can work with that.”
She glanced up to find him staring at her in the rearview mirror. “Oh?” He sounded so sure of himself; she couldn’t resist poking him just a little. Who was this man and why did he think he knew what she needed to treat his friend?
His eyes narrowed briefly before he returned his focus to the road. “You know that’s a morphine derivative. It’ll help calm him down so you can dig the bullet out.”
How the hell did he know that? Did he have some kind of medical background? But if that was the case, why did he need her? She glanced over at his friend, who was leaning against the door, his body limp. The sound of his labored breathing let her know he hadn’t died, but neither was he unconscious, as evidenced by the faint moans he released every time they hit a rough patch of road.
“Where were you shot?” She scanned his body, searching for blood, but it was too dark to see anything. No way was she going to touch him without gloves—she was a doctor, but she had her limits.
The man didn’t respond, but his eyes flickered open in response to her question. He stared at her for a beat, then leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes again.
“The chest,” the driver responded. “I think he punctured a lung.”
Jillian clenched her jaw, frustration mounting. “If that’s the case, then we really need to get to a hospital. He’ll need a chest tube, scans and quite possibly surgery to remove the bullet.”
“No.”
“He could die!”
The driver spared her a glance. “Make sure he doesn’t.”
Jillian leaned back against the seat, her heart kicking into high gear. Great. Not only had she been kidnapped, but she was expected to treat a man with serious injuries, without the benefit of a hospital. It belatedly dawned on her that if this man died, her kidnapper would have no further use for her, and he didn’t seem the type to drop her off on the corner with a wave goodbye.
Fear trailed a cold finger down her spine and she shivered, her stomach roiling. “Can we at least stop moving?” she asked, knowing she couldn’t do much for the injured man in a moving car. “And you can’t expect me to treat him in the dark. I’ll need light. Lots of it.”
“We’re almost there.” His voice was grim, determination underlying every word.
Jillian took another look at her patient. His condition hadn’t obviously changed, so she decided not to risk examining him until they had arrived at their destination, wherever it was. He seemed stable enough, and she didn’t want to make things worse. She returned her focus to the bag in her lap. There were several suture kits, additional vials of drugs and antibiotics, and at the bottom, a chest tube kit. Her kidnapper had come prepared.
But who was he, and why was he so insistent they stay out of a hospital?
Was it the nature of his friend’s injury? The law stated doctors had to report gunshot wounds to the police. Maybe he was on the run and didn’t want to reveal his whereabouts. Still, she knew there were back-alley clinics that would stitch up bullet holes for a price. He could have easily taken his friend there, gotten the job done without having to resort to kidnapping. Or theft, she thought, glancing down at the bag of medical supplies in her lap. It was clear the hospital hadn’t been their first stop tonight, and she was willing to bet all the toilet paper in the city that her kidnapper had broken into a vet clinic to steal supplies before grabbing her.
He took a corner hard, the car sliding a bit as the tires fought for purchase on the slick street. The snow was coming down in earnest now, a thin layer of flakes dusting the sidewalk white, as if someone had spilled a bag of powdered sugar over the city. She didn’t know where he was taking them, but if the weather continued in this fashion, it was likely they’d be stuck, at least for the foreseeable future. If his friend took a turn for the worse, or she was unable to treat him, that meant they’d be cut off from help. While the driver didn’t appear to be too concerned about her lack of resources, she shivered at the thought of his reaction if his friend didn’t make it.
They pulled into a small parking lot riddled with potholes and puddles. A squat, plain building that may have once been white sat at one end of the lot, looking like a deflated soufflé. She caught sight of a red-neon Vacancy sign as they circled to the back of the building, but she didn’t see a name for the place. She cursed herself for not paying attention to street signs and landmarks along the way—the kidnapper hadn’t bothered to conceal their route, so if she’d had half a brain, she could have easily called for help and led rescuers to them, or run away herself.
Jillian stared at the back of his head, considering. He didn’t seem to be a very good kidnapper. He’d let her see his face, which, according to all the movies she’d seen, was a big no-no. Either he didn’t care about being caught or...
She swallowed hard, her stomach cramping in warning. It was possible he wasn’t going to let her live long enough to be caught. Why else would he let her see his face or see the route they’d taken to his hideaway? Was he going to have her treat his friend, then kill her?
He parked next to a stained blue Dumpster and turned around to face her. “Are you going to give me any trouble?”
She shook her head, her mind desperately churning. She had to come up with something—she couldn’t just let him lead her like a lamb to slaughter.
Her fingers curled around the bag in her lap and she felt the faint stirrings of an idea. The man had given her several vials of sedatives—enough to fell an elephant, if her hasty calculations were correct. Maybe she could use them to incapacitate him, giving her enough of a chance to run.
“I can see the wheels turning in your head,” he said, frowning at her. He glanced down, understanding dawning on his face as he saw the way she clutched the supplies. “Oh, no,” he said softly, reaching out to take the bag. “Don’t get any ideas.”
She forced her fingers to relax their hold, knowing that if she put up a fight he’d be even more suspicious. Besides, she’d get it back eventually. She had to have access to the supplies if he wanted her to help his friend.
“Time to go inside.”
He got out of the car and opened her door, letting in a blast of cold air and snow. She instinctively shrank away when he reached for her, but he grabbed her easily enough, pulling her from the car and pressing her against the trunk as he slammed the door. The cold metal bit through her coat and she ground her teeth together to keep from crying out.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked as he hauled her up to a door. She stared at the faded black numbers, which grew blurry as tears pooled in her eyes. She blinked them away and shook her head. Crying wasn’t going to help her. Not now.
If her captor noticed her emotion, he didn’t show it, ignoring her question as he gently but firmly pushed her inside. It was warm compared to the car, and she had a moment to register that the room was surprisingly clean, if rather spartan. He marched her past two beds and guided her into the bathroom, closing the lid of the toilet and gesturing for her to sit. She did, and he reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a length of plastic. She recognized the temporary cuffs, having seen them used before when the police needed to restrain a patient.
Jillian pulled her hands away, but her captor merely stared at her, his hand extended patiently as he waited for
