Six
The sprinklers were still raining water down on the fourth floor, and nurses were hurrying door by door down the halls, making quick bed checks to assess the condition of their patients and move people where necessary. The firemen had just arrived and were looking for whatever had triggered the sprinkler systems and alarm.
Betty, the RN, was in a rush and counting heads when she saw thick smoke snaking out from under the door of Star Davis’s room. She ran toward it, calling for the nearest firefighter as she went, then pushed the door inward. A cloud of gray smoke billowed out, and she coughed and dropped to her knees just like she was trained. Once the initial cloud had escaped the room, the smoke wasn’t so bad. She passed the source of the issue as she crawled through the doorway—the wastepaper basket must have caught fire somehow, though the water seemed to have put it out.
A short distance into the room she froze, horrified by what she saw. A body spread out in front of her and the contents of a lunch tray scattered about brought her to a sliding halt on the wet floor. She recognized him as the man who’d been guarding Star’s door, but Star was nowhere in sight. As more smoke escaped the room, the scene became clearer, as did the plastic knife in the man’s throat and the blood running out of his nose and scalp. The nurse gasped and reached for his wrist, searching for a pulse. It was there, but weak. Relieved, she dashed to the bathroom, hoping against hope that Star might be in there, but the room was empty. She ran back to the door, shouting for help.
Within minutes the room was full.
The wounded man was put on a stretcher and was on his way to surgery, while the firemen agreed this was the source of the fire that triggered the alarm, then shut down the sprinkler system and took a report, leaving the rest to the police and hospital staff.
Hospital Security was on the scene until the police arrived, knowing they would be working with two possible scenarios. Either Star Davis had been abducted by whoever attacked her guard, or she’d attacked him herself and set the fire to escape. Security put a guard on her room to protect the evidence, although there was probably little to gather since everything was water-soaked, and went to check security footage.
* * *
When Anton’s driver pulled into the hospital parking lot he was immediately denied access to go farther.
“What’s happening?” Anton asked from the back seat.
“I don’t know, sir, but it appears there’s been an emergency at the hospital. There are fire trucks and police cars everywhere.”
“Get me as close as possible,” Anton ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
They parked at the back of the lot, and then Anton and his bodyguards got out and headed toward the front entrance. They didn’t get far before they were stopped again by the police barricade and a trio of officers.
“Sorry, sir. Emergency entries only at this time,” one officer said.
Anton frowned.
“Why not? What’s happened here? The mother of my son is a patient on the fourth floor, and I need to see her. I need to make sure she’s okay.”
“The fourth floor?” the officer said.
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Star Davis.”
The officer frowned.
“Sir, I need you to come with me.”
Thinking he was being personally escorted in, Anton was surprised when the officer swerved to the right a few yards from the front entrance.
“Hey!” Anton yelled.
The officer turned.
“This way,” he said.
Anton ignored him and stormed toward the front doors, determined to get to Star while he had the chance. But when he veered back toward the entrance, cops came running.
Despite Anton’s best arguments, his bodyguards were sent back to the limo, and he was marched toward a trio of men in suits standing beside an ambulance.
Anton didn’t know what was going on, but he was no longer willing to argue. The fact that they were not in uniform made him anxious. If they were FBI, maybe all his careful planning was already too late. Maybe they had what they needed on him. This could be the moment he was put under arrest.
A bald man with a sheen of sweat on his head flashed his badge.
“Mr. Baba, I’m Detective Pitney with the Las Vegas Police. We were told you were with Star Davis when she was admitted. Is this correct?”
“Yes,” Anton said. “She is the mother of my son. I came today to take her home. What’s happening here? Why am I not allowed to go inside?”
“There was a small fire on the floor she was on. They’re cleaning up now,” Pitney explained.
“Did Miss Davis know you were coming?” the second man asked. He had thick, curly hair cut close to his head and looked like a miniature version of Arnold Schwarzenegger.
“Who are you?”
“Special Agent Gleason, FBI,” he said and pulled out his badge.
