Zero Separation (7 page)

“That depends on Mr. Ross,” Richardson replied. “In about half of these cases there will be no memory of the actual traumatic event. It can be days or even months before small memories begin to bubble into the conscious mind. There could also be varying degrees of partial amnesia, meaning that the memory loss before the injury could reach back from several hours to several days. We'll know much more when Mr. Ross regains consciousness.”

“Thank you,” Montero said, and abruptly left the room.

“Doctor, before you go,” William said, “when can we take him home?”

“This is a serious injury, and there are still some risks. I'm afraid he'll be with us for several days. I'll be making rounds later today to check on his progress. After that we'll be able to make a further assessment.”

“Thank you so much,” Lauren said as the doctor excused himself.

“My guess is that FBI agent is headed for Susan,” William said. “If you're going to be okay here for a little while, I'm going to go after her. Susan doesn't need to be interrogated right now.”

“Go.” Lauren nodded in agreement. She sat down on the sofa next to Abigail. Patrick and Billy were sleeping on an adjacent couch. Lauren cradled her child's head in her hands and offered up a silent prayer of thanks that Michael was going to live.

Her cell phone rang and when she saw it was Donovan, she felt both immeasurable relief that he'd finally called, as well as a flash of irritation that it had taken so long.

“Where are you?” Lauren shot up from the sofa and hovered in the doorway so she could talk to Donovan without disturbing the sleeping kids.

“I've been at the police station giving my statement. Have you
talked to Susan or William? I'm assuming they've made it to the hospital by now. Do we know anything about Michael?”

“I'm with them here at the hospital. Michael just came out of surgery. The doctor said everything went well and that he should be fine.”

“You're here in Florida?”

“I had to come. I couldn't just sit at home and wait.”

“I understand.”

“What's wrong?” Lauren could hear the tension in his voice.

“I just hadn't expected you to be here in Florida, I had it in my mind you were at home. We may have a problem,” Donovan lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “You need to ask William if he kept the chartered jet on standby.”

“He stepped out. An FBI agent was here a little bit ago wanting to talk to Susan. William went after her to try and run some interference.”

“Special Agent Montero.”

“You know her?”

“She's our problem. She may have put some things together. We may need to start thinking about going to visit Stephanie.”

Lauren stiffened. Stephanie was William's niece and one of the few who knew the truth about Donovan. There had been many discussions about what they'd do if his identity were going to be made public. The first phase had always been to leave the country and get to Stephanie's flat in London. From London, they'd make their way to a secluded chateau in Switzerland to try and ride out the initial wave of public condemnation. The agreed upon code was:
go visit Stephanie
.

“How could this have happened?” Lauren replied, angry and scared. “What makes you think she could possibly know? Is she someone who knew you from before?”

“They lifted fingerprints. Robert's mug shot was right in front of her. It's just a gut feeling, but I think she suspects.”

Lauren had no idea that Robert Huntington had a police record
or that Donovan had done nothing to alter his fingerprints. She wondered if that was why the FBI agent had such a curious reaction at meeting William.

“Are you still there?” Donovan asked.

“How soon?” Lauren said with more anger than she intended. Lauren looked across the room at her daughter and felt sick, like all of the dreams she'd held for Abigail had just been put in jeopardy.

“As early as this afternoon,” Donovan replied. “I'll be there as fast as I can and we'll talk.”

“I'll be here.” Lauren ended the call and then thrust the phone into her pocket and went to Abigail. She gathered her daughter in her arms, feeling the need to hold and protect her. Abigail stirred and pursed her lips, then she turned her head to the side and drifted back to sleep. Lauren gently rocked her back and forth. From the moment Donovan had confided his secret, they'd both been resolute about one thing—that at all costs, Abigail would be protected.

Lauren felt an overwhelming sadness, not for herself, or even her daughter, she'd always promised herself that she would do whatever it took for her and Abigail to survive. At this moment she was far more worried about her husband. She couldn't in all honesty convince herself that Donovan would be okay if in the next few hours everything he'd built over the last twenty years dissolved.

