Hostage Negotiation. Lena Diaz
the CT scan, you’ve been unconscious since then. You were sedated, to keep you still while they treated you. The doctor evaluated you again a little while ago and told us he thought that you’d be waking up soon. That’s why we were all in your room, so we could talk to you.”
He checked the watch on his left wrist, a surprising thing to wear for someone his age—probably late twenties, early thirties. But maybe it was something that came in handy in his line of work—quicker to check a watch than to pull out a cell phone to see what time it was. Funny thing was, she liked to wear watches, too, even though she was younger than him. Go figure. But her own watch was gone. He’d taken it. The devil. She shuddered.
“It’s six in the evening now,” he told her.
“You said I was brought here in an ambulance. I don’t remember an ambulance.”
“You fainted. You were unconscious.”
“You called for help.”
“No. Cole did.”
“But you told him to. I heard you.” She tightened her fingers on his. “You saved me.” Her throat tightened with unshed tears. “Thank you.”
His hand jerked beneath hers and his eyes clouded. “Don’t thank me. I hit you with my truck. I very nearly killed you.”
She tugged his hand closer, forcing him to lean down. Then she lifted her other hand and gently cupped his face, watching his eyes widen with surprise.
“Zack, if you hadn’t hit me with that truck, I’d be dead. You saved me. Thank you.” Her teeth began to chatter as the dark memories swirled through her mind. “I just wish you could have done it sooner.”
The dam burst. Tears streamed unchecked down her face. Deep, gasping sobs racked her body and she turned her face into her pillow and closed her eyes again, anchoring his hand in both of hers, unable to let him go. He was her lifeline, and without him, she feared she would drown.
His other hand stroked her hair back from her face. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, Kaylee. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you again. I promise.”
A door opened and closed. Footsteps echoed. Whispers floated around her. A beep sounded but it seemed so far away. Dark images bombarded her.
Sharp pain. Burning. Cutting. Her wrists throbbed. Her feet ached. He’d taken her shoes the day he’d taken her. To keep her from running.
Muffled voices filled the room. Zack’s voice. Cole’s. And...someone else.
She let Zack’s hand go and put both her hands over her ears to block out the noise so she could concentrate. There was something she needed to remember. Something niggling at the edge of her consciousness. Something important. What was it?
Another beep.
The door to her box was flung open. The stifling heat escaped and she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the welcome smell of outdoors. But instead of pulling her out, the devil shoved something inside the box with her and slammed the door. Something warm, and furry. It scrabbled past her, running over her bare feet.
She screamed, kicking at it. She beat her fists against the Plexiglas door, over and over, screaming until her throat was raw.
Voices again in the hospital room. His voice, the kind man, Zack. Her protector. He’d saved her.
She was in the box again, a few days later. Or was it weeks? Blindfolded, which made no sense since it was dark outside. He’d pulled her out and left her standing there, trembling, waiting to see what he would do. Then he’d put her back in the box, closed the doors. She tensed, wondering what creature, what horror to expect this time. And then she heard it, shuffling toward her—a whimper.
That was what she’d needed to remember!
Another beep. Lethargy flooded her veins, dragging her down. They were drugging her. No, she couldn’t sleep! She had to tell them what she’d remembered!
With a Herculean effort, she forced her heavy lids open. A man in a white coat was pulling a needle out of her IV tubing. He stood beside the man she now knew was Cole. She jerked to her right. Zack. He was still there, standing by the railing, watching her, his brows drawn down in a look of concern.
She flailed blindly, reaching for him.
His large, warm hand, open-palmed, lifted hers. “It’s okay, Kaylee. I promise I won’t leave. Rest—”
“Have to tell...” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “Have to...tell.” She shook her head, trying to clear the dark fog closing over her eyes. Desperately trying to hold on to the memory that she’d fought so hard to retrieve.
“It’s just a sedative, to help you rest. Don’t fight it,” he said. “Go to sleep. I promise I’ll watch over you. No one will hurt you. Sleep.”
Her eyes fluttered shut against her will. Tears leaked out from the corners. “You have to find her. You have to...save her. He has her, too. Find M...Mary.”
* * *
ZACK’S EYES WIDENED as he stared down at Kaylee, now lying unconscious on the hospital bed. He jerked his head up and saw the same shocked look on Cole’s face that he imagined was on his own.
“Doctor, can you reverse the drugs? Wake her up,” Zack demanded.
The doctor’s mouth tightened into a hard line. “I could. But I won’t. Did you see her pulse reading on the screen before I put her under? Way too fast. She’s going to suffer a breakdown, or stroke out, if she’s pushed too fast. She’s exhausted. Her body needs rest, Chief. And time for her potassium and electrolytes to get back into balance. Don’t plan on asking her any more questions for at least twelve hours, probably longer.”
Zack swore and carefully freed his hand from Kaylee’s before running past Cole and the startled doctor. He yanked the door open and Special Agent Willow, the FBI agent who’d stood at the foot of Kaylee’s bed earlier, turned around, stopping midsentence in his conversation with the other officers waiting in the hallway.
“What are the names of the women who are still missing?” Zack demanded, as Cole joined him in the doorway.
“What?” Willow’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“You told us earlier that two women besides Kaylee are missing. One of them disappeared five months ago, the other three weeks. You also mentioned that you think they could have been taken by the same man who took Kaylee. What are the women’s names?”
“Fullerton and Watkins.”
Zack waved his hand impatiently. “Their first names. What are their first names?”
“Sue Ellen Fullerton.”
“And?”
“Mary. Mary Watkins.”
Zack leaned back against the brick wall of the hospital’s outdoor atrium, thankful the recent rains had cleared up, at least momentarily. This quiet enclosed garden, with the sun peeking through the clouds and shining down, might be just what Kaylee Brighton needed.
Over the past few days, she’d been grilled with questions inside her hospital room. But no one could call any of those interviews successful. Hopefully, today’s session would finally yield the answers everyone wanted and she could be left in peace.
A nurse sat at a table a few feet away from Kaylee’s wheelchair. The psychologist that had been assigned as her advocate crouched down, whispering to her patient. It was the psychologist who’d recommended the change in venue when Kaylee had become agitated and panicked answering questions in her room.
It didn’t take a genius to understand why.
The dark bruises and calluses