Page 25 of Every Last One
“You little shit!” the gunman roared after witnessing the aftermath.
Jordon took advantage of this distraction and went for the man’s gun, but he couldn’t see it anywhere.Where the…?
Nurse Winters was in the corner of the room, her back to the wall, holding on to the weapon. Her hands were shaking, and she could barely keep her arms raised. “Leave us alone!” Her cry was ear-piercing.
The gunman smiled, a maniacal and evil grin that belonged to a villain in any movie. “Do you think I have anything to lose? Go ahead. Shoot me.” The man raised his arms, and Jordon was unsettled by this dark twist.
Winters looked at Jordon, then let her gaze slip past him to the gunman. “I will. I swear.”
“This doesn’t need to get any worse. No one else needs to get hurt,” Jordon said, not just to the gunman but to the nurse as well. He walked over to her with his hands up, cautiously taking steps forward while watching over his shoulder. “Give me the gun, Leah. It will be all right.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She sniffled and handed Jordon the weapon.
He could finally breathe. Not realizing how he had been taking shallow breaths. “She’s right, though. You’re going to leave us alone. This is over.” Jordon turned as he spoke to fully face the stranger, leveling the gun on him.
The man was standing behind Mahoney, his arm around his neck. Mahoney batted at him, but his strength was clearly fading. “It’s only over when I say it’s over. Now hand me my gun, nice and slow, or I will strangle your friend here.”
Jordon played the scenarios through in his head. He could pull the trigger, but he wasn’t a skilled shot. The stranger was leaning over Mahoney, and his head was too close to the nurse’s. If Jordon fired the gun, he just may end Mahoney’s life as easily as take the stranger’s. There was the chance he could pull it off. But was it a risk worth taking? Maybe Jordon could lure the stranger away from Mahoney to hand him the gun. Or… Instead of surrendering the weapon, he’d pull the trigger. Yes, that might work.
Jordon kept some distance from the man, and as it had worked in his thoughts, the stranger put a bit more space between himself and Mahoney as he reached for the gun.
In his mind, Jordon pulled the trigger. The stranger went down. The nightmare was over. Or was it? There was that woman out there… And Jordon was being barraged by the Hippocratic Oath.Do no harm. If he shot this man, he was no better than him. Jordon didn’t want murder on his conscience, justified or not. Unlike his sick patients who didn’t survivesurgery or treatment, this death would be deliberate. At his hands. The very hands that were skilled at saving life.
No, he couldn’t do it. Jordon held out the gun, putting the handle toward the man.
“Smart guy,” the stranger said as he took his weapon back.
Jordon stood there numb, silent, paralyzed by self-chastisement and second thoughts. Maybe he’d been too quick to assume he’d be haunted if he’d killed him. He was accustomed to death, having it around him. He had money for therapy. Not that it mattered. There was no going back. The moment had passed.
“I want all of you to hand over your phones. Now!”
Winters was sitting on the floor crying and shaking. Mahoney’s eyes were glazing over.
Jordon took his phone out, hoping like hell the message to his girlfriend had gone through, and gave it to the man. “Do you have a phone?” Jordon asked Winters.
She pointed toward the couch, and Jordon fished in the cushions for her phone and surrendered it. When the transfer was made, Winters let out a strangled cry.
“And yours.” The gunman nudged his gun toward Mahoney, and the man flinched.
“Get that away from him.” Jordon rushed to his defense, and the gunman turned on him with cold eyes.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you after what you did,” he barked.
Jordon raised his hands and backed up. His entire body was quaking. Not with rage, not with fear, but self-criticism. He should have shot the bastard when he had the chance.
The stranger raised the gun on Jordon. “Don’t think I won’t shoot you. I’m sure it will be easier the second time.”
FOURTEEN
12:30 PM
Gail stood back and watched in horror as the machine attached to Phoebe’s heart nearly flatlined. She opened her mouth to cry out, but all sound was smothered in her throat.
Nurse Torres powered up the defibrillator and approached Phoebe armed with the paddles. “Stay back,” she told Gail just before she applied them to Phoebe’s chest.
Her daughter’s body flopped on the bed like a lifeless puppet. Her complexion was deathly pale, and her lips a shade of blue. “Please… please, help her.”
The nurse repeated the process and powered the paddles again. The heart monitor stopped screaming, and Phoebe’s heart rate picked up again. While it was a touch erratic, it had a relatively stabilized baseline.
