three

ISAAC LAY UNDER THE SHEET, his shoulder throbbing, mind whirling, while he tried to keep his breathing shallow. He was riding blind and he didn’t like it one bit. The vulnerable position caused his nerves to itch and his heart to pound. Used to being the one in control, this new situation rankled him.

And, whether he wanted to admit it or not, it scared him senseless. Relying on someone else was something he usually avoided at all costs.

And now he found his life in the hands of a surgeon.

Once outside in the hallway, Isaac listened to the commotion. Then he was rolling, hand twitching, wishing for a weapon. Where was his Glock? Cole probably had it. No matter how he felt about Isaac, his partner wouldn’t have left it on the kitchen floor where Isaac had dropped it when the bullet slammed into him.

Footsteps passed him. Paused. Then headed back his way.

“Ruthie?”

The deep voice sounded much too close. Isaac tensed as the wheels squealed to a stop.

“Lee.” Ruthie’s brief, professional response impressed him. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. But what are you doing?”

“Taking this patient down to the morgue. What does it look like?”

“That’s not your job. That’s what the flunkies are for.”

Flunkies? Isaac supposed he meant the transport unit employees.

A chuckle escaped his pretty doctor, albeit the sound had a harsh edge that made Isaac lift a brow.

“See, that’s the problem with you, Lee,” she said. “You think you’re too good for things. Doing stuff like this keeps your head the right size. You ought to give it a try.”

“Such a do-gooder, Ruthie.” The bass voice caused Isaac’s head to pound harder. “You’re not going to make chief of surgery with that kind of attitude.”

“Maybe not. Now, do you mind? I’ve got other things to do than stand here and swap career advice with you.”

Admiration for her warmed him throughout. She was spunky. He liked that. He was starting to think she might just help him stay alive after all.

Would they really come after him like this? Because he’d reported something that he’d had no choice but to report?

Yes, he admitted grudgingly, there were a few who might take it this far. He should have known, should have been prepared, but he’d been so busy focusing on stopping them, he hadn’t prepared well enough to keep them from stopping him.

And he should have. After all, even his partner had given him the cold shoulder. He’d even gone so far as to tell Isaac he’d better have his own back, because after filing his report, no one else would.

And now this.

Isaac replayed everything from the call to the arrival at the house. Three cruisers had responded. Six officers. He and Cole had gone in first. Had it been a setup? A way to get rid of him? Teach him a lesson? If he’d died, who would question the report by the other officers? Chilled at the thought that his own partner would go so far as to risk his life, he bit the inside of his cheek.

Elevator doors swished open. She rolled him in and the doors shut. “We’re in a service elevator,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It will take us down to the basement, then I’ll find a wheelchair and we can roll you out to my car. I’ve got one more stop to make. You need meds.”

He assumed they were in the elevator alone and wanted to demand she not make any more stops. He could live without pain meds. But he clamped his lips tight and worked to control his breathing.

Dead men didn’t talk—or argue.

Ruthie hated that she’d caught the attention of Dr. Lee Porter. Of all the people to run into, it had to be him. With a grimace, she slid her hand under the sheet and found her patient’s fingers. “Squeeze my hand if you’re okay. You’re doing this dead thing way too convincingly.”

The strong grip reassured her, and when the doors slid open, she pushed him out of the elevator. “Almost there,” she said softly.

Things should be relatively slow at the moment down here. Hopefully. Then again, it wasn’t like she came to the morgue on a regular basis.

Hospital security officer Brad Channing saw her coming. “Evening, Dr. St. John. What brings you down here?” He swept a hand toward the gurney. “Other than the obvious.”

“That’s about it. I didn’t feel like waiting on someone to transport him, so I thought I’d do it myself.”

“I can take it from here if you like.” He stepped forward to take her place.

“Ah . . . no, that’s all right. If you’ll just get the door, I’ll roll him in. I’ve . . . um . . . got some paperwork I need to fill out before I’m finished.”

She tensed, hoping he wouldn’t insist. When he simply shrugged and opened the door for her, she exhaled a slow breath of relief. “Thanks, Brad.”

“Any time.”

And then they were alone.

Where was Christy? The morgue technician was usually on duty for second shift, but right now the place echoed emptiness, which worked great for her purposes. Moving quickly, she unlocked one of the cabinets and found bandages, tape, and items she would need for stitching. Once she had everything signed out according to protocol, she stuffed the items into the bag she’d packed in his room and set it aside.

“What are you doing?”

Ruthie spun to find her “dead” patient sitting up and pressing a hand to his wound under the sling. His pale features belied his “I’m fine” attitude. “Gathering a few more supplies you’re going to need. You better lie down and pull that sheet back up before someone walks in here and realizes you’re not dead.”

