Chapter 3 #2
By silent agreement, we all exit the car, closing the doors softly behind us.
We’re parked at the edge of the lot, where the light from the lampposts doesn’t quite reach.
Staying tucked into the shadows, we hurry towards the hospital, not running—that would look far too suspicious—but moving at a quick clip, like we’re three employees rushing to get to their shift on time.
As we close in on the hospital, adrenaline surges. My pulse jumps.
I’ve been on plenty of treacherous ops. Ones where the odds of survival weren’t great. Ops when we found ourselves outnumbered ten to one. Recon missions where a misstep could mean the difference between life or death.
But this mission.
A fuck-up won’t mean death. But it could mean criminal charges. It could take away the new life I’ve begun to embrace.
A fuck-up means Bea will go to jail. Probably for decades.
A fuck-up is unacceptable.
Once we reach the entrance, we stop. Sharing a quick glance with Ace and Webb, I ask in an undertone, “Are you ready?”
They nod in unison. The flickering LED light above the door casts an eerie glow across their faces. “Let’s do this,” Webb murmurs.
“Let’s get your girl out of there,” Ace adds.
I almost argue, She’s not my girl. Not like that.
But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Bea out of there and keeping her safe until we can find the real killer.
And if a small part of me wishes she were mine?
No.
Not now.
Slamming the metaphorical door shut on that line of thinking, I reach for my phone and shoot off a quick text to Tyler.
We’re ready to move in.
Seconds later, his response appears.
Got it. Bypassing the system now. As soon as you see the green light, you’re gtg.
“Any second,” I murmur to Ace and Webb. “Tyler’s bypassing security now.”
As promised, the little light on the badge reader shifts from red to green moments later. I grab the door handle and pull on it, letting out a relieved breath once the door opens.
The three of us move inside quickly, then make a quick left down the hallway. While we were on the plane, we studied the blueprints of the hospital, so we know this is the quickest route to the western stairwell.
Thanks to the early hour, the hospital is quiet. We’re not in the patient area, so that helps, but we still run the risk of running into a wandering guard or an employee who asks the wrong questions.
Fortunately, the only hospital employee we see is a custodian pushing a wheeled mop bucket and humming loudly to the tune of whatever song is playing on his headphones. Ace, Webb, and I move into a tight huddle as we pass by the custodian, talking in low tones about the upcoming playoff games.
Once he’s gone, we fall into silence again.
The doorway to the stairwell comes up on our right, and we start moving up the stairs, me in the lead, Webb at my six, and Ace at his. As we proceed upwards, my anticipation builds.
Like my old counselor at the VA hospital used to suggest, I visualize myself during each stage of the mission.
First putting on the night vision goggles I have stashed beneath my shirt, then taking out the police officer, unhooking Bea from the monitors I’m sure she’s hooked up to, and finally, sneaking her out of here.
As we near the fourth floor, a ghostly sensation pricks at my missing fingers. My brain still wants the comfort of my gun in my right hand, just as it often was during one of our ops.
But I’m not armed here. And my right hand is gone.
I’m just armed with wits and preparation this time, and it’ll have to be enough.
Before we exit onto the fourth floor, I send Tyler another text.
At the fourth floor. In the stairwell.
I glance back at Ace and Webb. They both lift their chins in wordless acknowledgement. At their signal, I follow up with a second message.
Ready to go when you are.
The three dots blink for several seconds before Tyler’s response appears.
Shutting off the lights now.
I look at the time. It’s six-forty-two.
Placing my hand on the door, I crack it open. The hallway beyond is aglow with fluorescent light. I can’t see anyone from here, but I can hear the distant crackle of an intercom and the faint rattle of wheels rolling across the floor.
Five seconds later, all the lights go out.
A shocked gasp floats towards us, followed by an irritated, “Are you kidding me?”
I shove on my night vision goggles and push the door the rest of the way open.
First, I do a visual sweep of the hallway, cataloging everything.
The two nurses at the end of it, one looking around in confusion, the other rummaging in her pocket, presumably for her phone.
The supply cart halfway down the hallway, piled high with stacks of folded sheets and blankets.
And there, less than twenty feet from us, the police officer.
He doesn’t appear alarmed. Not yet, not when the lights have been out for less than ten seconds. His hand isn’t even on his holster, let alone holding his weapon.
I need to get to him before he grabs it.
Raising my hand, I gesture to move forward. I don’t look back at my teammates. I don’t need to. I know they have my six.
This time when I move, it’s at a full-out run.
The officer is only just reaching for his weapon by the time I get to him.
But he’s too late.
Muscle memory takes over as I lunge at him, wrapping my arm around his neck and spinning him around so his back’s to my front.
He starts bucking against me. Flailing. Scrabbling for his gun. He’s strong, and if he were fighting back against an ordinary man, he’d have no trouble getting free.
I’m not an ordinary man, though. And even with one hand missing, I’m still far stronger than him.
It only takes ten seconds of pressure to knock him out, and once he slumps in my hold, I lower him to the ground.
Then I flip him over and quickly zip-tie his wrists and ankles together.
I don’t expect the ties to hold him for long, but they don’t need to.
By the time he gets free, we should be long gone.
With the police officer neutralized, I rush into the hospital room, where Webb and Ace are already waiting.
There are two beds in the room, but only one is occupied. And I recognize the woman lying there the moment I see her.
Bea.
When I reach her side, my heart clutches.
She looks so small. Vulnerable. Hurt.
