Conscience (The Bellator Saga Book 2)
Read Conscience (The Bellator Saga Book 2) Online
Authors: Cecilia London
Conscience
Part Two in the Bellator Saga
Cecilia London
© 2015, Cecilia London
[email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, with the exception of excerpts for reviews and blog postings.
God grant me the courage not to give up what I think is right, even though I think it is hopeless.
Chester Nimitz
The Hospital
Caroline Gerard hated hospitals. In a seriously paranoid, irrational way. The labor and delivery section, generally a safe haven even when surrounded by sickness and death, was no exception. When she was in labor with both of her children, she freaked out the first time she took a moment to realize where she was. Drugs helped. Breathing exercises helped. Pacing around the room seemed to help, even after she had an emergency C-section with her second daughter Sophie and suffered through excruciating pain for days.
Calm down. Panic gets you nowhere
.
There was no pacing to be done in this hospital room. She was handcuffed to the bedrail. Trapped like an animal. It defied reason that someone would magically appear and give her something palliative and soothing to ease her troubles. She’d been provided any number of wonderfully amazing drugs the last time she was in a hospital. That wasn’t going to happen now. And this sure as hell wasn’t a maternity ward.
Stop freaking out.
Caroline tried to adjust herself in the bed. The handcuff on her right arm dug into her wrist. She grunted in pain. Her anxiety tended to creep up at inopportune times as most worries did, and she willed herself not to have an attack as the handcuff continued to chafe her skin.
This is bad. This is really, really bad.
There were no windows in the hospital room, nothing to give her a clue as to where she was or who was with her. It was inexplicably quiet save for the hiss of the machines near the bed. She closed her eyes, trying not to cry. Her tears would do her no good now.
Caroline yanked at the cuff again, hoping for a miracle. As if she would have been able to do something if she managed to break free. She took a deep, painful breath and felt the bandages wrapped around her ribs. Broken, or merely fractured? The distinction seemed relative. She had a small bandage over the bullet wound on her leg. That part of her body didn’t ache, so the injury had apparently been minor. Unless they really weren’t all that concerned about giving her proper medical treatment.
Calm. The. Fuck. Down.
She touched the splint on her nose, which still hurt the most. Those soldiers had beaten the shit out of her. Her eye swelling had receded but her still tender nose was bandaged in place. Her left cheek didn’t feel so hot either. How long had she been unconscious? She didn’t have to move around much to figure out that her back and legs had plenty of bruises from the brutal assault.
Panic gave way to planning. Her mind moved as rapidly as it could, slowed by fatigue and the aftereffects of sedation. She tried to figure out any possible way out of the situation and couldn’t come up with a single one that would end well. She and Jack hadn’t really thought things out when they rushed to the car when the soldiers arrived. Hadn’t really talked about it either. They simply panicked, running on adrenaline. Jack had been too overly protective, too afraid to ask the hard questions, with Caroline too terrified to think rationally.
Their limited planning proved pointless as the soldiers shot their way through the governor’s remaining security staff. All young. All unattached. Most of whom had stuck around because they knew the danger and were determined to keep Jack and Caroline safe. She couldn’t even remember all their names now. All she could do was make out the sound of gunfire, the screams and shouts, the thuds as brave men hit the floor. She could smell the cordite. Felt the blood running down her leg as she and Jack stumbled through the house.
A fairly horrid memory, too vividly unsettling for her taste.
She and Jack had squeaked out the back door, then barreled through the front gate in their SUV. She still couldn’t figure out how they’d done it. By then they were marked, needing to shake up routes and leave anything distinctive behind. The first time they switched vehicles they left a small arsenal behind in the trunk. What Caroline would give for just one of those guns right now, even if it was unloaded. At least then she’d have something to pretend to defend herself with.
