"Where is she?" Randall asked.
The dying man opened his mouth. Flecks of blood splattered against the oxygen cup.
Randall leaned forward, lifted the cup from his mouth. ''They double-crossed you, my man. Don't sell what's left of your soul for those bastards."
His eyes rolled back in their sockets.
"Where's Addison? Goddammit, they're going to kill her, Clint. I need to know where she is."
The bloody mouth formed a word, the voice came, a crude gurgling, unintelligible.
Randall cursed in frustration. "Damn you, Clint, don't you die on me. You owe me this. You owe it to yourself. Now, dammit, talk to me."
His tone drew the attention of the young paramedic. "You can talk to him, but don't agitate him," she warned.
Randall ignored-her. "Where's Addison? Where the fuck is she?"
Clint turned his head. Blood trickled from his mouth, spreading onto the sheet like red paint. "Lousy ten grand ..."
He felt no sympathy for the dying man. Loss perhaps, anger, the bitter taste of betrayal, but not sympathy. It was necessity that had him blotting the blood with gauze. "Where did they take her?"
"Glover ... ark."
"Glover Park?" Hope flared inside him. ''Where in Glover Park?"
Clint moved his head slightly. No. He closed his eyes, let out a breath. "Call Gavin .... " A fresh line of blood pumped from his nose.
Randall let it run. "How do I reach Gavin?"
"... lover park .... " He coughed. Blood spewed onto the surrounding sheets.
The heart monitor began to wail. Even as the dying man's final breath slid from his lungs, Randall knew he didn't have enough information. He wouldn't get any more information from Clint.
The paramedic jumped from her seat and went to work.
Shaken, Randall moved back. He watched the young woman work, but he knew Clint was dead. He'd seen enough death to recognize it. Clint had merely been given the time in which to make his final confession.
Too bad it hadn't been enough to save his soul.
Fighting panic, he stood, starkly aware that time was slipping away. Indecision hammered at him. Dear God, he had no idea where to begin looking for Addison.
Clint had mentioned Glover Park. A year ago, Clint had lived in the upscale neighborhood north of Georgetown.
"Stop the ambulance," he said.
The paramedic looked at him uneasily. "This man is dying," she said. "We'll do no such thing."
"That's a fatal wound and you know it." Randall clutched the I.V. bar as the ambulance negotiated a turn.
"You don't know that,” she argued.
He touched the young woman on the shoulder. "I'm a private detective. My client, a young woman, was kidnapped in that bloody fiasco back there." He searched her face, wondering if she saw him as just another crazy roaming the streets of D.C. He could only imagine how he must look, desperate, high on drugs ... or insane.
Raking a trembling hand through his hair, Randall took a breath and lowered his voice. "I need to find her. Time is running out. If you don't stop this ambulance and let me out, I won't be able to get to her in time. They'll kill her."
Never taking her eyes from Randall, she turned to the driver. "He's a private dick, Dennis. Let him out."
The driver studied them through the rearview mirror. "Cops told me to make sure you went directly to the hospital."
Randall hadn't wanted to use violence, but he didn't have a choice. He reached for his pistol. Alarm skittered through him when he found his holster empty. He cursed, realizing the police must have taken it while he'd been unconscious.
Knowing he was going to have to bluff his way through, he stuck his right hand in his coat pocket and pointed his finger at the driver.
"I've got a .38 in my coat and by God I'll use it if you don't stop this ambulance," he said.
The ambulance screeched to a halt. Hanging onto the I.V. bar, Randall managed to keep his balance. "It would have been a hell of a lot easier if you had just stopped when I asked." Reaching for the radio, he yanked the microphone from its base.
"Just get the hell out of here, you crazy son of a bitch!" the driver shouted.
Randall reached for the rear door latch and swung it open. The ambulance had stopped in the middle of a busy intersection. Horns bellowed as he eased himself onto the pavement. Behind him, the door of the ambulance slammed shut. He lumbered through traffic to the sidewalk. Dizzy with pain, he spotted a Christian bookstore. Head down against the wind, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket and started for the store. Around him, the air was cold and held the threat of more than merely rain.
Chapter 24