Her pale hair is stained on one side, and while I can’t tell the color with my goggles on, I’m assuming it’s blood.
Hers? Jenna’s?
A bandage covers one side of her forehead, but the bruising already extends past it.
Her eyes are shut, her lashes dark sweeps on her cheeks. Tiny lines are etched between her eyes, and her eyebrows are pinched together like she’s in pain. As I watch her, her lids flutter like she’s dreaming. A low moan sounds in the back of her throat.
Anger ignites in my chest.
Someone did this to her. Slammed her head against a locker. Gave her a concussion serious enough to knock her unconscious for hours. And if my instincts are right, they framed her for murder.
Then I spot the handcuff around her delicate wrist, and the anger shifts to rage.
No. This isn’t right.
But that’s one thing easily fixed, at least. First I gesture at Ace, then point to the handcuff.
As he unlocks her handcuff—because we all carry handcuff keys, it was one of the first things Cole suggested when we started our branch of B and A—I pull out the syringe of sedative and inject it into Bea’s arm.
Though I know it’s necessary, the tiny drop of blood that appears after removing the syringe makes me feel horrible. Like I’m no better than the person who hurt her.
But I shove my regret and guilt down deep so I can focus on the next task at hand—unhooking the monitors and getting Bea out of here.
Webb and Ace close in around me while I work, and Webb murmurs, “It’s six-forty-five. We’re still good on time.”
I remove the IV from the back of Bea’s hand and place a bandage over the small wound left behind. Her hand is cool and soft in mine. Something inside me tugs.
It feels right. Even in these awful circumstances, holding her hand—
“Six-forty-six,” Webb reports quietly.
“Okay,” I murmur. After casting a quick look at the bed and monitors to make sure I didn’t miss anything, I add, “We’re good to go.”
But just as I’m about to pick up Bea, another memory slams into me. An important one.
“Wait.” I gently turn Bea’s head from one side to the other, brushing her hair back as I check behind her ears. “Her implants,” I explain quietly. “She can’t hear without them.”
But they’re there; the small devices she told me about during our second PT session.
“They’re very good,” she said, “and I can hear pretty much everything with them. But if there’s a lot of background noise, it can make it harder.
So if you ever think I’m ignoring you, I’m not.
It might just be that the room is extra noisy. ”
“Does she have them?” Webb whispers.
Nodding, I lean over and scoop Bea into my arms. “She’s got them.”
Ace takes point this time as we leave the room, with me in the middle, holding Bea, and Webb at our six.
The lights in the hallway are still out, save for the flashlight on one nurse’s phone at the other end of the hallway.
But even if the light did catch us, she wouldn’t see anything identifiable, just shadowy figures disappearing into the darkness.
We’re back at the stairwell in seconds, and as planned, Tyler arranged for the lights to be off in them, as well. As we descend the stairs, I adjust Bea in my arms, being careful not to jostle her or bump her head.
At the second floor stairwell, she unconsciously curls into me, clutching the neck of my shirt and turning her face into my neck. Her breath is slow and steady as it whispers across my skin. Her hair brushes my chin, and it just might be the softest thing I’ve ever felt.
Without thinking, I press my lips to the top of her head. She smells of hospital and antiseptic, but there’s a familiar vanilla scent lingering beneath it.
“Six-forty-nine,” Webb says when we reach the bottom floor. “Still good.” He pushes the door open and exhales. “Lights down here are off, too. Tyler’s good.”
“He is,” I agree.
Single file, we exit the stairwell and head back towards the exit. We don’t talk for the last part of it, our attention focused on listening for anyone who might be approaching us.
But in another stroke of luck, we don’t see anyone. It’s a clear shot to the exit, and before I know it, we’re back outside.
Almost done. Almost.
We still need to get to the car. And from there, to the private airpark where a charter plane sits, waiting.
Webb pulled some strings to get us the plane, calling on one of the guys he used to serve with back when he was a Night Stalker.
And since Webb’s a pilot, he’ll be flying us back to Portland directly.
“Almost there,” Ace whispers, echoing my thoughts.
A cold breeze moves past us, and Bea shivers in her sleep. I hug her closer, wishing I’d thought to grab a blanket. But once we’re in the car, we can crank the heat.
The distance from the hospital to the car seems to take an eternity, even though it only took us two minutes to cross it before. But with the stakes so high…
Part of me keeps expecting to hear someone yell at us to stop. For floodlights to come on. For flashing police lights to come screaming towards us.
But they don’t.
And we make it to the car without incident.
This time I climb into the backseat and settle Bea in my lap, while Ace and Webb take the front.
While Ace starts the car, I check Bea again, this time without the bulky night vision goggles in my way.
Her breathing is soft and regular, her pulse is steady, and when I check her pupils, everything looks normal.
The latest reports from the hospital say she shouldn’t have any lasting damage from the concussion, but I can’t help worrying.
“Is she okay?” Webb asks, turning in his seat to look back at me.
I brush her hair back from her face. I know it’s probably all in my imagination, but I could swear she looks more peaceful. “She seems to be. Her breathing and pulse are normal, and her pupils are responsive. So those are all good signs.”
Ace pulls onto the road. “She’s going to be confused when she wakes up. Probably upset, too.”
My jaw clenches. I hug Bea closer to me. “I know. But we’ll help her. She’s smart. She’ll understand.”
I hope.
As I look down at her, protectiveness sweeps through me; so intense it steals my breath.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to her. “I promise. I’ll fix this for you. It’s all going to be okay.”