The Timer Game (37 page)

He glanced at the figure and kept carving. Too late. She wasn’t getting through. No help here. Grace scrambled to her feet and pushed the crash cart on, passing a surgical locker room.

Where was Mac? Light gleamed from the OR window at the end of the hall. She ran to the window and looked down.

The OR was below her. A dark-haired girl lay on the table, Swan-Ganz line in her neck, EKG suctions clamped to her thin arms and chest. A nurse swabbed her chest with yellow antiseptic. They were just starting, still casual. An anesthesiologist tweaked dials. The perfusion tech manned the bypass machine. A skinny man with bleached hair tips held up a white card in front of a burly cameraman calibrating a color bar, both in OR gowns and wearing surgical booties. They were joking casually.

It had to be Mac’s team. That was Hekka down there.

It meant they were still taping. Mac was going forward with the taping; he wasn’t even trying to find her.

That was the girl who was going to get Katie’s heart, unless she could find a way to stop it. She banged on the window and the man with the dyed tips jerked his head up, trying to locate the source of the noise. The operating lights made it difficult.

She banged along each window, harder and harder, her desperation mounting. She had to make them understand. Had to stop it. She couldn’t find the way in.

How could Mac still tape with his daughter missing?

You’re wrong about one thing, Mommy. He’s not dead. He visits me sometimes.

That was crazy. She’d been driven to the edge and had fallen over it and the ground was speeding up, coming right at her.

Why wasn’t he doing more to save her? Why hadn’t he canceled that shoot?

She pounded on the window. She wasn’t sure they could hear the words, but there was no mistaking the desperation on her face. “You have to help me. Stop this operation!”

From the angle above the OR, she could see the intern who had tried to stop her, racing up to a security guard, see the guard slant a look at her. He nodded as the intern gestured wildly and the guard reached for his walkie-talkie. Grace ducked away from the window and ran.

She raced back down the hall the way she’d come. She couldn’t be found. They’d think she was some nut. They’d contain her.

And Katie would die.

From the stairwell came the stealthy sound of feet scraping up metal stairs.

Coming fast. The security guard.

Heavy footsteps, no attempt now to hide. Grace backtracked toward Hekka’s OR. The crash cart stood in front of the surgical scrub room and Grace yanked it in after her and closed the swinging door. From the hall came the sound of the stairwell door bursting open and the ragged sound of panting.

She looked around wildly. Lockers gaped open, the floor was littered with discarded gowns. She darted into a shower stall and closed the curtain. Her heart raced.

The scrub room door opened. In her shoulder bag, Jeanne’s cell rang. She clicked it to
Vibrate
and shut her eyes, praying he hadn’t heard.

She could hear breathing coming closer. The stall curtain ripped aside.

It was Mac.

“God, Grace. My sound guy said he spotted you through the viewing window. What were you doing, banging on the window?”

“Thank God, Mac. They’ll believe you. Come on, let’s go.” She was dragging him toward the door.

“Where are we going?”

“Into OR first. We have to stop Hekka’s operation.”

He stopped walking now. “Look, Grace, I know you’re not thrilled with the work I do but—”

“You know what they’re doing down there? They’re going to put Katie’s heart in that girl’s chest.”

Even as she said it, it sounded hysterical. Not believable, and she could see his eyes shift, a hardness creep in. He raised his hands, placating her.

“Grace, you’ve been through a lot, and I know you’ve got to be right on the edge of losing it. Maybe you have.”

Mac looked strained. He’d been up almost as many hours as she had, she reminded herself. She’d called him shortly after three in the morning, and he’d spent the rest of the night building the CD audio pieces she’d used to break away from the Spikeman. He’d driven to L.A. and back. Looked for Katie at the halfway house.

He dated Lee
, a small voice said.

He defended Lee. He’d taken a crew to Opal’s place. To tape. Not to save. To tape. He was still having his crew tape Hekka. So which was more important?

Whose side was he on?

“Grace, I don’t have time to argue news with you.”

“You’re right. We don’t have time. I know where she is, Mac. I know where Katie is. Lee’s got her.”

He made a small sound of impatience.

“Lee never created a heartin-a-box, Mac. That scientist you got to rebut her on camera—”

“Newt Poundstone?”