How much time had passed since that night in the woods? Days? Weeks? It couldn’t have been months. She pressed her fingers to her ribs. She could feel them poking out, just barely. That had never happened before. She’d lost weight over the past month as the stress caught up with her, but it apparently increased while she was in the hospital. It felt as if she’d been asleep for a while. It hurt to move. It hurt to
think
. But she had to try anyway.
She racked her brain. How was she going to get out of this one? Should she press the call button? She had all their financial information memorized. Maybe someone could be enticed to help her. Everyone had a price.
Caroline cursed at herself. How low had she sunk? Bribery? It was likely the only lifeline she had left. She was just about to call for a nurse when the door to her room opened.
A harried looking woman ran over to the bed and motioned toward Caroline’s hand. “Don’t press that button,” she said.
Caroline’s brain was still fuzzy. It took a minute for her thoughts to register. “Huh?” she asked. “Who are you?”
The woman tossed a duffle bag onto the bed. “I’m a doctor here. Maureen Savage. We don’t have much time, so just listen. I’m here to help.”
Could this woman be bought off? Or the outside staff? Because the doctor –Savage, had she said? – standing before Caroline was maybe five foot five, a hundred and twenty pounds. She sure didn’t look like the cavalry coming to save the day.
Here to help. Right. “Like hell you are,” Caroline said. “Why should I trust you?”
Maureen started rummaging through the bag. “I have clothes and food in here. A full tank of gas and plenty of supplies in the car in the parking garage. And dependable relatives in Texas, where you’ll be safe. You think you can trust anyone else in this place?”
Caroline wasn’t sure she could trust anyone. Not anymore. “I have no idea.”
“The government has been on us ever since you got here, trying to get us to cut you loose so they can have a little chat,” Maureen said. “Based on what has already happened to you, I assume you’d rather not have that conversation.”
She’d sooner eat glass. “No. I’d rather not.” Caroline decided to put it all on the table. It felt dirty to say it out loud but she didn’t have time to make peace with her ethical boundaries. Better to know where she stood right away. “Do you need money?”
Maureen frowned at her. “You think I want you to pay me?”
“I have money.”
“I know you do, Ms. Gerard. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But I’m getting you the hell out of here, free of charge.”
Dr. Savage was a bundle of nerves but she seemed honest. Earnest. Friendly. Caroline hoped she could take her at her word. She didn’t exactly have a lot of options.
“Hold still,” Maureen said, reaching for the IV needle. “This might hurt a little but I’m trying to work fast. They already took your catheter out.”
Caroline winced as Maureen pulled the IV out of her arm and bandaged her up. It could have been worse. She knew she had to be grateful for small favors. “You should really call me Caroline,” she said.
“Only if you call me Maureen.” The other woman pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and started fiddling with the lock on the handcuffs, obviously struggling with her task. “This always looks so much easier on TV.”
Caroline rolled her eyes. “You mean to tell me you don’t know what you’re doing?”
“I didn’t say that,” Maureen said, her voice strained. “But this is a little harder than I thought it would be.”
Dear Lord, they were in trouble already. Caroline’s anxiety vanished, successfully distracted by the need to concentrate on a delicate task. “Move,” she said, and started jiggling the bobby pin until the cuffs sprang open. Maureen’s eyes widened in amazement. Caroline tried not to laugh. This doctor was easy to impress.
“How the hell did you do that?” Maureen asked.
“Prosecutors pick up a lot of disturbingly useful borderline criminal skills. You should see me with a sawed-off shotgun.” Caroline groaned as Maureen helped her sit up. Her muscles had forgotten how to work. “I hope you’re better at navigating this hospital than you are at breaking people out of handcuffs.”
“I am,” Maureen assured her. “I’ve worked here for fifteen years. We’ll go out the back. My car is in the garage. We won’t stop until we’re far, far away from here. We really don’t have much time, so we gotta move.” She opened up the duffle bag and pulled out a bunch of random clothes. “I hope these fit. You’re a little taller than me. Chest is bigger too.”
The weight loss apparently hadn’t affected everything equally. “Thanks,” Caroline said. “I appreciate it.”
