She Can Run (34 page)

“Nope.”

“Too bad.”

Mike jogged out of the barn and returned a minute later with the first-aid kit from his patrol car in his hand and a couple of blankets over his arm. “Ambulance is on the way.” But Jack ceased paying attention. He knew Mike had to apply basic first aid, but as far as he was concerned, the bastard couldn’t die fast enough.

Jack grabbed some rolled gauze from Mike’s kit and wrapped Beth’s arms to stop the bleeding.

Henry whined softly and licked Beth’s hand.

“Good dog.” Jack’s hand absently rubbed the dog’s head.

“You’re not kidding he’s a good dog. Your K-9 reject really tore this guy up.” Mike’s comment drew Jack’s attention. He glanced over at the congressman. Mike was applying pressure to the gunshot wound in Baker’s chest, but the man’s arm was mangled right down to the bone. Jack looked at Henry with renewed respect and gratitude. The big dog thumped his tail weakly and flipped Beth’s hand with his nose. Blood matted in the fur around the dog’s mouth and down his fawn-colored chest.

“You did good, Henry.”

Jack followed Quinn into the private room he’d arranged for Beth under a false name. Once the details of the shooting were released, reporters were going to be all over the hospital like buzzards on roadkill. The kids had wanted to come with him, but Jack talked them into staying with Mrs. Harris at the estate. He didn’t want them to see Beth in this condition.

He knew Beth was OK before Quinn had taken her away, but the sight of her still made his heart skip a beat. Bandages wrapped both arms from wrist to elbow. Her skin was nearly as white as the sheets, a consequence of shock and blood loss. An IV dripped into the back of one hand.

Jack approached the bed and stood still for a minute, watching her chest’s even rise and fall. He let out a shaky breath.

“She’s sedated. She’ll probably sleep for a few hours anyway. I know she doesn’t like drugs, but in this case, I think they’re necessary.” Quinn took a blood pressure cuff from the wall and wrapped it around Jack’s arm. He pumped it up and frowned. “Either you calm down, or I’m getting you a sedative, too. I’ll come back and check on both of you later.”

Without taking his eyes off of Beth, Jack nodded. When he turned back to ask Quinn a question, his cousin was gone.

He slid down into the blue vinyl chair next to the bed and took her limp hand in his. Then the events of the night passed quickly through his head in a choppy sequence.

He leaned his head forward on the bed, resting his forehead on the top of her thigh. Tears streamed down his face as the tight rein on his composure finally broke.

Beth cracked her eyelids. Her head felt as heavy as a bowling ball, her mouth cotton-ball dry. Experimental movement sent sharp pain slicing through her arms.

She glanced around the hospital room, and then settled her gaze on Jack.

“Hey. It’s OK. You’re in the hospital. You’re going to be fine.” He reached up and stroked her forehead.

Warmed and reassured by his touch, her eyes quickly traveled around the room. She took in the hospital room, the bandages, the IV, Jack’s weary face. Pain began to eat through the drug-induced haze. Her forearms felt like they’d gone through a meat slicer.

“Don’t try to move. Let me get the nurse.” Jack moved quickly to the door, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he stepped out the door. When he returned, a nurse followed him to Beth’s side. After a rapid-fire assessment, she left, promising to bring Quinn and drugs shortly.

“Hurt?” he asked, gently rubbing the back of her hand. She nodded and tried to speak, but her throat was so dry, she could only manage a squeak. Jack reached for the cup of water by the bed and held the straw to her lips. Cool water slid down her throat.

She cleared her throat. “What happened?”

Jack shook his head. “I promised Mike we wouldn’t talk about it until he took your statement. He’s waiting outside. Think you’re up to it?”

She nodded. “Just tell me if the kids are OK.”

“The kids are fine. They’re home with Mrs. Harris. I didn’t think they should see you until you were ready?”

“Thanks.” She shifted her position, grimacing as the pain shot up her arms again, almost making her wish she wasn’t awake. This kind of pain could make her change her mind about being trapped in a drugged fog. Medication definitely had its place. Like here and now.

The door opened, and the police chief stuck his red head through the door.

“Ma’am. Jack.” The chief gave her a nod. Rumpled and bleary-eyed, Mike looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “Do you feel up to making a statement?”

“I’ll try.” Beth reached for Jack’s hand. He threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed gently.

Mike pulled out a notebook and sat down on Beth’s other side.

Beth had thought it would be excruciating to revisit what had transpired in the barn, but she found herself so depleted, so utterly drained, that she just reported the gruesome facts, slowly and exhaustively, without a trace of feeling. When she’d finished, a muscle in Jack’s face was twitching. His grip on her hand tightened.

“Did you find the needle?” She’d been stunned by the blow to her jaw and had lost track of it when Henry attacked Baker.

O’Connell nodded. “We found the syringe in the dirt. It’s at the lab for testing. Press got wind of it, too. Media rumors are flying about Baker possibly being the Riverside Killer.”

“What about Will Martin?” Jack asked.

“Damned if I know.” The chief closed his notebook and stood. “I’m sure I’ll have questions, but that’ll do for now.”

“Wait a minute.” Beth put the head of the bed up a few degrees. As the pain sharpened, so did her brain. “What happened to Richard? Is he here?” She held her breath, waiting for the answer.

“Congressman Baker was stabilized here last night and airlifted to Hartman University Hospital.” Mike sighed. “Last I heard, it was touch and go.”

