Hidden in Plain View

“Special Agent Lopez called me first thing this morning.” Captain Rogers wiped a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. “The man was suffocated with one of his own pillows.”

“How could something like this happen? He was under armed guard. Did they at least catch the guy?”

“No. He did it on the graveyard shift, when there would be fewer people roaming the halls or in attendance. Once Miller’s heart stopped, the monitors went off at the nurse’s station. By the time the nurse and crash cart personnel arrived at the room, he had disappeared.”

“Any leads? Witnesses?” Sam tried to calm his racing thoughts. This shooter had walked into a hospital and murdered a man in police custody. The degree of difficulty to keep Sarah safe just rose several more notches.

“We believe it was the ring leader of the group,” Rogers said. “The same guy we’re expecting to show up here. We figure he left here right after the schoolhouse shootings and returned to New York. He spent the week tracking down the whereabouts of his partner in crime, did his surveillance of the medical center and set a plan in motion. He’s never left anyone alive who could identify him. He wasn’t about to leave one of his team in the hands of the enemy.”

“I don’t believe this guy.” Sam ran his hand through his hair. He could feel his blood throb in a rapid beat on each side of his temple. “You’re telling me that he just walked up to a guarded room, slipped inside, killed our witness and left? Why didn’t our guards stop him? What did they have to say when they were questioned?”

“Nothing.” Joe’s expression grew grimmer. “The perp slit the guard’s throat. Nobody knows whether it was coming or going, so we’re not sure if that’s how he gained access or how he covered his tracks when he left. But we think it was on the way out, because a nurse reported that she had stopped and asked the police officer if he’d like a cup of coffee only moments before. She’d just sat down at her desk when the monitor alarm went off.”

“What about the surveillance cameras?” The throbbing in Sam’s temples became a full-blown headache. He closed his eyes for a second or two and rubbed his fingers on the tender spots beside his eyes before locking his gaze on Rogers. “We’re not chasing a shadow. He’s a flesh-and-blood man just like the rest of us. Somebody had to see something.”

Captain Rogers frowned. “Lopez identified someone he believes is the perp on the tapes. The suspect shows up in multiple camera shots and hides his face every time. Lopez sent the digital images to the FBI labs for further enhancement.”

“How did he get into the room in the first place?” Sam shot a glance between his partner and Captain Rogers. “We discussed his security plan with Lopez before he left. It seemed solid.”

“It was solid.” Rogers sighed heavily. “There was a police presence visible at the elevator banks, both in the lobby and the floor in question. There was an officer at the door of the patient’s room as well. Matter of fact, Lopez had created a dummy room with an armed guard, so it wouldn’t be easy for someone off the street to easily identify the actual location of our prisoner.”

“Yeah, I thought that part of the plan was brilliant myself,” Joe said. “I guess the dog we’re chasing is smart, too.”

“I don’t get it.” Sam was finding it difficult to process this new information. When he spoke again, he addressed his captain.

“Lopez told me he had a dual checkpoint in place. Every person entering that room would have had to be cleared—not just the doctors and nurses, but housekeeping and

dietary would have had to follow the same protocol. They had to be wearing a photo identification badge, and as a fail-safe that photo ID had to match the image in the guard’s laptop.

“Even if this guy did manage to create a fake badge, are you telling me that he was able to hack into the hospital personnel files and upload his picture so he’d pass the guard’s scrutiny?”

A slow, steady burn formed in his gut and spread through his body. Sam leaned back and threw his arms in the air. “If the guy is that good, we need him running the FBI, not running from it.”

“He found a loophole,” Captain Rogers said.

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Ya think?”

Rogers ignored the sarcasm.

“Lopez set up a failsafe plan for hospital personnel. He even went one step further and insured that the same police personnel rotated shifts on the door so anyone would question a stranger in uniform, and the officers would recognize their replacements. The guard would also log the time in and out of the room for each visitor.”

Sam leaned forward, waiting for more.