“Just telling you the truth.”
“I’m probably a lot smaller now than I used to be.” She winced. Her ribs hurt. “I think I’ve lost at least ten pounds.”
“Probably. You’ve had nothing but glorified sugar water for almost two weeks.” Maureen rummaged through the duffle bag again. “I’m sorry. We did what we could to help you get better.”
The doctor had no reason to feel guilty about anything, and Caroline felt compelled to reassure her. “I know you did.”
“I’ve got some food in here too.” Maureen pulled out a couple of granola bars and a bottle of apple juice. “You hungry?”
Her stomach felt like a lead balloon. “Not really,” Caroline said. “But I should probably force something down. Am I allowed to eat?”
“You can do whatever you want. Just don’t run out of here without me.”
Caroline stretched out her legs. She wasn’t exactly in prime shape. “I’m trusting you,” she said. “You’d better not be bullshitting me.”
“I’m not.”
Maureen rubbed her forehead, and for the first time Caroline noticed how tired she looked. She would have pegged the woman’s age at late fifties, but guessed that she was actually a little younger than that. No doubt recent events had taken their toll on her as well.
Caroline chugged down the apple juice and shoved a granola bar into her mouth as she put on a bra that was indeed a cup size too small but was better than nothing. The food and drink felt terrible going down. She slipped on the rest of the clothes, not giving a shit about modesty. The shoes she grabbed from the bag were at least a size and a half too small, and the pants were too short. Hopefully she could remedy that situation in time. Unusual dress attracted attention. The kind she didn’t want.
“You have tiny feet,” she told Maureen.
“Sorry. I couldn’t very well measure your shoe size. I took what I could get.”
Maureen twisted her hands nervously, waiting for her to finish getting dressed, and it was enough to spark Caroline’s suspicions again.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I’m stupid. And I think you’re being railroaded.”
“No shit.” She wolfed down another granola bar. “Why put yourself at risk?”
“Okay, I’m not stupid. I’m really just terribly bored.”
“It’s not that either.”
Maureen closed her eyes. “I think good people need to stand up for what’s right before there’s no one left to do it.”
She was holding something back, but Caroline didn’t see the point in pushing her. She tugged a hoodie with a Boston College hockey logo over her head, pulling the sleeves up out of habit. She liked this woman, despite her shitty taste in clothing.
“BC?” Caroline asked. “Really?”
“Class of 1988,” Maureen said.
“You know, at Notre Dame they call it Backup College.”
“I am aware of that.”
Caroline rose shakily to her feet. She lifted each foot up and down, orienting herself. She didn’t feel as badly as she thought she would. “I don’t think we’re going to have any problem with finding things to talk about in the car. Even if this hoodie does make me feel dirty.”
Maureen laughed, but it sounded hollow. And it wasn’t because of the subject matter. “Sit back down on the bed for a minute. How are you feeling?”
Caroline could think of no accurate way to describe how she felt. Bluntness would work. “Things hurt.”
“Obviously. Does your head hurt?”
“I feel like I’m speaking too slowly, like my mouth can’t catch up with my brain. It takes longer than usually to process things.” Her thoughts usually rushed through at a mile a minute, and it felt as if they were stuck in molasses.
“You
sound
tired,” Maureen said. “I know you’re not in fighting shape, but can you walk?”
Standing up hadn’t been too bad. “I think so. Probably won’t be running any marathons any time soon.”
Maureen continued to prod at her, apparently satisfied with what she’d seen so far. “All you have to do is propel yourself toward the door and down the stairwell.”
“I can manage that.”
“Your cheekbone and nose are still healing, as are your ribs. Leg looks to be okay, but that was never the main issue. And you seem to be communicating all right, so that answers any questions we had about your cognitive abilities.”
Caroline stifled a laugh. “No comment.”
Maureen looked at her. Or more specifically, at the splint. “I’m sorry, we tried, but I’m not sure your nose will ever be the same.”
