Vincent Acardi finished writing out new shift policy instructions for the guards assigned to the back parking garage for the night and left the list on the desk where the guard would be certain to see it. The hospital had four parking lots that had to be guarded. He wanted to increase coverage at all those parking lots, but he’d have to fight for the funding for it.
Today’s events had changed just about everything. He’d seen far too many damned things in his fifty-two years for him to be surprised by an attempted murder. But maybe the events of today and the bastard responsible for it would incentivize the hospital board of directors—a bunch of tight-fisted nitwits—to make the hospital as safe as it should be.
So far in the last few months, they’d had trauma surgeons shot by other trauma surgeons, pharmacy techs murdered behind the trash bin, highly dangerous drugs stolen, a sweet little emergency department nurse knocked down a flight of stairs, and that same poor girl had nearly been killed when a delivery guy drugged her and tried to set her on fire.
What in the hell was going to happen next?
He locked the guard shack behind him. Ray was out somewhere, probably escorting someone to their car, and would unlock it when he returned. This portion of the parking garage opened onto the worst neighborhood in all of Finley Creek.
It was more than just a safety hazard—it was a damned invitation to all sorts of little shits up to no good. That worried him some. Made him doubly cautious. Vince prided himself on being thorough in his job. He was old enough to know himself well—he was a protector sort, and this hospital was his to protect.
It wouldn’t hurt for him to do another walk-through himself.
Thankfully, Dr. Holden-Deane had a protector’s soul, as well. He and Dr. Holden-Deane would have a lot to talk about once the man was back at the helm.
When the COM of the hospital was finally back on his feet.
Rafael Holden-Deane was the kind of man who needed to be running the hospital instead of those shit wads who’d come before.
Change was coming to FCGH. Finally. It gave him hope.
He’d been at FCGH for six years now. Since he’d been discharged from the VA hospital after a nasty tour in Afghanistan left him with a bum leg and an even nastier attitude.
It had taken Vince a while to shake the attitude and find his place.
He had. At Finley Creek General. The people in that building behind him were his second family—all he had since his discharge, other than his boy Dom. He’d been married once. It hadn’t lasted through his first deployment. Dom had been the only thing good to come out of that. Vince’s boy had moved in with him permanently at the age of fourteen.
But the people he worked with at FCGH had made him feel at home.
That mattered. Once Dom followed him to Finley Creek four years back, it had been settled. Vince had found his place.
Both in the city and at the hospital.
He took his job as chief of security very, very seriously.
He pulled his key from the lock just as he heard a woman’s terrified scream.
Vince turned toward the sound and moved.