find Fran and drive her there.”
“She’s grocery shopping. You know she refuses to carry a cell phone.”
“Where’s she shopping?”
“She didn’t say. Could be here in River Dance, could be in Fulton.”
“I’ll find her, then meet you at the hospital,” Jama said.
Ruth cleared her throat behind them. “The city police should be capable of finding the patient’s wife.”
Jama turned to her director. “I need to do it myself.”
“Do you feel you’re the only physician who can handle his case?” Ruth asked. “We have interviews set up nearly every hour for the rest of the day.”
Jama bristled. What was she, a mushroom? “Nobody told me that.”
“I need you here.”
“The patient has been my foster father since I was fifteen,” Jama explained. “He’s also a city council member, and since the personnel in this clinic are answerable to the city government—”
Ruth raised a silencing hand. She glanced at Tyrell, then at Zelda. A weight seemed to drag down her features briefly, but her neutral mask returned.
“Then go,” she said.
“Zelda can help with your interviews,” Jama told her.
“I’ll make my own decisions about who will help me.”
Jama shrugged and nodded to Tyrell. “I’ll find Fran, then meet you in Jeff.”
River Dance, 14 miles. Doriann blinked at the sign, then stared down the empty road. They hadn’t passed another car in miles, but a deer had jumped in front of the truck, and Clancy had almost run over a cat. He was a horrible person. He’d aimed the truck toward the cat and tried to hit it. They’d almost run off the road before Deb had screamed and smacked Clancy, gouging Doriann’s chest with her elbow as she swung. Deb and Clancy were both wicked, evil people.
Please, God, oh, please, Jesus, I’ll never skip school again, never lie to Aunt Renee again, never talk to strangers in the park again, and if you want, I’ll even promise never to go near the zoo again, although that would be awfully hard. I mean, the animals are already in those pens and cages, and I didn’t do anything to put them there, so what’s the harm in going to talk to—
“Little Dori Streeter.” Clancy gave a low chuckle.
“My name isn’t Dori.”
“Of course, it isn’t. No kid of Dr. Mark-Streeter-who-thinks-he’s-God’s gonna use a nickname. But your father isn’t here now, and you’re Dori if I want to call you Dori.”
Doriann stared straight ahead. He knows Dad!
Don’t show fear. They didn’t grab me just because I was there. Did they follow me?
“Do you think we’re rich, or something?” she asked. “Because we’re not. Hospital residents don’t get paid—”
“Shut up!” Deb slapped a hand over Doriann’s lips. Hard. “Your mouth is gonna get you killed, brat.”
Doriann shut up. Killed.
“You’re not stupid,” Clancy told Doriann, still with that smooth, fake friendliness. “Now you know I’m wanted for murder. I bet you didn’t know it was your dear daddy’s fault.”
Doriann didn’t want her mouth slapped again. She didn’t say anything.
“If your daddy wants to see you alive again, he’ll do whatever I say. The Feds are closing in, and I’m not going back to prison.”
“Back?” Deb exclaimed. “So you’ve been in—”
“Now it’s time for you to shut up.” Clancy cut a nasty look at Deb. Then he looked back down at Doriann. “I’m gonna make your daddy sorry for what he did to me. And then the government’s going to make a trade with me. They’ll give me a one-way ticket out of the country, and I’ll send you back home.”
“What about me?” Deb demanded. “You’re going to leave me for the dogs to tear to pieces?”
“I didn’t ask you to come with me.” Clancy shot her another look that could’ve been a reflection of the devil.
Doriann felt her head buzz. For the next few minutes, she stared at the road ahead, all the curves and hills and flat, wide-open valleys. She caught a brief glimpse of the Missouri River on the right. She had to do something to get out of this truck. She wished she had the nerve to grab the steering wheel away from Clancy and stomp the brake on a curve. It would cause a wreck, and maybe she wouldn’t go flying through the windshield, even though she wasn’t wearing a seat belt.
Drugged killers didn’t use seat belts. The truck didn’t even have them.
Another curve, and she braced herself. You can do this, Doriann. To save your own life, you can do this. She raised her hand to grab the steering wheel, but Clancy snorted, scaring her so badly she peed a little.
“Yeah, your superdad’s not gonna think he’s so high-and-mighty when he finds out he’s the reason his precious, spoiled little girl’s gone missing. No E.R. doc’s gonna sic the cops on me and—”
“My father isn’t an E.R.—”
“Shut up, both of you!” Deb’s sharp, rattly voice shot through the cab. “How many times do I have to tell you, talkin’s gonna get us in trouble? The less the brat knows, the safer we are.”
Doriann frowned. That didn’t make sense. “If everybody’s going to know soon, anyway—”
Deb smacked Doriann’s cheek, then grasped her chin with the same hand and leaned down to stare hard into her eyes. “And when will you learn to keep your sassy trap shut? We don’t want to hear it.”
Doriann glared into the wicked witch’s yellow-green eyes until the grip tightened more painfully on her face. She looked away. When Deb let go, Doriann didn’t speak, but she did reach back and flip open the catch on the sliding rear window.
When neither Clancy nor Deb stopped her, she slid the window open. She didn’t believe Clancy. He wasn’t going to let her go; he would kill her just as he’d killed others. Crazy, drugged, violent criminals didn’t make bargains, they killed. But before she died she wanted at least one more breath of fresh air.
Silence was settling into the cab again when Doriann glanced toward the curve ahead. She nearly choked. Another animal had stepped into the road at the bottom of the hill. Bigger than a cat, littler than a deer. It was a dog. And Clancy stomped the accelerator.
Doriann braced herself. No! No!
“You moron, don’t you see that curve?” Deb braced herself against the door frame and the dash. “You’re gonna wreck this truck!”
Without
