Hidden in Plain View. Diane Burke
a loud, continuous alarm. Sam’s gaze flew to the screen and horror filled his soul. A flat, solid green line moved across the screen. Sarah’s heart was no longer beating.
Before Sam could react, the door burst open. The room flooded with light. A nurse, quickly followed by another, burst into the room and rushed past him to Sarah’s bed. While one nurse tended to the monitor and alarms, the other began CPR on Sarah. Seconds later, several other staff members hurried into the room with a crash cart pulled by the doctor close behind.
Sam knew he should be chasing the man who had done this, but his feet wouldn’t budge. His eyes flew to Sarah’s face. She lay so still, deathly still. He couldn’t believe this was happening and, worse, that it had happened on his watch. Feelings of failure were quickly replaced first with fear that he’d lost her, and then by a deep, burning rage that he was helpless once again.
Sam had to leave—now. But he could barely find the inner strength to pull himself away from Sarah’s side. This was his fault. But there was nothing he could do for her now. She was in better hands than his, and he refused to let the lowlife who did this escape. Not this time. Not ever again.
Sam pressed his hand on the shoulder of the nearest nurse. When she turned to look at him, he shoved the syringe in her hand. “I found this on the floor. I believe something was injected into her IV.”
As soon as she took it from him, he raced for the hospital room door. Before he could pull it open, a woman’s scream pierced the air, and the sounds of chaos filled the corridor. Something was terribly wrong. Had the mystery man grabbed a hostage or, worse, hurt one of the children?
Whispering a silent prayer for Sarah, Sam wrenched open the door and darted into the corridor.
A small gathering of people congregated at the end of the hall around the elevator banks. One woman had collapsed on the floor. Sam figured from the shocked expression on her face as he drew near, and from the sobs racking her body, that this was the woman who had screamed. An older gentleman hovered over her and tried to offer comfort.
A man dressed in green scrubs knelt half in and half out of an open elevator. Another man, also dressed in hospital garb, leaned close behind.
Sam pushed his way through the few gathering spectators and up front to survey the scene. For the second time that night, he felt like a mule had kicked him in the gut.
Officer Brian Fitch was sprawled on the elevator floor. One look at his open, sightless eyes and the trail of blood pooling beneath his body said it all. The officer hadn’t made it downstairs for coffee.
Sam remembered the sound of the elevator arriving. Their surprise night visitor must have been on it. When the door opened, Fitch was busy nodding to him and must have been caught unaware. One quick, deadly slice across the officer’s throat guaranteed that Fitch would never need coffee or exercise again.
Sam pulled out his badge and ordered everyone back, including the hospital staff. There was nothing any of them could do for Fitch now, and he had to protect whatever forensic evidence they’d be able to gather. Sam called hospital security on his cell phone, which he had put on speed dial for the duration of Sarah’s hospital stay.
But somebody else had beaten him to it. The second elevator bank hummed to life. He held his hand on his gun and watched two startled guards emerge and stare at the carnage in front of them.
Sam identified himself as an undercover police officer, despite his Amish garb, and flashed his detective’s shield and identification. He hoped he hadn’t just blown his cover, but at the moment it couldn’t be helped.
“Shut down every possible exit,” he commanded. “Do it now.”
Without hesitation, one of the guards barked orders into his radio while the other attended to crowd control. Sam offered a silent prayer of thanks that if this had to happen, it had happened late in the evening and gawkers were at a minimum.
He hit speed dial on his phone and barked orders the second his partner answered.
“Joe, we have a problem. Get over here, stat.”
They’d been partners long enough that when Joe heard the tension in his voice, he was on full alert, and any drowsiness in his tone from interrupted sleep was gone.
“What happened?”
“Fitch is dead. Sarah might be, too. It’s total chaos here.”
Muttered expletives floated through the receiver. “On my way.”
“Notify Rogers and call for backup.”
“Okay. Where can I find you?”
“Making sure that every window, door and crack of this hospital is sealed shut so this piece of slime doesn’t escape.”
Sam ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He stole one more precious second to glance down the hall at Sarah’s door. Every fiber of his being wanted to know what was going on in that room. Had they been able to save her? Or was she dead? The fact that no one had come out of the room yet must be a good sign, right? He had to fight the urge to run back and see what was happening. But no matter what was going on inside that room, he would not be able to help. This time logic won out.
He did what he was trained to do. He compartmentalized his emotions and focused on doing his job. He sprinted down the stairwell, his feet barely touching the stairs, and made it from the fourth floor to the lobby in record time. The sound of approaching sirens and the sight of flashing red-and-blue lights as vehicles slammed to a stop in front of the building told him that both Joe and hospital security had also gone straight to work.
Security guards were already at the entrance. They looked confused and highly nervous, but Sam had to admire how quickly and well they had sprung into action. No one was getting in or out of the building right now except cops.
Sam met with the head of security and asked to see the building’s floor plans. Once they were in hand, he began to coordinate a thorough hospital search room by room, floor by floor, while making sure that all exits were covered. For the time being, no one would be allowed to exit, for any reason, from anywhere.
Twenty minutes after he’d called Joe, Sam saw his partner flash his badge and hurry through the front door. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward to greet him.
Joe stopped short when he saw Sam approach. He shoved both hands into his coat pockets and scowled. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“The killer entered Sarah’s room dressed in Amish garb.” Before Joe could ask, Sam said, “He killed the police officer assigned to guard the door. It was Brian Fitch.”
The detectives knew the officer well. A deep frown etched grooves on both sides of Joe’s mouth.
“Has anybody notified his wife?”
“Not yet.”
“And Sarah?”
“I think the guy injected something into Sarah’s IV to stop her heart.”
“Is she dead? Were they able to resuscitate her?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to check. I’ve been organizing the search.”
Joe’s shocked expression echoed the one Sam was sure he wore as well. “How did this happen? Nobody can be this lucky. The guy’s a ghost.”
“The guy’s no ghost. He’s as much flesh and blood as you and me.”
“I just don’t understand. What happened?” Joe shot a bewildered look at Sam.
“I was there, Joe. Right there.” The remorse in his voice was evident. “He got past me anyway and got to Sarah.”
“Were you hurt? Did he hit you over the head or something?”
A red-hot flush of shame and embarrassment coated Sam’s throat and face. “Sarah was sleeping. I’d stepped into her bathroom to throw some cold water