“Whoever he is, he was right.”

“And you know this because?”

She thought of the best way to explain it. “Remember that CNN piece you did on the hand transplant? And then the woman in Paris who had part of her face transplanted?”

He nodded, frowning, trying to figure out where she was going with it. Grace’s phone vibrated. She ignored it.

“Remember how doctors found both times that by infusing the patient with donor marrow cells, it increased the chances of the donor part being accepted? The patient not rejecting?”

“What are you saying?”

“That’s the work I did at the Center, Mac, making transplants compatible. Lee figured out she could inject bone marrow cells into a
fetus,
Mac. And have that fetus forever recognize that donor as
self
. That’s what she did. Lee’s the ringleader, has to be. She had a helper. Opal Perkins took our daughter’s marrow and injected it into Hekka when Hekka was still in utero.”

“Wait a minute. Opal’s involved. Lee’s involved. You could do conspiracy theories for networks, Grace. You’re good.”

“That’s what Lee did, Mac. She’s getting ready to kill our daughter, harvest her heart, and use it in Hekka.”

The phone started vibrating again and she pawed through her bag, tumbling the timer out onto the floor. Mac retrieved it; even before he handed it back, she could see that the face of it had changed. Eight minutes, six seconds before the timer went off.

Ere midnight tolls, I cut your heart.

It was here, finally. The worst. She dumped the timer back into her bag and clicked on the cell, her eyes on Mac. “Yes?”

“I think it’s time you slowed things down, Grace.” Mac shifted closer.

In the phone, Marcie was saying, “Listen very carefully.” Mac grasped Grace’s elbow and she moved away, out of reach, backing up against the scrub sinks. He seemed too close, his face watchful, tense.

“What’s up?” She covered the phone. “I’ll be there in a second, Mac.”

“Grace, you said Mac. Are you with Mac McGuire? Don’t say his name. Just yes or no.”

Mac shifted his weight. Blocking the door.

“Yes.” Her heart was hammering so fast she could barely hear.

Mac stepped closer and Grace felt the air shift. From safe to not safe
.

“Grace, get away. Understand? Whatever it takes, get away. Tell me where you are.”

In the hallway, a muted voice was paging a doctor. Grace pressed her finger to her ear and glanced at Mac. She shrugged.

“Could you speak up? I’m at the Center on the hospital side and it’s hard to hear.”

Her heart was racing now; a high, singing noise pounded in her ears that made it hard to hear what Marcie was saying, and harder still to understand.

“You’re there already,” Marcie said. “Okay. I’m going to count floors, and you’ll say ‘uh-huh’ when I get to the right one.” Marcie counted slowly and when she got to three, Grace said “uh-huh.” Eyes on Mac. “The cops are on their way. Understand? Be there soon. Got that?”

“We’re trying to find her,” Grace said, looking at Mac.

Mac was studying her face carefully. Something clicked beneath his eyes.

On the phone, Marcie said, “Paul Collins ID’d the palm print in the taco van Eddie Loud was driving.”

“Yeah, I’m really worried.”

Another silence and then Marcie said, “Remember that awful case with David Westerfield, killing that little girl in his RV? How we found Danielle van Dam’s handprint in his RV?” Her voice was heavy. “Paul ID’d the palm print in the taco van and it belongs to Mac McGuire, Grace.”

Grace was skidding, the way it felt when she was in an elevator and it dropped twenty floors fast.

“Did you hear me? The palm print is Mac’s.”

Grace sighed. Some part of her already knowing the rest, not believing, but knowing.

“The worst thing. God, I wish to God I wasn’t having to tell you this. The worst thing. The print wasn’t in the van itself. It was inside a small cabinet in the van. Paul found three other handprints there, too, Grace. All different. All belonging to kids. All of them missing.”

Grace closed her eyes. Time was imploding, events colliding, her mind on fire.

I’ve been working on this piece for six months, Grace.
Lies.

Benny Jingelston across the table from her at Folsom.
I can tell you what the ideal combination is…somebody who can do the video part and somebody else to—recycle the product when it no longer serves a useful function.

