Page 85 of Cruel Hearts

“Thank you.” I pause. “Do you feel up for a walk?”

“Depends. Where are we going?”

“This way.” Instead of going out to the car, I follow the arrows painted on the hallway wall to the ER.

In a city the size of King’s Crossing, there’s always something nasty happening, and on this early evening, I’m not wrong. The daily chaotic state of the ER is why I thought we could pull off Stella’s death, and it’s probably theonlyreason I would consider such a fucked-up plan. The lying nurse on our side will help us even more. I don’t like playing dirty like that, but I’ll have to get over it.

Quinn shuffles by my side, watching the commotion.

A kid who almost drowned in a swimming pool, his lips blue.

A cyclist who was hit by a truck.

A drunk driver who had too much to drink at a late afternoon barbecue collided with a family in a minivan. The family requires several nurses and doctors, and one of the smaller children was declared DOA.

A woman in labor, already pushing, adds to the mix. If the ER is this busy tomorrow night, Stella will be able to slip through without anyone noticing. We’ve been standing, watching, for close to ten minutes and not one person has looked our way or asked if we needed help.

Another ambulance squeals to a stop in front of the automatic doors, its siren deafening.

“What are we doing?” Quinn asks.

I turn and jerk my head at her to keep up with me. Walking down the hallway toward the rear of the hospital, we pass the registration desk where two nurses are quickly entering insurance information and a third is answering the telephone. As I study the route Stella and the nurse will need to follow to reach the ER’s rear exit, I explain what the plan is.

“We need Ash off her ass. The best way to do that is take her out of the equation as realistically as possible so he believes it.”

Quinn starts poking her head into supply closets and exam rooms.

I feel marginally better knowing where Stella will be tomorrow night, that she won’t have a problem blending into the turmoil.

The back doors open into a wide alley, and along the building are bays for trucks delivering supplies. A car idling out here in the middle of the night won’t attract too much attention.

A taxi, maybe, or a van of some kind. Maybe a truck from a linen company. I’ll have to see what we can get our hands on. A courtesy vehicle from one of the hotels like the Crowne, though using something of mine would alert anyone who cared to look.

I sag into a blue chair.

Quinn sits next to me, her mouth pinched in pain. She needs a pill.

What we have to do weighs on me. These next few days won’t be easy, and I wish I could keep Stella far away from it all. It’s my fault she’s in the middle of this fucking mess. I should never have promoted her. Left her in payroll where she belonged, ignored the obsession of keeping her by my side.

Quinn studies me. “You really love her, don’t you?”

I anchor my elbows on my thighs and press the heels of my hands into my eyes hoping to relieve some of the pressure that’s already turning into a massive headache. “Since the minute I saw her.”

She rests her hand on my knee. “I believed the pictures, too. I didn’t believe in her. I didn’t trust enough in our friendship. I thought I knew her, but if I had, I would’ve known sheneverwould have done something like that. She wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.”

Tears cling to her pitch-black lashes, and mascara is smeared under her eyes.

“Both of us failed her, didn’t we?”

A tear drops onto her cheek. “Yeah.”

“Then we’ll make it up to her.”

I push the door open to Max’s room and Quinn flies into Stella’s arms, a sob escaping her mouth. She hugs Stella using her good arm and buries her face in the graceful curve of Stella’s neck.

They hold each other, blocking everyone out.

After several moments, Quinn lifts her head and looks at me, and there’s more than friendship shining in her eyes.

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