The Last Execution (40 page)

“Come on, we’ll go upstairs,” she said.

He’d never begged for anything, but for a second chance with Leigh he’d get on his knees. First, he needed to get her alone to plead his case. His luck didn’t hold because the friendly nurse from the ER joined them at the elevator.

“Ellen, isn’t it?” Leigh’s finger hovered above the call arrows. “Up or down?”

“Up, please. Aren’t you nice to remember my name?” Ellen shifted a stack of magazines and a book to her hip. “My fiancé is in 1407. He walked today for the first time since surgery. I want to check on him before my shift starts.”

“J.T.’s grandmother is on her way to fourth floor,” Leigh said. “Room 1411.”

“I’ll check in on her from time to time. Until Don’s dismissed, I’ll be on four a lot.”

When the elevator finally arrived and the doors opened, Leigh stepped back. J.T.’s breath caught. She wasn’t getting on. “You’re not coming?” He’d assumed she’d forgiven his outburst from yesterday. Now who was stupid?

“You go ahead. I need to call Mom. If she can pick up Ethan at the sitter’s after school, I’ll stay with you for a while longer. I’ll swing by the cafeteria and bring up some decent coffee.”

The hell with that.
Sparks of panic raced through his blood. What if Leigh left without hearing him out? He had to try to stop her. She reached up and rested the palm of her hand on his right cheek. The scar warmed under her touch.

“Go. I’ll be there in ten minutes tops.”

J.T. forced a smile and boarded with Ellen. Leigh’s refusal to come with him shook him to the core. By the time the elevator went up four measly floors, he’d forgotten where he was supposed to go. He wished Ellen a good day and then stopped at the nurse’s station to double check on Nana’s room number. Fear Leigh had given him the slip shredded his insides.

Ellen’s back was to the door when J.T. strode down the hall. She’d leaned over her fiancé for a hug. The word circulated around in J.T.’s head. Fiancé. Fiancé. He liked it.

****

Friday, May 21, 2:45 pm

Doyle breathed in the fresh air Ellen always brought with her and tightened his arms around her as best he could. He hurt where they’d “cracked him open like an egg,” as the doctor seemed to find humor in saying. Of course, it would be funny to someone whose heart hadn’t stopped. Doyle found nothing funny about the severe pain he’d experienced before blacking out. When he woke up, his chest had been whip stitched together. Getting up and back down had been more painful than walking down the hall. And it meant the catheter had been removed, making the effort worthwhile. Besides, he was determined to start regaining his strength, and getting to move around had been great.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

Ellen hovered over him while she checked the machines and IV bags. She nodded her approval and then moved a chair closer to the bed. “I’ve heard the first walk is always exhausting.”

“Not at all. Wasn’t near as bad as I expected. In fact, I surprised the nurses at how far I went.”

“Good. We shouldn’t have stopped jogging. When you come home, we’re gonna get healthy. Start walking. Eat right.” She adjusted the half on and half off hospital gown. “You’re wearing the pajama bottoms I bought you.”

“And I appreciate them. I prefer limiting the number of people who see my bare backside.” He couldn’t wear the shirt because of all the tubes and wires running from his body, but covering his butt made him feel much better. “The limit is one.”

Her cheeks reddened.

“Yep, just you. Think you can find out when I’m going home? They won’t tell me.” Working here was one thing, staying here twenty-four hours a day was another.

Lying in bed gave him too much time to think. He’d replayed the night of his heart attack over and over again. His eyes hadn’t deceived him, Leigh McBride hadn’t been even a little grateful. Truth was, she hadn’t appreciated what he’d done. He doubted the other women he’d exacted punishment for were thankful. They’d suffered all manner of cruelty and abuse. Did any of them realize the sacrifices he’d made? He’d given up his wife. His life. All for nothing.

“Don?” Ellen shook his knee. “You spaced out on me. Have they changed your medication?”

“No. I’m sorry. Tell me about your day.”

