Mercy (Buchanan-Renard #2)

Mercy (Buchanan-Renard #2) Page 48

The noise was deafening. The blasts echoed in his ears, but he thought he heard a woman scream. He couldn’t be sure. Noah glanced over his shoulder, saw Theo running, his guns firing again and again as the man he was chasing ducked behind the OR doors.

Go to the right. Go right. Away from Michelle. Theo surged forward, through the doors. He dropped to the floor, rolled, praying to God that Preston was trying to get to the exit.

The Glock in his left hand was empty. He couldn’t waste time reloading. The doors leading to ICU were swinging. Preston was there, waiting, Theo was certain. He scrambled to get to his feet, saw a blur streak past the window, and knew he had to get around the corner and out of the line of fire.

He made it, but only just barely. A bullet missed his face by an inch. A nurse ran out of the OR, screaming.

“Get back,” he shouted as he ejected the empty magazine from the gun, grabbed another one from his back pocket, and snapped it in place. The nurse disappeared into the OR as he pressed his back against the wall and waited. He could hear Willie singing.

His shoulder rubbed the wall as he edged closer to the corner. He accidentally hit the light switch, and just as the song ended, the hallway went dark. The light spilling through the window of the OR was sufficient for him to see. Where had Preston gone? Had he already gotten a hostage? Or had he found another way out? He’d have to come this way, wouldn’t he?

Where the hell were the police? Never around when you need them, he thought. Come on, Ben. Get your ass in here. Save the day.

You’re not getting past me, Preston. No way. Stay inside, Michelle. Don’t come out until this is over. He remembered the gurney and moved back until his foot touched it. He hooked his leg around the metal bar and pulled the gurney close to the corner.

Come on. Come on. Make your move.

Michelle had just put in the last stitch and was waiting for that beautiful first cough after the anesthesiologist had removed the tube. The child had come through the surgery like a champion. Barring any complications, John Patrick would be climbing his favorite tree again within a month. Providing, of course, that his mother would let him out of her sight.

“Come on, sweetie. Cough for me,” she whispered.

She heard a tiny little groan followed by a dry cough a second later.

“Good to go,” the anesthesiologist said. He pulled his mask down and grinned. “This is one lucky boy.”

“Great job,” she told the team.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out in the hallway. Chaos followed. One of the nurses screamed and ran to the door to find out what was happening, ignoring both Michelle’s and Landusky’s shouts to come back. Then Michelle heard Theo shout to the woman to get back.

“It’s Theo. Is he hurt?” Michelle demanded.

“I don’t know. What in God’s name is going on?”

No one had an answer. Their concern was for the patient now.

John Patrick was breathing on his own, the sound nice and clear. Landusky quickly helped Michelle roll the table over against the wall by the doors. A nurse moved the IV stand. She put it to the side, and then she and another nurse leaned over the boy to protect him from harm if anyone rushed into the OR firing a weapon. Landusky had the same idea. He stood behind John Patrick’s head, cupped his hands on either side of the boy’s face, and hunched over him. The others squatted down behind the foot of the table and waited. A technician put her hands over her ears and was silently crying.

Michelle had already grabbed the heavy fire extinguisher, holding it like a baseball bat. She stood to the side of the door but far enough away so that if the shooter slammed the door against the wall, it wouldn’t block her. Then she turned the lights off and waited. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about Theo. She had only one thought now and that was to keep the gunman out of the OR.

“If anyone fires a gun in here, the whole floor could blow up,” Landusky whispered. “The oxygen tanks and the —”

“Shhh,” she whispered. She and everyone else in the OR were well aware of the danger.

She pressed forward to listen. What was that soft whirring noise? It sounded like a centrifuge spinning. Oh, God, her Willie Nelson tape was automatically rewinding. When it reached the beginning, it would start playing again. The recorder was on top of a table against the wall on the other side of the doors. A sterile sheet covered it.

She wanted to shout to Theo. She couldn’t, of course. Let him be okay. If he’s hurt . . . if he’s bleeding while I’m hiding behind this door . . . Don’t. Don’t think about it. Where was Noah? Why wasn’t he helping Theo? Was he out there too? Theo, where are you?

