Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
It felt like everyone in the room was watching him.
Jordon should be used to the spotlight being born a Maddox, a sole heir at that, but it never got any easier.
He wanted to make his mark as an exceptional neurosurgeon to help people, not for fame or money.
If the latter was his driver, he didn’t need to get up and do anything in the morning because his trust fund was sizable enough to finance generations.
Mahoney was looking pale and clammy, and his breathing was becoming a little choppy.
“Let me look at him again, see what I can do.” Jordon made the petition while not holding out much hope.
The gunman waved his weapon, directing Jordon to Mahoney on the couch.
Jordon first inspected the wound and saw that the bleeding had slowed to nothing.
The fabric of Jordon’s coat hadn’t gotten any more soaked with blood.
That was a good thing. Jordon pulled his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Mahoney’s heart.
The beats were even but a bit on the slow side and indicative of low blood pressure.
“He needs surgery and medication, or he could die.” If the gunman obliged to the latter, Jordon might be allowed to leave the room.
“Neither is happening.”
“Do you want him to die?”
The man put the gun in Jordon’s face, and he withdrew, holding up his hands in surrender.
“Hello there. Anyone on this frequency?” A woman’s voice cut into the room. It was coming over the walkie-talkie. It wasn’t the one who a moment ago had told the gunman to get off the radio. This one was different. Jordon felt a bud of hope in his chest.
“This is Sandra. Who are you?”
The gunman’s gaze became a blank stare before he started to pace again. He put his back to them, and Jordon eyed the jammer that was still on the counter. With the man distracted, he might be able to spring to his feet and smash the thing before the gunman had a clue.
Jordon quietly made his way over there, having just enough time to retrieve the jammer and race back to Mahoney. Jordon pushed the jammer under the couch in a fluid motion as he got down on his knees.
The woman said over the walkie-talkie, “Everyone out here is worried about you in there. Is everyone all right?”
Sandra had to be a cop or negotiator. There might be hope for a rescue yet. Jordon wanted to scream that a man had been shot and needed surgery. But to what end? The gunman would need to hold the button down to open the line of communication. And then Jordon would need to feel especially lucky.
“Everyone’s fine. Now get lost.” The man tossed the walkie-talkie into his backpack.
Jordon went cold. He was going to notice the jammer was missing. Jordon tensed and made eye contact with Nurse Winters.
The gunman had gone still. The room was quiet except for Mahoney’s panting.
Please don’t notice… But Jordon knew it was too late for that wish to come true when the gunman turned around and leveled his gaze at him.
“You!” the man hissed. “Where is it?”
“Where is what?” Jordon pretended to be immersed in Mahoney’s care, oblivious to whatever crisis the gunman was undergoing.
But he saw the judgment in his adversary’s eyes.
It was a fair one, but bitter in these circumstances.
He was an excellent surgeon but a terrible actor. And an even worse liar.
“Don’t play dumb with me. Where did you put the jammer?” The gunman was quickly at Jordon’s side. The gun was aimed at his head. “Hand it over now.”
It was like the device was sending out a pulse that Jordon could feel.
If he destroyed it, this nightmare could be brought to an end.
Or would it make it worse? But the police needed to know what was going on in here.
People needed to reach their loved ones.
Just as he would give anything to speak with Maria and lay a hand over her stomach and talk to their child.
He beamed them both as much love as possible, hoping they’d sense it.
The man holding the gun may rob him of everything.
“I said, hand it over.” The muzzle was pressed against his skull.
It was still warm from shooting Mahoney. The gunman wasn’t the image of a violent character, but his actions confirmed his capability.
“I’ll get it for you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it.”
“Damn right you shouldn’t have.”
“It’s just… It’s under the couch. I must reach for it.
” Jordon dragged out the situation, moving slowly, trying to scheme some way out of this.
A way to bring it all to an end. Though there was at least one other person with a gun.
The woman who had yelled at the man over the walkie-talkie a moment ago.
He could swear it was the same one who had said, “Secured,” at the beginning of this.
Well, she sounded vicious. What would keep her from storming into this room?
But Jordon had the answer to his question the moment it had formed.
She must not be on this floor. And with the lockdown, she wouldn’t be able to come in here.
“Hurry up,” the gunman urged.
