The Girl Who Survived(77)

“And when you did?” Thomas asked.

Mia shifted from one booted foot to the other. “He sounded kinda freaked, y’know, breathless and . . .” She pursed her lips and angled her chin. “What is this? Do I need a lawyer?”

“What’s going on here?” the nurse said, her patience finally running out. “This is a hospital, not an interrogation room. Take this, whatever it is, somewhere else. We’ve got patients—”

“And what? Breathless and what?” Johnson cut in, ignoring the blond nurse, her eyes laser-focused on Mia.

Thomas told the nurse, “We’re about done her, just asking a few questions.” And to Mia, “A lawyer is your choice.”

Mia glared at them all, as if the cops and nurse were her sworn enemies. “I’m not answering any more questions. Not until I see Jonas.”

“That’s not happening,” the nurse said. “No visitors. Period.”

“But they were in the room!” Mia whined as she waved a hand at the officers.

“They have authority.” The nurse was growing more and more irritated as a phone at her station began to ring. “Maybe you all want to take this conversation out of the hospital hallway?” Her eyebrows raised over the rims of her oversize glasses. “There are quieter spots, even small conference rooms—?”

“Or the station,” Johnson said, obviously tired of Mia’s theatrics. “We could go there.”

“What?” Mia turned suddenly ashen. “No . . . No, not happening.”

The nurse said, “But you all need to leave.” Her gaze met Thomas’s. “Now.”

“I’m not leaving. Not until I see Jonas.” Mia planted herself near the elevator bank, her arms crossed over her chest defiantly.

“Fine.” The nurse was having none of it and the phone kept ringing. “I’ve already called security, and these fine officers will escort you out of the building.”

“But this is a public building.”

“It’s private and, whether you believe it or not, we’re only interested in taking care of our patients, your boyfriend included, so, come on, let’s get a move on.” Her face was calm, her voice steely. “I have other patients who need me.” And with that she headed to the semicircular desk, reached over and picked up the receiver, all the while keeping her eyes on the small group as the elevator call button dinged and the doors whispered open. “Third floor. This is Evelyn Mathers. Can you hold a second?”

The security guard who stepped onto the third floor was Madge Petroski, the officer Thomas had helped to her feet less than fifteen minutes earlier. And her mood hadn’t improved. Petroski’s lips were compressed, her muscles tight, her demeanor as serious as a wolf studying a lame, straggling deer. “What’s going on here?” she demanded, and didn’t soften a bit when she recognized Thomas.

“We need an escort for Ms. Long,” Thomas said. To the nurse, he added, “We’re leaving, but if there’s a problem”—he cast a meaningful glare at the deputy stationed near Jonas McIntyre’s room—“let us know.”

The nurse nodded tightly. “Will do.”

The security guard gave a clipped nod. “Come along,” she said to Mia Long and before she could reach for her, the younger woman stomped into the open elevator.

“Thanks,” Johnson said to the nurse. “We’ll be back.”

“Fabulous,” the nurse replied, her smile as icy as an arctic blast as she glared at Thomas. “Just . . . great.” Then she turned her attention back to the call.

Johnson asked, “Do you always have this effect on people you meet? This uncanny ability to make enemies everywhere you go?”

“It’s a gift,” Thomas acknowledged as they waited for another elevator car and gave berth to an orderly pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair heading down the short hallway. “A real blessing.”





CHAPTER 22


Kara double-checked the lock on the bathroom door of Tate’s condo, then stepped into his small shower, where hot water was already running and steaming up this small space, a corner of his high-ceilinged loft. The needle-like spray felt good, relaxing muscles that had been tense ever since she’d spied Merritt’s body, then nearly been given a heart attack with her brother appearing in her car. After that, there had been the accident and waking up in the hospital where she escaped and now was . . . was alone, naked, in the home of a man she barely knew and didn’t trust at all.

Good one, Kara. Now what? You’re trapped here without a phone, or a car, or even a damned friend you can call. There’s Aunt Faiza. “No!” she said aloud, startling herself. Well, then, how about the police. You need to talk to them, explain about finding Merritt’s body and how Jonas stowed away in the Jeep and how the semi came at you, sliding sideways.

She blinked. Thought of the driver of the truck and her heart twisted. She knew the accident wasn’t her fault and Jonas would back her up, but he was a convicted felon, believed to be a liar and a stone-cold killer, not exactly the best witness, and there were the vodka bottles that would be found in the wreckage, tiny little bits of evidence that she might have been under the influence.

But certainly they’d checked her blood in the hospital . . . God, it was all so complicated.