Page 26 of High Stakes

I drop that syringe back into my bag and repeat the process another four times before I find the two that I’m looking for. Then I pick up a small mask and loop the strings around my ears, pressing it down against my nose so that it fits snugly. I grab a black stethoscope and drape it over my neck, followed by one of those beeper things that nurses always wear clipped to theneckline of their scrubs. I have no idea what the hell it’s for, but it makes me look official and that’s all I care about at this point.

I stash my bag in the corner behind a mop bucket and head back out into the hallway. There are more people milling about now. The main lobby is full of patients checking in, and there are several medical personnel walking the halls with charts and clipboards. Now it’s starting to look like a real hospital and not a ghost town. My fingers wrap tightly around the syringes in my pocket as I move past three men standing and talking at the nurses station.

The elevator doors slide open as soon as I press the button and I hold my breath until they close and I’m alone in the elevator. My finger pushes against the button for the fifth floor. The metal death trap jerks once and then begins to rise. God, I hate these things. They make me feel so trapped and itchy. After an eternity, the doors slide open and I step out into a dimly lit hallway. The words ICU are hung right over a set of double doors with another badge scanner.

Well shitballs.

I look around but see no one in the general area. Looks like I’m waiting here for an ambush. “The doors are locked. I need a badge to get in,” I say in a low voice.

Hector’s response is immediate. “Shift change is about to start. Someone will be moving through soon.”

His deep voice is like a balm on my frayed nerves. I will never admit it to anyone, and if they called me out I would kill them for it, but sometimes I just need a calming presence to ease my anxiety. If only for a few moments, before I got annoyed and tried to shoot them for being so calm.

He’s right though, after a few more minutes of standing in the hallway the doors open and a group of nurses and doctors walk past me. They don’t give me a second glance because I’m wearing identical scrubs, along with a mask and medical beeper.I swear hospital security is subpar at best. Anyone can just sneak in. “I’m in,” I say to Hector as the doors shut and lock behind me.

“You’ll want to head down the hall to your right. The room is 367,” he instructs and I hear him typing away on his computer.

I bite my lip and scrunch up my nose. He is going to kill me for this. “Actually,” I say slowly and head down the main hallway. “It’s room 542.”

Hector stops typing immediately. “Where are you?” His voice is strained.

“Pearson Memorial Hospital,” I respond with another grimace. He thinks I’m at the general hospital on Main Street.

“I’m sorry. What?” he says and the chill in his voice almost sends a shiver down my spine. “Why the fuck are you there and not where you said you were going?”

“Because I didn’t want to be followed,” I retort, and then straighten my spine. Two nurses round the corner and smile at me as they pass. “I’m the boss. I don’t need an entourage,” I snap quietly and stop at the main nurses station in the middle of the room. There are at least fourteen rooms attached to this area.

“I don’t understand why you do this. Why don’t you trust me?” His voice cracks and I instantly regret not involving him in my actual plan. I’ve been maneuvering alone for so long that it’s hard to think about including anyone else in my schemes.

My heart cracks at the pain in his voice and I sit down at the computer with a sigh. “I do trust you. I’m just not good at…inclusion,” I say, and I know it’s a lame excuse. “I’m nearly finished. I’m just going to do this one tiny errand and then I’m going to come back to the Black Crown so I can get ready to work the bar tonight.”

Hector grunts in response and says nothing else. My stomach drops as I realize that I’ve cut him much deeper now than when I did with my blade. I cut my comm device off before I can say something stupid.

Shitballs.

My fingers click across the keyboard until the image I’m searching for pulls up onto the screen. I scan across the page at all the details, confirming them before I close out the window and open another. I pull up the chart and document a few bogus orders but leave the chart open on the computer to make it look like someone was in the middle of typing and got pulled away.

I walk slowly toward the room with my fingers still wrapped tightly around one of the syringes. The space is dimly lit because it’s still early morning, but the monitors give off enough of a glow that I can see my target asleep in the bed, laying on his back and covered in cables and wires. The machines beep faintly with the steady beat of his heart. I move to the side of his bed and pull the smaller of the two syringes from my pocket. With my teeth, I uncap the needle and close off his IV line, then inject the clear liquid into his vein.

Once I’m satisfied that the drug has had time to take effect, I walk back to the end of his bed. “Hello, darling,” I say in a heavy British accent. “You look positively terrible.” I grip the foot railing of the bed with both hands, squeezing it so hard that my knuckles turn white. My stomach does a sickening twist when he groans and blinks up at me.

His eyes widen until I can see the whites and his mouth opens to scream, but only a hoarse cry escapes him. I watch his eyes dart back and forth rapidly, trying to figure out why he can’t sit up or move his body. The panic on his face sends a thrill through my nervous system.

I tsk and hold up my hand. “Paralytics,” I explain simply. “They let the person remain conscious the entire time, but unable to move a muscle.” I pull the second syringe out of my pocket and twirl it in my fingers. “We wouldn’t want you to get any ideas that you could leave or call for help, now would we?”

He opens his mouth again, but only a broken whisper passes his lips. He’s been intubated for the last several weeks, so his throat and vocal cords are inflamed. Meaning he can’t make a sound. That was the only reason I let him wake up in the first place. That, and I wanted to see the look in his eyes when he figured out that I found him.

“You’re a hard man to find. Did you know that?” I ask and step up to the heart monitor. My finger holds down the button until the screen powers off and the beeping stops. The silence in the room is so loud that it’s almost deafening. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” I admit softly and crouch down so that I’m just inches from his face. “I’ve dreamed about watching the life leave your eyes. Of your soul being dragged down to the lowest pits of Hell.”

He lets out a small groan and manages to shake his head slightly. The pure terror reflected in his irises makes me smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you? That I wouldn’t hunt you down to snuff out the loose end?” I scoff and shake my head. “You double-crossing snake,” I spit, and fight the urge to pummel his face to a pulp right then and there. But I can’t leave traces. This has to be clean.

“I have a deal for you. You give me a name and I’ll make it painless for you.” I look down at his face impassively, waiting for him to make his decision. I watch as realization flashes in his eyes. He’s a dead man no matter what he chooses. His chin lifts ever so slightly in agreement. “Fantastic!” I clap my hands together and fish a pen and paper out of my bag. “Those drugs should start to wear off in a few minutes. You’ll be weak, but you should be able to write it down with my help.”

I tuck the pen into his right hand and grip his fingers tightly around it. Then I place the pad of paper directly underneath the tip of the pen. I feel his fingers twitch and flex under my touch. “There we go,” I encourage quietly and keep his fingers grippedtightly around the pen as he moves it to crudely write out one word.

I stare down at the paper in shock. A numbness creeps over my muscles as I read and then reread the word shakily spelled out on the note. He coughs once and I hear the white hospital blanket rustle slightly as he grips it weakly in his fists.

Turning to assess him, I find him watching me with tears streaming down his face. “I’m…Sor…Sorry,” he manages to croak out in a broken whisper.

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