“What Lopez didn’t consider was that the culprit would create a fake FBI identity. There wasn’t anything on the laptop for FBI because Lopez intended to be the only one accessing the room. Unfortunately, he failed to make sure the guards knew it. That’s how we figure he got past the guard. He pretended to be one of Lopez’s own.”

“I told you,” Joe said. “The guy’s smart.”

Sam jumped to his feet. “Sarah...”

Captain Rogers waved Sam back down.

“Sit down, King. We’re taking care of it.”

“We need to move her to another floor ASAP,” Sam urged.

“I already talked with her doctor,” Joe said. “She’s stable enough to be moved out of ICU, so they are making arrangements for a private room as we speak.”

“Our men will be handling security on the door—not FBI, not hospital security guards—us.” Rogers glared at both of them. “Nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to happen to that woman on our watch. Understood?”

Sam’s heart started to beat a normal rhythm for the first time since he’d heard of Steven Miller’s murder. He didn’t know how this guy could keep slipping through traps, avoiding surveillance cameras and sidestepping witnesses, but it didn’t matter. No matter what it took, Sam wasn’t going to let the jerk anywhere near Sarah or any of the people who loved her.

With renewed determination, he shoved back from the table and stood. “Captain, with all due respect, don’t you think we’ve talked enough? The ball is in our court now. We’d better get busy setting things in motion. The FBI botched this one, but we can’t afford to. If he shows up here, I intend to make sure he’s sorry he didn’t stay in New York—deadly sorry.”

“King.” The censoring tone in his superior’s voice cemented his feet to the floor. “Your Amish background gives you a leg up over my other officers. I picked you because I believe you can deal with the nuances of this case the best. But for that same reason, you need to be careful. You can’t let your emotions color your judgment and jeopardize this case. Everything by the book. Got it?”

Sam nodded.

“Good. Now get back to Sarah. I’m going to finalize the room move with the hospital administrator while Joe coordinates the shift coverage outside her door.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He was halfway down the hall with the door easing shut behind him before the captain had stopped speaking.

* * *

The man made a final adjustment to the fake beard that covered the lower part of his face, being sure to keep his upper lip clean, as was the Amish custom. He stared at the reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and admired his handiwork.

The blond shaggy wig brushed the back of his neck. It made him twitch the way one might with an errant insect racing down your arm, and he shivered with disgust.

He was a man who took great pride in his appearance. His chestnut-brown hair was always faithfully groomed in a short, concise military cut. His fingernails were manicured at all times, his clothing choices impeccable. He’d be glad when this distasteful costume was no longer necessary.

He leaned in for a closer look at the blue contacts he’d worn to conceal his brown eyes. He finished off the look by donning a pair of plain, wire-rimmed glasses. The transformation was amazing.

He glanced down at his outfit. His clothes looked like they’d been woven a century ago. What kind of people willingly dressed like this?

He couldn’t wait to get out of this outfit and back into one of his expensive Armani suits. He longed to sit in his butter-soft leather chair, sip the prime Scotch from his private collection and gaze out his plate-glass window overlooking the ocean.

He hooked his fingers behind his suspenders, turned sideways and grunted with satisfaction.

One obstacle still remained.

He glanced at his immaculate nails. He’d have to go outside and dig in a flower bed. The thought of dirt under his fingernails actually caused his stomach to roil. But these men worked on farms. He imagined they grew used to the feeling of soil and debris as their manicure of the day. The thought made his lips twist into a frown of disgust.

Well, it wouldn’t be for long. Diamonds valued in the billions were definitely worth this ridiculous costume and a little dirt, weren’t they?

He sighed heavily. He’d have a very limited opportunity to interrogate the woman. But he wasn’t worried. If he couldn’t get her to tell him where she’d hidden the diamonds before he eliminated her, then he’d find them another way.

He rolled his white sleeves up to his elbows and smiled with satisfaction. Even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. If she had still been alive, that is. He paused for a moment and allowed himself to remember the look of panic and fear he’d seen in her eyes moments before he squeezed the life out of her.

He’d learned many things in his lifetime. One of the most important lessons was that when you needed to infiltrate enemy lines, it was best to blend in, give off an air of confidence, act like you belonged exactly where you were.

