Lancaster County Target

“You can’t expect me to just lie here and not know what happened.” She met his steady gaze.

“I might if I think that’s what’s best for you.”

What? Who did this doctor think he was? Was he really not going to tell her anything? “At least tell me what day it is.”

“It’s Thursday,” he said, following it up with the date.

“Thursday,” she repeated. She leaned back into her pillow with a frown. It seemed that her memory was only missing most of one day. The damage could have been much worse...and yet it was troubling to think of those lost hours, especially given the injuries she’d sustained.

“You look upset.” He stepped back inside the curtained area. “Worrying about your memory may only block it longer. Try to relax. Think about the things you did early this morning.”

Abby shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t remember a thing. Please, isn’t there anything you can tell me about what happened? At least explain the heart monitor.”

“Well, we aren’t completely certain, but apparently, you took a hefty dose of epinephrine.” His words were slow. His tone kind and compassionate. “Fortunately, you’re strong and your body quickly absorbed much of the excess. We gave you something to calm your heart. It worked just the way it was supposed to—the monitor is just here as a precaution. You’re going to be fine. There will be no long-term effects.”

“Epinephrine?”

“Yes, it almost threw you into cardiac arrest.”

“How? Why would I take epinephrine? That’s crazy. Are you sure?” In a blink, Abby had a flash image of a shaking hand raising a needle to her arm. It was dark, like nighttime.

“You were found with an empty syringe, which we are pretty certain contained a killer amount of epinephrine before having a meeting with your arm.”

“Wait a minute, what else? I—I...” She looked down at her bruised arm. Her pulse started to rise. Someone had held her. So tight. She remembered her arm had felt as if it might break. She also remembered a man so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Abby shivered. “Someone gave me a shot. He was holding me around the arm. But where was I? And how did I get here?”

Blake’s lips pressed together as he seemed to consider how much to tell her. He frowned. “The custodian found you on the third floor. He said you were out cold in the stairwell by that big hall that’s being renovated. He’s the one who brought you down. He saved your life. Now, look, you’re getting too worked up. Try to rest. We can continue this conversation in a bit. You’re very weak.”

The third floor. Cold gray eyes. Abby could feel the tension rising in her, and it wasn’t because of her condition. She locked eyes with the doctor. More images shot through her mind. Gurney. Syringe. Eyes. Icy, fiery eyes. She flung the sheet off her lap and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I need to go back upstairs. Someone’s in trouble. I wasn’t the only one who was injected.”

Blake placed a hand on her shoulder that gently but firmly kept her from moving. “Slow down, Abby. You could still be under the effects of the drugs.”

“No. Really, I’m fine.” She slipped from his reach and stood. Her legs felt like cooked spaghetti. Blake caught her as she leaned back for support.

“It will have to wait, Abby. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest later.” She pushed the doctor and his restraining arms away.

She didn’t remember all the details of her attack, but she knew someone else had been in danger. She couldn’t wait a minute longer—she might already be too late.

* * *

Blake could hardly believe the beautiful but provoking patient had talked him into letting her out of bed. Of course, when she’d plucked the IV from the back of her hand with a single yank, it was clear she was going to get up to the third floor with or without his approval. Since his shift had ended, he thought it best to accompany her. At least that way he could confine her to a wheelchair and keep an eye on her.

“Janice told me that you were raised Amish,” Blake commented as he wheeled her into the elevator.

She nodded. “It’s true.”

“So why did you decide to stop being Amish? If you don’t mind me asking?”

She laughed. “I don’t mind you asking at all. But I wouldn’t say that I stopped being Amish. I may not wear the clothes, but in here—” she touched her chest where her heart would be “—I will always be Amish. I didn’t take vows to commit myself to the church because I wanted to continue nursing.”

The elevator stopped at the third floor and Blake turned them toward the renovation area, taking in her words, which were more personal to him than she knew. “At the risk of sounding ignorant, I’m going to ask. Nursing isn’t allowed?”

“No, it’s not. It’s Hochmut.” Abby smiled and waved hellos to the few staff members they passed. “The Amish can have shops, build furniture or buildings, and farm. Professions that require higher degrees are not pursued.”