Theo hunched behind the gurney. He was ready. He sensed rather than heard the man coming, and Theo kicked the gurney with all his might as Preston sprinted around the corner. He was firing into the center of the corridor. The gurney crashed into him, but it didn’t slow him down. He easily blocked the gurney with his arm, then threw his weight into it and sent it hurling into Theo, slamming him back against the wall.

Theo went down hard. As Preston was trying to shove the gurney out of his way so he could get a clear shot, Theo rolled under the table and fired. The bullet struck Preston in the left thigh. And that didn’t seem to slow him down either. His empty magazine clattered to the floor, and he was snapping another one into the weapon as Theo, roaring like a bear on the attack, lifted the gurney with his shoulder, grabbed it with one hand, and used it as a battering ram, forcing Preston back. Theo shot through the pad falling from the gurney. Preston pivoted and the bullet creased the top of his shoulder.

The bastard didn’t even flinch. What the hell was it going to take to bring him down? As Preston was diving around the corner, Theo aimed and fired again. Click. Nothing happened. The magazine was empty. He reached behind him to grab the second one Noah had shoved into his pocket, loaded it in the gun, then dove as Preston opened fire on him.

One bullet skimmed Theo’s forehead. How many bullets did he have left? Theo wondered. If he was lucky, maybe two. Three was pushing it. He felt a flash of searing pain in his arm as he dove again to get out of the line of fire.

The gurney lay on its side. Thank God, he thought as he scrambled to get behind it.

Preston lunged to get Theo in his sights, but Theo lashed out with his foot and nailed him in his knee. And still he didn’t go down. He staggered back, firing into the ceiling.

The doors around the corner suddenly exploded. Preston didn’t look behind him to see who was coming. He was just a couple of feet away from a darkened room, saw the swinging doors, and knew it was time to get the hell out. He rushed into the OR, hoping there was another way out on the other side.

Preston stopped and squinted into the dark, listening as he edged away from the doors. He turned toward Michelle, the barrel of his gun pointed in her direction.

She could hear him panting. He was too close. Another step and he’d bump into her. She knew she’d have to step back to get a good swing at him. But he’d hear it, she thought.

Why wasn’t he moving? Did he know she was there? Just one step forward.

She needed a distraction. Something . . . anything to get him to turn away from her so she could strike. Willie Nelson came to her rescue. “To all the girls I’ve loved before . . .” The instant the song started, Preston whirled around and fired again and again at the tape recorder. Michelle swung the extinguisher, slamming it into his jaw.

“Hit the lights,” she shouted as he staggered backward into the hallway. She went after him, struck him again on the side of the head. The second blow seemed to do the trick. He went flying back and landed with a thud against the wall.

Michelle stopped. Theo sprang in front of her as Preston was bringing his gun up. Theo fired and hit him in the abdomen.

He was using his back to push Michelle into the OR and out of danger.

Preston fell to his knees as Noah ran toward him shouting, “Drop the gun.”

Preston turned toward Noah and took aim. He never got to pull the trigger. Noah fired. One bullet through the temple. Preston pitched forward facedown on the floor. A pool of black blood rapidly formed a puddle around him.

Michelle nudged Theo forward to get him out of the way of the doors as she called out, “It’s clear. Get the patient to recovery.”

Theo leaned against the wall, then slowly slid down into a sitting position as Noah squatted next to Preston and lifted the gun from his hand.

Everyone started shouting and talking at once then. Theo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could hear the squeak of the rollers as the nurses pushed John Patrick’s bed out and around Preston.

Michelle knelt down beside Theo. She’d peeled her gloves off and was gently probing the cut below his eye.

“I’m too old for this,” he muttered.

“You okay?” Noah asked as he reholstered his gun.

“Yes. Did you get the one she called Monk?”

“No.”

“No?” he shouted. He was trying to dodge Michelle’s hand so he could see Noah.

“I don’t know how he did it, but he got away. I know I winged him,” Noah said. “All the exits are blocked, and they’re making a sweep of each floor, but he’s long gone.”

“You can’t know that.”

“A patient up on four was looking out his window and saw a man run across a bed of flowers up the hill. The patient said he was bent over.”

“What about John Russell? Any sign of him?” Theo asked.

