Replacing Gentry (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-seven

M
y hospital room became unnaturally dark after Ripley and his partner disappeared beyond the door. Rubbing a sudden chill from my shoulders, I pulled my knees to my chest. My thoughts turned to Bridger and Bodie. Had they tried to contact me from camp? Did they have any idea what had happened at home over the last two days?

Above me, a cool fluorescent light buzzed a bluish glow. It hurt my eyes while doing little to illuminate the single-bed room. Now that the space was void of visitors, the room felt small, the walls growing closer with every passing second. Only it wasn’t the emptiness that bothered me but the aura that lurked there. The more I became aware of it, the more it surged forward, encircling my solitary shot of light with an oppressive sense of doom. The darkness cackled, mocking my concerns, and I pressed my free palm over my ear. “Get away from me,” I muttered over and over.

“It’s too late,” the darkness hissed.

I knew it was nothing more than the after effects of the drug, but the voice was hard to ignore. “Paul? Is that you?” It was impossible.

“You’re too weak,” the shadows whispered. “You will fail.”

Shaking my head, I knew none of this was real, and still, I glared into the murk. “This isn’t over,” I said, my voice sharp with fear, with resolve. “I can still fix this. You haven’t won! Not yet!”

The door bumped open, casting a hazy glow from the corridor along with Johnny’s profile across my floor. “Marlie?”

A gasp shot from my lips, and the blackness dissipated.

“What in the world is goin’ on?” he said, his gaze zeroing in on my left cheek. He came around the bed for a closer look. “What happened to you?”

I touched my fingertips to the protrusion and winced at the pain. I hadn’t given much thought to my appearance, but from the alarmed look on Johnny’s face, I must have looked pretty bad. “It was Paul,” I squeaked. “He tried to kill me.”

Johnny’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

I nodded a conformation.

“No, it can’t be true.” He yanked his fingers through his disheveled hair.

“It’s the truth,” I rasped. “Please, you have to believe me. No one believes me.”

Red-faced, Johnny smashed his fist into the rolling tray sitting off to the side of my bed. It shot out from under his might and crashed into the wall. He spewed a few choice words before yelling, “He wouldn’t dare!” through gritted teeth. “He tried to kill you? Idiot!” he exclaimed and made for the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked, frantic not to be left alone again.

Johnny addressed me over his shoulder. “Paul crossed a line and now he’s goin’ to pay,” he said in the stone cold tone of a man resigned to doing something he would one day regret.

“Wait! Please, Johnny, don’t leave me. Don’t go!” Tears shot from my eyes, stained my words. “I need you.”

He hesitated but only for an instant before he was on his way again. “I’ll be back just as soon as I—”

“You can’t confront him,” I pleaded in a desperate rush.

Johnny closed his fingers around the door handle. “Watch me,” he said.

I sat forward. My head spun, sending another wave of nausea to my belly. “He’s dead.”

He looked back at me with disbelief. “What?”

I swallowed again and gave him a weak smile. “They think
I
killed him.” I raised my cuffed hand. “They think I tried to kill Herbert too.” More tears leaked free. “Herbert! C-can y-you i-imagine?” I stammered. “I hope he’s okay.”

Johnny’s severe expression turned thoughtful. “I guess that explains the guards outside your room,” he said and we both fell silent.

He was wearing trendy jeans, a pricy western-styled shirt and boots. Detective Ripley’s call had probably interrupted a night out on the town, and I wondered what leggy beauty he’d abandoned in order to come to my rescue.

“Did you?”

Johnny’s blunt question caught me by surprise.

“Did I what?”

“Kill Paul?” he clarified, a hint of amusement tainting the reservation in his voice.

I looked deep into his eyes, green and glistening with distinctive gold flecks. There was no way he was wearing contacts. Those were his eyes and both the exact same color. He wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t like Paul.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I could kill another person, even one as disgusting as Paul,” I said, my voice steadily rising. “I mean, he tried to kill me. He shot me up with some kind of heroin . . .
heroin!
So I would have been within my rights to kill him,” I said, and then paused as the pictures of Gentry tossed out with garbage appeared before my eyes, along with faceless images of the others he’d likely killed—images that nearly had included me. My heart ached for them all.

Edging my wedding ring from my finger with my thumb, I held it out to him. “I want to hire you to represent me.”

He was an Iphiclesian but since his eyes showed no sign that he was one of the elite, I figured he was the best person to protect me from them. If he agreed to be my lawyer, he would have no choice but to keep my story confidential, which would ensure my safety. For now, anyway.

His gaze dropped to the sparkling diamond in my outstretched hand. “Where’s your husband?”

“He’s gone,” I mumbled, casting my eyes away. “He thinks I’m guilty.”

“He said that?” Johnny asked.

“Not in so many words.” I gave a cursory glance around the darkened room. “But do you see him anywhere here?”

