Damned. Lisa Childs
that Jane Doe isn’t the girl he’s looking for.”
“She isn’t,” Ty said, taking Irina’s hand as if to shake it. “Thank you for coming back tonight, Doctor.” He tugged her down the hall, away from the nurses’ station. “I don’t want to keep you.”
And hopefully neither would her coworker.
“How is she?” the nurse called out. “Does she need anything?”
Irina shook her head, then murmured the name of a drug and the number of milligrams she’d administered through Jane’s IV. “She should sleep through the night.”
“What do you think is wrong with her?” the nurse asked, rising from her chair at the desk. Her shoes squeaked against the worn linoleum.
Ty’s breath caught. He couldn’t believe that Irina had pulled off the disguise as well as she had. But if the woman got any closer, their duplicity would be discovered for sure. He’d broken into the doctor’s locker and stolen her keys and coat for nothing.
As the woman walked closer, Irina stepped deeper in the shadows of the poorly lit hall, then gestured toward him. “Let me walk Officer McIntyre out first,” she said, jingling the keys in her hand.
“Of course,” the nurse said, turning back toward the station.
Ty expelled a ragged breath as they headed toward the other end of the corridor, where locked doors separated the psychiatric ward from the rest of the old hospital.
“We’re not out yet,” Irina said, clenching the keys in her hand. “I don’t know which one….”
Neither had she for her room, but she’d found it fast enough to not draw too much attention to them. “Try the big ones first,” he advised.
She bent her head and focused on her task, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. The tip of the first key struck the opening of the chamber but wouldn’t slide inside. The second slid in but wouldn’t turn the lock. When she reached for the third, the nurse called out again.
Ty glanced over his shoulder, and his heart slammed into his ribs. She’d gotten up from the desk and walked toward them. “Having trouble, Dr. Kimber?”
Irina shook her head, tossing the braid he’d haphazardly pulled together in the dark back and forth across her back as if whipping herself. “No, it’s just hard to see in the hall,” she called back, then cleared her throat again and added, “They have to get more light in here someday.”
“Electrical system’s too old, like everything else around here,” the nurse commented, patting her head of graying hair. A rueful smile lifted her lips. “Except for you young interns and residents.”
The lock clicked as Irina turned the third key. She reached for the knob, her hand shaking. “I’ll be right back,” she told the nurse as she slipped ahead of Ty into the outside hall. A bank of elevators stood across from them, the dull metallic doors shut tight. Ty strode over and slapped the down arrow while she relocked the door to the psychiatric ward. The keys rattled as her hands shook.
“You’re doing great,” he murmured when she joined him in staring at the doors. He glanced toward her, then to the stairwell beyond her. Dare he wait for the elevator?
“How far up are we?” she asked, her voice unsteady with nerves.
“Top floor. Eighteenth.”
Her mouth, her lips naturally red and full, pulled into a grimace. “A lot of stairs.”
“A lot of stairs,” he agreed as he pulled his gaze from her and concentrated on the elevator light. He couldn’t afford the distraction of a woman who could look the way she did with no makeup. Her lashes were naturally thick and long, framing those big, dark eyes, while her honey-toned skin revealed not a single flaw.
Was she really the same woman Elena had envisioned in the alley, unkempt and out of her mind?
Behind them, the knob rattled on the door to the psych ward. “She realized I’m not Dr. Kimber,” Irina said, her dark eyes widening in alarm.
Ty grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairwell. “Come on. We gotta get out of here.”
Automatic hinges held open the door to the stairs just long enough that Ty caught the arrival of the elevator and the man stepping out. He had dark red hair and eyes that burned with hatred and madness. “Oh God!”
He shoved Irina toward the stairs, gasping an anxious, “Run!”
Even though her feet hit the steps, she peered up and around him. Ty didn’t know if she caught a glimpse of Roarke before the door closed. He was more concerned about Roarke catching a glimpse of them.
“Hurry!” He caught her around the waist, half carrying her as their feet skimmed over the steps, hardly touching them as they ran down flight after flight, their frantic footfalls echoing eerily in the cement stairwell. His bad leg, broken in the collapse of another staircase, throbbed with pain as his foot hitting each step jarred the still-healing bone and muscles. He gritted his teeth, biting back the pain, forcing it from his mind to focus instead on getting her to safety.
They’d fled several stories when a door slammed open above them, metal crashing against concrete. Ty didn’t have to look up to know that the door was from the eighteenth floor and the person joining their mad dash was Donovan Roarke.
“You can’t save her!” the deranged killer yelled, his voice a harsh shout in the confined area. “All you’ll do is die with her, McIntyre.”
From his years on the force, Ty knew there was no sense in trying to deal with a lunatic. He didn’t care about Roarke’s threats against him; his total focus was on Irina. Her arm slid around his waist, her fingers clenched in his shirt as he dragged her along with him. In their haste to escape the hospital and the killer, they fell against the metal railing and bounced off the cement-block walls. Each crash jolted his leg, the pain traveling through his limb like an electrical shock. But he couldn’t slow down.
“You’re not a witch, McIntyre. You don’t deserve to die like they do. Give her to me and I’ll let you live,” Roarke yelled out his bargain between ragged pants for breath.
Ty’s life for hers? Irina had family who cared about her, who loved her. It wasn’t a fair trade.
“Go to hell,” Ty shouted back. Roarke didn’t need his condemnation, though. His actions were certain to send him there, but Ty fully intended to expedite his trip.
“I gave you a chance,” Roarke said as if resigned, then he fired.
Bullets sprayed against the concrete walls, raining dusty bits of cement onto them as they ran. “Come on,” Ty said, rushing Irina down the last flight. His hand closed over hers on the knob of the door to the first floor; together they turned it.
From the corner of his eye Ty glimpsed Roarke, flights above them, leaning over the railing, taking aim, his Glock directed at them. His hand over her head, Ty pushed Irina down as he ducked. Bullets bounced off the metal frame over them as they crawled through the partially open doorway. On the other side, Ty shoved his shoulder against the steel door, fighting the automatic hinge to push it closed. More shots fired, only the door separating the bullets from his body as the metal protruded from each hit.
“Come on!” he commanded Irina, his hand wrapped around hers as he propelled them both through the lobby, deserted at this late hour. Antique furnishings sat empty but for a faint film of dust. An old turnstile door stood between them and the canopy-covered entrance. Ty jammed them both into one section, her body soft and warm as she trembled against him.
“It’s okay,” he assured her even as more shots rang out behind them. The thick plastic of the turnstile splintered from the bullets. Ty bent over Irina, sheltering her with his body as they shoved the door forward, then stumbled out onto the sidewalk. He kept her close, her feet hardly touching the asphalt as he ran across the dimly lit lot to where he’d left his truck parked.