Anton’s heart skipped a beat, but his best defense had always been offense, and so he immediately challenged the Fed.
“I’m not answering another question until someone tells me what’s going on. I want to see Star.”
“What about your son? Do you want to see your son, too?” Gleason asked.
Anton’s gut knotted, but he didn’t let them know they’d touched a nerve. He’d do what he’d always done: deny, deny, deny.
“What does Sammy have to do with anything?” he asked, feigning surprise at the question.
Gleason looked at him sternly. “If Sammy’s mother is here in the hospital, and you’re here in front of me, where is Sammy?”
“I don’t understand what’s going on. Sammy’s with the nanny! What does this have to do with anything?”
Agent Gleason was watching Baba’s face and couldn’t tell if the man was lying or truly ignorant of the fact that the law had his son secreted away. But he was about to find out.
“There was a fire on the fourth floor that started in Star’s room. They found a man—the guard you apparently paid to stay outside her room—unconscious on the floor and bleeding from multiple wounds.”
Anton gasped. “Luis? No! Oh no! Where is Star? Is she okay?”
“We were hoping you could tell us,” Gleason drawled.
“You what? What does that mean? She’s not here?”
Gleason nodded.
Anton didn’t have to pretend anymore. His shock at this news was real. He couldn’t believe that she’d done it again, that she would betray him twice this way, but he couldn’t let them know she was running from him. Obviously the Feds now had his son; that much was clear to him by the way they were talking to him, but he didn’t have to let on that he knew it. He could still play the role of panicked father if it came down to that.
“None of this makes any sense,” Anton said. “Luis is one of my more experienced bodyguards. He was supposed to be keeping her safe. You’re telling me he was injured, that there was a fire in her room? How did that happen? And why isn’t she here? Was she abducted?”
Star Davis had not been abducted—not by anyone but Baba. She’d obviously run, just like she’d run from Baba before. Gleason wasn’t going to tell him they’d already seen her making her escape on the security footage, though.
“We don’t know yet. We’re still viewing security footage.”
Anton began to pace nervously.
“I want to see the tapes. I might recognize the abductors!”
Gleason smirked at that.
“If we run into trouble, we’ll keep that in mind.”
Anton covered his face as if hiding his despair, when in fact he had to compose himself so as not to give away his rage. When he finally lifted his head he had managed to work up a few tears.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Just go home for now. We’ll keep you abreast of our investigation, and if you hear from Star—or from anyone who might have her—you notify us.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Anton said, and he walked away slowly with his shoulders stooped, as if overwhelmed by what he’d learned.
He grabbed his phone and called the house.
“Yes, Mr. Baba, this is Jorge.”
“Jorge, alert the trackers. Star’s on the run. Find out where she’s at, now. I’ll hold,” he said, as he headed for his limo.
A few moments later Jorge was back on the phone.
“Mr. Baba, she is not on the radar at all.”
Anton gasped.
“What do you mean? Of course she is. She’s chipped like the rest of them.”
“Yes, sir, I understand, but it is not registering at all.”
And then it hit him. The wreck in the desert. All those wounds. It either came out in the desert or was picked out as debris in surgery and discarded.
Son of a bitch.
She really was gone.
* * *
“What do you think?” Detective Pitney asked, watching Baba go.
Gleason shook his head and glanced over at his partner.
“What do you think, Lou?”
Powers shrugged.
“If I was a betting man, which I’m not, I would never bet against Anton Baba. He knows far more than he’s telling, and he knows Star Davis wasn’t abducted. She’s running from him.”
“What about his kid?” Pitney asked. “Do you think he knows we have him?”
“Yes, or he would have pressed us for more reasons why we were asking about him,” Gleason said. “But we need to take precautions, just in case. As for Star Davis, this has been a cluster-fuck ever since the night of the wreck, and it keeps getting worse. We need to find her before Baba does, or she’s dead and so is our case against him.”
* * *
Star’s stolen slippers were a size too small for her feet but they were stretchy and so she coped. Years ago when she’d first been kidnapped, she’d made a plan for herself in case she ever got a chance to escape. Then she’d given it up once her family’s life was threatened.