It had served him well over the years. His enemies had never sensed his presence—even though he was often right in their midst, hiding in plain sight, as the saying goes.

He stepped back, donned his straw hat and headed to the door.

* * *

Nighttime in hospitals always gave Sam the willies. Fewer staff. People speaking in whispers. Tonight his “willies alert” was operating on full throttle. Some cops called it gut instinct. Either way, Sam hated the tension that shot along his nerve endings, the fingers of unease that crept up his spine.

The only discernible sound as he moved through the empty corridors was the soft whirring of machines from open doorways, an occasional whimper of pain or a soft snore.

He was tired. Bone tired. He hadn’t had more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past thirty-six hours, and it was beginning to catch up with him. He wasn’t a kid anymore—thirty-four on his next birthday, and he needed those eight hours of sleep. Or at least six. Who was he kidding? He’d settle for four if he could snatch them.

He glanced into the rooms as he passed by. They’d taken a risk when they’d moved Sarah to the pediatric floor. He didn’t want to imagine the uproar the parents of these children would unleash if they had any idea that the bait to catch a killer had just been moved into their midst.

Captain Rogers had arranged the move. He firmly believed this would be the last floor in the hospital the perpetrator would expect to find Sarah. The captain didn’t seem worried about the sensitive location. He was certain that even if the killer did locate Sarah, the children would be safe because they weren’t his target. Sarah was.

Sam moved past the rooms filled with sleeping children. He offered a silent prayer that the captain hadn’t made a horrendous mistake. As he drew near Sarah’s room, he recognized the officer sitting in front of the door.

“Hey, Fitch, how’s it going?”

The policeman folded his newspaper and grinned when he saw Sam approach. He gestured with his head toward the door.

“You’d think she was a Hollywood celebrity or something. Orders came down from the top that this is the last day allowed for visitation. It’s been a steady stream of Amish folks in and out all afternoon saying their goodbyes. First thing tomorrow morning, the only Amish visitor allowed to visit is her former mother-in-law, Rebecca Lapp. No one else. Period.”

Sam nodded. “Good. How did everyone else take the news?”

“Truthfully, I think they were a little relieved. They’ve been taking turns keeping vigil at the hospital all week. I’m sure they want to return to their homes and their farms.”

Officer Brian Fitch stood and stretched his back. “I must admit I’m glad they’ve cut back on visiting. Less work for me. I hear the Amish go down when the sun does, so that’s probably why it’s been quiet the last few hours.” Fitch shot a glance at Sam’s Amish attire. “No offense intended or anything.”

Sam grinned. “None taken. You’re right. The Amish do go to bed early because they are up before dawn each day to begin their chores. Running a farm is not an easy task.”

Sam leaned his hand flat against the door and then paused before he pushed it open. “You look beat. Why don’t you go stretch your legs? Maybe grab a cup of coffee while you’re at it? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure?”

Sam opened his jacket and patted the gun in his shoulder holster. “I’m still a cop. Remember?”

Fitch grinned. “Yeah, well, you sure could fool me. You look like a natural fit with the rest of those folks. If I hadn’t recognized you from our precinct, I’d be checking your ID and trying to talk you out of visiting altogether.”

Sam grinned. “That coffee is calling your name, Fitch.”

“You want me to bring you something back?”

“No, I’m good.”

Taking advantage of Sam’s offer to cover the room, the guard nodded and hurried to the elevator banks, not giving Sam a chance to change his mind.

The telltale ding of the arriving elevator filled the silence of the night, and Fitch waved. Sam gave him a nod and then entered Sarah’s room.

FOUR

The night-light above the hospital bed cast the room in a soft, white haze. Sam looked down upon the sleeping woman, and his breath caught in his throat.

With stress and pain absent from her expression, she looked peaceful, young and surprisingly beautiful.

Long blond hair poked from beneath the bandages that swathed her head and flowed like golden silk over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, giving her smooth complexion a rosy glow. Lost in sleep and probably dreaming, her lips formed a tiny pout. For the second time in as many days, he had to fight the temptation to taste the softness of those lips.

