Garrett stepped off the private plane belonging to Falcon Securities and was thankful he’d came prepared for the weather. The frigid air ruffled his hair and made his skin prickle. He’d landed in Baltimore and his first stop would be the hospital where Haley worked. Hospitals and hotels were notorious for having security cameras.

Zipping up his bomber jacket, he grabbed his bag and headed for the stairs. As it was November, Dallas still enjoyed a few eighty-degree days. Not Baltimore.

The day proved to be cold and windy, with storm clouds brewing in the East. He’d be lucky to stay dry before he reached his hotel, where he planned to just drop off his things and get to work.

Garrett picked up the rental car Zoe had waiting for him and headed toward downtown, close to Johns Hopkins. He made quick work of checking in at the hotel and getting out and on his way to find Haley.

It wasn’t long before the rain came pounding down with a vengeance, forcing him to keep his windshield wipers on high as he fought traffic. It took him longer than he’d planned to get to the hospital and in contact with security, and Garrett wasn’t a patient man.

Luckily, the hotel had umbrellas and Garrett made good use of one. Now, if he’d only had a pair of rubber boots. Water gathered in the parking lot like a swimming pool.

Inside the massive hospital, he met with the guy in charge of security named Bruce Lindell. He equaled Garrett’s six three, but outweighed him by a good sixty pounds. In his late fifties, the man appeared more concerned about the bad press the hospital might get from a doctor being kidnapped than in getting her back.

“This all you have?” Garrett asked, holding out three grainy tapes. “Nothing else?”

“No, the tapes haven’t been changed in a long time. The more we record over them, the harder they are to make out images.”

Garrett glared at the man. “You ever think of replacing them?”

“Course I do,” Bruce puffed up like a blowfish. “The administrative director thinks it’s a waste of money because we’re in a good neighborhood and nothing happens around here.”

“Bad things happen all over the world. Never think your location is going to save you. Evil people who want to kidnap doctors are everywhere.” Garrett lectured in a harsh tone. Nothing annoyed him more than incompetence.

Bruce lowered his gaze. “Yeah, I know. I feel horrible about Dr. Kingston. She was a nice lady.”

“Is.” Garrett gritted roughly, wanting to punch the guy. “She is a nice lady.”

The man’s face reddened and he swiped his hand across his forehead. “I’m so sorry,” Bruce pleaded. “That’s not what I meant. I’d never want any harm to come to her.”

Garrett wouldn’t consider her gone until he couldn’t feel a pulse. He’d find her and if the image on the tape turned out to be who he thought, they needed her too badly to really harm her. The problem would come after she’d served her purpose.

They’d have no reason to keep her alive.

“When did someone notice she’d been taken?”

“A nurse at the end of her shift saw the whole thing. She screamed for them to stop, but they sped off. Nurse Susan Clarkston immediately called 911, then security. I was working and met her at the front desk.”

“Is this nurse working today?

“Later tonight. She works the midnight shift. She’s probably home sleeping now.”

“Can you call her floor and verify that she’s scheduled to work tonight?”

He moved to a grey metal desk and picked up the phone. After a few words he hung up and turned to Garrett. “She’s on the schedule.”

“Which way is Personnel?

Bruce turned and headed for the door. “Come on, I’ll take you myself.” No doubt, he hoped to make up for not being able to keep the kidnapping from happening. If he was on duty, he’d have been smart to have stationed himself near one of the exits.

The smell of antiseptic, floor wax and hand sanitizer filled the air. Johns Hopkins was one of the finest hospitals in the country. Modern art decorated the walls that weren’t glass, and cushioned, chairs lined the corridors. They seemed to run into smiling employees at every turn.

Inside HR, a good-looking black woman sporting a long weave greeted them with a wide, welcoming smile. “Hi Bruce.” Then she glanced at Garrett. “How may I help you, sir?”

Bruce stepped around him and propped his forearms on the counter. “He’s here about Dr. Kingston being kidnapped.”

“We covered that this morning.” She shook her head. “And the only witness, nurse Susan Clarkston, answered every question from the police to the FBI.” She clicked on her computer. “What else can I do for you?”

Garrett flashed his credentials. “Can you give me Nurse Clarkston’s home address?”

The woman shoved her chair back slightly and frowned. “I don’t know that I can do that. The FBI says they’re handling this case.” She glanced at a closed door with a gold nameplate engraved with ‘Vince Martin, Personnel Director’.

“Can he help me?”

She stood, straighten her sweater, and walked to the door. “Hold on. I’ll check.”

Before long, a short man with a round stomach and sunken chest walked to the front office. He adjusted his thick glasses, then cleared his throat. “I understand you want Susan Clarkston’s address?”

Garrett nodded. “I’d like to speak to her about a few things.”

“Then contact the Baltimore Police or the FBI. We’ve been advised not to give out any information unless it comes from our PR department.” He turned to leave. “Tricia will give you the contact number for the authorities.”

The director returned to the safety of his office and shut the door with a bang.