Seven years later, here she was on the run. The plan was the same, but her options had changed. Because of her injuries she was going to need medicine, different clothes and the means to change her appearance. She no longer had an ID and wasn’t about to go to the police for help. Anton had too many snitches inside the organization, so she just kept walking, staying within the busy foot traffic. A few blocks farther down she turned a corner and saw a secondhand clothing store and darted inside.
The interior was just the teeniest bit shabby like the merchandise, but she was way past being picky. And the girl sitting at the checkout register barely looked up from her phone.
“Help yourself,” the clerk mumbled. “If you have questions, let me know.”
“Right,” Star said and went for a table full of folded T-shirts. They were three for five dollars. She picked two with elbow-length sleeves and one long-sleeved T. Even though it was hot as blazes outside, she didn’t want to advertise her scrapes and bruises.
She moved on to a table with jeans. They were two pairs for ten dollars. She looked back at the clerk and called out.
“How about three pairs of jeans for ten dollars?” she asked.
The clerk shrugged.
“Yeah, okay.”
Star sorted through the jeans, found three pairs, all of which were distressed styles. Then she found a bin of used lingerie and tried not to think about the fact that she was about to wear someone else’s underwear. She sorted through the bin until she found a few pairs in almost new condition. She would need a bra, but feared it would cause her healing wounds to break open. Then she saw a pile of sports bras, found two in her size and headed toward the dressing room.
The mirror was cracked at one corner and the silver was coming off on the back, leaving the mirror with a pocked reflection. She shed the jacket, the bloody shirt, and then turned to the mirror to see how her back looked. The bandages were still in place, and she didn’t see any fresh blood. Satisfied, she began to get dressed. The simple act of wearing underwear again gave her a strange sense of security, as if she was no longer as vulnerable to the world as she’d been only minutes before. The sports bra was uncomfortable but a necessary evil if she didn’t want to draw more attention by the size of her unfettered breasts. She chose the gray T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans to wear, and by the time she was through she almost felt human.
She took the gun out of Luis’s jacket and stuck it in the back of her waistband, then left her oversize T-shirt untucked. As she began counting the money that was in Luis’s wallet, she was surprised to find a trio of one-hundred-dollar bills along with the rest of it, coming to a total of just over five hundred dollars. She stuffed it in her front pocket. Now all she had left to do was get rid of the old jacket, belt and bloody shirt, but where?
Then she realized the answer was in front of her. She folded the shirt up neatly and, when she went out, slipped it beneath a stack of folded shirts on a nearby table. She hung the jacket on a rack filled with other coats and jackets.
“Hey...do you have any tote bags?” she asked the girl at the counter.
The clerk didn’t look up, but called out, “If we do, they’ll be hanging on the back wall.”
Star wound her way through the long, narrow room, wrinkling her nose as she went. She doubted any of these clothes had been washed before they were donated, and no one had bothered to wash them before putting them out. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke and old houses back here. She couldn’t wait to get back into fresh air.
She saw a little bit of everything hanging from hooks on that wall and had to search awhile to find any bags. Then she spied an old backpack and pulled it down, checking to see if all the zippers and snaps still worked, and if it was clean enough inside. Relieved to find it worn but clean, she took it with her. She spotted the shoes on her way back to the register, picked out a pair of used tennis shoes in her size and added them to the pile.
“I’m ready,” she said, as she plopped the stack down at the register.
The clerk laid down her phone, glanced up at Star briefly and then began checking her out.
“I’ll need to pay for the bra, panties, T-shirt and jeans I’m wearing. And I’m going to put those tennis shoes on as soon as you ring all of this up,” Star said.
The clerk nodded and totaled up the purchases.
“That will be thirty-eight dollars and twelve cents,” she said.
Star pulled out two twenties and slid them across the counter, then pocketed her change.
“I don’t need a sack,” Star said. “I’ll put everything in the backpack.”