“No, I guess I don’t,” he said but made no effort to take the ring. He was eying it like he might a poisonous spider or something.

“I need a lawyer, and if I’m not mistaken, you are one,” I reiterated. “Here take this. I have money in an account set up for me by our prenup. I can pay you just as soon as I can gain access to it.”

“You’re assumin’ that I’ve agreed to represent you.” He took a subtle step back.

I captured his gaze in mine, imploring him to reconsider. For all I knew, Anna-Beth had already been compromised. And Daniel? “Please, I have no one else,” I said, holding his focus long enough to see his uncertainty waver.

He broke away from my gaze to intently study the ceiling. “Fine,” he agreed after a few tense moments. He popped the ring from my fingers like a hot potato and dropped it into his pocket. “Now, tell me why Paul attacked you.”

I licked my dry lips. “He’s been killing women,” I said with a solemn sigh. “He called it, ‘his hobby.
’
”

Johnny’s gaze held steady, not directly on me but somewhere just beyond. “He did, did he?” he said, his words measured, skeptical.

“You don’t believe me,” I said. But then, for some reason, I couldn’t help feeling that if anyone in this world
would
believe me, it was Johnny. “Come on Johnny, I know we haven’t been acquainted very long, and you’ve made it your life’s mission to make mine miserable, but somehow you know me. And you know I couldn’t have done what they’re accusing me of.”

Johnny’s sedate look held long enough for what little hope I had left to shrivel away. I slumped back onto the bed. What had I expected? The last time I’d seen him, he was laughing in the face of my pain.

“I know you didn’t kill him, Marlie,” he said, his face cracking into an easy grin. “Come on, I was just messin’ with ya.”

My jaw dropped an instant before it clenched in annoyance. “That’s not funny.”

Johnny huffed out a laugh. “Sure it was.” He made an invisible inch between his thumb and forefinger. “It was a little funny,” he said, amused by his own ruse.

This was no time for his lightheartedness, and I attempted a scowl, but then his eyes were twinkling down at me playfully, and I just couldn’t help myself.

“I mean, I’m in handcuffs . . .” a wave of laughter rose out of nowhere. “Accused of murder and of having an affair with Paul.” I snorted out a laugh.

Johnny whistled through his teeth. “Wow, I don’t know which one is worse.”

“Sleeping with Paul, for sure,” I said, releasing my laughter in a wave of rolling giggles.

Johnny came closer and leaned his elbows on the bedrail. The look of worry he gave me was so strong it squelched my brief light moment, and I looked away.

“What am I gonna do?”

Johnny straightened and pushed his hands down into his pockets. “Well, for starters, we need to get you outa here.”

“Out of here?” I echoed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re an officer of the court. You can’t break people out of police custody.” My voice squeaked. “Harbor a fugitive?”

“If I’m correct in my assumptions, Paul must have been hidin’ some pretty big secrets. Dangerous secrets the others might kill to keep,” he added. “You’re at the Society’s mercy, and it’s not safe. One of them already tried to kill you once. We need to hide you, gather evidence, and figure out our next move. And you can’t do that tethered to a bed, now can you?”

Okay, so when he put it that way. “Uh, no,” I said timorously. “But you could get disbarred. Go to prison. Your ex-wife and children could go hungry.”

I paused to eye him. Apparently his reckless reputation had been well earned. But then considering his unpredictable behavior, could
I
really trust him? He was being nice-Johnny for the moment. What if evil-Johnny resurfaced? I reconsidered getting him involved, but what other option did I have? He was the only person, at the moment, offering to help.

“You
do
realize all that. Right?”

“Relax,” he drawled. “Look, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. But there’s no denyin’ that you’re tangled up with a group that you and I both know have friends in pretty high places,” he said, slipping a ring of keys from his pocket. “And don’t worry about the kids. I’ve got plenty of money socked away where not even my ex-wife can find it.”

Sifting, one by one, through the ring of keys, he stopped on the smallest one and held it up like a kid who’d deftly fished the prize from a cereal box. In the dim light, it took me a moment to focus in on what he was holding, but when I did, it was my turn to look incredulous.

“You have handcuff keys?”

He flashed me a wry smile. “Purely for recreational use, I assure you,” he said, leaning over the bar to lift my wrist, and the lock on the cuff, into view.

I studied his attractive face and mysterious eyes, as he worked on the lock. Images of a carnal nature rose out of nowhere, lighting a flame to my cheeks. Raising a hand to cover my eyes, as if blocking my sight would rein in my thoughts, I said, “I don’t even want to know.”

Johnny freed my wrist and stood back with a false look of surprise. “What?” He dropped the keys back into his pocket. “The very idea offends your homicidal heart?” he said with a facetiously raised brow.

Alternating between making a fist and straightening my fingers to get the blood flowing again, I gave him a dour look. “Also not funny.”

