There was no movement, no sound except his slow, even breathing. She swiped her eyes again and began to lightly rub her fingers over his cheek. She talked about music, her art, how she’d painted a field of wild flowers during a rainstorm, about what she was planning when she and Alex were together again. She talked until finally, she laid her head against his shoulder and fell asleep.
She was standing in the middle of the field she’d painted, the rain cascading down over her, the only sound that of the raindrops splattering against her and hitting the earth. Then there was a sound rain wouldn’t make, but there it was—something niggled at her consciousness, something that wasn’t quite right. She blinked away sleep and slowly raised her head toward the door. It was closed. Nice of Officer Rickman to give her so much privacy. She heard footsteps and then the door slowly opened. He was coming to check on them. She relaxed, laid her face back down on John Doe’s shoulder.
Officer Rickman didn’t say anything, so she slitted her eyes open and saw a man she didn’t recognize, slim and military fit, easing his way into the room. He was wearing surgical scrubs and a mask over his face. At the sound of his footsteps, Kara realized he was wearing loafers, not the soft-soled shoes the nurses wore. He held a syringe in his hand.
This man wasn’t here to help her; he was the enemy.
He was looking at her, frowning, and she quickly closed her eyes, heart pounding, readying herself. She heard him walking toward the bed, slitted her eyes again, and saw him raise his hand to inject something into the IV tubing tethered to John Doe’s wrist.
Kara jumped straight up, grabbed the pitcher off the bedside table and hurled it across the bed at him, yelling at the top of her lungs. An arc of water splashed on the man, and the pitcher hit him square in the chest. He leaped back, cursing, but came at her. She reared back and smashed her fist into his chest, sending him reeling off-balance, and the syringe went flying. She grabbed a chair and kept yelling, screaming, until finally he cursed and ran from the room.
When Savich and Sherlock burst into John Doe’s room fifteen minutes later, Kara was still holding him pressed against her. Two nurses, an orderly, and two security guards were trying to reassure her the danger was over, that she could let him go, but she was refusing, repeating over and over he wasn’t safe, until she saw Sherlock.
Sherlock made her way through the crowd, held out her hand to Kara, and gently pulled her away. She held her close, whispered, “It’s all right now, it’s over.” She eased her back. “Tell me what happened, Kara.”
Kara drew a steadying breath. “A man came into the room dressed like a doctor or a nurse. Sherlock, he was holding a syringe in his hand and he was going to inject something in his IV line. I knew he was going to kill him. Officer Rickman never came. Where was he?”
An excellent question. Sherlock cupped Kara’s shocked white face between her hands, kept her voice calm, matter-of-fact. “But you stopped him, Kara. You saved him, all by yourself. You are very brave. When John Doe wakes up, I’ll tell him all about how you saved his life.”
Sherlock saw Dillon on the phone and looked around for the Metro night guard, Rickman. She asked the night nursing supervisor checking John Doe’s vitals, “Have you seen the police officer assigned to guard John Doe?”
Nurse Ellerby cocked her head. “I don’t understand. You didn’t know? He got a phone call an hour ago, said he was told to go home, that he was off duty because John Doe was an FBI case now. He stopped by the desk to tell us Ms. Moody was with John Doe.”
Savich came over to Sherlock and Nurse Ellerby. He knew who had called off the guard. He felt such rage at Mayer it was a good thing for Mayer that he wasn’t there. He’d bet Mayer had been watching baseball, drinking a beer, when he’d decided this was how he’d get back at Savich, not a thought in his head about John Doe’s safety.
Of course Mayer hadn’t called Savich, but he had to know he could be in real trouble if he didn’t make any effort to contact him. Savich scrolled quickly through his emails. Sure enough, there was a late email to him from the CAU secretary, Shirley, informing him Detective Mayer from Metro had awakened her, told her she needed to let Savich know that since John Doe was an FBI case now, he was pulling the Metro officer off guard duty.
Savich was still so angry, his hand was shaking as he punched in Jimmy Maitland’s number. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Maitland answered on the third ring, sounding like a bear pulled out of hibernation. “What’s the matter?”
Savich told him what Mayer had pulled, and what had happened, which brought Maitland straight out of bed. Maitland’s anger was legendary, and Savich found it calmed him knowing his boss would see Mayer got what he deserved. Should he suggest that a firing squad sounded good? If not a firing squad, then a solid street fight, nothing off-limits. Maitland asked for more details, then said, “I’ll have two agents guarding John Doe around the clock, beginning now.”
He looked up to see Kara and Sherlock standing over John Doe, Kara holding his limp hand. He heard her say, “He’s so very quiet.” She looked over at Savich. “When that man came in I saw he wasn’t wearing rubber-soled shoes and knew something was very wrong. And that the police officer was gone.”
Sherlock hugged Kara to her side. “Believe me, that won’t happen again.”
Sherlock saw Dillon slowly nod. She saw the pulse pounding in his throat, knew something bad had happened that had made him really angry. It had to do with the missing guard.
20
DANIEL BOONE NATIONAL FOREST
EARLY TUESDAY MORNING
Cam heard a noise, only a slight rustling sound, and instantly awoke, her Glock in her hand. She looked through the netting of her bivvy sack into the darkness and made out a man’s shadowed face inches from her nose. She almost screamed.
“Morning, Special Agent, it’s me, Jack. Time to rise and shine.”
She wanted to clock him for scaring her. “I could have shot you, idiot.” She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, he’d turned away to wake up Chief and Duke. There was an urgency, a near crackling of energy in him, and she felt herself responding to it. Jack turned on his headlight. “I’ve checked; there’s no one nearby,” he said. “Safe to use these now. There’ll be enough light in about fifteen minutes to look for their tracks.”
After an oatmeal and coffee breakfast and a quick wash in the cold creek, they moved out along Denny Branch, slowing now and then to walk upslope in search of tracks. Even close to the creek, where they believed Manta Ray’s group should have passed, they had to slow enough to study the terrain for any sign of another human’s passing. They finished off their breakfasts with power bars and drank from their canteens as the temperature slowly climbed under a brilliant morning sun. They saw deer, a fox, and three squirrels staring down on them from a dogwood branch, but no tracks.
At eight o’clock straight up, Jack peeled off one more time away from the creek and upslope into the trees. He saw a set of boot prints and a crushed shrub. He felt a surge of excitement, called out, “Come look.”
They gathered around Jack, saw the boot prints heading east. “They’ve been walking up here, parallel to the creek.”
“I wasn’t expecting that,” Duke said. “Still, I guess it makes sense. It’s an easier route, with enough cover to reduce the chance of being seen. You’re right, Jack, they’re going east, up toward the ridge. I hope they don’t hook up with a hiker trail. What made you come this far up, Jack?”