The longer Ellen talked the faster the beep on his heart monitor increased. He had trouble believing the story she told him. How had she become friends with Leigh and her federal agent? What were the odds against them ever meeting? Ellen was a regular chatterbox. What had she told them about him? Her gaze flicked from his face to the rapid, irritating beep.

“Are you in pain?”

“No. I shifted in bed and it hurt.” He concentrated on calming himself. Her expression, one of an experienced nurse who recognized bullshit when she heard it, didn’t help him relax. His mind raced in dozens of different directions. A catastrophe was unfolding.

“What did you tell them about me?” He tried to keep his voice calm, but the question came out an accusatory demand.

“Not much. What difference does it make?”

Ellen frowned. She stood and took his pulse as if the stupid machine was on the blink.

“Why are you getting so excited?”

“Dammit. Answer me. What did you say?”

Ellen started babbling about how and when she’d met the McBride family. The longer she talked the faster his blood boiled through his veins. Soon, Ellen’s mouth moved, but he heard none of her words.

Detective McBride’s friend was waiting for her right down the fucking hall in room 1411. What if she looked in the room and saw him? Would she recognize him from the night he’d pulled her from her wrecked car? Shit! Why had he told her his name was Doyle? She’d picked up on the name right away. If she saw him, would she question why Ellen referred to him as Don? Why hadn’t he used a different last name?

He had to get out of the hospital. Now. Before the detective got a look at him. He grabbed the heart monitor connection on his finger and tossed it to the side. The machine instantly flat lined. Ellen gasped and grabbed his wrist.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Listen to me, Ellen. I have to leave. Love me enough to help me or stay out of my way.” He pushed himself upright. “Shit,” he whispered against a surge of pain. Without pausing, he ripped the IV needle from the top of his hand.

Blood flowed and Ellen squealed.

“Shut up,” he commanded.

Wild eyed, Ellen rushed him. Her hands gripped his shoulders while she tried to push him down on the bed. He regretted having to shove her aside but didn’t have time to explain. She’d hit the call button by the time he’d swung his feet to the floor. He ripped it from her hand and pulled her to him.

“Why won’t you listen? If you love me, help me.”

“I am helping. You’re delirious.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. He couldn’t stop because she was scared. He had to move. He was pulling on the pajama top when two nurses burst into the room. Blood dripped from where he’d ripped out the IV needle. Smears across his shirt and bottoms painted a picture much worse than reality.

“Get back in bed,” the nurse commanded. “We need to stop the bleeding.”

The second nurse stood between him and the door.

“That’s not happening.” Fire shot down the middle of his chest. Burning from the inside out, he quit trying to button the damn shirt. Dots danced before his eyes. He glanced down and saw no blood on the bandage. Good, his surgery stitches were holding.

“I’m sorry, Ellen.” He begged her with his eyes. There was no backing down now.

He reached for her, and she stepped toward the two nurses. No. She couldn’t turn on him. Not now. Not after he’d given up his life’s work for her. He caught Ellen’s arm, spun her around, and jerked her against his body. A white-hot laser shot through him when she slammed into him. The surge of pain sent flashing lightning bolts before his eyes. He forced himself to focus. His gaze swept the room searching for a weapon until he spotted the IV needle. It was plastic but sharp enough to penetrate a vein, and it dangled from the bag, dripping fluid on the floor. With one quick tug, he jerked it loose and pressed the tip against Ellen’s jugular vein.

Ellen’s sobs grew louder and louder.

“Listen closely. I won’t repeat myself. Move.” He backed through the empty space the two nurses created. “Shut up. Understand. This is life or death for me.”

Out in the hall, for one brief minute, he saw freedom. Then the FBI agent pushed his way through the gathering crowd. He issued commands and ordered people out of his way. Damn Ellen and her wailing. She’d drawn attention to them. Leigh McBride had to be nearby.

His incision had exploded into a raging forest fire dulling his thinking. He dug deep. Pain would not gain the upper hand.