“Hochmut?”

“Ja. Hochmut,” she repeated with a teasing look, correcting his pronunciation.

“I don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch.” Blake felt himself blush—her unfamiliar words were just another reminder of how little he knew of this place where he had come to find answers about himself.

“It means ‘arrogance.’ It’s what comes with letting the world in, with studying and learning more than needed. By going to school and becoming a nurse, I’ve become too much a part of the world. In many ways, I’m not worthy to take vows. But I have vowed in my own way to take care of people. My people. They need health care that they are comfortable with and I can provide that. I think I made the right decision. One day my family will understand. Some of them already do.”

Blake tried to wrap his head around the Amish culture. After the letter his mother had left him, he’d researched anything and everything Amish. But now that he was there in Lancaster, he realized there was still so much to learn. And there was already one strike against him. Would his biological family think less of him for his medical profession?

“How about you?” She looked back at him with her bright blue eyes. “Why did you leave New York? And how did you pick Fairview Hospital of all places?”

Blake had a stock answer for that question. It was the one he’d given to everyone else who’d asked him, even his closest friends. No one knew the real reason he’d come to Lancaster. He’d told no one that he had recently found out that he’d been adopted, that he’d been born in Lancaster, not in New York City as he’d thought his entire life. He could hardly process the news himself, much less deliver it to others and expect them to understand. It was best to sort it out first. By himself. Yet he found himself on the verge of telling Abby the truth.

“Lots of reasons,” he said in a low voice.

“Dr. Jamison. Dr. Jamison.” The young nurse from Nicolas Hancock’s room raced after him, waving a set of papers. “Here, Doctor. I called Mr. Hancock’s lawyer, but I only spoke with a receptionist. She wouldn’t let me through, nor would she tell me if there was a next of kin to notify.”

“Thank you.” Blake took the papers.

She glanced at the closed doors to the renovation area and easily guessed their intentions. “The renovation area has been locked up after what happened to you, Abby. But if you want to take a look, then we might have a key at the station.” She started back in the direction she’d come. “I have your hermetically sealed IV and tubing, too, Doctor. Would you like to have that, too?”

“Yes, if you could bring the IV, too, I’d appreciate it.”

Abby looked up at him. “Hancock? Did she say your patient’s name was Hancock?”

“Yes. Nicolas Hancock.” He handed Abby the chart so he could steer the wheelchair. “But he wasn’t really my patient. Supposedly, he was a transfer. Somehow my name got on that chart. My signature, even—but I never laid eyes on him until I was paged for a Code Blue. I came right away but it was too late. The crash team tried and tried to resuscitate but he didn’t make it.”

Abigail stared down at the front page of the chart in her lap. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Seen what?” Blake thought again about the fact that Hancock and Abby had had elevated adrenaline levels. Had that not been a coincidence?

“This chart. This name. This patient.” Her eyes were wide.

“What? What do you mean? I thought you worked in Maternity.”

Before she could answer, the young nurse returned with a set of keys to unlock the refinished wing. She opened the doors and handed Blake a small sealed plastic bag, which had Hancock printed across the side. He hung it on the back of the chair, thanked the nurse for her help and rolled Abby into the closed-off wing. The farther they got into the hallway, the more the blood had drained from Abby’s face. He stopped the chair and walked in front of her. He took her arm and checked her pulse.

“Your heart is racing and you look really tired, Abby. This is too much. Let’s go back down and rest. As you can see, the hallway is empty. There’s no one else here.”

“That doctor was here.” Abby, white as snow, pushed him aside. She stood and began to move through the dim hallway. “He was here. In this hallway with that patient.” She pointed at the chart. “He gave him an injection. Blake, I saw it. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. That’s why he injected me, too.”

“What doctor? What are you talking about?” Blake moved quickly around the wheelchair and put a hand under her shoulder to support her. He took the chart from her hands and tossed it back onto the wheelchair so he could take her hand. “I really think this is too much for you right now. Please sit back down. You’re not really making a lot of sense.”

