Pursuit by Karen Robards

and she thought it might be a heart monitor. If so, hers seemed to be beating right on track, with a good, steady rhythm. The deep hum seemed to come from somewhere overhead, possibly from the ventilation or heating system. The narrowing crack of light outlining the door beyond the machines pinpointed the source of a creaking sound: Someone was slowly, carefully closing the door to the room where she lay.
    Even as she discovered it, the sliver of light disappeared. The faintest of clicks announced that the door was now securely shut. The area behind the instruments had gone completely dark. But a blur of movement in the shadows where the sliver of light had been told her that she was not alone. A cold frizzle of wariness tingled along her spine.
    Who?
    Her heartbeat quickened as she heard light, quick footsteps. Her eyes widened as someone stepped around the machines. Then she got a blurred look at a tall form in blue scrubs.
    A doctor, then. Or a nurse. Someone medical, anyway.
    Her breath released in a near-silent whoosh. It was only then that she realized she had been holding it.
    Who were you expecting?
    “Are you awake?”
    The question was soft, so as not to disturb her if the answer was no. Although the darkness coupled with her bad eyesight kept her from getting a good look at him, it was obvious that the speaker was a man. A stranger. Could he see her eyes glinting at him through the darkness? She didn’t know. She knew only that the soporific tone of his voice contrasted oddly with his movements, which were swift and sure as he strode toward the head of her bed.
    “Yes.”
    Her voice was a mere thread of sound, creaky and tired. Her mouth was so dry that it was hard to form even that one short word.
    Swallowing to moisten her throat, she followed him with her eyes. She wanted to ask for information, for the conditions of the others in the car, but she didn’t have the strength. Her tongue felt thick and heavy, and pushing words out past it required more effort than she could summon at the moment.
    “Do you remember what happened?”
    He took hold of the tall metal pole standing at the head of her bed. When she saw the plastic bag swinging from it, saw the tubing, she realized that it was an IV pole. And she was attached to it, by a long, clear tube that ran down into the back of her hand.
    The liquid in the bag was emptying into her vein. Tape on her hand secured the needle in place.
    “Wreck,” she managed.
    “That’s right.”
    He was holding a syringe, she saw, and fiddling with her tubing, right there where it joined the bag.
    “What are you doing?”
    The vague sense of unease she had felt since opening her eyes intensified. He was lifting the syringe toward the tubing—which, since he was a doctor, shouldn’t have alarmed her at all.
    But it did.
    Why?
    “This will help you go back to sleep, sugar. Just close your eyes.”
    Again with the soft, soothing voice. Her lids drooped as his suggestion tempted her. To just close her eyes and drift into unconsciousness . . . How good would that feel? And how easy would it be to do?
    All of a sudden she remembered the nightmare shapes. But they belonged to the wreck. Not the hospital. She’d been found, rescued, and now she was safe. She could sleep if she wanted to.
    So tired . . .
    The light from the machines cast a blue glow over the floor. Jess found herself noticing it as her eyes drifted downward and he moved again, his feet shuffling in and out of the light. She forced her lids wide open and her gaze up and watched as he tugged impatiently on the tubing.
    Despite her best efforts, her lids felt as heavy, as if her lashes were made of concrete. She wanted to close her eyes in the worst way. But still that prickly sense that something was wrong would not leave her.
    “Are you . . . a doctor?”
    “Mm-hmm.”
    The tone of the murmur was comforting. The tubing was cooperating now, and he was, she saw, holding a port and positioning the syringe so that