a sound caught his attention. He paused and concentrated, listening to the silence.
There it was again. Just the whisper of sound, like the soft rustling of clothing against skin as a person moved about.
He crumpled the paper towel into a ball, tossed it into the trash can and pushed open the bathroom door. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the change from bright to dim light as he reentered Sarah’s room. A tall man dressed in Amish clothing stood in the shadows on the far side of Sarah’s bed.
A feeling of unease slithered up Sam’s spine. Why would an Amish man be visiting at this time of night, and without a female companion in tow? Sam slid his jacket aside for easy access to his gun and stepped farther into the room.
“May I help you?” he asked in Pennsylvania Dutch dialect.
The visitor didn’t reply. He removed his straw hat and nodded as a person who was apologizing for the late-night visit might. He sidestepped around the bed.
Sam stood too far from the light switch at the door to be able to fully illuminate the room. He had to rely on the soft glow from above Sarah’s bed. Because the visitor held the hat higher than normal, Sam was unable to get a clear view of the man’s face. His gut instincts slammed into gear. He drew his gun and aimed for the middle of the man’s chest.
“Don’t move.” Sam made no attempt to hide the steel resolve beneath his words. Slowly, he stepped toward the main light switch. He shifted his glance just long enough to see how much farther he had to go.
The visitor immediately took advantage of this momentary distraction, dived sideways and simultaneously threw a pillow at Sam.
Instinctively, Sam raised an arm to protect his face. He pushed the pillow away, recovered quickly from the unexpected gesture and fired his weapon at the man’s back as he sprinted out the door. The splintered wood of the door frame told him he’d missed his mark.
Sam sprang forward in pursuit. He’d almost reached the door when his right foot slid out from under him. He struggled to regain his balance and not fall. When he got his footing again, he glanced down and saw a syringe poking out from beneath his foot. He bent down and picked it up.
Suddenly, the monitor beside Sarah’s bed erupted in a loud, continuous alarm. Sam’s gaze flew to the screen and horror filled his soul. A flat, solid green line moved across the screen. Sarah’s heart was no longer beating.
Before Sam could react, the door burst open. The room flooded with light. A nurse, quickly followed by another, burst into the room and rushed past him to Sarah’s bed. While one nurse tended to the monitor and alarms, the other began CPR on Sarah. Seconds later, several other staff members hurried into the room with a crash cart pulled by the doctor close behind.
Sam knew he should be chasing the man who had done this, but his feet wouldn’t budge. His eyes flew to Sarah’s face. She lay so still, deathly still. He couldn’t believe this was happening and, worse, that it had happened on his watch. Feelings of failure were quickly replaced first with fear that he’d lost her, and then by a deep, burning rage that he was helpless once again.
Sam had to leave—now. But he could barely find the inner strength to pull himself away from Sarah’s side. This was his fault. But there was nothing he could do for her now. She was in better hands than his, and he refused to let the lowlife who did this escape. Not this time. Not ever again.
Sam pressed his hand on the shoulder of the nearest nurse. When she turned to look at him, he shoved the syringe in her hand. “I found this on the floor. I believe something was injected into her IV.”
As soon as she took it from him, he raced for the hospital room door. Before he could pull it open, a woman’s scream pierced the air, and the sounds of chaos filled the corridor. Something was terribly wrong. Had the mystery man grabbed a hostage or, worse, hurt one of the children?
Whispering a silent prayer for Sarah, Sam wrenched open the door and darted into the corridor.
A small gathering of people congregated at the end of the hall around the elevator banks. One woman had collapsed on the floor. Sam figured from the shocked expression on her face as he drew near, and from the sobs racking her body, that this was the woman who had screamed. An older gentleman hovered over her and tried to offer comfort.
A man dressed in green scrubs knelt half in and half out of an open elevator. Another man, also dressed in hospital garb, leaned close behind.
Sam pushed his way through the few gathering spectators and up front to survey the scene. For the second time that night, he felt like a mule had kicked him in the gut.
Officer Brian Fitch was sprawled on the elevator floor. One look at his open, sightless eyes and the trail of blood pooling beneath his body said it all. The officer hadn’t made it downstairs for coffee.
Sam remembered the sound of the elevator arriving. Their surprise night visitor must have been on it. When the door opened, Fitch was busy nodding to him and must have been caught unaware. One quick, deadly slice across the officer’s throat guaranteed that Fitch would never need coffee or exercise again.
Sam pulled out his badge and ordered everyone back, including the hospital staff. There was nothing any of them could do for Fitch now, and he had to protect whatever forensic evidence they’d be able to gather. Sam called hospital security on his cell phone, which he had put on speed dial for the duration of Sarah’s hospital stay.
But somebody else had beaten him to it. The second elevator bank hummed to life. He held his hand on his gun and watched two startled guards emerge and stare at the carnage in front of them.
Sam identified himself as an undercover police officer, despite his Amish garb, and flashed his detective’s shield and identification. He hoped he hadn’t just blown his cover, but at the moment it couldn’t be helped.
“Shut down every possible exit,” he commanded. “Do it now.”
Without hesitation, one of the guards barked orders into his radio while the other attended to crowd control. Sam offered a silent prayer of thanks that if this had to happen, it had happened late in the evening and gawkers were at a minimum.
He hit speed dial on his phone and barked orders the second his partner answered.
“Joe, we have a problem. Get over here, stat.”
They’d been partners long enough that when Joe heard the tension in his voice, he was on full alert, and any drowsiness in his tone from interrupted sleep was gone.
“What happened?”
“Fitch is dead. Sarah might be, too. It’s total chaos here.”
Muttered expletives floated through the receiver. “On my way.”
“Notify Rogers and call for backup.”
“Okay. Where can I find you?”
“Making sure that every window, door and crack of this hospital is sealed shut so this piece of slime doesn’t escape.”
Sam ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He stole one more precious second to glance down the hall at Sarah’s door. Every fiber of his being wanted to know what was going on in that room. Had they been able to save her? Or was she dead? The fact that no one had come out
