Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
His foot bounced as they waited.
He should stop it, betraying any of his nervousness could be misconstrued by Chelsea as meaning more than it did.
Of course, he was nervous. He was taking a woman into a situation that wasn't only unsafe, but that she was untrained and unprepared for.
Chelsea was tough, he wasn't denying that.
She handled the things they saw in their line of work without losing her cool, but seeing it on a computer screen and living it were two completely different things.
This wasn't her world, and yet she was about to be thrust into it.
At full speed.
Without a parachute on.
“It’s going to be okay, Josiah,” Chelsea said gently.
They were sitting side by side in the waiting room at the hospital.
This was the same hospital they already knew had a connection to the trafficking ring.
It was the hospital Ava had attended mere weeks before she was targeted and abducted.
The same hospital that several other young, healthy adults had a connection to before they also turned up missing.
Since they needed the trafficking ring to find out that Chelsea was supposedly sick, Prey had vetted one of the doctors here and briefed him on their plan.
The man would take them on as patients, make sure to talk about the case as much as he could without drawing undue suspicion, and keep them updated if he felt like anyone was accessing his files.
Because this mission was so critical, they had to take it a step further than that.
If they could get themselves a meeting with the trafficking ring, that would include having some of the ring’s own medical personnel take a look at Chelsea.
While of course they were not going to actually do anything to damage her kidneys badly enough that she was legitimately in need of a kidney transplant, they had to do something so that she at least passed for sick when they got their meeting.
That’s what had his foot bouncing anxiously this morning.
Chelsea didn't seem worried about literally playing with her health.
Or at least if she was, she was doing a better job at hiding it than he was.
He was terrified that whatever the doctor suggested they do to make Chelsea appear ill would have long-lasting implications for her health.
They had to walk a fine line, make her ill enough not to rouse suspicion, but not make her sick enough that she walked away from this with irreparable damage caused.
It should have been him.
He didn't care if he walked away with lasting damage to his body. His sole purpose in living was only to honor the memories of the men who had died at his side that day six years ago. That, and to protect himself from more pain.
But he didn't care when he died.
He didn’t care if that day was tomorrow, next week, next year, or fifty years from now.
Actually, that wasn't quite true. He’d much prefer to die next year than in fifty years’ time.
“We’re here to make you sick, not better,” he growled under his breath so the other patients in the waiting room didn't overhear.
“Not sick sick, just enough to fool them,” she soothed like that was any better.
Before he could say anything, the door to the doctor’s room opened, and Chelsea’s name was called. They both stood, and he was startled enough by the easy way she slid her hand into his that his fingers automatically curled around hers.
If he held on a little too tight, that was only because he wanted to be supportive. Not because he needed her. She was the one taking most of the risks, he was little more than glorified muscle.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fleet, Mr. Fleet,” the doctor greeted them as they entered his office, and he closed the door behind them.
Hearing someone call Chelsea his last name sent an unexpected shaft of …
something … through his chest. It wasn't anger, but it wasn't really pleasure either. In fact, he couldn’t decide if he hated it or liked it. But it was a reminder that he had a role to play, and while the doctor was in on it, he’d better start getting used to playing the role of doting husband.
Pulling out a chair for Chelsea, he helped her into it, then took the seat beside her. “Whatever you’re going to do to her, I don’t want it to be something she can't come back from,” he blurted out.
A hand landed on his knee, and since he knew it was Chelsea’s, and she was also just playing her role, he didn't look down at it.
Wanted to though.
Because it didn't feel like she was just playing a role.
She’d had a crush on him pretty much from the beginning, but he’d always thought that it would eventually fade when she realized her feelings weren't reciprocated.
Only it hadn't. He often caught her sneaking what she thought were little, unobtrusive glances at him, and saw the love shining brightly from her eyes. Despite his terrible attitude, she’d found something in him compelling enough to develop feelings for him.
She saw something in him he couldn’t even see in himself.