Doyle backed down the hall in the direction of the bank of elevators he’d seen while on his earlier walk. Dragging Ellen while she tugged at his arm trying to free herself made every step excruciating. He shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts, had to keep an eye on the Fed. No doubt, he’d make a play and soon.

****

Friday, May 24, 3:00 p.m.

J.T. found the cause of all the yelling the second he stepped into the hall. Recognition slammed into him. The forensic artist’s drawing. Leigh had recalled the face of the man named Doyle. Jesus Christ. Her memory was spot on.

The man had the same look J.T. had seen many times in battle. Wild-eyed, sweating profusely, the son of a bitch was fighting for his life. No way was this going down easy. Preston’s gaze scanned the hall. His eyes grew wilder when he spotted J.T. moving his direction.
Interesting.
Why single out him?

Leigh was due from the coffee shop any second, upping the ante, and sending J.T.’s mind whirling. He had to end this disaster and fast.

Adrenaline pumped into his system as he inched closer to Ellen and the madman. A small rivulet of blood broke and ran down her neck. What did Doyle have in his hand? Whose blood was it? His or Ellen’s? Her gut-wrenching sobs ricocheted off the walls.

J.T. reached behind him, resting his hand on his Glock. No way could he shoot the bastard with this many people around. He had to try to talk Preston down. “FBI. Let the woman go.”

“No,” Preston yelled. “Stay where you are or she dies.”

He whispered something only Ellen heard, making her cry harder.

“We’re getting out of here. Together.”

“I can’t let that happen.” J.T. inched forward. Doyle lurched backward, moving on shaky legs. “And you know it.”

J.T.’s heart jumped to the back of his throat when Leigh stepped around the corner. Unseen by Preston, her gaze instantly assessed the situation. She handed her purse and the tray of coffee to a nurse then pulled her pistol from its holster. Together, Leigh and the nurse silently backed out of sight.

Good girl. He knew her plan the minute she disappeared. No way would either of them fire with the hallway full of people. J.T. would push Doyle around the corner where she’d be waiting.

“Let’s get out of the crowd.” J.T. made a big display out of removing his weapon and placing it on the nurse’s station. “Okay? You don’t want to hurt any of these innocent people.” He went heavy on the word innocent, because to the vigilante sniper, innocent would resonate with him.

Slowly, Doyle and Ellen continued moving backward.

J.T. pushed them until they reached the corner and turned toward the elevators.
Please God. Don’t let anybody draw attention to Leigh.
Electric shocks raced over his skin. Fear for her made concentrating difficult.

Holding steady, softly putting one foot in front of the other, she eased up behind Preston. Her pistol pressed against the bastard’s flesh.

“Let her go.” Leigh spoke in a calm, monotone voice. “Make no mistake, I will shoot.”

“No, you won’t. There’s a chance you’d hit Ellen.”

“She loves you. The last thing you want to do is hurt her.”

J.T. stood in a vacuum as his world shifted off its axis. The hair on the back of his neck stood out. Somewhere in the middle of the bizarre scene, his love for Leigh filled every dark corner in his being. He loved her more than life. Helplessness washed over him. He’d become a spectator. Useless when she needed him most.

Preston shoved Ellen away, whirled, and swung the sharp object toward Leigh’s throat. She stepped back and he staggered forward. Leigh didn’t flinch. The barrel of her gun pointed directly at him.

Her eyes went wide with surprise. She’d recognized who she faced.
Stay calm.
Goddamn it, J.T. wanted to swap places with her. Leigh’s calm, cool demeanor made pride swell in his chest.

“Atlanta Police. Stop,” she gave the obligatory warning.

“I killed for you. You and all those ungrateful women.” He lurched forward. His bloody hand stabbed at Leigh.

She fired. Screams filled the hall as his body crumpled to the floor. J.T. ran to her and kicked the small piece of metal out of Doyle’s hand.

Ellen scrambled across the floor to her insane fiancé. “You killed him. You killed him,” she cried over and over at Leigh, who stared with a confused expression.

He didn’t get it either, why would the hostage be upset if Doyle died? Did she know him?