The Colonel's Daughter (16 page)

“A couple folks from the lab were here earlier to draw blood. A guy from respiratory therapy gave her a breathing treatment. No one else has been around.”

As the two men talked, Michele slipped into the small ICU room. Alice’s face looked pasty white against the bleached cotton bedding. Her neck was bandaged and her eyes were closed and lined with deep, dark circles. Her chest rose and fell under the sheet as oxygen entered her lungs through a nasal cannula.

Michele stepped closer. For half a heartbeat, she considered offering a prayer for the sweet lady who needed to survive, and for her husband, flying home from the war zone. Sergeant Rossi had survived enemy attacks and scud missiles that blasted through their forward operating base without being harmed. Hard to believe his wife had been the one injured during his deployment.

Hearing footsteps, Michele turned as Jamison entered the room and stopped at the foot of the bed. His face revealed his own concern as to whether Alice would survive her injuries.

Before Michele could consider what she was asking, the words tumbled from her mouth. “Will...will you say a prayer?”

Although her voice had only been a whisper, Jamison raised his gaze, his eyes locking on hers. She had the sense that he could see into the depths of her being. Maybe he understood her fear of losing another person about whom she cared.

Jamison raised his brow. “Is that something you want me to do?”

Glancing down at the unresponsive patient, Michele nodded. “I think it’s what Alice would want.”

Jamison’s voice was husky when he finally spoke. “Father, we ask for protection and healing for Mrs. Rossi. See the love in her heart and the future You have planned for her. Let all things work together for her good.”

“Amen,” Michele whispered.

Overcome with sadness, she walked back into the hallway, needing to distance herself from the machines keeping Alice alive and from the prayer she had asked Jamison to say. What had caused her to seek God’s mercy when the doctors and nurses and all the advances of medical science were working together to save Alice’s life?

Michele knew better than to rely on the Lord or His healing love. She wanted to hear about Alice’s improved test results, like her oxygen level and white blood cell count. Drugs and doctors and hospital personnel would bring Alice through, not Jamison’s prayer.

“Michele, wait,” he called after her.

She pointed to the water fountain in the alcove. “I’m getting a drink.” Her throat burned and her mouth was as dry as cardboard. A heavy weight sat on her chest, and hot tears stung her eyes. If she gave in to her emotions, she would break down and cry, and she had shed too many tears already.

Resolved to maintain her control, she glanced back at Jamison. He was saying something to the military guard.

A phone rang at the nurses’ desk. The ICU clerk answered the call and motioned to a male aide.

“Mrs. Rossi’s doctor ordered a scan. Take her down on the back elevator. The MP needs to go with you.”

A lump formed in Michele’s throat. Seeing Alice brought back the terror she had felt last night.

Michele’s knees went weak, and air rushed from her lungs. The memory of the explosive pain from the stun gun returned and made her muscles spasm as if it were happening again. She saw the killer hovering over her, the knife in his hand.

Unable to face the images that ran through her mind, Michele raced along the hallway.

Jamison called her name, but she couldn’t turn back.

Just as before, Michele needed to leave Fort Rickman and everything that had happened. Then she realized leaving the post would mean she had to leave Jamison, as well.

* * *

Jamison found Michele near the elevator, arms wrapped protectively around her waist. Tears swam in her eyes, and her head rested against the cool tile wall.

“What’s happening to me?”

He rubbed his hand over her shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot, Michele.”

“I want to be strong, but I keep seeing the killer. What he did to Yolanda and then Alice. I’ll never get those images out of my mind.”

She bit her lip. “You probably think I need to see a shrink.”

“What you need is a good night’s sleep. You look exhausted.”

“I could say the same about you.”

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “You were attacked and almost run over. Plus, you’ve lost a friend and don’t know if another one will survive. That’s a lot to carry.” She smelled fresh like flowers and was just as soft as he remembered.

Holding Michele brought back memories he had tried to forget, like the sense of completeness that swept over him whenever she was in his arms. Running away from him had been a mistake, but he couldn’t tell her that, especially now. If there was any hope for them in the future, she had to come to that conclusion on her own. All he could do was keep her safe until she realized that love sometimes was hard, but always worth the effort.

