Page 3 of Every Last One
His heart jackhammered as he stepped out farther and looked down the corridor. There was no sign of Maria. Maybe she’d gone to check on her youngest patient. Wherever she was, she needed to be safe.Please be locked inside a room, out of sight…
“Jordon?” His mother raised her voice. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t—” Then he caught sight of a man waving a gun around in the air. He only stopped walking when a voice came over a walkie-talkie that he carried.
“Secured,” it said.
The man pulled a device out of the backpack.
Jordon tucked against the wall and slid along it, hoping to find the door for the break room.
“There’s a gunman on the fourth floor,” he whispered to his mother. But she was gone. The call was dropped. He couldn’t be sure how much she heard.
The lockdown code was announced over the speakers, and the emergency lights came on.
Shit, shit, shit!
“Get in here!” Mahoney said, urging him into the break room.
But Jordon was frozen, locked in eye contact with the gunman.
Time stood still. A part of him refused to back down, but he didn’t want to die. And if this man found out who he was, he could be in serious trouble.
He spun, storming back into the break room and turning around to throw the lock. But he was too late.
The door thrust inward, knocking him to the ground. He scrambled to get to his feet, but the gun was leveled at his face.
“Get up nice and slow, or I will put a bullet in your head.”
THREE
9:50 AM
Sometimes a person does things in life they never thought themselves capable of before. Scaling a mountain, swimming with sharks, jumping out of an airplane, or closing a big business deal. Most people will never kill but that’s what I’m prepared to do. I have nothing to lose, and I’m about to find out just how far I’m willing to go, but it’s certainly far too late to turn around. Things have been put into motion, and it’s not just me caught up in this.
I approach a woman in her mid-thirties, a pleasant smile on her face. I mimic the expression, even letting it touch my eyes. A nameplate on her desk identifies her as Pamela.
“Hello, can I help you?” Pamela asks with a tone balancing kindness and authority. She’s the gatekeeper. Behind her is the office of the most powerful woman in the building. Megan Beal, the chief executive officer of Founders Hospital.
“Yes, I’m here to speak with Ms. Beal.” I offer a smile, this one more tentative.
“I’m sorry, but she’s currently unavailable. I can schedule an appointment for you at a future time. I’d just need your name and what you wish to discuss.”
A cold sweat washes over me, and my stomach churns. I wrap my fingers around the handle of the gun in my pocket. Coming here, I knew that would be her answer, even why Beal isunavailable, but Pamela is my ticket inside. “I need to speak with her. It’s urgent.”
A smile again. This one, patronizing. “As I said, she’s not available.”
Voices have me turning to look over my shoulder. Two doctors are walking down the hall, their stethoscopes dangling around their necks, the instruments swaying with their gait. They round the corner out of sight. I didn’t want it to come to this but am prepared to do what I must.
My heart pounds as I pull my weapon, just enough to direct her gaze there. “I’m not asking.”
Pamela’s face goes white while her mouth gapes open and shut, open and shut, open and shut. It’s like she’s locked in fear and shock. I can’t take the risk she’ll do something stupid.
“Don’t even think about screaming,” I say clearly, slowly, and at a low volume. “Now, I’m only going to ask nicely one more time. I need to speak with Ms. Beal. Is she in this hospital?”
Pamela is nonresponsive. Her facial expression, her body language. I’m not even sure if she’s still breathing. It might be a few seconds, but the passage of time stretches out painfully so.
“Pamela,” I prompt using her name, hoping that will jolt her out of her daze.