He was too consumed with grief, guilt, and rage to feel anything even remotely human anymore. But whatever lingering light that was left in his world, it was there solely because of the woman sitting beside him.
“I've been thinking about what we should do,” the doctor said. “A quick rundown of the signs of kidney failure are swelling of the legs, ankles, and feet, urinating less, itchy skin, tiredness, trouble sleeping, loss of appetite, nausea and vomiting, muscle cramps, and headaches. Most of those things can be faked without the need to do anything. If you can get a meeting with these people, Mrs. Fleet can easily pretend to be nauseous and tired, there’s no way to prove or disprove she’s having muscle cramps or headaches.
Same with the loss of appetite and urinating less.
So, I thought we would focus on one specific symptom, while also setting you up to have fake dialysis at home.
Although we will have to insert a catheter into your abdomen,” the doctor said apologetically to Cheslea.
Josiah felt his insides clench at the thought.
Of course, he’d known they’d need to do something, but inserting a catheter …
It made him feel sick.
“What else?” he snarled at the doctor, noting how the man paled at the venom in his tone.
“Josiah,” Chelsea rebuked. “He’s just worried, sorry about that. What was the other symptom you thought we should focus on?”
Eying him warily, the doctor focused his attention on Chelsea instead.
“The swelling. We’ll need to send you along with some blood and urine samples if you get a meeting.
You’ll have to figure out how to swap out the samples they take from you with the ones we’ll give you.
But if they do a physical exam, the swelling in your legs will give credibility to your claims.”
“And how do we do that?” he growled.
“I was thinking we could give Mrs. Fleet prednisone,” the doctor replied.
“Steroids?” he demanded, not liking the idea one little bit.
“Prednisone is used to treat many different issues, including ones that would be easily explainable if they found out she was taking it. It can cause swelling in the legs and feet, exactly like we need it to.”
“But it might not,” Josiah countered.
The doctor nodded. “We’ll have her on a fairly high dose, because she won't be taking it for a prolonged period, I'm fairly certain that we can simulate the swelling from kidney failure with the prednisone.”
“What other side effects does the drug have?” Josiah asked.
“High blood sugar, increased blood pressure, infection, low adrenal gland function, which would actually help with some of the other symptoms Mrs. Fleet would have to fake, like nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite. Mood and behavior changes, and stomach bleeding. Which again, blood in urine would help with your claims of kidney failure.”
“Absolutely not.” Josiah shoved away from the table. This was too much. Too dangerous. It was one thing to take an untrained civilian into a dangerous undercover operation, it was quite another to willingly inflict this kind of potential damage on her body.
“This was always going to come with dangers,” the doctor said.
“You knew that. You want me to help you simulate organ failure. The only way to do that is to use medications that might cause damage to her body, and a whole lot of lying. I don’t enjoy being part of this, but since it’s for such a good cause, I'm doing everything I can to ensure that Mrs. Fleet is safe, both with the medications I’ll give her, and in trying to ensure she passes whatever examinations they give her to keep your cover.
In the end, the only person who can decide if this is worth the risk is Mrs. Fleet herself. ”
Josiah wanted to order Cheslea to tell the doctor this was too much, that she’d go back to Prey and let him take on all these risks, but he already knew from the stubborn glint in her eyes that she wasn't going to let him do that.
“Whatever we need to do, I'm up for it,” Chelsea said, her voice calm and sure. “These people have already hurt so many, and they made it personal when they went after the people I care about. It’s worth the risk.”
May 12th
4:17 P.M.
There was no way she would regret her decision, but Chelsea definitely felt yucky as she stretched out on the couch in the living room of her and Josiah’s rented townhouse.
They’d been at the hospital for hours this morning, talking things through with the doctor in more detail, having the catheter inserted, and setting up fake dialysis appointments.
Prey had virtually unlimited resources, and they would hire someone to come by daily with a fake machine so that no real time or resources were wasted on their charade.