“Well, he’s a real friendly guy,” Garrett mocked. “You’d think if one of his employees had been kidnapped, he’d be a little more concerned and eager to help.”

Tricia looked up at him with disgust. “He’s a royal pain in the ass. He don’t care about nobody.”

Garrett looked down at her. “What about you, Tricia? Do you care?”

She glanced around slowly, careful to make sure no one listened in on their conversation. She winked and, after a few clicks on the keyboard she took a Post-it note and scribbled down a number, then slid it across the counter. “Knock yourself out.” She glanced over at Bruce. “You all didn’t get that from me, you hear?”

Garrett tucked the address into his pocket and tipped his head at Tricia, who smiled like she’d really pulled one over on her mean boss. Not losing a minute, he left HR and headed for the main exit. Outside the revolving doors, the rain continued to come down like they were in the middle of monsoon season. He could barely see across the parking lot. Tough luck. He had to find Susan Clarkston alive if he hoped to learn anything first- hand about Haley’s abduction.

Shoes drenched, inside the car he turned around to the backseat and shook out the umbrella, then he wiped the moisture from the steering wheel that had managed to sweep into the car when he opened the door. The wet seat had the back of his pants soaked and him uncomfortable.

A crack of thunder rattled the car as he put Susan Clarkson’s address into the vehicle’s GPS. Within seconds, he was traveling in the right direction. What should have been a five-minute ride turned into a forty-minute slog through the pouring rain. Construction cropped up everywhere, traffic stayed backed up, and a broken-down eighteen-wheeler blocked two lanes on one of the main highways.

Great.

He pulled into Susan Clarkston’s quiet neighborhood and slowly came to a halt in front of her house. The rain had slowed some, but he’d still need the umbrella.

Looking at the small Cape Cod style house, he checked his surroundings. A few well-used cars were parked on the street, a lady with a clear umbrella walked her tiny dog, and down the street a utility company worked on the main electrical box beneath a large canvas awning.

He sat in the car waiting, hoping to spot the unusual. An item out of place, a suspicious looking person loitering, or a vehicle that didn’t belong.

If Susan had been the last person to see Haley alive, she could be a key witness against Zareeb El Hashem, and he wasn’t a person who left behind loose ends. Garrett’s heart accelerated as a sense of dread washed over his body. He appreciated moments like this, when all his instincts warned him to be on alert.

As the rain let up, Garrett slowly opened the door, made his way up the sidewalk, and onto the wooden porch. An eerie quiet greeted him. He’d learned to hate that kind of silence. It was strange how as a former SEAL, how they often picked up those crazy idiosyncrasies.

Things other people never noticed. A silence that said either nobody was home, or nobody was breathing. He didn’t know if it was years of exposure to combat, or a sixth sense.

As he raised his hand to knock, Garrett surmised that either Susan Clarkston wasn’t home, or she was dead.

He pounded several times.

Nothing.

Again, he continued to knock. “Susan Clarkston? Miss Clarkston are you in there?”

Deciding he could stand out there all day and yell, or go inside to see for himself. It took him less than a minute to pick the lock. He squeezed inside and took several steps to analyze his surroundings.

On such a dreary day the interior of the house lay dark and forsaken. One would think it evening, for the drapes were pulled and there was no opening for light to enter the house. Still, he made his way around slowly. He moved purposefully through the small house, noticing the pictures of family, the delicate little knick-knacks, a big basket of yarn. She knitted. That brought back fond memories of his grandmother.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Garrett paused. He knew instinctively that the master bedroom stood off to his right, and that’s where he’d probably find her. Shaking the rain off his shoulders, he turned the knob and opened the door.

There she lay.

The nurse’s bright red blood showed in stark contrast against the pristine white sheets. Her auburn colored hair was sprawled out across a pillow. She was completely dressed in her scrubs and still wore her shoes. Her lifeless eyes were open and accusing. He stepped closer. Someone had cut her throat to the point they nearly decapitated her.

El Hashem’s work, no doubt. Yes, they had been here, and they had silenced his only witness.

Someone from behind shoved Haley roughly out of the back of the vehicle. Luckily, a man held each arm to keep her from falling. Hard rain pelted her, making her almost pleased to have the hood over her head. The rain stopped when they entered a building of some sort. Perhaps a shelter or house.

Her captives continued to urge her forward as she stumbled along, concentrating on keeping her footing. A clap of thunder boomed, making her jump. She clearly heard rain pelting the roof. Someone yanked the hood off her head. She blinked several times against the brightness before looking around.

What she saw scared her half to death. Six Middle Eastern men surrounded her, each one looking meaner than the next. She had been right all along, they were terrorists. She wondered what they had in mind. A place to attack, a target to blowup. Her mind raced frantically trying to figure out what they wanted. Especially what they wanted with her. She swallowed and addressed the man she assumed in charge. “What’s this all about?”