He made an inch again with his fingers. “A little bit?” He shot me a tricky smile. I shook my head, and he quickly shifted into a more urgent mode. “Okay!” He clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. His eyes took on the faraway look of a man concocting an ingenious plan. “You stay put and I’ll be right back,” he said, hastily heading for the door.

My chest started to pound again at the thought of being left alone. “Where are you going?” I asked, a hint of neediness cheapening my question.

“Unless you have a cloak of invisibility hidden somewhere under that gown,” he said as he took a hold of the door handle, “and I’m guessing you don’t, you can’t exactly walk out of here dressed like that, now can you?”

I closed my hand tightly around the bed rail to keep from leaping after him. “Hurry,” I said in a pitiful voice.

Johnny stopped and looked back at me with a clever smile. “Be back in a flash.”

“Wait—” I tried, but he winked, and then he was gone.

Chapter Twenty-eight

T
he faux wood paneling on the door spun like a kaleidoscope—a shifting barrier that linked my hope for freedom with the fear of imprisonment.
What if running makes me look even guiltier?
I can still opt to stay put and take my chances with the justice system.
But then the possibility that Daniel might be at home right now shredding every last piece of evidence I would need to exonerate myself urged me to stay my present course.

I grabbed hold of the handle. “Nice try, Paul, but you haven’t won yet,” I muttered into the bleakness and pulled the door back. The bright light of the corridor stabbed my pupils, making my lids flutter. When I could see clearly, I assessed the path ahead. The hall was empty except for Johnny and a police officer.

Standing about eight yards ahead of me, Johnny had his hand on the officer’s shoulder, turning him away from me while he inquired as to the specific location of the men’s room. So far, Johnny’s plan was progressing as expected. First, he’d smuggled scrubs, lab coat, mask, hat, ID badge, and stethoscope into my room. While I had changed, he imparted the remainder of his master plan for escape.

I patted the pocket of my scrubs, double-checking the position of Johnny’s car keys. My brain told my feet to start moving. They resisted at first, but then complied and I began to walk forward, one foot carefully in front of the other. As I drew closer, I pressed Johnny’s phone to my ear to conceal the bruise on my face just like he’d told me to and opened my mouth to speak. Johnny had said that I should speak “doctorly.”
What do doctors talk about?
I asked myself, knowing it was a little too late to be wondering what to say now.

Johnny widened his eyes at me mouthing, “Say something,” and I shrugged back at him. A quick roll from his eyes, and he turned his attention back to the officer.

“These places are almost as twisted as my great me-maws walkin’ stick,” he was saying as I came closer.

I sent up a speedy prayer for inspiration, which came back to me in record time with the suggestion that I make use of all those hours I’d spent watching medical dramas on TV. Clearing the gunk from my throat, I took courage in the sudden burst of inspiration.

“The patient was suffering from . . . scoliosis of the liver,” I started, inclining my head away from Johnny and the officer as they both turned in my direction. “And when we attempted to aspirate and his heart,
um
, defibbed . . . we,
err
, intubated but then his . . .”

His what?
I mentally pounded my brain as I rounded the corner, heading away from them and toward where Johnny had said the stairs were located.

“Tumor!” I said, my pace increasing as I passed a nurse coming out of a patient’s room
.
“Ruptured and well, we’re very sorry, we did all we could, but we just couldn’t save him,” I added with a penitent tone as I knocked the security door with my hip and sidestepped into the stairwell.

The door closed behind me. I dropped my shaking hands to my knees, my head between my shoulders, and gasped for breath. If there’d been anything left in my stomach, it would have come up right there.
Stupid! Tumors don’t rupture.
Breathing in deep a few times, I knew I had to keep moving. Straightening, I started for the steps when the phone in my hand shattered the still air with the slow twang of Marty Robbins singing
Streets of Laredo
.

Startled, the phone flew from my fist, bobbing from one hand to the other before I regained control and saved it from hitting the cement floor. Pressing a palm to my sweaty forehead, I glared down at the display—Candy Barrington. What if it had rung while I was fake talking on it in the hallway?

“Thanks a lot, Johnny boy,” I mumbled as I took to the stairs.

Looking back, I felt a moment of regret over my decision to run. Suddenly, the thought of being chained to a bed felt much more secure than running aimlessly into the unknown. But then I thought about the boys, about my parents and sister.
How could I put them through an arrest, a trial?
Even if it meant taking Daniel down in the process, I had to get to Anna-Beth, had to shut this down and save myself before Daniel and Paul’s snare had a chance to close around me forever.

I hit the bottom of the stairs and swung open the door to the parking garage just as the distant hum of an alarm pushed through the thick cinderblock walls. The sound had my feet tripping over each other as I breached the threshold and out into the parking garage. They were looking for me.

