Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(80)

Chapter 28


WE MADE IT DOWN TO MEDICAL, Radar’s boyish face set in an impassive expression as he helped get Ashlyn situated on the steel bolted bed.

Not much to do, according to him. Miscarriage was a natural event, the body’s way of coping. Best he could offer was Tylenol for the pain and water to counter the blood loss. Later, I should watch Ashlyn for signs of fever, which could indicate an infection. In which case, she would require immediate medical attention.

Radar didn’t expand upon that statement. Such as, would Z permit one of his nine-million-dollar hostages to visit an ER? I had a feeling our ransom demand was about to come back to bite us. Especially the way Z had looked at Justin… Had we really managed to negotiate a deal with Mr. Big Bad Commando? Or had we somehow just played right into his hands?

Radar left, and I went to work removing Ashlyn’s blood-soaked jumpsuit, carefully covering her with a towel as I went. A camera was mounted in the corner of the room, and I couldn’t bear the thought of Mick, sitting in the control center, getting off on my daughter’s pain. I wondered if I could reach up, smear water, or maybe Vaseline across the tiny electronic eye. But I figured Z would never tolerate such a blatant act of insubordination. He’d materialize, there would be consequences, and looking at my daughter, myself, Justin… How much more abuse could we take?

I washed Ashlyn’s underwear the best I could in the sink, noticing some tissue, trying not to think about it.

Our captors had not considered new undergarments, so I redressed Ashlyn in her still-damp panties, now lined with feminine hygiene pads set out by Radar. He’d muttered under his breath that they made handy field dressings, hence his stash. Clean towels above. Blood-soaked towels below. Again, best not to think of it.

I forced myself to sit, stroking Ashlyn’s arm. Her eyelids had stopped fluttering. She appeared to be drifting into sleep. The body doing its best to heal, as Radar had predicted.

Radar finally returned. In hindsight, I realized he’d probably been gone a good thirty to forty minutes. Ironically, the longest time Ashlyn or I had been left unsupervised, let alone unshackled. Just hours ago, we would’ve run for it. But now…

Z seemed to know so much about us. Including how completely we would implode. Had he counted on it to make us easy marks? Known that eventually we would hinder ourselves? Ashlyn and I didn’t even require management anymore. We’d hamstrung ourselves with our own secrets. How accommodating of us.

“Methadone,” Radar murmured. One word. He spoke with his back to the camera. I thought about it, and then I understood. I bent over my daughter, my lank hair obscuring my own lips, so I appeared to be comforting Ashlyn. They could see us but not hear us meaning that appearances were everything.

“Those are the pills you gave me? I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s a synthetic opioid. Helps with withdrawal from other narcotics, such as Vicodin.” He turned toward a metal supply case, opening drawers as if searching for something. “But it’s also addictive. Eventually, you’ll have to wean off it.”

He was trying to advise me. For life after this. Assuming the ransom was a success. “How many pills should I take?”

“I’ve been giving you ten-milligram Diskets. First dose was four tablets. You seemed to struggle again this morning, so I gave you two more. It’s not an exact science. A real clinic would spend the first few days of detox figuring out the appropriate dosage for your situation. I’m just winging it.”

“I don’t feel…they’re not the same as Vicodin.”

“No high,” he said bluntly, still rearranging drawers. “Methadone manages the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, as you’re still on a narcotic. And the pills last longer. You should be able to take one dose a day in order to mitigate the depression, nausea, headaches. But like I said, you’re swapping one problem for another. Good-bye, Vicodin addiction; hello, methadone addiction. You’ll need to see a real doctor in order to manage the rest of your withdrawal. Assuming you want to.”

“You seem to know a lot about painkiller addiction,” I said at last.

He shrugged. “Drug abuse du jour.”

“You’re a good doctor, Radar. I appreciate your help. For me, and my daughter.”

He didn’t say anything, appeared uncomfortable.

I couldn’t help myself: “Why do you do this? Work with Z and Mick? You seem to have real skills, real talent. You could get a job, in a hospital—”

“Don’t.”

Single word, filled with more menace than I had anticipated. I drew up short, hesitant, then resumed holding my daughter’s hand.

The atmosphere in the tiny room now felt tense. Strange, really. Radar was a captor and we were captives. How else should it feel?

Except, of the three commandos, I trusted Radar the most. He was the caretaker, smuggling me methadone that clearly Z knew nothing about. And he was good with Ashlyn. Competent, even compassionate in his administrations.

Then again, what had Z said about him? Radar would sell out his own mother if the price was right.

Yet this young man, kid really, knew things about Ashlyn and me that Justin didn’t even know. And not only had Radar kept my secret, he seemed to be trying to help me. To prepare me for life beyond these prison walls.

I tried to picture my old life, or maybe the new life that would begin sometime after 3:00 P.M. tomorrow. Wearing my own clothes. Sleeping in a room with the lights off. Returning to my family and friends, one of whom had most likely set us up, meaning none of whom I’d be able to trust.