“That about it, Doc?” Dalton asked.
“I think so.”
“Be sure. This is a one shot deal.”
“Want me to sit down and make a list?” Dalton glared at him. “I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances.”
Dalton’s jaw tightened. He then turned to his partner. “Jessie, get all this shit outside while the doc thinks.”
He gathered up the four trash bags they had filled, two in each hand, and carried them toward the rear door.
“I think that’s it,” Buck said.
Jessie returned. “Dennie ain’t looking so good. We need to get out of here.”
“One more thing,” Dalton said. He walked to the cash register and tried the drawer, finding it locked.
“Open it,” he said to Shaffer.
He did.
Dalton fisted all the bills inside and stuffed them into his pocket.
“Not bad. Now it’ll look like a good old-fashioned robbery.” He looked at Jessie. “Take the doc back to the car. I’ll finish up in here.”
Jessie waved a hand toward the door, headed that way. Buck followed. As he passed one of the cash registers, he made sure Dalton wasn’t looking, and quickly removed his wallet from the back pocket of his scrubs. He snugged it against the edge of the register and trailed Jessie outside.
CHAPTER 11
6 HOURS EARLIER
Marla floated on a heroin wave. Her arms, legs, entire body was heavy with that welcome tingly feeling. To her, the ride always felt as if she were enveloped in a warm, comforting blanket, curled before a fire. One of the few memories she still held from her childhood. The remainder had long ago been fractured and scattered. Her past now only appeared in snapshots and brief distorted images. Laughing with friends in the school cafeteria, movies with buttery popcorn, leading cheers on the sidelines, even siting at the dinner table with her parents. But these flashbacks were increasingly fragile and unreliable, as if they might not have really happened.
The heroin fog, and the ground fog, thinned. Above her, she saw the outline of tree limbs against the dark sky, but no stars or moon. She had slouched down on the park bench, head back, her neck now stiff. A single drop of rain struck her forehead. She heard others tap against the leaves.
She sat up, twisting to relieve the tightness in her back. She wiped drool from her chin with one sleeve.
How long had she been here? Seemed an eternity but she knew heroin voyages only lasted twenty minutes, max. God, she wished they were longer. Like forever. That would be perfect. Hang weightless in that mist, never come out, never have to deal with this shitty world again.
She sat up. Her foot banged against her backpack. Next to her, the bag of heroin sat on the bench, along with her needle and spoon. She collected them.
Maybe one more ride. More raindrops.
Shelter. That’s what she needed now. The temperature was dropping and if she got soaked it would fall farther. Time to head over to Reverend John’s. Hopefully, he had a bed for her. If not, she would have to crash on the floor. Right now either would be welcome.
She stood. Unsteady.
Across the street, the lights of the hospital’s ER caught her eye. “Emergency Department” in red block letters on an illuminated white sign.
What was it? Something niggled at her brain. Something she needed to remember. But, what? It had slipped away as the heroin enveloped her.
She grabbed her backpack and walked that way, stopping at the edge of the road. Nothing. She couldn’t recall what had earlier seemed important. But was it? Did anything important ever happen in her life? Other than the next fix?
The raindrops now became a drizzle. She turned along the road’s shoulder toward town, toward Reverend John’s.
She suddenly stopped. Remembered. Jason. What he made her do. Took almost all of her money. The twenty the nice doctor had given her. She spun toward the ER. The doctor. Someone had forced him into a big black vehicle. Hadn’t they? Or was it a dream? She had those all the time and couldn’t always remember what was real; what had really happened and what had simply rolled through her brain.
She shifted the backpack to the other shoulder and crossed the street. The ER parking area was mostly empty, only four cars. An ambulance sat to the left of the sliding-glass entry doors, lights off, engine quiet.
There it was. The doctor’s SUV. A Land Cruiser. The left rear door stood open. She approached, looked around, saw no one. Inside, a briefcase and a white coat lay on the rear seat. On the rooftop, keys.
The entire scene replayed in her head. She hadn’t imagined it. It hadn’t been a drug dream, it really happened.
The ER doors whooshed open and she entered. It was quieter than it had been before. The waiting room empty, two nurses standing near one of the curtained cubicles chatting, only the sound of a floor polisher whirring away somewhere down a hallway. The woman behind the reception desk—Marla knew her name but couldn’t recall it—greeted her with a quick smile, her fingers still working her computer. Her keyboard tapping fell silent.
“Marla? What brings you back? Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. I think I saw something.”
“Like what?”
Marla glanced toward the entrance. Did she really see what she thought she did? Yes, yes. The car keys, the door open, the stuff inside. But what had she actually seen? The image of the tall man materialized. The gun. She looked back toward the woman.
“I think I just saw that doctor get kidnapped.”
The two nurses standing nearby now approached. Marla recognized Mona Faulk, the older of the two.
“What do you mean?” Mona asked.
“I was in the park. A black SUV pulled up as the doctor—what was his name?”
“Buckner. Dr. Buckner.”
Marla nodded. “He was nice. I liked him.”
“What happened?” Mona pressed her.
“He was getting into his car when they pulled up. Two guys held a gun on
