No need to get ahead of yourself, Beale. There’s nothing that says Ethan Greer will hire you on in the first place. Right now, he probably thinks you’re just as nuts as everybody in Houston does.
But God willing, this plan would work and she’d flush Voss or whoever was harassing her out of hiding and push him into making a mistake. And when he did, she’d be ready.
Feeling confident and hopeful for the first time in months, she grabbed Robert’s truck keys and went to liberate him from the hospital.
The parking lot was full. It seemed like hospital parking lots always were. She didn’t want Robert walking that far, but once they got through the discharge process, she’d come get the truck and pull it around to the main doors. Decided, she took one of the few empty spaces at the far end of the lot. Pocketing the keys, she trudged toward the hospital, pulling out her phone as she wove through the rows of cars. She’d just send Nash a text to let him know she was here.
Maybe, once Robert was settled and the house sufficiently barricaded, she could carve out time for a nap. Last night’s lack of sleep was really beginning to catch up with her. She might even be able to talk Robert into giving her a turn in The Chair—
Lightning shot through her body, electrifying nerves into pure agony. Her muscles convulsed and she began to fall. But instead of hitting the ground, she was pulled against a solid chest.
“They should have done away with you like I told them,” someone growled. “But as usual, if I want something done right, I have to do it myself.”
She’d made a mistake. As her captor shoved her into the floorboard of a truck, Rowan heard her great uncle’s voice in her head. Never make assumptions as a cop. You’ll miss something.
She’d assumed Voss would stay smart and wait until the cover of night to act.
She’d assumed wrong.
She should have called by now.
Nash checked his watch again as he wrapped a call about package theft. Surely discharge shouldn’t take more than two hours. It wasn’t like when Robert had been released after bypass surgery. This should have been simple. Sign a few releases and go.
Before he pulled away from the curb, he called her. No answer. It might mean nothing. There was probably a logical explanation. But he couldn’t shake the bad feeling that had lodged in his gut, so he headed for the hospital. If she wasn’t there, he’d check back at the house.
The parking lot was packed. He drove up and down the aisles, scanning vehicles. When he saw Robert’s truck on the last row, the knot in his belly unclenched. She was still here. But why? This morning, they’d convinced the doctor to manufacture some excuse to keep Robert here. Had something else happened?
Finding a space himself, Nash hurried into the building and up to the second floor. Robert turned from the window of his room, fingers drumming against one leg, lips set in a thin line. “It’s about damned time. I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
“What’s taking so long?”
“Hell if I know. I was ready to go this morning.”
“Where’s Rowan?”
Robert paused in his pacing. “She’s not with you?”
“No. Not for a couple of hours. I had to start my shift. She was leaving to pick you up right after I left for work. Your truck’s down in the parking lot.”
“Then she’s bound to be around here somewhere. Probably harassing my doctor.”
That knot in his gut was back. “I’m gonna go see if I can find her.”
The truck was here. She had to be here. Right?
The nurse’s station was hopping. Given the state of the parking lot, evidently the entire facility was full up. Nash bit back his impatience, waiting until one of the nurses looked his way rather than inserting himself into the conversation and pissing them off.
At last, a plump young woman with a mass of reddish curls pulled into a tail and a spray of freckles across her cheeks took notice. “Can we help you?”
He didn’t recognize the woman from this morning. There must’ve been a shift change. “I’m looking for Rowan Beale. She’s the great niece of Robert Curry, down in 217.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know her. And I believe Mr. Curry is ready for discharge.”
“I know. She was supposed to have been here to do that two hours ago. Her vehicle is in the parking lot downstairs, but Robert hasn’t seen her.” Nash took a step closer, squaring his shoulders and turning on the authoritative cop. “Have any of the rest of you seen her since first thing this morning?” He gave them a quick description of Rowan.
They all stopped talking and looked at one another. After a few moments’ hesitation, they shook their heads.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Can you page Dr. Phillips?” Maybe she was talking to the doctor.
“I’m afraid he’s in surgery. But we can page Ms. Beale.”
“Do that.” If she were anywhere in this hospital, she’d be able to hear the announcement and come up here.
But when ten minutes passed and Rowan didn’t appear, Nash accepted that something was very, very wrong.
“Mr. Curry, you can’t be out of your room right now!”
Nash turned to find Robert striding down the hall. He was looking better, but he was still only a shadow of his normal, forceful self.
“You and I both know they’ve got no reason to keep me. Officer Brewer is my ride. You just go ahead and get that discharge paperwork.”
Okay, maybe more than a shadow. The nurse leapt into motion and Robert turned to Nash. “You start talking. What did you and Rowan find this morning?”
Nash filled him in on the results of their canvassing efforts. By the time he’d made it through Rowan’s plan to use herself as bait, Robert had signed whatever needed signing and dropped into the wheelchair they insisted he use to get to the front door.
“I’ll wheel him,” Nash told the nurse.
She lifted her hands, and he took hold of the wheelchair’s handles, steering them both into the elevator.
“Damned fool girl. She should’ve waited.”
“You think Voss has her.” It wasn’t a question.
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Get the car.”
“What exactly are you planning to do? You can’t run, can’t shoot, can’t drive. No offense, Robert, but you’re a liability in a fight right now.”
“I’ve still got a perfectly good pair of eyes and a brain. Get the car.”
There was no point in arguing. Leaving him just inside the automatic doors, Nash strode through the parking lot. On impulse, he wove his way back toward Robert’s truck. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he didn’t find it. Slapping a hand on the tailgate of the truck, he swore and turned to make his way back to his own truck.
Something glinted in the bright afternoon sun. Nash stepped toward it, angling his head to get a better look. There, beneath the rear tire of a minivan, lay a phone. Crouching, he picked it up and swiped open the screen.
His blood turned to ice.
The screen indicated several missed calls. All from him. This was Rowan’s phone.
If they’d needed any further proof that she hadn’t left this parking lot of her own volition, this was it.