The Killing Game(112)
But she was totally helpless, bound as she was.
Fear pounded in her brain. Think, Andi, think! You have to save yourself.
Ignoring the bad taste in her mouth, she leaned forward, intent on using the hand bound behind her back to locate the door handle, work the right buttons and somehow escape. Before she could even try the door, he slid inside the driver’s seat, the interior light casting a dim glow before he jerked the door closed again and they were plunged into darkness once more. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, then leaned over to buckle her in. Not for her safety, she realized, but to disable her further. As he reached across her, she considered biting him, trying to sink her teeth into his arm, but the gag prevented her, and with a click, the seat belt was engaged and she had less room to move.
“Time to go,” he said with a smile in his voice and quickly started the engine. “Like my jacket?” He was preening, but a deadly weapon lay across his lap. “It’s the same one Ben wears.”
He was driving them out of the lot. Desperately, Andi tried to free herself, but she couldn’t do it. “Don’t you think we’ll look good on camera? A lot of people saw you walk out with Ben. He’s gonna have a lot to answer for.”
You son of a bitch.
If she could just get free, or find a way to use a weapon and jump him. But right now it was impossible. Her heart sank and she told herself not to give up. Just wait. Be patient. He might just make a mistake.
Then again, he might not.
He hit the accelerator. The car lurched forward. Panicked, Andi tried vainly to struggle.
“You don’t listen, Andi. It’s one of your biggest problems. Try anything and I’ll f*ckin’ tase you. Did you hear it that time?” The gun was still on his lap.
She made gurgling sounds, and he abruptly pulled the car to the curb and in one quick motion opened the glove box, removed a roll of duct tape, and tore off a hunk with his teeth. “No more noise,” he warned, yanking the rag from her mouth.
She gasped, drew in a fresh breath, and tried to struggle as he slapped the duct tape harshly over her lips, the very lips he’d licked.
Again her stomach heaved, but she held back the acid burning up her throat.
Leaning so close, she felt his breath against her ear as he whispered, “I’ve waited so long for this. We have a game to play out,” he said, and for a second his voice held a far-off quality, as if he were looking into the future.
Icy fear shot down Andi’s spine. She leaned hard against the door and he caught the movement.
“Oh yes, there’s a game, little bird, and you’ll be an active player, but if you cross me, I’ll kill you.” His eyes found hers for a second.
*
Luke’s pickup fishtailed into the hospital parking lot behind the ambulance carrying Peg Bellows. Two more emergency vehicles screamed into the lot, each carrying one of the Carerra brothers. Were they alive? Dead? Mortally wounded? He didn’t give a damn about them, but Peg was a different story. He remembered the blood on her bathrobe, the calm in her eyes, as if she’d already given up.
He skidded to a stop near a light pole and cut the engine.
Two EMTs pulled Peg’s stretcher from the back of the emergency vehicle and met with nurses and docs in the receiving area of the ER. Luke glanced at them, then sprinted across the lot, catching up with the ambulance in the covered ER receiving area. “Peg,” he called as the rescue workers wheeled her in.
“Don’t worry,” she said around the oxygen mask. “I’ll see you later.”
Her final tone got to him. “You’re going to be all right,” he said, as much to convince himself as her. “You hang in there.” He tried to reach for her hand where an IV was already pumping liquid into her body, but the EMT intervened.
“Get away, buddy,” the burly red-haired responder warned before barking Peg’s vital signs to a waiting nurse and doctor. He shouldered Luke out of the way.
“Wait.”
“Not now,” the arriving doctor said calmly. “We’re taking her directly into surgery. OR two,” he said to a waiting nurse. “We’ll keep you informed.”
“But . . .”
“You heard the doctor.” The EMT was all business.
Luke went inside and tried to gain access from a woman behind a wide information desk. Prim and proper, she brooked no argument, and he found himself stymied by a wall of privacy, HIPAA regulations and mountains of red tape. It didn’t matter that he’d phoned nine-one-one, he wasn’t kin of the patient, and the staunch receptionist at the information desk told him she could release no information on a patient. Not that he blamed her.
The wide glass doors of the emergency wing flew open and the Carrera brothers were brought inside. Luke hung close to the doors and listened to the exchanges between doctors and the emergency medical techs long enough to reason out that both Carerra brothers were probably DOA. The medical staff just had to make it official.
He was soon ordered out of the intake area and couldn’t get close to the information area again. He guessed any and all emergency personnel had been called to the scene because of the multiple victims, not to mention those waiting in chairs scattered around the waiting area. A twentysomething woman with stringy hair and a bad complexion was holding a crying baby while a pale two-year-old clung to her leg. Her husband or boyfriend leaned back in a chair too small for him and played some game on his phone. An older man and woman were seated near the windows; she was cradling one arm and staring vacantly into space. Now and again she winced, but she was trying hard not to show her pain. Her husband sat next to her, arms crossed over his expansive chest, lips tight in an unshaven jaw. Other various would-be patients and loved ones whose non-life-threatening injuries were forced to wait while the gunshot victims were either treated, operated on, or pronounced DOA.