“He tried to tell me that patient had a highly contagious disease, but I knew it wasn’t true. There was no indication of it on his chart.” Her pulse quickened as she pressed against him.

Blake didn’t answer. She was already too worked up. He should never have let her talk him into this stupid excursion. “You need to be resting. Come on.”

Abby continued, ignoring his efforts to make her return to the wheelchair. Her persistence was admirable, he supposed. But as a doctor, he had to object to the way she was putting herself at risk. But she would not stop. She continued down the hallway without his help.

“So how did he die?” She looked back at him.

“Cardiac arrest.”

“Too much epinephrine?”

“Too much adrenaline. Yeah. Probably epinephrine. We saved the IV tubing—that’s what’s in the bag that the nurse brought to me. We might be able to get some idea of what the patient was given...but...” He caught up to her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “Abby, are you saying you saw another doctor inject Hancock with medication? Here? Not in the patient’s room?”

Click.

The doors behind them, the ones they’d come through, closed tight. The lock popped and the sound of it echoed down the dead, dark corridor. It was pitch-black.

Abby shuddered against Blake’s supportive arm.

“Let’s get you back. I think you’ve remembered enough for now.” Blake started to redirect them the way that they’d come. “I’m sure someone will hear us if we knock.”

But Abby pulled against him. “We are much closer to the stairwell. You said that’s where the custodian found me, right?”

“Right.” Blake shook his head, following behind her in the darkness. “Really, please, let me get you back to that wheelchair.... Are all Amish women this stubborn?”

“Most are much worse.” She pushed open the door of the stairwell. There was some dim lighting.

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I have any more Amish patients.” Blake linked an arm gently under hers, supporting most of her weight. He led her carefully down the stairs. Shadows seemed to dance above them in the dim lighting. Twice she stopped and looked up.

“Do you...?” Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He could have sworn he saw someone above them. A shadow. A movement. Someone dressed in white.

“Yes,” Abby said. “I see little...”

Blake frowned at her words. She was seeing it, too. He wasn’t imagining them. A shadow passed over the wall beside them. “Lights? Shadows?”

She nodded. They continued a few more steps.

He tried to hurry her down to the ground floor. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I guess our eyes are not adjusting to the bad lighting.”

A loud clanging sounded overhead. Abby, startled by the sound, slipped on the next step. Blake helped straighten and steady her. He had to get her back to bed. She was about to collapse.

Clang. Metal against metal. Louder and louder. Something was falling. The sound echoed through the space, coming closer and closer.

He looked up, as did Abby, who was growing faint. He could feel her legs buckling. Blake wrapped himself around her and pushed them both under the cover of the second-floor landing. Something was coming down in a hurry and they had to move or get hit.

A magnificent crash sounded behind him.

A stainless-steel surgical tray landed in the very spot where they’d stood, complete with an assortment of sharp scalpels and other surgical instruments, which rattled down around them like a metal rainstorm.

Once the stairs were quiet, Blake lifted his hands to Abby’s shoulders. “You okay?”

“No. I’m not.” Her body trembled under his hands as she shook her head from side to side. “I think someone is trying to kill me.”

THREE

An hour later, Blake’s thoughts were swimming as he sat with Abby and two policemen in a special conference room of the hospital. The more time they spent going over the particulars of the assault and the incident in the stairwell, the more confused he felt.

He shook his head. Nothing seemed to make sense these days. His parents’ accident. The revelation of his adoption. His inheritance. His arrival in Lancaster to search for his birth parents. He couldn’t even decide if he wanted to find his birth parents or not...and he might not have a choice. The search, after all, could very well lead to nothing.

Then again, it could change his life.

Blake wasn’t sure which of those results he wanted. The future seemed so muddled. He wasn’t used to that.

In any case, working on his search wouldn’t be happening today. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to leave the hospital anytime soon. The more he and Abby repeated their stories to the police, the crazier and crazier the whole thing sounded. If it hadn’t actually happened to him, he would not have believed it himself.

“And the name of the patient that died from cardiac arrest?” Chief McClendon scratched his thinning red hair. He was tall and lean and looked like a man you did not want to cross.

