he could send its contents down the tubing into her body with a single quick depression of the plunger.
Not good.
The disturbing thought made her frown even as her eyes slid down his body toward the floor again. Where he was standing now, the blue glow spilled over his legs, illuminating them to the knees. The scrubs were too short for him, their legs ending some three inches above the hem of his black pants, black suit pants. Worn over shiny black wing-tip shoes marred by just a few stray bits of . . . what? Her vision was too fuzzy to be certain, but it could have been dead grass.
Prickly grass cushioning her cheek . . .
Jess’s heart gave a great leap and her eyes shot wide open. She sucked in air.
“No! No, stop! Wait!”
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even glance her way. Instead, his thumb clamped down on the plunger. Jess couldn’t see clearly enough to watch it happen, but she imagined liquid shooting out of the needle into the tube that emptied into her vein.
What liquid?
The question exploded in her mind even as she grabbed for the needle in her hand. Her nails scraped at the tape and she yanked at the tube right where it met her tender skin. The needle—no, a small, clear plastic tube—ripped free of her flesh with a sharp, burning sensation that was as nothing compared to the terror rocketing through her veins.
WHAT LIQUID?
“What the . . . ?” The man snatched at the tubing, caught it, and stared at it in stupefaction for a split second as he saw that it swung free.
He dove for her. She screamed. The bed, on wheels that apparently hadn’t been locked, careered toward the far wall as his body slammed against it.
His hand, sweaty and warm, clamped around her wrist just as the front-left corner of the bed smacked into the wall and bounced away. As more screams tore out of her throat, she yanked her arm free.
Run.
Every instinct she possessed shrieked it, but to her horror she discovered she couldn’t run: Her legs just would not obey her brain’s urgent command. Desperate, Jess kicked violently, but the “kick” message somehow got scrambled on its way down to her legs and she ended up bucking on the hospital bed like a landed fish, screaming and fighting him off with flailing blows that missed more than they landed while the bloodied catheter she had torn from her arm swung behind him, spewing tiny drops of a cold viscous liquid that made her shudder with horror when they sprayed over her arm, her neck, her leg.
He’d put something terrible in the bag. . . .
“Shut up, you!” It was a hoarse growl.
The empty syringe came flashing down toward her. With a burst of horror, she saw that he was wielding it like a knife now, meaning to stab her with it. Then a glimmer of light caught it and she realized that it wasn’t empty at all, or perhaps it was another, backup syringe, because it was full of liquid. His aim, she realized in that frozen instant in which she watched the clear tube with its glinting needle drive toward her body, was to plunge the needle into her, to release whatever liquid was in that syringe into her flesh directly, and never mind the IV now.
Black shapes circling the flaming car . . .
“No! Help! Help!”
Screaming like a siren, Jess threw herself violently to one side just in the nick of time—and toppled off the side of the bed.
6
T ired to the bone but so wired he couldn’t have slept even if he had ignored Lowell and gone home, Mark pushed through the metal door that led from the hospital’s emergency staircase to the third floor. According to an ER nurse who had been extraordinarily cooperative from the moment he had flashed his badge—and smile—at her, Jessica Ford had arrived on that floor some fifteen minutes earlier. As they’d talked, he’d seen a plump blond woman the nurse had confidentially identified as Ms. Ford’s mother leaning over a desk and filling out paperwork. He wanted to reach Ms. Ford before her mother did, just in case she
Not good.
The disturbing thought made her frown even as her eyes slid down his body toward the floor again. Where he was standing now, the blue glow spilled over his legs, illuminating them to the knees. The scrubs were too short for him, their legs ending some three inches above the hem of his black pants, black suit pants. Worn over shiny black wing-tip shoes marred by just a few stray bits of . . . what? Her vision was too fuzzy to be certain, but it could have been dead grass.
Prickly grass cushioning her cheek . . .
Jess’s heart gave a great leap and her eyes shot wide open. She sucked in air.
“No! No, stop! Wait!”
But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even glance her way. Instead, his thumb clamped down on the plunger. Jess couldn’t see clearly enough to watch it happen, but she imagined liquid shooting out of the needle into the tube that emptied into her vein.
What liquid?
The question exploded in her mind even as she grabbed for the needle in her hand. Her nails scraped at the tape and she yanked at the tube right where it met her tender skin. The needle—no, a small, clear plastic tube—ripped free of her flesh with a sharp, burning sensation that was as nothing compared to the terror rocketing through her veins.
WHAT LIQUID?
“What the . . . ?” The man snatched at the tubing, caught it, and stared at it in stupefaction for a split second as he saw that it swung free.
He dove for her. She screamed. The bed, on wheels that apparently hadn’t been locked, careered toward the far wall as his body slammed against it.
His hand, sweaty and warm, clamped around her wrist just as the front-left corner of the bed smacked into the wall and bounced away. As more screams tore out of her throat, she yanked her arm free.
Run.
Every instinct she possessed shrieked it, but to her horror she discovered she couldn’t run: Her legs just would not obey her brain’s urgent command. Desperate, Jess kicked violently, but the “kick” message somehow got scrambled on its way down to her legs and she ended up bucking on the hospital bed like a landed fish, screaming and fighting him off with flailing blows that missed more than they landed while the bloodied catheter she had torn from her arm swung behind him, spewing tiny drops of a cold viscous liquid that made her shudder with horror when they sprayed over her arm, her neck, her leg.
He’d put something terrible in the bag. . . .
“Shut up, you!” It was a hoarse growl.
The empty syringe came flashing down toward her. With a burst of horror, she saw that he was wielding it like a knife now, meaning to stab her with it. Then a glimmer of light caught it and she realized that it wasn’t empty at all, or perhaps it was another, backup syringe, because it was full of liquid. His aim, she realized in that frozen instant in which she watched the clear tube with its glinting needle drive toward her body, was to plunge the needle into her, to release whatever liquid was in that syringe into her flesh directly, and never mind the IV now.
Black shapes circling the flaming car . . .
“No! Help! Help!”
Screaming like a siren, Jess threw herself violently to one side just in the nick of time—and toppled off the side of the bed.
6
T ired to the bone but so wired he couldn’t have slept even if he had ignored Lowell and gone home, Mark pushed through the metal door that led from the hospital’s emergency staircase to the third floor. According to an ER nurse who had been extraordinarily cooperative from the moment he had flashed his badge—and smile—at her, Jessica Ford had arrived on that floor some fifteen minutes earlier. As they’d talked, he’d seen a plump blond woman the nurse had confidentially identified as Ms. Ford’s mother leaning over a desk and filling out paperwork. He wanted to reach Ms. Ford before her mother did, just in case she
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