Page 38 of Bad Blood

“No, no, no. Fuuuck.” My words ring in my ears as I lean back, trying to haul myself out from under her weight. I press my fingers to her throat again. Still nothing.

What if the person on the elevator is coming for her, to make sure their job is done? I slip again on the pooling blood, my hands barely catching me before my face is within an inch of the linoleum. I stand slowly. And back away from the body, watching as the doors glide open.

I freeze.

But no one exits.

And I run.

I duck behind the far side of the nurses’ station, never taking my eyes off the elevator. The doors remain open for a couple of seconds. And close.

The oncology floor shuts down for the night. But the night nurse? A patient? Anybody?

My chest tightens as if I’ve been shoved gut-first into a sucker-punch-filled ice bath and I’m drowning. Do I make a move or sink? It’s now or never.

I tear my eyes from the doors and stare at the woman. Did she move? Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Oh, fuck.

I hustle to her and drop to my knees, searching for a pulse as I beg her lifeless body to breathe. I start compressions again with the same result.

What if the killer is in the stairwell? Searching for her? I stand and watch the door for any movement before I lunge for my bag and race toward the hallway leading back to my office. I need more help. I swipe my badge, and for once, the goddamn thing works on the first try.

A glance over my shoulder confirms I’m still alone. I yank the door closed behind me, not waiting for it to shut on its own. I race to my office, searching my bag for my keys the entire way. It slides off my arm and falls to the floor when I stop at the door. I kneel and start rifling around, upending the contents. I find my phone, but no keys.

I need to call the police. I need to call security. I struggle to get my face recognition to work and swipe a blood-covered finger across the screen. The lock at the top of the screen jiggles as the number pad appears, waiting for me to enter my passcode.

A scream shatters the air, and I take off at a dead sprint back to the main floor. I shouldn’t have left her. I turn the corner and yank open the door, colliding with an immobile body. The momentum causes us both to fly forward, and two sturdy hands catch me.

Where the fuck did Kline come from?

“No. No. No.” I plead, arching against his hold.

I can’t breathe. My hands shake as I fight to break loose, but I’m wrestled away from the scene. A woman in scrubs is in a ball next to the elevator, rocking back and forth, her mouth rounded open, her eyes glued to the body between us.

“Brighton?” Kline’s voice pulls me from the chaos for a second.

I look him in the eyes and cover my ears, willing the screaming to stop.

“Brighton?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them. It doesn’t.

“Brighton? Hey!”

“I can’t.” I thrash against him, bellowing at him to let me go. I need to get to her. Let her know it’s going to be okay. Get her to stop screaming.

“Look at me.” Kline’s grip tightens on my upper arms as he shakes me.

I relent against his hold, my body trembling from the adrenaline. My breaths come in heaving gasps. Seconds pass. The screaming stops. But the buzzing in my ears continues.

What are we going to do?

“Fuck.” Kline runs a hand down his face, falling back on his haunches once I stop fighting against him. I’ve never seen him at such a loss for words, as if the axis of the world has shifted.

His eyes drop to his hands before slowly landing on me.

The night shift nurse stands up from beside the elevator and edges as far away from the body as she can. She stops, hovering over us. “We need to call the cops. I found her and tried to save her—I was going to call, but . . .” her words end on broken sobs.

Kline pinches his eyes closed. He crawls toward the body and leans over her, checking for a pulse. Shakes his head.

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