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Chapter Twenty-Two
For the wages of sin is death… —Romans 6:23
Amos Tillman steppedonto the Halifax Memorial Hospital elevator, his face buried in a newspaper he wasn’t reading. The blond wig he wore curved around his chin in a soft bob. His bright pink smock, matching pants, and bright white tennis shoes were similar to the outfits he’d observed nurses wearing as they left duty at the hospital. Everything he needed was in the black purse hanging from hisshoulder.
This wouldn’t takelong.
The passageway he’d used to escape the hapless RCMP officers was as difficult to detect as he’d remembered. It was the longest tunnel in the Devil’s Fingers caves. Nearly three-quarters of a kilometer. He’d waited until dusk because he needed some light to climb down to the beach below. To walk the two kilometers to where he’d left the rental with its stolenplate.
The now-constant pain in his knee had slowed his progress, but it took his mind off the raging in hisblood.
He’d been wrong about Alexa Hayden. So horribly, laughablywrong.
The elevator doors pinged and opened softly. Someone else got on. The doors slid shut with a quietwhoosh. Amos’s ascentcontinued.
Far from being a reward for his many sacrifices, Hayden was the worst of Satan’s temptations. She’d nearly fooled him with her shared interests and quiet understanding. She hadn’t been placed in his path to be his helpmate; she’d been sent to destroyhim.
The doors whirred open on the fourth floor, and he walked out of the elevator to the quiet hospital floor. Two-thirty a.m. The halls were quiet and shadowy. The staff was minimal. He ducked into a door marked laundry. Came out moments later pushing a small foldable cart for soiledlinens.
It had been ridiculously easy to discover Hayden’s hospital room number. They gave that information out to any interested caller. This would be over in minutes. Then he’d drive to the storage garage where he kept the van. Take off the plates and set it on fire. Maybe burn the whole structure down, to disguise his intent. Then he’d head back home in the rental car. The Lord’s weary soldier returning triumphantly from yet another victoriousmission.
Room 406. Anticipation filled him. He pushed open the door. The wedge of light revealed the sleeping woman in the hospital bed. There wasn’t a stand-in this time. Oh, no. He slipped inside, leaving the cart in the hall, and shutting the door behindhim.
Letting the purse slide down his pink-clad arm, he opened it and drew out the plastic bag. It’d all be over inminutes.
He was going to enjoy everysecond.
First, he moved the call light out of reach. Then Amos stood over her, the sound of her soft breathing fueling his anticipation. He opened the bag. Raised it toward herhead.
And then he felt the kiss of cool steel beneath his right earlobe. “Drop it. Raise your arms. Slow andeasy.”
Disbelief filled him. This couldn’t be happening. Not with the Lord’s blanket of protection he’d enjoyed for so many years. He let the bag flutter to the floor, one hand going for the purse where he’d left the syringe. An overdose would work just as wellas…
He was slammed painfully to the floor, his arms twisted behind his back. “Amos Tillman.” That hated voice was in his ear. Cold and authoritarian. “You’re under arrest for the homicides of fifteen victims. And it’ll be the greatest pleasure of my life to see you spend the rest of your life in acage.”