Chapter 22
Trinity
Speaking with Finn filled me with a whole new sense of determination, but not all the terror rocketing through my system ebbs.
I’m basically in the middle of nowhere with an essentially bombed-out luxury BMW. Even a child would notice the bullet holes and scraped paint. The entire back windshield has shattered, glass littering the cargo hold and back seat.
Finn’s right. If I want to avoid detection—and the Russians hunting me down—I need to get rid of this junkheap as soon as possible.
Avoiding the main roads as much as I can, I drive into the city until I spot signs for a hospital. Perfect. A parking lot for a city hospital will be crowded, with plenty of cars to choose from.
I pull into a space toward the back of the lot. A quick search of the vehicle earns me about three hundred dollars in cash someone stuffed in the glove box. Not much, but it should be enough to buy me gas all the way to Austin.
The real question is how I’m going to muster the strength to steal a car.
Sure, Finn taught me a few things. I was a kid, though, and didn’t exactly keep up on my thieving skills throughout the years. Despite my family roots, I’m far from a criminal mastermind.
But this afternoon by the side of the road proves that I still have the instincts.
It also showed that I’m capable of taking care of myself, even at the expense of someone else. That I’m a Gallagher down to my bones. And that terrifies me a little.
The same viciousness they can unleash lies dormant inside me too.
Shaking off the dark thoughts, I weave through the parking lot toward the hospital’s front entrance. There are dozens of cars, but since I’m not in the business of hot-wiring, my best bet is to pick someone’s pocket, grab their keys, and then wander around this lot until I find the right vehicle.
I never imagined I’d find myself in this position, but…it is what it is.
That’s my new mantra. My only defense against the invasive flashbacks of the time I spent in Brody’s captivity.
I can still feel his rough hand around my throat, his fingers dipping in and out of me, his savage tongue exploring my mouth…
Why these are the mementos my brain decided to cling to, I have no idea.
Those, along with the image of him lying limp in the California desert, his blood pooling beneath him. The picture gnaws at my sternum as I power walk across the flat parking lot.
On any other day of my life, with any other person, I never could have left them in that condition. Even now, my nerves shriek. My personal ethical code haunts me. The person I believed myself to be doesn’t steal cars from hospital parking lots or leave seriously injured people in the dirt.
Not even kidnappers who cause my body to thrum with pleasure.
What else could I do, though?
He’ll be okay, I tell myself. I wrapped his wound, and that man is far too stubborn for any other outcome. Besides, the only reason I even care in the first place is because I don’t want to have his death or permanent injury on my conscience.
Maybe if I repeat that enough, I’ll actually start to believe it.
As I head into the hospital, fluorescent lights greet me. Tiled floors, bright wood paneling, and that sharp astringent odor. Unpleasant but clean. People pack the emergency room like sardines, leaving barely any empty seats.
If I can just force my nerves to calm down, the crowd will work to my advantage.
Once inside, I beeline for the nearest bathroom. I splash water on my face and stare at myself.
You can do this.
Swallowing down residual panic, I attempt to crawl back into the numbness.
I just need to grab a set of keys and walk out the door. Piece of cake.
For all I know, a second Russian advance team has already tracked me here. The longer I stall, the better their chances of trapping me.
Straightening my shoulders, I leave the bathroom, return to the waiting room, and find a spot on the wall by the door, fiddling with the burner phone Brody left in the BMW to appear busy.
A minute or so later, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a long maxi dress drifts in from the parking lot, keys jangling in her left hand. She heads for the check-in counter and begins talking to the nurse with tired eyes and a thick blond braid dangling over her shoulder.
My focus zeroes in on those keys. The woman sets them on the counter and plops her bohemian bag up next to them so she can dig through the contents.
Now’s my chance.
As I stride in her direction, nerves and anticipatory guilt jitter through my stomach. I haven’t even done anything, yet my body already overflows with shame.
You’d think the family I come from would grant me some genetic predisposition to committing crimes without remorse, but not so much. As I zoom in on my target, my conscience remains very much intact.
That’s Catholic boarding school for you.
As I approach, I tune in to their conversation.
“…my son was in an accident, and I’m not sure our health insurance will cover the visit.” The mother’s voice wobbles.