Feeling the tension in her shoulders, he rubbed his hand along her back. “Your dad’s on his way home. Once he arrives, you can be a family again. Everything will be better then.”

She edged back and looked up into his eyes. “You...you don’t understand. Without Lance, we’ll never be a family.”

Would she ever get over her brother’s death?

“Oh, honey.” He pulled her closer. “Life is filled with joy and pain. We have to accept both.”

“But my father—”

“He’ll be home tomorrow. All you have to do is get through the night.”

She sniffed. “But...”

He shook his head. “No buts. I’ll be close by if you need me.”

A heavy weight settled on Jamison’s heart as he thought of what could be between them and the reality of what they had instead.

No matter how much he wanted to reconcile with the past, Jamison and Michele stood on opposite sides of a huge divide that seemed impossible to traverse. His love hadn’t been enough for her to stay with him ten months ago. He doubted much had changed, except for his own desire to have her back in his life.

He ushered her toward the elevator and past a number of people on the first floor as they made their way toward the hospital’s main entrance.

Always concerned about Michele’s safety, Jamison scanned the lobby. A few people were milling around the main information desk, probably requesting room numbers for patients they planned to visit.

His gaze swept to the double glass doors that opened into the emergency room. A woman sat in the E.R. waiting area, head in her hands. A man huddled close by, rubbing her back. Other folks waited to be seen. A hospital security guard stood by the receptionist’s desk, arms crossed over his chest. Behind the tall counter, a young clerk chatted with someone on the phone.

Everything looked normal. Nothing to worry about.

The tension in Jamison’s neck began to subside. He pulled in a deep breath, but before he could exhale, the public address system screeched to life.

“Code Silver. Third floor. ICU. Code Silver.”

Jamison’s gut turned to ice. Code Silver meant an active shooter was in the hospital.

He grabbed Michele’s arm and herded her into the E.R. waiting room, flashing his identification at the security guard.

“Lock down all the doors to the E.R.,” he told the clerk. “Don’t let anyone in or out until you hear from me. Call the military police. Ensure that they know about the code, and get backup.”

He motioned for Michele and the patients in the waiting room to hide behind the tall, wraparound counter. “Stay down. You’ll be protected by the desk. An accomplice might be outside. Don’t leave the E.R.”

Fear flashed from Michele’s eyes. “It’s Alice, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, honey, but don’t move until an all clear comes over the PA system.” He tapped the security guard’s shoulder. “Come with me.”

The two raced into the lobby. Jamison glanced back to ensure that the clerk had closed and locked the doors behind them.

Ignoring the elevator, Jamison opted for the stairs and climbed at breakneck speed, pulling his weapon as he raced toward the danger. The guard followed, but his steps were labored, and he was gasping for air by the third floor.

Weapon at the ready, Jamison opened the door and stepped into pandemonium.

In one sweep, he saw it all.

His throat thickened. Alice lay sprawled across the transport gurney with a gunshot wound to her side. Corporal Riley was on the floor, unconscious and surrounded by a growing pool of blood.

A doctor reached for the portable defibrillator on the floor next to the guard. A nurse cut open his uniform.

“Clear.” The doc lowered the paddles onto the MP’s sunken chest.

Additional medical personnel raced forward.

“Get her to the O.R. stat!” someone shouted. Hands pushed Alice toward a second elevator.

Jamison raised his voice over the chaos. “Which way did the shooter go?”

Someone pointed to an exit at the end of the hall. “Back stairway. Two security guards ran after him. The guy’s wearing a black ski mask.”

Jamison raced forward, shoved on the door to the stairwell and flew down the steps. At the bottom landing, he pressed through the first-floor exit and rushed into the humid night. Two security men stood under a streetlight in the rear parking area. One raised a handheld radio to his ear.

Hearing Jamison approach, the other guard turned and shook his head. “He got away.”

Jamison pulled out his cell to notify the CID. Anger and frustration boiled up within him. He wanted to scream with rage. The killer had struck again. Alice was alive but only barely, and Jamison had no idea if she or Riley would survive the new injuries.