She was young and vulnerable and...

And she took his breath away.

Although he’d found her attractive when they’d first met, he’d been consumed with the business of ensuring her safety and nothing else.

But now...

In the quiet semidarkness of the evening, she reminded him of a sleeping princess and, for one insane moment, he felt an urge to awaken the princess with a kiss.

Shocked by that unexpected and traitorous thought, he stepped back from the bed as quickly as if he had touched an electrified fence, and then chuckled at his foolishness.

His eyes fell on a white kapp resting on the hospital tray table beside Sarah’s bed. Rebecca must have placed it there. Sam wondered why. Rebecca had to know that Sarah’s injuries would not allow her to wear the kapp for quite some time.

Then he glanced around the room and grinned. The middle-aged woman was sly like a fox. This room was a sterile slice of the Englischer’s world. Monitors. Hospital bed. Even a television hanging on the far wall. This kapp resting in plain sight and at arm’s length would be a constant reminder of the Amish world waiting for Sarah’s return.

He glanced at Sarah’s sleeping form one more time before he forced himself to turn away. Before exiting the room, he stepped inside the bathroom. He needed to throw some cold water on his face and try to wake up. His exhaustion was making him think crazy thoughts, have crazy feelings.

He used the facilities and washed his hands. He turned off the water and was drying his hands on a paper towel when a sound caught his attention. He paused and concentrated, listening to the silence.

There it was again. Just the whisper of sound, like the soft rustling of clothing against skin as a person moved about.

He crumpled the paper towel into a ball, tossed it into the trash can and pushed open the bathroom door. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the change from bright to dim light as he reentered Sarah’s room. A tall man dressed in Amish clothing stood in the shadows on the far side of Sarah’s bed.

A feeling of unease slithered up Sam’s spine. Why would an Amish man be visiting at this time of night, and without a female companion in tow? Sam slid his jacket aside for easy access to his gun and stepped farther into the room.

“May I help you?” he asked in Pennsylvania Dutch dialect.

The visitor didn’t reply. He removed his straw hat and nodded as a person who was apologizing for the late-night visit might. He sidestepped around the bed.

Sam stood too far from the light switch at the door to be able to fully illuminate the room. He had to rely on the soft glow from above Sarah’s bed. Because the visitor held the hat higher than normal, Sam was unable to get a clear view of the man’s face. His gut instincts slammed into gear. He drew his gun and aimed for the middle of the man’s chest.

“Don’t move.” Sam made no attempt to hide the steel resolve beneath his words. Slowly, he stepped toward the main light switch. He shifted his glance just long enough to see how much farther he had to go.

The visitor immediately took advantage of this momentary distraction, dived sideways and simultaneously threw a pillow at Sam.

Instinctively, Sam raised an arm to protect his face. He pushed the pillow away, recovered quickly from the unexpected gesture and fired his weapon at the man’s back as he sprinted out the door. The splintered wood of the door frame told him he’d missed his mark.

Sam sprang forward in pursuit. He’d almost reached the door when his right foot slid out from under him. He struggled to regain his balance and not fall. When he got his footing again, he glanced down and saw a syringe poking out from beneath his foot. He bent down and picked it up.

Suddenly, the monitor beside Sarah’s bed erupted in a loud, continuous alarm. Sam’s gaze flew to the screen and horror filled his soul. A flat, solid green line moved across the screen. Sarah’s heart was no longer beating.

Before Sam could react, the door burst open. The room flooded with light. A nurse, quickly followed by another, burst into the room and rushed past him to Sarah’s bed. While one nurse tended to the monitor and alarms, the other began CPR on Sarah. Seconds later, several other staff members hurried into the room with a crash cart pulled by the doctor close behind.

Sam knew he should be chasing the man who had done this, but his feet wouldn’t budge. His eyes flew to Sarah’s face. She lay so still, deathly still. He couldn’t believe this was happening and, worse, that it had happened on his watch. Feelings of failure were quickly replaced first with fear that he’d lost her, and then by a deep, burning rage that he was helpless once again.