In the short cab ride from the police station to the hospital, Donovan saw dozens of trees uprooted, branches strewn everywhere, grim testament to the severity of the storms that had ripped through the area the night before. The Boca Raton Community Hospital was tucked off the main road amongst mature trees and well-manicured grounds. As they wheeled up to the entrance, his cell phone rang. Donovan saw that the call was from Eco-Watch's headquarters in Virginia.

“Hello, Peggy,” he answered as he peeled off some bills for the driver and stepped out of the cab.

“What in the hell happened down there last night? Are you okay? I just heard from our liaison at NASA that you cancelled the mission and that Michael is in the hospital?”

“Peggy, slow down. I was going to call you shortly.” Donovan backpedaled, he knew he should have called her earlier. Peggy had been with Eco-Watch from the beginning and thought of all the pilots as her children who needed looking after. She was his administrative assistant as well as aircraft dispatcher. Ruthlessly efficient, Donovan couldn't imagine what he'd do without her. He started at the beginning and brought her up to date.

“What can I do?” Peggy asked, satisfied she had the facts.

“I need you to talk to the people at Gulfstream, I want them to send a maintenance team to Boca Raton and inspect the
da Vinci
. I want it airworthy as soon as possible.”

“What about a pilot? Randy and Nicolas are still in Alaska with the
Galileo
, you want me to send Kyle down to take Michael's place?”

“Yeah, why don't you. I'll need him at some point. Tell him I'd like him to work with Gulfstream and oversee the maintenance. We'll also need to coordinate with NASA to ensure that the imaging equipment is repaired.”

“Anything else?”

“Can you also get us three rooms down here for tonight? Book a room for Lauren and me, we'll need a crib. Then get a suite for William and a suite for Susan and the boys. Maybe a couple of rental cars could be delivered to the hotel.”

“I'm on it,” Peggy replied. “I'll text you the details when I have them. Tell everyone my thoughts and prayers are with them.”

“I will, and thanks.” Donovan hung up and walked toward the main entrance, intensely aware that Montero was probably somewhere in the building. He had no idea what the next move was, but he knew without a doubt that it was Montero's, and all he could do was wait and react. Donovan pushed into the air-conditioned lobby and went straight toward the information desk.

“Excuse me. Where can I find Michael Ross?”

She typed into her computer. “He's just been moved from the recovery room to the Secondary Care Unit. Third floor, east wing.”

Donovan avoided the small crowd of people waiting at the elevator and opted for the stairs. He took them two at a time until he stepped out onto the highly polished hallway of the third floor. Donovan walked to a nurses' station, which was strategically located at the intersection of three corridors. The enclosure was fairly large, there looked to be work areas for at least five or six people. One section held an array of monitors, full-size color screens that were filled with graphs and numbers. A single nurse positioned in front of the readouts was writing in a chart.

“Excuse me, I'm looking for Michael Ross.”

“They just got him settled.” She pointed over her shoulder down the hallway to his left. “Room 310.”

Donovan walked down the hallway and gently opened the door. Michael was asleep on the narrow bed, his head slightly elevated. His arms were exposed and placed at his side, the sheet was pulled
halfway up his chest. Michael's head was wrapped as if he wore a white gauze stocking cap; his usually tanned face seemed drained of color. A bundle of wires snaked out from under the blanket and connected to a stack of machines. Donovan was mildly surprised that Susan or Lauren wasn't in the room, but there was no reason to go look for them. They'd show up soon enough.

Donovan moved closer, his eyes went to the screen displaying his friend's heartbeat; the constantly moving line rose and fell as it streamed across the monitor. He spotted the abrasions on Michael's right hand. Montero had been right. Michael had gotten in at least one good punch before being shot. He pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat, feeling his fatigue.

