Page 58 of Girl Lost
He was about to suggest they make a run for his car when tires screeched in the distance. Corbin drew his gun, wincing at the slight click sound. He crouched and peered through the windows of the Subaru they used as cover.
A dark SUV had pulled up, its engine idling. The driver’s door swung open at the same time the rear liftgate opened. Hitch slidout, looking unsteady but determined. Number Three dragged the dead body of the linebacker toward the vehicle.
The two men loaded the body into the cargo space and pressed the power button. Corbin heard a faint warning beep as the gate closed, sealing the dead man inside. Two doors slammed. The SUV rammed into gear and sped to the end of the aisle and turned toward them.
“Let’s go.” He pulled himself up, stifling a groan.
Keeping their heads low, they sprinted across the parking lot, ducking behind cars for cover. His side burned with every step, but he pushed on. They couldn’t afford to slow down. Not when they didn’t know if more attackers were lying in wait.
When they reached his car, Corbin opened Luna’s door. He watched for movement in the lot while she slipped inside. Once she was safe, he darted to the driver’s side, climbed in, and shut the door. He rested his gun on his thigh and wrapped his other arm around his middle to cover the ache in his side.
“I saw them leave the parking lot heading north,” Luna said.
“Good. I’ll call it in. Just ... give me a second.” He sagged in his seat, the adrenaline draining from his system. Without its numbing effects, the pain in his side flared. He looked down at his hand, surprised to see his fingers slick with blood.
“Luna,” he said. “We have a problem.”
20
THE HARSH LIGHT PIERCEDStryker’s eyelids,dragging him backto consciousness. White. So much white. Different than the oppressive darkness he’d been trapped in before.
The steady beep of monitors filled his ears. Rhythmic.
He was no longer in that nightmarish room.
A hospital. They’d moved him to a hospital.
His mind felt foggy. Thoughts slipped away like smoke. Another sedative. He’d been so fixated on the glint of the scalpel, he’d missed the needle. Amateur mistake. Bound or not, he should have anticipated it. Should have stayed sharp.
Stryker tried to sit up, but his body refused to cooperate. His muscles felt like water. All strength sapped away by whatever drugs they’d pumped into his system. Fatigue weighed on him, threatening to pull him back under.
He tested his arms. Feet. No good.
Restraints bit into his wrists and ankles, holding him firmly in place. Prisoners had more room in their shackles.
But he wasn’t on the hard surface from before. A bed. Softer but no less confining.
He glanced down at himself. Someone had covered him witha thin cotton blanket and folded it at his waist. A white hospital gown with tiny blue polka dots covered his body. His gaze traveled to his arms, noting the tubes and wires snaking from beneath the thin fabric.
Again, he pulled against the restraints. Nothing.
A pinch in his upper arm drew a wince. His eyes followed the tubing up to bags of clear fluid hanging nearby. An IV line, probably. Heart monitor. Pulse oximeter. A thicker tube ran from somewhere beneath the blanket. Catheter, most likely. They were keeping him alive but immobile.
Mirrors lined two walls. One-way windows. They were watching him.
A TV hung in one corner, switched off. Cabinets lined another wall, a sink and counter beneath them. Everything pristine. Sterile.
He tried once more to break free, muscles stretching, straining against the padded cuffs. Nothing. Not even an inch of give.
Maybe he’d miscalculated. Letting them take him. He’d seen their car trailing him. Knew they’d make their move. Figured it was the best play at the time—let them think they’d won. Get inside, gather intel. Evidence. But now? Trapped. Drugged.
He should have found another way.
But deep down, it had been inevitable. They were always going to come for him. He’d just hoped to have more time. Time to warn Luna. To tell her the truth about Trinity. About everything.
The door opened with a soft hiss. The doctor entered. Gone was the nondescript outfit, replaced by a crisp white lab coat over navy slacks and a button-down shirt. An ID badge hung from his pocket, a logo Stryker couldn’t quite make out. Not that it mattered. He knew exactly who this was.
His tie. Wow. A riot of clashing colors and bizarre patterns. “Doc, that is quite possibly the ugliest piece of neckwear I’ve ever seen.”
