She paused. Her sister felt clammy. She peered at Ellie’s face and realized it was pale. Too pale. Her gaze was wide and fixed.
“Oh, my God!” She pressed the nurse’s call button and shouted for help.
Two nurses rushed in.
“She’s … there’s something wrong.”
All business, they went to check on Ellie. “No pulse. Code blue.”
Suddenly noise exploded, and people poured into the room. One of them took Betty by the arm and escorted her out of the room.
“Will she be all right?” cried Betty.
“We’ll do everything we can. Please, go wait in the lobby, Ms. Lewis.”
Betty nodded and felt the blood drain out of her face. Legs shaking, she hobbled to the front lobby and slid into the nearest chair, too numb to consider the dark thought that threatened her sanity.
Ellie gone from this world?
No, no, no! She clutched her purse and sobbed.
And waited.
Mr. Riley, dressed as an orderly in blue scrubs and white tennis shoes, sat behind the nurses’ station pretending to look at charts. But his attention was on the activity across the hall in Ellie Lewis’s room.
Walking into the nursing home disguised as one of the staff had been easy enough. It wasn’t secured—no key cards or ID checks. The nursing home wasn’t a top of the line facility, still relying on actual keys to open doors. The room that held all the prescriptions was located behind the station—the key conveniently located on a hook near the door.
Honestly, this wasn’t even a challenge. He was somewhat disappointed this particular job didn’t require too much skill. He found the insulin in a refrigerated unit. He’d walked into Ellie’s room, an orderly on rounds, and placed the needle between her toes. Luckily, she wasn’t hooked up to machines, other than the IV that delivered fluids and pain meds.
I’m doing you a favor. Better death than this waking nightmare.
The overdose of insulin worked quickly. It wasn’t likely the catatonic woman would get an autopsy, and even if she did, the doctor wouldn’t test for insulin. Cause of death would be respiratory failure.
He watched as a nurse brought Betty Lewis into the hallway.
“Will she be all right?” cried Betty.
“We’ll do everything we can. Please, go wait in the lobby, Ms. Lewis.”
Her face pale, the woman clutched her purse and trudged down the hall.
Well, well, well. He wouldn’t have track down the sister after all. He pushed the chair away from the desk and stood, leisurely following the woman into the front lobby. She slid into the first chair she found, and he walked past her, circling to other side and taking a chair far enough away to observe her without attracting her attention. Betty took her cell and a business card out of her purse and dialed a number.
He wasn’t close enough to hear the conversation, so he rose, stretching and yawning. The cafeteria was close by, so he popped in and grabbed a coffee and strolled casually back to the seating area. When he returned, Betty had finished her phone call. He sat closer to her this time, catty-corner from her chair. He sipped the bitter brew and put it down. Betty’s dull gaze met his, and he gave her a sympathetic smile. She offered a trembling pull of the lips in return and then stared at her lap. He leaned back, closed his eyes to mere slits, and pretended to nap.
It wouldn’t be long before Betty got the bad news about her sister. Hmm. A suicide would be believable. A distraught woman too emotionally wounded by her sister’s death to continue living. Sad, really. He already knew where she lived—part of his reconnaissance. All he had to do was wait until she got home, render her unconscious, and then let a closed garage door and carbon dioxide do the rest of the job for him.
He took his coffee, dumped it into the trash, and headed out of the nursing home. He nearly bumped shoulders with a tall man, roughly the size of a linebacker. When he looked at the guy’s face, he recognized him immediately.
FBI agent Ben Nelson, brother of Hayley. Santos had been right about law enforcement making connections between Maria’s death and Ellie’s incapacitation. Riley had a complete dossier on Hayley—all except where she currently resided. She no longer had an apartment. One of his government contacts gave him the bad news that Hayley had been moved out of a safe house and transferred to an unknown location.
Nelson’s phone rang, and he stopped short of entering the facility, choosing to stand to the side as he took the call. Riley moved toward a support post and leaned against it. Then he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and lit up. Ben Nelson remained in his peripheral vision.