I turned back to the door. If I went back inside and found a place to hide, maybe I could wait it out, escape when things cooled down. I pushed down on the handle, but the latch didn’t release the door. The hospital was locked down. My only option was to find Johnny’s car, lay low, and hope he got out in time.

I scanned the line of cars trying to remember where he’d said his was parked. Why was panic such an inconvenient emotion? One would think the fight or flight instinct would heighten awareness and deductive thought, not suppress it. Another matter I wanted to bring up with the Almighty if and when I finally met Him.

A few hurried paces later, and I was relieved to find Johnny’s car, a silver Audi, right where he’d said it would be. The car next to Johnny’s suffered a nasty ding as I gave no thought to finesse while yanking his passenger door open. I fell into the plush leather seat and slammed the door shut. Peering through the driver’s side window, I looked out to the security hut and saw a guard glance my way. I ducked my head into the driver’s seat.

Where is Johnny, and what will I do if he doesn’t show?

How much longer would it be before those parking guards figured out there had been an escape? How much longer should I sit here and wait for Johnny to show? I decided to give him four breaths. If Johnny didn’t come in the space of four breaths, I would be on my own. I didn’t want to go it alone, but at this point, I had no choice except to face the hard fact that he might not have gotten out in time.

What were the chances I could slide into the driver’s seat and simply drive out of here? If they knew there’d been an escape, they probably knew to look for a woman. Since my face didn’t match the one on the ID tag Johnny had stolen for me, I wouldn’t get through unless I was willing to run at least one of them down. I considered the possibility. No, I wasn’t that desperate, not yet anyway. I needed another option.

If I stayed low I could make my way on foot between the rows of cars and slip out. It was worth a try. I sat back against the seat and closed my eyes. Okay, I had a plan. “Four breaths, Marlie, and then you’ll go,” I ordered myself.

The breath filled my lungs, I held it a beat, and then let it go. “One.” I drew in another. Let it out. “Two.” And then again. “Three.”

I closed my eyes on the fourth. Feeling along the armrest, I found the release for the door and gripped it tight.
This is it!
“Four!” I said, my eyes flying open as I yanked back on the handle and slammed my shoulder into the door—

“Four what?” Johnny’s breathless voice pulled me back.

Startled, my hand slipped from the door handle but not before the latch gave.

“What are you doin’? We gotta go,” he said. “You can count later.” He reached over me and pulled the door closed. Snatching the keys from my lap, he jammed the largest one into the ignition and the Audi revved to life.

“Buckle up,” he said, and I reached for my seatbelt. He shifted into reverse. The car jerked back. With the palm of one hand working the steering wheel, the hand of the other on the gearshift, he headed toward the exit.

I braced my feet against the floor as the car surged forward. Up ahead, two guards were moving what looked like an oversized orange sawhorse to block the exit. As we sped toward them, a red siren-type light ignited and whirled. An instant later, a metal grate began to lower from the ceiling.

Johnny’s arm stiffed against the steering wheel. “It’s gonna be close,” he called out. A muffled scream vibrated against my lips. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” Johnny apologized as we whizzed past the blockade, missing one of the men by inches.

The closing gate lowered in front of us.

“We’re not gonna make it!” I hollered as the hood of the car breeched the path of the descending gate. Johnny and I both ducked, like that would help us clear the metal bars.

One high-pitched scraping noise from the roof of his car later and we were shooting out of the parking structure. The back of the car fishtailed as Johnny cranked the steering wheel hard to the right, sending us barreling onto the street.

Bracing one hand on the dashboard, the other holding tight to the strap of my unfastened seatbelt, I was pressed against my seat. I felt frozen like the final frame of film, clipped and waiting to be spliced, as Johnny took one turn after another with incredible speed. The car hugged tight to every turn, the wheels gripping with efficiency to the rain-drenched road. I held firm to my current position a few more turns before reclaiming the use of my arms. Pulling hard on the strap, I locked my seatbelt into place.

“Do you think they got your license plate number?” I managed to gasp.

Johnny’s gaze shifted to the review mirror. “Doubt it, we were going too fast and my lights were off, so the plate wasn’t lit.” He veered onto a side street, reducing his speed and hitting the control for the lights.

I turned in my seat for a glimpse out the back window. “But they probably noticed what kind of car it was and they’ll figure out you drive an Audi,” I said, my voice shaking. “And they have cameras all over the place nowadays, so sooner or later they’ll track us down.”

Johnny turned onto a darkened residential street. Through the falling rain, I could barely make out the 1950-styled homes. Compared to the brightly lit streets of California, the neighborhoods here in Tennessee, with their sparsely placed streetlights, felt dark and almost creepy to me.

“Probably, so we don’t have much time,” he said. A devious spark lit his gaze.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I said.

“What can I say, Marlie. Hangin’ out with you is very excitin’.”