“No,” Noah answered.

“You tore your stitches,” Michelle said.

“What?”

She’d whispered the news and it sounded like a scolding. He was looking at Noah, wondering what the white streaks were on his face when she’d interrupted. He finally looked at her face. And when he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, he was astonished. She wasn’t so tough after all. Not with him, anyway.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, sweetheart.”

He tried to wipe a tear from her cheek. She pushed his hand away. “I’m going to have to sew you back together again.” She was trembling now like an alcoholic who’d gone too long without a drink. “Look at my hands. They’re shaking.”

“Then we’re gonna wait before you pick up a needle and go to work on me.”

“You threw yourself in front of me so he’d shoot you. That was very heroic, you big jerk. You could have been killed.”

He wouldn’t let her push him away this time. Cupping her face with his hands, he whispered, “I love you too.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Always have a contingency plan.

When two police cars came zooming down the drive to the hospital with their lights flashing and their sirens blaring, John knew it was time to leave. He ducked down in his seat — an unnecessary precaution, but instinctive all the same — and turned the ignition on. He waited a couple of seconds, until he saw the policemen running into the hospital. Then he slowly backed the car out of the parking spot, turned, and eased out of the lot.

He didn’t really care if his friends were dead or alive. Why would he? His plans weren’t going to be affected, no matter what the outcome.

Even if the police took them alive and they told them everything they knew, it would be too late. And if by some miracle one or two of them escaped, well, that just didn’t matter either. John had enough time to get the money from the Sowing Club account transferred to the account in Switzerland he’d set up years ago. He had his laptop with him — he found it curious that Dallas hadn’t questioned him as to why he’d brought it along — and all he had to do was to get to a phone line, type a few commands on his computer, and he would be set for life.

Getting away quickly was all he cared about now. Within the next few minutes, one of those policemen might come running outside and try to block the main entrance leading into the hospital drive.

“Hmmm,” he whispered. There might already be a police car there now. Too risky to chance being stopped, John decided. He backed the car into the lot again, turned around, and then drove at a snail’s pace down the tarred service road behind the hospital.

And that was when he spotted Monk hobbling up the hill toward the street. One hand was clutching his side. Had he been shot? It looked as though he had.

John chuckled. The opportunity was simply too good to pass up. No one was around. No one would see. He owed Monk a considerable amount of money. “Hmmm,” he whispered again. Do it, his mind screamed. Do it now.

He seized the moment. Turning the car sharply, he drove over the curb, then pressed his foot down on the accelerator. Monk heard him coming and turned. When he saw John, he stopped and waited.

He thinks I’m going to pick him up. He increased his speed as he got closer. The expression on Monk’s face when he realized what was going to happen was hilarious. He looked positively shocked.

John miscalculated, though. He thought Monk would dive to the left and turned the wheel ever so slightly so he could hit him straight on, but Monk leapt the other way, and the car only brushed him as it sped past.

He didn’t dare risk backing up and trying again. “Oh, well, you do what you can,” he said as he hit the curb and bounced into the street. Cutting through a run-down neighborhood, he reached the main street six blocks away from the hospital and knew then he was safe.

He picked up his cell phone, dialed the pilot he’d hired months ago, and told him he would arrive at the municipal airport in forty-five minutes. He turned left at the stoplight and headed in the opposite direction from New Orleans. He’d never be able to go back, of course. Even though he had a new identity — the passport was in the case with his computer — he knew he would never return to the United States.

No great loss, he thought. After all, he had millions of dollars to keep him happy. John wasn’t one to gloat, but he did just that now. He had, after all, gotten away with murder.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Michelle finished writing orders and then went into recovery to look in on John Patrick. The nurse had led his parents in, and Daryl and Cherry stood holding hands by their son’s bedside. Elliott was outside the door, too upset to do more than peek in at his brother.

“The worst is over,” Daryl said. Then he looked at Michelle. “You’ve been through the wringer tonight too, haven’t you? The police blocked off the steps and the elevators, and we knew something terrible was going on, but we didn’t know how bad it was.”

“I’m glad we didn’t know,” Cherry said as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

“We could hear the gunshots. Everyone in the hospital could hear them, but we knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to John Patrick.”