Pure Dynamite (11 page)

Adam moved to where the coffee had finished brewing, helped himself to a white foam cup. "Have you hiked much of the Trail?"

"Some." His questions made Renata suspicious. "Why the small talk?"

He took a sip of coffee, savored it, then shrugged. "Thought I'd get to know you since you'll be coming with us."

"With you?" She shook her head and took a step backwards. Away from the man. Away from his words. "I am not going anywhere with you."

"You'll be released unharmed, later."

His unperturbed manner upset her even more. "You think I believe that? You're escaped convicts. You already shot one man." What was one woman?

"I've kept my word. You haven't been hurt, have you?"

Renata started to remind him of Lyle grabbing her wrist earlier. Except Adam had sort of rescued her then by knocking Lyle's hand away. She didn't want to hear him claim chivalry. Fugitives had no chivalry. They acted solely in self-preservation.

She tried a different tact. "I'd be a hindrance. And you really don't need me. If he won't go to the hospital, there's not a lot I can do that you couldn't. You've obviously had some experience. You can change his dressings—"

He cut her off. "We both know he'll need more fluid by IV What if he requires a blood transfusion?"

"And no weasels are available as donors? Gee, you'll have to take him to the hospital. You don't need me for that either."

He scowled. "There's plenty of other things that can go wrong: What if the needle dislodges again? Or he starts going into shock?"

"He'll still require a hospital. Can't you get that through your thick head? That doesn't change, damn it!"

Adam wondered if she even realized she swore. Her bottom lip quivered as she struggled to contain her emotions, her distress palpable. He could imagine what was going through her mind knew she feared the worst. He wished he could offer assurance.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Lyle's condition needed close monitoring. Adam knew basic first aid— field stuff. Lyle's wound was beyond that.

There was also the question of crossing Lyle's brother this early in the game. While Adam had no intention of playing patsy, he needed to gain Nevin's trust. If Adam took Renata along for just a short time and then set her free, it would appear he'd attempted to comply with Nevin's decree.

Mind made up, he drained his coffee cup, refilled it. "Where do you keep your medical supplies?"

"There's a closet in the hall."

"Show me."

Inside the supply closet, he grabbed an empty cardboard box. He scanned the shelves, pulling out unopened packages. Basic provisions: gauze, tape, peroxide, a thermometer, blood pressure cuff. He grabbed one of the green scrub suits for Lyle to wear, then turned to her.

"What else will we need? Think worst-case scenario because you won't have access to more once we're on the road."

"I am
not
going with you."

"We've established that you don't want to. But you will. Now either help me or be stuck with whatever I've got here."

Renata slowly unfolded her arms. Arguing with the man was futile. There was no reasoning with the unreasonable. She'd have to wait for the right opportunity and make a move.

She shot him a dirty look then checked the supplies he'd taken.

"You've got enough gauze for a small army. How long will I be held? Or are you anticipating more casualties?"

"Worst case, remember?"

She scanned the contents again, then added a box of latex gloves, bags of antibiotics, and suture kits. "There's IV kits and tubing to your left. Grab them. We'll need a case of saline, too." She reached for a general-purpose first aid kit.

Adam surveyed the box. "That's it?"

"Short of splints, we have a little of everything. If he's not showing marked improvement within forty- eight hours, nothing I've got here will keep him alive."

That wasn't exactly the truth. Problems like infection or blood clots could still show up a week from now. And there was an entire universe of potential complications, particularly since she didn't know if bullet fragments had caused any internal damage. A miniscule nick on his intestine could slowly leak poison into his system. In a truly worst-case scenario, nothing in the box would replace a surgeon and trauma facility.

A knock echoed from the front door. That quick, Adam hauled Renata back against his chest. His hand covered her mouth as the knocking repeated louder.

"Dr. Curtis? You in there?"

"Is that the security guard who was here earlier?" Adam whispered.

She nodded.

Lyle's voice drifted down the hall. "Adam! What the hell's going on?"