“No problem,” the girl said and watched Star stuff her purchases into the bag.
A phone rang. The clerk turned around to answer it, and when she did, Star slipped the gun into the bottom of the pack with her bloody slippers, put on the tennis shoes and walked out of the store.
She caught sight of her reflection as she walked past a store window and felt better. As soon as she got rid of the long blond hair, she would be much harder to recognize.
She’d made it a few blocks down when a pair of cop cars came flying past, running with lights and sirens. Her heart thumped, but she just moved away from the curb and kept on walking.
Stay with me, Lord. I’m going to need all the help I can get.
Traffic was crazy as usual, almost as many people walking on the sidewalks as there were driving up and down the streets. She was trying not to look nervous, but she knew Anton’s people would still recognize her if they saw her this way. One more stop and she’d be set. When she finally saw a pharmacy, she breathed a quick sigh of relief. Her back was burning, her muscles were stiff and aching, and the bottom of her foot ached where she’d stepped on the glass, but she was met with a blast of cool air as she walked into the pharmacy, and she knew she was almost safe. As good as it felt to be in out of the sun, there was no time to waste. She grabbed a shopping cart and headed down the aisle, but soon came to a halt.
Everything looked different than she remembered. There were products she’d never seen before and updated versions of the ones she knew. She hadn’t had the freedom to shop for herself since Anton had kidnapped her, and that’s when it finally hit her—she was actually free. She rubbed a shaky hand across her face to keep from crying and started grabbing what she needed.
She left the store as abruptly as she’d entered with a disposable phone, a pair of scissors, hair dye and bandages, snacks, some makeup, a big bottle of water and meds that would ease the pain. Now all she needed was a place to finish up her transformation—a cheap motel would work, preferably one that charged by the hour.
She tore into the painkillers and read the directions. Take two every eight hours. She shook four out into her palm and downed them with a swallow of water, then opened a bag of chips and ate as she walked.
An hour later she opened the door to her motel room. For the grand sum of fifty bucks it was hers for the night. She locked herself inside, shoved the table in front of the door and sat down, every muscle trembling. She wanted to sleep, but there was too much yet to be done. She read the directions for her burner phone and then set it up before pulling out a candy bar and finishing it and the bottle of water off in front of the air conditioner.
The tears came without warning, welling and running down her cheeks.
“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” she said and buried her face in her hands.
* * *
In the hours after the fire alarm sounded, the fourth-floor patients were temporarily moved to empty beds all over the hospital and orderlies were pulled off other floors to help with the moves. It was a lot of work, but necessary so that the cleaning crew could get the water-soaked rooms back in order.
Because Quinn O’Meara was under police protection, she was one of the first to be moved. A nurse wrapped Quinn’s long wet hair into a towel, removed her wet hospital gown and gave her a dry one, then redid the bandage on her shoulder.
Nick had a wheelchair waiting, and when she was ready to leave the room, the nurse laid a copy of Quinn’s orders in her lap for the nurses on the new floor. With Nick wheeling the pole with her IV hookup and an orderly pushing the chair, the three of them headed for the elevator.
Quinn’s heart was pounding every step of the way, afraid that whoever wanted her dead might use this opportunity to try again. Even though Nick was armed and right beside her, it didn’t help. Leaving her room was terrifying.
Nick kept an eye on Quinn’s face as they went. It was obvious she was rattled. She was pale and her skin looked clammy, and when the elevator door closed she reached for his hand.
“Easy, Queenie...you’ve got this,” he said.
With tears welling, Quinn closed her eyes. The car went up, and she opened them the moment it stopped.
Nick stepped out first. Once he was satisfied all was clear, he went back for the IV pole and walked them out.
There was a nurse waiting at the door to Quinn’s new room who had already been briefed on the dire situation this patient was in, and when she saw them coming she went out of her way to make the transition smooth.
“I’m Elena. I’ll be your nurse for the rest of this shift. Welcome to Casa Cinco Dos Tres,” she said.
Nick grinned.
“Nice. Five two three it is.”
Quinn was shaking as she handed Elena the orders.
