Eternal minutes ticked by. I paced the room, arms tight across my chest. Again and again I sidled over to the window, peering through half-closed blinds. I saw nothing unusual on the road below me. Were more policemen arriving? There were probably all coming in the front door.
I’d turned my cell phone to vibrate and placed it on the floor near the suitcases. If it went off, I’d hear it buzz against the hard surface.
Mom slept on.
An orderly had brought her dinner. It sat on the rolling table by my bed, food still covered. The smell of meatloaf wafted from the tray.
The clock read 6:30. A mere twenty-four hours ago Mom and I had been huddled in the manager’s office of our San Jose hotel. Jerry had just been shot by police. Bruce was dead. I’d been kidnapped and rescued. Twenty-four hours. It seemed like a lifetime. And was it only one day we’d been cooped up in this hospital room?
Please, God, help them find my father. Bring an end to this.
My throat felt like a desert. I stole a drink from Mom’s glass.
For all the years I’d longed to know the truth about my father, I’d now give anything to return to that ignorance. At least then I had hope. Now the only hope I had about Gary Donovon, a.k.a. Franklin Borden, was that he’d be caught. I wanted him behind bars for the rest of his life for what he’d done. Jerry Brand may have pulled the trigger that killed Tom and Bruce, but my father had sent him here.
And just what would have happened to me if the police and Wendell hadn’t found me when they did?
A light knock sounded on the door. I scurried to answer it.
Mick towered over me in the hall, his expression grim. “Just wanted you to know we’ve changed shifts out here.” He kept his voice low.
I glanced from him to the policeman. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You need anything?”
“No. Mom’s asleep.”
“Good.” He gave me a tight smile.
I looked to the officer. “Are other policemen here now?”
He nodded. “We got people all over this hospital, Miss O’Connor.”
My heart turned over. The answer was supposed to comfort me, but it sounded terrifying. To think so many police were needed …
“Okay.” My voice pinched. “Thanks.”
I shut the door and leaned against it, trembling.
Five more minutes passed. I wandered the room, sat down on my bed, got up again.
I turned on the TV, muting the sound. Flipped through cable channels, searching for news. One station spritzed onto a scene of a reporter in front of an excited crowd. People waved signs—“We love you, Rayne.” “Get well soon, Rayne.”
My eyes locked to the screen. Was that the front of the hospital? Yesterday, we’d come in through the emergency room entrance.
“In the last fifteen minutes we’ve seen about a dozen policemen arrive,” the reporter said. “They wouldn’t tell us why they’re here, but it appears to have something to do with Rayne O’Connor. Our last word as to the singer’s condition is that she’s stable, although in a lot of pain. Reports are that her daughter, Shaley, is with her.”
Behind the reporter a lanky figure darted from the crowd toward the hospital’s entrance. A man wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, with a bushy brown afro and beard. He carried a backpack. The different shirt and disguise didn’t fool me for a minute.
Cat.
Rage shot through me. Forgetting everything but this, I swiveled toward the door. Nobody would stop me this time. I would catch that horrible man myself—
A loud burr went off behind me. My cell phone, vibrating against the floor. Cat, calling me again. What did he have now, a new picture to blackmail me with?
I dashed back for the phone. All I’d have to do is keep him on the line long enough for the police to get him …
I snatched the cell off the floor and hit the send button.