He glanced at Jack, then back at Beth. “That’s enough for today. I’ll be back when I have some more questions for you. If you remember anything else, call me.” The cop nodded to Jack and Beth then left the room.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, the nurse hurried through with some pills. Neither of them spoke until she left the room.

Beth absorbed the information. Richard was still alive. For now. But he could still die—because she’d shot him in the chest. Her brain told her she’d been very lucky, but she still had to live with the memories of that night and all the repercussions. If he didn’t survive, how would it feel to know she’d taken a life? Even though Richard hadn’t left her a choice, the possibility that she might have killed him weighed on her conscience. Her taxed mind couldn’t comprehend how Richard could be the Riverside Killer, though. That seemed impossible. Time would tell, she supposed. He certainly hadn’t had any qualms about killing her.

She shuddered at the images that swept through her mind. “If Henry hadn’t showed up, Richard would have gotten me. Your dog tried to rip him to pieces.”

“I’ll never say another bad thing about Henry.” Jack grinned. “He eats nothing but steak for the rest of his life.”

“Where is Henry today? And what happened to Lucy? I forgot all about her.”

“Henry is with the kids. And the vet showed up a couple hours later and stitched the horse up. I already called Jeff. He said he’d take care of Lucy’s injury until you’re up to it.” Jack’s voice faded along with the pain as the drug made its way through her veins. “Arms feel better?”

“Yes, I’m feeling numb.” Her own voice sounded far away, and her eyelids grew heavy.

“Numb is good. Go to sleep.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The black Crocs squeaked on the speckled, commercial-grade linoleum. In navy scrubs, with a stolen hospital ID clipped to his front shirt pocket, he walked through the ICU with a purposeful stride. The tech whose badge he’d lifted was brown haired and ordinary looking. So was he. Unless someone looked very closely…

He raised the ID at the uniformed cop guarding the doorway of the private cubicle. The cop barely glanced at it.

After all, the patient was the prisoner, and it wasn’t like he was going anywhere—except hell maybe, if there was one.

He grinned. Considering his own hobby, he hoped not.

No one else paid any attention to him as he ducked inside Baker’s room. Hartman was a large teaching hospital with a state-of-the-art trauma center. As such, the place was teeming with medical staff and students at all hours.

He glanced at the industrial clock on the wall. Perfect timing. The seven o’clock shift change ensured the nurses were in patient review, getting ready to pass their charges on to the night crew.

It was a good thing the congressman wasn’t still in Westbury’s tiny community hospital. It would have been much harder to sneak into the smaller facility, where everybody knew everybody else.

He’d been there when his father had passed away in an impersonal cubicle just like this one. Serial killers were supposed to come from dysfunctional families and abusive parents. He had no such excuse. Sure, his mother had died when he was young, but his father had done his best to fill the void. There’d been life insurance. They hadn’t been rich, but they’d never gone hungry either. All in all, aside from the fact that he’d spent a lot of time alone, his childhood had been ordinary. Out of respect for his dad, he hadn’t indulged in his hobby until after he’d died. But as soon as the old man had passed, he hadn’t let any grass grow under his feet. Some kids wanted to be doctors or firemen. He’d always been fascinated by Jack the Ripper.

He supposed growing up without a female role model could have prevented him from developing a normal affection for women, but he thought it more likely that he’d simply been born with a flaw in his conscience, a hole, like a baby could have in its heart at birth. But he’d leave the psychoanalysis to the shrinks. He had a job to do.

He set the plastic tote full of medical supplies on the bed and glanced around. All the machines were beeping the way they were supposed to. The ventilator hissed from its stand in the corner.

His gaze moved to the face of the man in the bed, the man who’d dared to mimic him—and badly.

Fluorescent light accentuated the congressman’s pallor. Countless tubes, drains, and lines snaked over his body. This might not even be necessary. The guy looked like he might check out at any minute. He had to make sure, though. The congressman had poached on his territory. Beth was his prey. All his to enjoy.

Plus, that bastard hadn’t only borrowed his name. He’d dragged it through the mud with that half-assed kidnapping attempt. Like
he’d
ever fail that abysmally. It just wasn’t that hard to abduct a woman, as he’d proved time and time again. And would once more, as soon as he got the opportunity.

Besides, now that Beth was deeply entrenched at the O’Malley estate, she wasn’t going anywhere. With Baker out of the picture, soon permanently, and the police convinced they had the Riverside Killer in custody, she’d grow more careless. Planting that evidence in Will Martin’s trunk had been genius. Not that having that big oaf taking credit for his work was flattering, but a man had to do what a man had to do. But in that case, it had been
his
choice to sacrifice a bit of his reputation so he could make his next move.

Besides, it was only temporary. His image would be restored to its full glory after he took Beth.

The keys to achievement were discipline and planning, both of which Congressman Baker had botched. He deserved to die for his audacity alone. Then the asshole had gone and injured a horse. An unforgivable sin. Horses were noble and pure. Animals didn’t lie or cheat or commit other sins like humans. They deserved better treatment than people.

People like Congressman Baker.

Lifting the sheet, he slipped the syringe from his pocket and quickly jabbed the needle into the large muscle of Baker’s thigh. Delivering the drug intramuscularly would ensure he had time to make a hasty exit before the congressman’s organs went apeshit.

He had maybe ten minutes.

Which was more than enough time.