Jamison had been close. Yet not close enough.

He thought of Michele holed up in the E.R. At least she was safe.

The killer had a gun and was on the run. One thing was certain. He would strike again.

Jamison had to ensure that Michele wasn’t the next person he planned to kill.

THIRTEEN

M
ichele hunkered down behind the counter in the emergency room, fearful of what was happening upstairs in the ICU. Sirens sounded in the distance and grew steadily louder, crescendoing in a deafening scream as a caravan of squad cars screeched to the curb outside. Flashing lights spilled through the windows, bathing the E.R. in a strobelike effect that made her dizzy and even more afraid for Jamison’s safety.

Military police swarmed into the lobby and ran for the stairwell. Peering over the top of the desk, Michele saw Dawson Timmons race past.

“We’ll be all right,” she said, trying to calm the patients gathered around her.

“The shooter must be that serial killer on post,” a man said.

Next to him, a woman cried softly. “He’ll find us,” she said, her voice edged with fear.

“The CID and military police have everything under control.” At least, that’s what Michele wanted to believe.

The woman sniffed. “How can you be so sure?”

Michele shoved a box of tissues into her hands. “I know the special agents working on this case. They’ve had a lot of leads. The killer will be apprehended.”

A second woman stood up. “I need to get home to my husband. He’ll be worried.”

Michele gently touched her arm. “Wait until the all clear. A few more minutes won’t make a difference.” The woman hesitated and then sat back down.

Michele breathed a sigh of relief. One problem averted, although she understood the woman’s concern about her loved one. Michele’s mother was home. Hopefully, she was occupied with homecoming plans and wouldn’t hear about the attack at the hospital.

The clerk, in her early twenties with long hair and a tiny nose ring, leaned toward Michele, her voice low. “Does your boyfriend work for the police?”

Boyfriend? Michele had to smile. Once upon a time, Jamison had been even more than that to her. “He’s a CID agent on post. Criminal Investigation Division.”

The girl looked confused.

“You didn’t grow up in the military?” Michele asked.

“My dad runs the Laundromat in town.”

A civilian who didn’t know about the army. “CID agents handle felony crimes against military personnel and their family members.”

“So he’s working on the murder case?”

“That’s right.” Although if Michele had heard Jamison’s boss correctly, Chief Wilson had put Dawson in charge of the investigation. Jamison’s job was to keep her and her mother safe.

Tough duty, especially when Michele had been so careless at the cemetery yesterday. If she had kept her head up and her eyes wide open, she would have gotten off the road at the first sign of the approaching car. She also would have waited for Jamison before driving to Alice’s house last night, although as she’d told him earlier, arriving any later could have proven fatal to her friend.

Michele rubbed her hands over her brow and rested the back of her head against the counter. No matter how much she wanted to be optimistic, she was worried about Jamison.

The clerk pulled her legs to her chest and placed her chin on her knees, eyes closed. The other people sat with their own thoughts. Michele checked her watch, wishing she’d hear something about what was happening on the third floor.

“Tell him thanks.”

Michele glanced at the clerk. “Pardon?”

“Thank your boyfriend for me. He tried to protect all of us.” Her thin lips twitched into a soulful smile. “You’re probably used to all the good he does, but I don’t know guys like that.” She chewed on her lip. “Your boyfriend’s a hero. A superhero.”

Michele closed her eyes. The young clerk had Jamison pegged. He was a man who always reacted in the face of any danger. Superheroes survived in spite of insurmountable odds because of their special powers, but Jamison survived because he was good at what he did and because he cared enough to try. Michele hadn’t recognized what this young girl had noticed immediately. Jamison was a very special agent.

Voices sounded in the lobby. Glancing over the counter, she saw Jamison talking to Dawson. Relief swept over her. At least tonight’s danger had passed.

A car engine sounded outside. She glanced out the window on the way to open the doors, planning to throw her arms around Jamison. But when he stood in front of her, all she could see was his face, twisted in pain, and the smear of blood across his once-white shirt.