“Hancock. Nicolas Hancock.” Blake shook his head. “I had an extra copy of his transfer chart, but I left it on the wheelchair when we went to the stairwell, and—”

“Someone swiped it,” Abby said. “That was right before the tray of scalpels came down on us.”

“Right. By the time I got back up to the third floor to make another copy, the original chart was gone, too. And the bag containing the IV and tubing that I’d left with the wheelchair, as well.” Blake felt his phone buzz yet again. A friend, a colleague, a lawyer from New York, no doubt. He silenced the phone.

“So no chart? And now it seems there’s no body, either?” the chief repeated. “No evidence that the man was here at all, except for the testimony from you and the crash team, and the bruising and wounds inflicted on Miss Miller after the alleged injection took place.”

“I did go to the morgue,” Blake continued. “And no...there’s no Nicolas Hancock. The autopsist said he’d never gotten the body. And now if you check in the hospital’s electronic files, you cannot even find the name Nicolas Hancock in the system.”

“But his name was there earlier?”

“Yes, I checked it this afternoon. Before Miss Miller woke up in the E.R. I couldn’t figure out how I was assigned to this patient I’d never seen. I thought I might see another doctor’s name in there.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Sorry, I’m late to the meeting.” A small-framed, middle-aged doctor hurried into the room. He moved with sharp gestures as he made his way around the room and shook hands with everyone. “I’m Dr. Dodd. I’m the head administrator of Fairview Hospital and I’m just flabbergasted at the events that have happened here today. Has anyone called the media?”

“No,” said Chief McClendon. “And that better not happen, either.”

“Don’t worry.” Dr. Dodd pressed his dark-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t. Hancock’s body is in autopsy. I’ll make sure the findings are not released to the public. Dr. Jamison, in the interim, your actions today will be under review. I understand both of you will be taking a few days off. I’ve already made arrangements for that. Now, if you don’t have anything else for me, I have another meeting to attend. Please let my custodial staff know when they can reopen the stairwell. Keeping it shut off is a safety violation, you know.”

“You have the body?” Blake asked.

“Of course. It’s in autopsy. But naturally, you won’t see the report until it gets to me and the authorities.”

“I guess I don’t understand why I’m under review.” Blake frowned. He really wished he’d been able to save that IV tubing and possibly prove that someone had caused Hancock’s death. “Hancock was dead when I arrived to his room. I’d never seen him before that. The nurses can confirm this. Whatever happened to him—” he looked at Abby “—it happened before I saw him.”

“No worries, Dr. Jamison.” Dr. Dodd smiled. “It’s just a formality. All part of the paperwork.”

“You have his chart?”

“Of course we have his chart.” Dodd looked annoyed.

“I’ll need a copy of that,” McClendon said. “Thank you.”

“Is that all?”

McClendon nodded. Dr. Dodd scrambled out of the room as quickly as he’d come in.

“I guess you didn’t look in the right places, Dr. Jamison,” said McClendon. “Then again, you are new here.”

Blake shook his head. He was new—he wasn’t stupid. He knew how to look up files and find a body in a morgue. He’d even spoken to the autopsist. He didn’t like the idea of this review. And he definitely didn’t like Dr. Dodd. Something was fishy about this whole mess, and in situations like this, the administration usually looked for a scapegoat to blame. Blake had a sinking feeling Dodd meant for that scapegoat to be him.

McClendon tapped more notes into his tablet, then looked to his younger colleague. “Langer, head to the morgue. See what you can find out. Get that file. Then question the crash team and every nurse who came in contact with Nicolas Hancock. Even talk to the person who added his data to the hospital patient files. Somebody has to know something. Do not mention the word murder or either the doctor’s or Abigail’s names. I don’t want any of this leaking out.”

“Yes, sir.” Langer, who was built like a pit bull and was probably just as feisty, spun away from the hospital conference room and headed to the elevators.

McClendon stowed his tablet inside his front jacket pocket. “This is a delicate situation. While we want to cover all of our bases, the person we are looking for could very well work in the hospital. This isn’t the kind of person we want to cause to panic. That could make the situation more dangerous.

