needed to get help, find Muriel, and get them both out of here alive.
Then she realized. She had no idea where “here” was. Or where Muriel was.