Jordon never cared for being rushed. It was a pet peeve, and a possible weakness.
But the gunman’s prompting only made him want to rebel.
He surprisingly kept a cool head until he rose to his feet, putting some space between them.
The device was in his hand, and the gunman had lowered his gun, his guard down, to take it from Jordon.
“You want the jammer?” Jordon asked. “Here it is.” He hurled it at the gunman’s head.
Startled, the gunman ducked out of the way just before the device hit him, and the gun dropped from his hand. The jammer sailed across the room, smashed into the wall, and fell to the floor in a jumble of pieces.
“You little shit!” the gunman roared after witnessing the aftermath.
Jordon took advantage of this distraction and went for the man’s gun, but he couldn’t see it anywhere. Where the…?
Nurse Winters was in the corner of the room, her back to the wall, holding on to the weapon. Her hands were shaking, and she could barely keep her arms raised. “Leave us alone!” Her cry was ear-piercing.
The gunman smiled, a maniacal and evil grin that belonged to a villain in any movie. “Do you think I have anything to lose? Go ahead. Shoot me.” The man raised his arms, and Jordon was unsettled by this dark twist.
Winters looked at Jordon, then let her gaze slip past him to the gunman. “I will. I swear.”
“This doesn’t need to get any worse. No one else needs to get hurt,” Jordon said, not just to the gunman but to the nurse as well. He walked over to her with his hands up, cautiously taking steps forward while watching over his shoulder. “Give me the gun, Leah. It will be all right.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She sniffled and handed Jordon the weapon.
He could finally breathe. Not realizing how he had been taking shallow breaths. “She’s right, though. You’re going to leave us alone. This is over.” Jordon turned as he spoke to fully face the stranger, leveling the gun on him.
The man was standing behind Mahoney, his arm around his neck. Mahoney batted at him, but his strength was clearly fading. “It’s only over when I say it’s over. Now hand me my gun, nice and slow, or I will strangle your friend here.”
Jordon played the scenarios through in his head.
He could pull the trigger, but he wasn’t a skilled shot.
The stranger was leaning over Mahoney, and his head was too close to the nurse’s.
If Jordon fired the gun, he just may end Mahoney’s life as easily as take the stranger’s.
There was the chance he could pull it off.
But was it a risk worth taking? Maybe Jordon could lure the stranger away from Mahoney to hand him the gun.
Or… Instead of surrendering the weapon, he’d pull the trigger. Yes, that might work.
Jordon kept some distance from the man, and as it had worked in his thoughts, the stranger put a bit more space between himself and Mahoney as he reached for the gun.
In his mind, Jordon pulled the trigger. The stranger went down.
The nightmare was over. Or was it? There was that woman out there…
And Jordon was being barraged by the Hippocratic Oath.
Do no harm. If he shot this man, he was no better than him.
Jordon didn’t want murder on his conscience, justified or not.
Unlike his sick patients who didn’t survive surgery or treatment, this death would be deliberate.
At his hands. The very hands that were skilled at saving life.
No, he couldn’t do it. Jordon held out the gun, putting the handle toward the man.
“Smart guy,” the stranger said as he took his weapon back.
Jordon stood there numb, silent, paralyzed by self-chastisement and second thoughts.
Maybe he’d been too quick to assume he’d be haunted if he’d killed him.
He was accustomed to death, having it around him.
He had money for therapy. Not that it mattered.
There was no going back. The moment had passed.
“I want all of you to hand over your phones. Now!”
Winters was sitting on the floor crying and shaking. Mahoney’s eyes were glazing over.
Jordon took his phone out, hoping like hell the message to his girlfriend had gone through, and gave it to the man. “Do you have a phone?” Jordon asked Winters.
She pointed toward the couch, and Jordon fished in the cushions for her phone and surrendered it. When the transfer was made, Winters let out a strangled cry.
“And yours.” The gunman nudged his gun toward Mahoney, and the man flinched.
“Get that away from him.” Jordon rushed to his defense, and the gunman turned on him with cold eyes.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you after what you did,” he barked.
Jordon raised his hands and backed up. His entire body was quaking. Not with rage, not with fear, but self-criticism. He should have shot the bastard when he had the chance.
The stranger raised the gun on Jordon. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you. I’m sure it will be easier the second time.”