“I'm sorry I wasn't out there with you.” Donovan stared at the monitor, as if his words would suddenly register as a blip on the screen, give him some inkling Michael was aware of him. But pulse, respiration, and blood pressure remained constant. Donovan felt helpless. He had the means at his disposal to make nearly anything happen, but he couldn't fix this, he couldn't buy his way out of this regardless of how he felt. He hated seeing Michael this way, hated being unable to do anything but sit and watch.

“Look, I know you saw who did this. I tried to get to you in time. If I had, maybe the two of us would have made a difference. Maybe he'd be lying here instead of you. I need to know what happened out there last night. What did you see? This thing has gotten real complicated.” Donovan couldn't help but think about all the secrets he'd kept from his friends, and how he never wanted to be in put in the position of having to explain all the lies. “It's all my fault, everything happened years ago, but Lauren and Abigail are going to pay the price if things go wrong—hell, we're all going to pay a price. If we knew what you saw, then maybe a certain FBI agent would go away and bother someone else.”

Donovan sat for a while and collected his thoughts. Since he met her all those years ago, Meredith was the one he measured the rights and wrongs against. But since he'd met Lauren, the torch
had been passed. Lauren now held those scales. Yet, over the last few weeks he couldn't stop thinking about Meredith. Seeing the movie, hearing her voice again, seeing her dead body, everything had welled up inside of him until she somehow seemed very close again.

When Meredith was still alive, he'd always known that being Robert Huntington was at times a burden, a double-edged sword that had ended up owning him in ways he never understood. She'd shown him ways to find a sort of tranquility and freedom, to feel what he'd never discovered for himself. Robert Huntington had enjoyed unbridled privilege, but it wasn't until he met Meredith that he became aware of a different path. As Donovan Nash, he'd continued looking for the elusive contentment that Meredith had shown him, but he'd only drifted even farther away from his goal. All he'd found was a compromise, something he could only describe as a delicate state of negotiated peace, and all of that would vanish in an instant if the world found out Robert Huntington was still alive. The condemnation would be quick and certain. He'd deceived the entire world twenty years ago and lied to everyone he'd met since. It was a risk he'd taken. The price for failure would be the loss of anything he'd built as Donovan Nash.

He pushed himself up out of the chair, unable to sit still any longer. The fact that Montero might be peeling away the layers of his life while he sat doing nothing was pure torture. Thoughts of what would happen if he lost Michael or Lauren or any of his other stabilizing influences began to work away at him, and he was surprised to find himself wanting a drink. He buried that thought; it was only eight o'clock in the morning.

His eyes burned and he could feel the full effects of having gotten so little sleep. He blinked hard at the grit that seemed to be grinding away at his vision. Donovan went to the small bathroom, closed the door behind him, and stood in front of the mirror while the water ran. He winced at his reflection. The lines on his face all seemed to lead straight to his bloodshot eyes. He cupped his hands
under the cold water and then pressed his hands to his face as if he could rinse away the exhaustion. He switched from cold to hot water but the fatigue was still irrevocably stamped on his face.

The instant he emerged from the bathroom, Donovan took in all the things that were wrong. The startled expression on the stranger's face, the fact that his scrubs fit poorly, that his shoes were dirty. There was also no lanyard around his neck, no official ID. Donovan's eyes flashed to Michael. The pillow beneath his head had been pulled out and hung in the man's left hand.

Donovan saw the dark shape of a silenced pistol as he started toward the man. In the moment it took the assassin to point the gun toward him, Donovan had covered the distance. Moving fast, he grabbed the assailant's wrist with one hand and used his shoulder to slam him into the wall as hard as he could. Donovan heard the quiet cough of the gun as it went off over his shoulder. Still pinned up against the wall, Donovan kneed the intruder in the midsection.

The man recovered quickly and swung an elbow. Donovan avoided the full force of the blow, but caught part of it off the side of his head. Donovan kept a death grip on the man's wrist and ducked as another wild swing passed over his head. Once again, Donovan slammed his knee upward into the man's stomach, doubling him over, then bent the gunman's wrist backward until he felt it snap and heard the pistol clatter to the floor. The assassin grunted in pain, then swung his leg and took Donovan's feet out from under him.