Page 93 of Broken Wheels

Josh screwed up his features. “Does anyone really like Jell-o? I mean, seriously?” He knew the dessert wasn’t the problem. He wanted out of that bed, out of the hospital, and back to CrossBow. It didn’t matter that Gary probably had guards three-deep outside.

Josh didn’t feel safe. Somewhere out there was a guy with a rifle—and God knew whatever implements—who wanted him dead. And after all the attempts so far, Josh knew they weren’t going to rest until he was six feet under or turned into celestial kitty litter.

Dixon took the cup of Jello from his hands and placed on the cabinet beside the bed. “No one says you have to eat it, y’know.” He held Josh’s hand. “I need to go talk to the men, but I won’t be gone long.”

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere.” Josh gestured to the IV stand. “Put it this way. If I tried to walk through the hallway with that thing, I could do some real damage.”

Dixon leaned in and kissed him. “Now, no flirting with any male nurses while I’m gone, you hear me?”

He managed a pout. “Spoilsport.” One more kiss, and Dixon was out the door.

Josh closed his eyes, not intending to nap, but only to shut out the world. If the doctor was pleased with his progress, he could be out of there the following day.

He couldn’t wait. Hospitals weren’t his favorite places at the best of times. This stay had to be the worst. He sent out a silent message to Dixon.

Don’t be long.

Having him around eased the knots in Josh’s stomach and calmed his frayed nerves. And speaking of which, he figured he only had one nerve left. A small part of him hoped his potential assassin would make a move. Then Dixon and the others would take him out, and Josh might finally sleep soundly.

Until they send someone else.

That did it. When he got out of that damn bed and back to CrossBow, Josh was going to put a stop to this whole business.

Whatever it took.

Mordaunt strode through the hallways, doing his best to make it look as though he knew where he was going. The map of the hospital they had online helped a lot. So far he’d checked out the floor nearest the trauma department, and the ICU. That left three more floors. When he spied the two security guards posted outside one of the rooms on the fourth floor, he smiled to himself.

Seriously? You think I’m that stupid?

Mordaunt knew a trap when he saw one. For one thing, all the rooms on that side of the hallway had windows that looked down into the street. Perfect opportunity for another shot. As if they’d put him in a room like that.

No, they’ve got him someplace else. Now all I have to do is work out where.

No one had challenged him thus far, so he figured he blended in with all the other staff. He didn’t have access to the computer system, so it would either be luck or brains that provided the information he required. He walked past the nurses’ station and stopped under the pretense of helping himself to a cup of water, trying not to be obvious as he read the whiteboard behind the desk that contained a list of rooms and patient names. One in particular caught his eye, and his heartbeat sped up.

Gary Michael Cross.

He smiled. Gotcha.

Mordaunt patted the pocket in his scrubs, where the small plastic case containing the vial of toxin lay hidden from view. He wasn’t stupid enough to bring a gun—even hospitals nowadays had metal detectors—but the contents of the tiny glass bottle were just as deadly as a bullet.

Now all he needed was a syringe, but he figured he was in the right place to find one.

Mordaunt scanned the hallway for a supply closet, cursing mentally when he saw it had a keypad. Fortunately, a nurse was just coming out of it, and he darted forward to grab the door. Her gaze went automatically to his ID, but her smile said plenty.

“How are you finding it here?” she asked.

“Fine.” He returned her smile, then peered at her badge. “What time do you get off?” Not that he’d be around. He’d be long gone.

“Six.” Her eyes sparkled. “You?”

“Same. Maybe I’ll see you then.” He puffed out his chest.

“Maybe.” She flashed him a grin. “You look like you’re a bad boy, Allen.”

You have no idea. He made bad boys look like pussy cats.

He chuckled. “Damn, you catch on real quick.” He brushed past her to go into the supply closet. Once the door closed, he searched for the syringes and helped himself to a pair of gloves too. On the way out of the closet, he surreptitiously wiped the handle with a wet wipe.

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