On the phone Marcie was saying, “He’s extremely dangerous. Do you understand? Do not, repeat, do not allow him to take you
anywhere,
Grace. We have a team on the way. They’re bringing a warrant for his arrest. One other thing you need to know. There’s a marriage license in Carmel for a Mac McGuire and a Lee Ann Bentley. They’re married, Grace. Whatever they’re doing, they’re in it together.”

Marcie clicked off.

What does Daddy say?

Just private stuff. He’s coming back for me.

Grace had been so sure it had been Katie’s need for a father that had created one. But now it turned out her instincts had been right after all. Hide from him. Hide her child. Hide them both. She’d hidden from Mac. But Lee Bentley knew exactly where they were and she’d told Mac. How long ago? No way of knowing. But long enough for them to plan it out together. His wife.

He’d visited Katie in her room.

No wonder Katie had disappeared without a trace. Without a sound. In the blink of an eye. She hadn’t gone with a stranger, somebody unknown to be feared.

She’d gone straight into the arms of Daddy. Straight into hell.

“Where’s Katie?”

“What?” Mac took a step toward her. There was a wary coldness in his eyes.

She backed away, stepping on dirty scrubs littering the floor.

“What have you done with her? You and Lee.” Her hip touched the crash cart she’d pushed. A wheel jammed. She couldn’t back up anymore. He kept coming. She could smell his skin, a man’s scent laced with sour sweat. She wondered if there was anything in the narrow metal drawers that could stop him. The side with the drawers was angled away from her. She let her hand dangle, moving her body in front, eyes on him.

“What are you talking about?” He shrugged, boyishly mystified, but she wasn’t buying it.

“I know what you did to those other kids,” she interrupted. “Your palm print, Mac. It was in the van.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice was harder now.

“You’ve known for years Katie was yours. And you hated me enough—I got away! You hated me for that. And you planned it out perfectly, how you’d take her. What? Lee didn’t want anybody else’s kid along for the ride? Is that it?”

“That’s not funny, Grace.”

Grace shifted her weight and inched her hand along the drawer behind her until she found the handle and slid the drawer open. Gauze rolls, from the feel of it.

“Only a couple of little snags,” she went on. “Minor, really. Warren was going to sell this place. And you’d both lose the perfect place to do what you had to do. Is that why Warren isn’t answering? Did you get him, too?”

Mac shifted his gaze to the crash cart and back and she knew he could see she’d opened a drawer behind her. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Hold it. You think I took Katie.”

“The cops are on the way. You’re done, Mac. This is it for you.”

Her fingers moved to the second drawer and inched it open. She felt metal and slid her fingers along it. A hemostat. Not sharp enough. She kept going. More metal. Her hand closed.

He wet his lips. “Grace, I think this whole thing—” He took a step and lunged.

It was a retractor she brought up, a blade on one end. He knocked her hand away but the blade slashed his arm and he grunted and lost his balance as a bright line of red appeared. She yanked free an empty metal tray and banged it down on him and he fell badly, his hands splaying out. There was a muffled
whump
as he hit the floor. She was making gagging sounds, trying to stop herself from throwing up. Adrenaline shot through her.

She stooped cautiously and listened. His breath whistled. A lump welted his forehead. Blood streaked his arm, and she wrapped a towel around it and dragged him to an oversized locker. The first one held clothes, but the next was empty, and she scrambled behind him and half lifted, half dragged him in, shoving his knees up to his chest, folding his arms on top, resting his head. She closed the door and jammed a wad of gauze into the hole where a lock would go. She’d alert security he was in there. Wounded, angry, and dangerous.

But first she had to save her daughter. She ran into the hall, pounded across the sky bridge, and headed for the door guarded by a retina scanner, the steel door guarding Lee’s lab.

Chapter 43

Grace ran. Lee’s lab was on the other end of the winged V across the sky bridge. She was certain now, where she’d find Katie. Lee would use her private lab as a killing ground, and take Katie’s heart from there, pretending it was the second heartin-a-box. She’d do it right at ten.

Grace reached the heavy glass doors leading to the private lobby Lee shared with Warren. Locked. She banged her shoulder into the glass, trying to break it.

“Warren, it’s me, open up. It’s Grace. Hurry.” She crashed harder into the glass with her shoulder. A crack spidered across the frosted glass.