Sam had to leave—now. But he could barely find the inner strength to pull himself away from Sarah’s side. This was his fault. But there was nothing he could do for her now. She was in better hands than his, and he refused to let the lowlife who did this escape. Not this time. Not ever again.

Sam pressed his hand on the shoulder of the nearest nurse. When she turned to look at him, he shoved the syringe in her hand. “I found this on the floor. I believe something was injected into her IV.”

As soon as she took it from him, he raced for the hospital room door. Before he could pull it open, a woman’s scream pierced the air, and the sounds of chaos filled the corridor. Something was terribly wrong. Had the mystery man grabbed a hostage or, worse, hurt one of the children?

Whispering a silent prayer for Sarah, Sam wrenched open the door and darted into the corridor.

A small gathering of people congregated at the end of the hall around the elevator banks. One woman had collapsed on the floor. Sam figured from the shocked expression on her face as he drew near, and from the sobs racking her body, that this was the woman who had screamed. An older gentleman hovered over her and tried to offer comfort.

A man dressed in green scrubs knelt half in and half out of an open elevator. Another man, also dressed in hospital garb, leaned close behind.

Sam pushed his way through the few gathering spectators and up front to survey the scene. For the second time that night, he felt like a mule had kicked him in the gut.

Officer Brian Fitch was sprawled on the elevator floor. One look at his open, sightless eyes and the trail of blood pooling beneath his body said it all. The officer hadn’t made it downstairs for coffee.

Sam remembered the sound of the elevator arriving. Their surprise night visitor must have been on it. When the door opened, Fitch was busy nodding to him and must have been caught unaware. One quick, deadly slice across the officer’s throat guaranteed that Fitch would never need coffee or exercise again.

Sam pulled out his badge and ordered everyone back, including the hospital staff. There was nothing any of them could do for Fitch now, and he had to protect whatever forensic evidence they’d be able to gather. Sam called hospital security on his cell phone, which he had put on speed dial for the duration of Sarah’s hospital stay.

But somebody else had beaten him to it. The second elevator bank hummed to life. He held his hand on his gun and watched two startled guards emerge and stare at the carnage in front of them.

Sam identified himself as an undercover police officer, despite his Amish garb, and flashed his detective’s shield and identification. He hoped he hadn’t just blown his cover, but at the moment it couldn’t be helped.

“Shut down every possible exit,” he commanded. “Do it now.”

Without hesitation, one of the guards barked orders into his radio while the other attended to crowd control. Sam offered a silent prayer of thanks that if this had to happen, it had happened late in the evening and gawkers were at a minimum.

He hit speed dial on his phone and barked orders the second his partner answered.

“Joe, we have a problem. Get over here, stat.”

They’d been partners long enough that when Joe heard the tension in his voice, he was on full alert, and any drowsiness in his tone from interrupted sleep was gone.

“What happened?”

“Fitch is dead. Sarah might be, too. It’s total chaos here.”

Muttered expletives floated through the receiver. “On my way.”

“Notify Rogers and call for backup.”

“Okay. Where can I find you?”

“Making sure that every window, door and crack of this hospital is sealed shut so this piece of slime doesn’t escape.”

Sam ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He stole one more precious second to glance down the hall at Sarah’s door. Every fiber of his being wanted to know what was going on in that room. Had they been able to save her? Or was she dead? The fact that no one had come out of the room yet must be a good sign, right? He had to fight the urge to run back and see what was happening. But no matter what was going on inside that room, he would not be able to help. This time logic won out.

He did what he was trained to do. He compartmentalized his emotions and focused on doing his job. He sprinted down the stairwell, his feet barely touching the stairs, and made it from the fourth floor to the lobby in record time. The sound of approaching sirens and the sight of flashing red-and-blue lights as vehicles slammed to a stop in front of the building told him that both Joe and hospital security had also gone straight to work.

Security guards were already at the entrance. They looked confused and highly nervous, but Sam had to admire how quickly and well they had sprung into action. No one was getting in or out of the building right now except cops.