“What’s the plan?”

“To get you out of here. Then figure out how to keep you alive long enough for you to heal.”

“Good plan.”

“Thanks.”

“But I’ll have to take it from here. If you get involved further, you could get hurt,” he warned.

“Well, if you don’t let me get involved, you could die.”

He raised a brow. “A slight exaggeration.”

“Maybe. In the medical sense. But I think you need someone looking out for you. Someone who has your back.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve gotten pretty good at watching my own back.”

“Right. That’s why you have a bullet hole in you. The truth is, you won’t get far on your own. If they’re willing to go this far to kill you, they probably have people at every exit watching for you.”

He stilled. “You think like a cop.”

“It’s second nature.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s not important.” She walked to another cabinet and pulled an item off the top shelf. “Right now, our priority is getting you somewhere safe.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Can you stand up?”

“Of course.”

He managed, but even she could tell the effort it cost him and moved fast, laying the bag on the gurney. She unzipped it.

“A body bag,” he said.

“Yes. Now get in.”

Isaac swallowed. He wasn’t superstitious or even terribly claustrophobic, but the thought of being zipped up in that black bag turned his stomach. He’d seen too many bodies carted off in those things. Instead of airing his fears, he settled himself on top of it, and she wrapped it around him.

The rasp of the zipper sent chills along his nerve endings. She stopped when she got mid-chest. “I won’t zip it all the way if you prefer. I can leave you a finger hole at the top. You’ll be able to get out if you need to.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t recognize the huskiness in his voice. Fatigue and nausea had taken over, and he wondered if he might pass out. At least if he was unconscious, he wouldn’t be worried about being zipped up like a dead man. The fact that she’d picked up on his internal angst surprised him. He thought he was better at hiding his emotions. Then again, he’d been shot, had surgery, had almost been killed in his room, and was running from those who wanted him dead. A little noticeable angst was probably normal.

The zipper continued its journey up over his face and then stopped at the top of his head. True to her word, a sliver of light filtered through the small hole she left. Knowing he could get out without a massive struggle allowed him to breathe a little easier.

“All right, here we go,” she said. “Should be a piece of cake from this point on.”

The gurney rolled. The whoosh of the doors and the rise in temperature told him he was now outside the hospital.

“Hey, doc, hold up a second.”

The gurney stopped. His heart rate kicked it up a notch at the voice. Cole Guthrie, Isaac’s partner—the man who’d made his life miserable for the past three months. Cole had made it clear he thought Isaac was betraying the badge and the men and women behind it by pushing to find a fellow cop guilty of something he couldn’t prove. The conversation hadn’t gone well.

“Let it go, Isaac,” Cole had said. “He put the money back.”

“He did. This time. But I feel certain that wasn’t the first time he’s taken some, and if I don’t do something about it, it won’t be the last.”

“What are you two doing back here?” Ruthie asked, jolting Isaac back to the present. “This is a restricted area.”

“Well, we’re cops. We’re pretty free to come and go where we please. I’m Detective Cole Guthrie and this is Detective Paul Sullivan.”

“I see. Nice to meet you guys, but I’m sort of in the middle of something here. What can I do for you? And while you’re talking, could you open the back of that ambulance?”

Isaac heard the sound of footsteps, then the door opening. “Kind of odd for a doctor to be moving a body all by herself, isn’t it?”

Ruthie went still. He couldn’t see her, but he felt her. Heard the hitch in her breath. “Odd? No, not so odd when the person was someone I cared very much about. So much so that I volunteered to oversee the transfer personally. Why is everyone so surprised that I’m willing to help out?” She sounded truly baffled, and Isaac began to think she might just pull this off.

But he’d give anything to have his fingers curled around a weapon right now.

“Where’s the driver?” Paul Sullivan asked. Isaac liked him about as much as he did Cole.

A huff left the doc’s lips and Isaac almost smiled. “Gentlemen, what’s this all about?” she asked. “I’ve got things to do after I get this man to the crematorium. If you’d like to give me an escort, I’ll take it. And the driver is in the cafeteria, grabbing a snack. He should be back shortly. But while you’re here, you want to help me get him inside?”

“Ah . . . yeah. Sure.”

And then he was moving again.

Finally, Ruthie seemed satisfied that he was settled. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Guthrie said. A pause as they all left the back of the ambulance. “Are you the one who did surgery on Detective Martinez?”

“Yes. He should be in recovery, if you’re looking for him.”

“We are,” Cole said. “And he’s not in recovery.”

“Then I guess they moved him after he was attacked.”

“You know about that, huh?”

Ruthie gave a light snort. “You bet I do. I was in the room when it happened. But don’t worry, he was okay by the time I left.”