Renata felt the hard press of his gun against her ribs as they hurried to the doorway of the exam room. Adam motioned for Lyle to remain quiet, then pushed her to the lobby, his hand still covering her mouth.

"You need to get rid of him. Fast. Without arousing suspicion." Stepping behind the door, he pointed the gun at it. If he fired, he'd hit Clarence. "Think about his well-being."

She nodded and cracked the door. His hand dropped to her elbow, out of sight, but still controlling her. The security chain seemed to mock her. Clarence stood outside.

In spite of the lump in her throat, she tried to smile. She'd worked with Clarence for almost two years, had met his family at the annual Christmas party. He had three kids. Right now she felt responsible for them.

"Yes?"

"Sorry to bother you, Doctor Curtis." Clarence shook his head. "We got a couple convicts on the loose. Thought I'd check on you."

She forced a neutral look to her face. "I saw the news earlier. Is there any word on how Deputy Acton's doing?"

She felt Adam's fingers press into her arm, knew he wasn't pleased with her query. Too bad she thought.

Clarence frowned. "Last I heard, he was still in surgery. Bad stuff. It might be a good idea for me to see you to your car. Follow you home. Weather's supposed to get worse, too. Lord knows we don't need more rain."

She felt a slight panic. "But I can't leave yet. I still have work to do."

"Well, then, if the police come by, don't let it surprise you. They've started a street-by-street sweep. Of course, they may have already nabbed them by now.

They got an APB out on the car; know exactly what they're driving."

"That's encouraging," she said. "I'm sure they'll find them."

"I have a few more pick-ups." Clarence checked his watch. "How about I swing back by in thirty minutes, walk you out then?"

Adam squeezed her arm once again.

"It might take a little longer," she said. "Why don't you give me your beeper number and I'll page you when I'm ready to leave."

"Sounds good. I'm on duty till five."

Grabbing a small notebook from her pocket, Renata pretended to write his number. Instead she scribbled: H-E-L-P.

Adam's gun bit sharply into her side. She glanced sideways, noticed he had moved closer. With his height advantage he could see exactly what she wrote.

She pocketed the notebook and nodded. "I'll call you."

As soon as she closed the door, Adam forced her to face him. His eyes glittered perilously. She thought about screaming, to catch Clarence's attention, but if Adam harmed
him...

"You played the part perfectly," he gritted between clenched teeth. "Except for the note at the end. That was stupid."

Shifting, Adam blocked her, pressed her back against the door reminding her that he was a foot taller. He let his full weight rest against her as he leisurely tucked the gun into his waistband behind him, freeing both his hands.

If he meant to intimidate, he succeeded. She could feel every ounce of muscle, sensed the tension wound up within him. He placed a hand on either side of her head and leaned even closer. The gold flecks in his eyes sparked.

"I know this isn't nice or fun," he said. "But if you cooperate, it will be a lot easier on you."

Her right hand which was still clenched inside her pocket, brushed against plastic.

The scalpel.
Her fist closed over it like a lifeline.

"What do you say?" he whispered.

Her pulse pounded in her skull. Loud. Scary. She pretended to consider his words, while she summoned her courage.

"Fine," she said at last. "I'll cooperate."

But the moment Adam stepped away Renata yanked the scalpel from her pocket and raised it in the air. "When hell freezes over!"

Willy McEdwin had a look that would make God nervous. And right now that unholy gleam was directed at his twin sons.

Tristin, older by eight minutes, looked nervously at his brother, Burt.

"Don't kill the messenger, Pa," Tristin blurted.

It was the second time that night Willy had been awakened with bad news. First an irate business associate had threatened to dump his C-4 in the ocean; make fish bait of his plastic explosives.

Now this.

Willy's fist hammered the table. "Just tell me the SOB who shot your little brother is dead."

"The SOB's a deputy," Burt said.

"Doesn't matter. Is he dead?"

"Last we heard he was still in surgery."

"Pray he doesn't survive," Willy said. "Where's Lyle now?"