“We have a very important man who has been injured,” he folded his arms across his chest. “He was shot and we fear the wound may be fatal.” He pointed at her, narrowed his black eyes and tightened his mouth. “It is up to you to save him. If he dies, you die, and your death will not be quick.”

The man threatening her stood close to her five feet six inches. He wore his native garb with sandals. A dingy, fake fur hat covered his dark, straight, oily hair. His nails were filthy, and she doubted his teeth had been brushed in months.

The tone he used frightened Haley because she knew he meant every word. Those men had one goal, to kill her if she didn’t fulfill her assignment.

“May I see the patient, please?”

The leader spread his hands wide directing her to the back of the house. The place was practically empty of furniture and littered with filth. Looking outside the dirty windows, she assumed they were not in a very good neighborhood. It smelled much like the vehicle they’d traveled in. Curry, urine, and the stench of poor hygiene.

Walking through a door, the man shoved aside a thin curtain and she saw a man in his mid to late forties lying on a small twin bed. He was Middle Eastern, like the others, with a black beard streaked with gray. A dingy sheet had been pulled up to his chin. He looked pale, in pain, and uncomfortable, but he was still breathing.

She approached slowly. When he opened his eyes, she smiled slightly “I’m going to check your wound.”

The man grabbed her hand with surprising strength and scowled. “You will not touch me. Mehaza, take her away.” He shoved her aside. “I’ll not have a woman touch me. It is against Allah.”

The man standing beside her squeezed the patient’s shoulder. “She’s an excellent doctor. If anyone can save you, it is this woman. I think Allah will excuse this transgression. Your life is more important.”

The patient looked at him and glared. “Nothing is more important than Allah’s wishes.” He grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him close to his face. “Do not pretend that you know the wisdom of Allah. Only I know Allah’s wishes.” He shoved him rudely away.

The patient studied her so long that she grew nervous beneath his gaze. If he refused to let her treat him, then they would kill her without hesitation, and she didn’t want that outcome. She wanted to walk out of here alive.

“Do you mind if I simply look at the wound?”

The patient turned his head aside, dismissing her. The man called Mehaza gently folded back the sheet. His shirt had been removed and a faded terrycloth towel lay draped across his middle. Haley lifted it carefully and inspected the wound.

Dread soaked into every part of her body and she swallowed hard. This man wasn’t going to make it. No matter how much skill she had, she couldn’t keep him alive. Not only that, she doubted very seriously she could prolong his life by more than a few hours. He would probably be dead by morning.

But how did she say that and remain alive? She carefully placed the towel back over the wound and lifted the sheet to his chin. She turned to the man who had brought her there and nodded for them to leave the room. She walked out, and he followed her to the opposite side of the curtain.

“I know you will kill me,” she whispered, “so there’s no reason for me to lie. He’s not going to live. The wound is too severe. Even if I had him in the hospital, under the best of conditions, his odds of making it are very slim.”

He grabbed her painfully by the arms and shook her. “He will live by the grace of Allah. He has a great mission and must live to see it through. He will not die. You will not let him die.”

The man slapped her, and Haley yelped in pain before yanking loose from the man’s grasp. Her hand on her cheek, she staggered backwards and narrowed her eyes angrily. “Don’t touch me again,” she scolded, sick of being treated like a criminal. “I can’t guarantee anything, but if you want me to work on him I’m going to need a lot of supplies. Ones that aren’t easy to come by.”

His bearded face red with rage, he stepped back, folding his hands behind his back. She knew that took great restraint when he wanted to strangle her. She also knew he needed her.

“I will get you everything you need. You will save his life or I will kill you myself.”

“Threatening me isn’t going to change anything,” Haley shot back. “I don’t know who you are, what your plan is, or even why you kidnapped me, because I think you know he’s dying. So, given a choice, you can kill me now or let me go.”

He glanced behind him to the room where the other men waited. “You are not leaving here.”

She knew he told the truth. They had no intentions of letting her go. Even if something miraculous happened and she saved that man’s life, she couldn’t save her own. The minute they took her, they’d signed her death warrant.

“You make a list of everything you need,” he ordered, “and I’ll see you have it within the hour. Then you must operate to remove the bullet and stitch the wound. He will be fine. Allah will see to it.”

“Do you have a pencil and a piece of paper?”

He snapped his fingers and two men came in. He said something in his native language, and within seconds a piece of paper and a pen were placed on a small table in front of her. She sat in a dining room, at a table covered with dust, and started her list. She looked up at the man. “Do you know his blood type?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“We don’t have time to find out.” It didn’t really matter, nothing she could do would save this man. Her only option? Go through the motions, keep him breathing as long as possible, and hope that a miracle happened, and she’d hopefully be rescued.

It was common knowledge that security cameras surrounded Johns Hopkins Hospital. She held out hope that an employee, or a patient or visitor, saw her being abducted and caught the license plate number. With a little luck, the authorities might be showing up any minute and she would be saved. Regardless, she refused to stand around holding her breath. She had a weak plan.

Stall, and stall some more, for as long as possible.