Shit.
At the last second, I pivot, grab a pamphlet from the counter, and return to my spot by the door.
Desperate or not, I can’t steal that woman’s car. She has enough to worry about already.
Where’s a loud, arrogant asshole when you need one?
I peer around the waiting room, searching for a better target while guilt squeezes my heart.
Haven’t you sinned enough today?
Shouts erupt nearby, cutting through my inner turmoil. Activity explodes near the ambulance entrance to the ER. Over the intercom, someone alerts staff to an incoming transport.
The double doors burst open. As I remember the way the door to the safe house exploded inward, my heart leaps up into my throat. I’m frozen in place, expecting more armed Russians to come rushing in. Instead, two EMTs wheel in a stretcher.
The one with green hair waves to a pair of nurses currently rushing over to help. “Patient’s an adult male, lacerated thigh and multiple abrasions. Lost a lot of blood.”
My eyes drop to the wounded person strapped to the stretcher, and every cell in my body stills.
Brody.
His face is ashen, and he’s still unconscious, covered in gauze and hooked up to a rolling IV.
I can’t move, pinned to the spot. Guilt and nausea and horror churn in my stomach, threatening to rise up my throat.
Brody vanishes through another set of doors with the nurses and doctors. In my trembling grip, the pamphlet rips.
Oh god.
My heart beats low and fast in my chest. As my feet gravitate after him, time slows down.
When I left him, I chose myself. Now, as I’m pulled in his direction, I don’t know what I’m choosing.
A nurse just a bit taller than I am stops me at the doors. “Sorry, miss. You can’t go back there.”
I spin to gaze up at him. With his marsh green eyes and the freckles speckled over his nose, he reminds me of Angelica.
I bury that thought. “That man.” I point to where the stretcher disappeared. “I’m his…fiancée.”
“Oh!” He grasps my hand and squeezes. “They’re wheeling him to trauma for evaluation. Once they determine what care he needs, he’ll be moved to a room. I’ll take you back to a different waiting area, okay?”
A few minutes later, I find myself in an empty beige space, sitting on an uncomfortable brown chair with a paper cup of black coffee in my palms.
I have no idea what I’m doing. Finn would throttle me if he knew where I was. I know this isn’t the wise decision.
But stealing a car and driving away while a man succumbs to injuries he incurred while trying to protect me can’t be the right choice either.
I gnaw the inside of my cheek. Staying feels just as impossible as leaving.
I don’t know what to do.
If I call Finn, he’ll chew my ass out for daring to show empathy for the enemy.
If I don’t call Finn, he’ll assume I’m sticking to the plan and will expect me to meet his men in Austin in a day or two. It’s still possible, but…
At least another hour sails by with my butt glued to the waiting room chair. Finally, the kind-eyed nurse emerges to escort me to a patient room, where Brody lies unconscious in a hideous hospital gown.
He looks like hell.
A short, dark-haired woman hovers at his side. She glances up at me and smiles. Her doctor’s coat is monogrammed with the words Dr. Elizabeth Payo, MD. “Hi there. Are you with this man?”
I repeat the lie I told the nurse. “I’m his fiancée. Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine. He’s got a nasty wound on his thigh, but we stitched it up and gave him some fluids. He lost a bit of blood and sustained a few other cuts and bruises, but he’ll be right as rain in a few days. Do you know what happened?”
For a moment, my brain freezes. “Um, no. I was here visiting a friend and saw him get wheeled in.”
The doctor’s forehead creases, but she doesn’t question me further. “All right. Well, when he wakes up, call the nurse, okay?”
After I nod, she exits the room.
In the bed, Brody’s short-cropped dark hair, closed eyes, and serene expression give him an almost angelic appearance. His strong chest rising and falling beneath the thin hospital sheet soothes my nerves.
For the first time since I met him, I don’t see a monster, captor, or dizzyingly handsome bastard. I see a wounded man, and my heart swells with unwilling empathy.
At some point, my conscience decided that I can’t abandon him here like a sitting duck for the Russians. At least, not until he wakes up. And…maybe not even then.
Which means I need a plan.
Fast.
Or else we’ll both wind up dead.