“Now, we know that Miss Miller was assaulted and drugged. If your Hancock and her Hancock are one and the same, then it sounds like you both could be in a lot of danger.”

“We witnessed a murder, right?”

Abby’s blunt assessment of the day’s events hit Blake like a ton of bricks. Murder? Unbelievable—Abby had witnessed a murder. And to some extent so had he. Blake could hardly wrap his head around it all.

“Right,” McClendon agreed. “From what Dr. Dodd said, it sounds like the two of you will have the next few days off. My advice is for you both to keep your distance from the hospital until we see what kind of information we can pull together.”

He moved toward Blake and placed a card in his hand. “I’ll be in touch. Make sure Miss Miller gets safely home.” The chief tipped his head to Abigail, then left them alone in the conference room.

Blake stared after the chief for a long moment. What a day. He could barely take it all in. He was exhausted. And he could only imagine that Abby must be even more so, considering all the abuse her body had taken. Of course, if she’d just stayed in her bed in the E.R., some of the trouble could have been avoided.

He turned back to Miss Abigail Miller. Looked as if he was to give her a ride home. Frankly, he was glad to have the excuse to keep an eye on her a bit longer. She’d pushed herself too hard today and needed someone to make sure she went straight home and got some rest. Although as tough and stubborn as she was, she probably already had her own ideas about that.

He wouldn’t admit to himself that he found the woman’s ridiculous determination rather intriguing. Or that he found her pretty, too. Naturally pretty, not like many of the women he knew back in New York who spent a lot of money in order to look a certain way. Abby had smooth, creamy skin, huge blue eyes and a healthy glow, despite the lump on her head. And her energy—it was amazing. It drew everyone in—or at least, it drew him in.

Blake made a note to himself to be on his guard with Abby. Not only was she a patient, he had not come to Lancaster for romance. In fact, that was the last thing he needed in his life.

“I’m disappointed,” she said. “I’d hoped there would be more they could do. And it all sounded so crazy as I was retelling what happened, you know?”

“Crazy but real. As real as whoever put those nasty bruises on you. Now that the body is in the morgue, I’m sure the investigation will move right along.” Blake rubbed his hand through his hair. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted dinner and a long, hot shower. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Am I allowed out of here?” She stood, too, a hopeful and wide-eyed expression on her face.

Blake smiled. “I already signed the release. But as I’m sure you already know, after a concussion you shouldn’t spend the night alone. Someone has to be with you and wake you up at certain intervals during the night.”

“Right.” She let out a long sigh. “I guess I’ll go to Eli’s.”

Was Eli a boyfriend? Abby definitely wasn’t married. Everyone had been calling her Miss Miller. Blake shook his head. Why was he even thinking about that? “You shouldn’t drive, either. You’ve had a lot of medication today.”

She checked her watch and frowned. “Hmm...that’s a problem. Janice has already gone home and most of my other friends and family drive buggies.”

“I’m staying at the Willow Trace Bed-and-Breakfast. Are you headed in that direction?”

“Actually, that’s not far from where my brother lives,” she said. “Would you mind terribly?”

“Eli is your brother?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, and he drives a buggy, or I’d ask him to pick me up himself.” She smiled. She had a fabulous smile. “He used to drive a Mustang, but now he’s back to a buggy.... So, do I get a ride or what?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Blake felt his face flood with heat. “I thought I already said that.”

* * *

Abby collected her things from her nurse’s locker and followed the new doctor to his car—one very expensive SUV.

Hochmut—that was what her father would say if he saw her in that fancy vehicle. Bishop Miller would shake his head and disapprove, just as he seemed to do of everything she decided these days. Her father didn’t know how much his condemnation hurt—she wouldn’t let it show. She couldn’t.

Anyway, it would be silly not to take the ride from the doctor. He was headed in the same direction. And hopefully, her father would not be visiting when she arrived at her brother’s.

Blake drove slowly out of the hospital parking lot. Almost immediately, they came up behind an Amish buggy. Abby sighed. Looked as if it might be a long, slow drive to Eli’s.