“Thank you, Quinn. Let’s get you inside and back in bed. You’ll feel better soon.”
As soon as they got her settled, Nick pulled up the recliner. Another nurse came in with a cup and a pitcher of ice water and then paused at the foot of her bed.
“You aren’t due for any pain meds for another couple of hours. Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Quinn said.
She watched the nurse leave, and, even though she had Nick beside her, she felt like she was coming undone. These last few hours had reinforced the feeling that she had no control over her life whatsoever, and for someone as independent as Quinn, that was frightening to admit.
“Sleep if you want,” Nick said.
She felt a sense of shame creep over her. Nick was going out of his way for her, putting himself right in the face of danger, and all she could do was curl up like some baby and cry? It was all because of that flashback. It scared her to lose control.
Nick started to say something, but then thought better of it and instead sat down in the recliner and held her hand.
She grasped it like a lifeline and closed her eyes.
The silence lengthened inside the room to the point that Nick began hearing things he normally would have ignored, like the water dripping from the showerhead in the bathroom and the squeaky shoes of some nurse out in the hall. His head was throbbing, and he was so damned tired. When they’d shut down the fourth floor for cleanup, the officer who’d been standing guard outside her door went back to headquarters for dry clothing. With no one watching the door, Nick was afraid to close his eyes for fear someone might come after her up here.
He got up and pulled another blanket over her and then eased back down. He thought she was asleep until her quiet, quivering voice broke the silence in the room.
“His name was Vester Whitlaw, but he made us call him Pappy. He was a sadistic bastard, and I used to pray every night that he would die. I lived there seven weeks before I ran.”
Nick was surprised she wanted to open up, but he was more than ready to listen. “What did he do to you?” Nick asked.
“Drowned me.”
Nick came out of the recliner so fast it made his head spin.
“What the hell do you mean, he drowned you?”
“He pushed my head down in the toilet, and when I tried to fight back he punched me in the back over and over, trying to knock the breath out of my lungs. He wanted me to take a breath, and when I finally did, I drowned. Then he dragged me out of the toilet and performed CPR, timing himself to see how long it took to revive me.”
The horror of what Nick was hearing was unbelievable, but it made sense when he looked at the woman in front of him. She’d been running from the devil for so long she didn’t know how to stop.
“Oh, my God, Quinn,” Nick said. He pulled down the guardrail, climbing into bed beside her, and she immediately curled up to him. He wrapped his arms around her, wishing he could somehow form a barrier between this amazing woman and all the pain she’d had to experience.
She was limp against him, as if the telling of it sapped all her strength.
“I’m so sorry,” Nick whispered. “I will find him and make him sorry for the day he was born.”
“Last I knew, he was on death row somewhere in Illinois. He did it again to another girl after I ran, and he couldn’t revive her. Then they found videos.”
“Just when I think I’ve seen and heard it all,” Nick said.
Quinn cried quietly in his arms.
“He broke me, Nick. I still have nightmares. I can’t go swimming or take a bath. Even showers freak me out to the point that it’s all I can do to wash my face and hair. No matter what I do, it just brings me right back to that moment. And besides all that, I don’t trust people. I can’t.”
He laid his cheek against the crown of her head.
“You are the least broken woman I ever met,” Nick murmured. “You are a freaking warrior, that’s what you are. You rescued a baby out in the middle of the desert and rode miles into Vegas with a bullet in your back. You do just fine when the need arises, get that?”
“Please don’t be nice to me just because you feel sorry for me,” she whispered.
“I’m being nice because I’m a nice guy,” Nick said. “And when you get well enough, I might just show you how nice.”
She looked up at him then, needing to see if he was making another joke, but he wasn’t smiling. Instead, he leaned down and kissed her, and she felt a warmth spread through her at his touch.
He pulled back gently, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and then leaning back so that she could rest against his chest. He felt the tension in her body easing with every breath, and finally, finally, he looked down to see she’d gone to sleep.
Only one thought was on his mind.
Please, God, help me keep her safe.