Page 21

As the nurse helps me to peel off my wet clothing, I nod toward the ensuite.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I say.

“I’ll take you?—”

“I’m fine. I can take the rest of my clothes off by myself.”

She hesitates, obviously under obligation to keep an eye on me. “Well… okay. But leave the door open a crack in case you need my help.”

I smile weakly, wondering what she’s been told about me. Maybe nothing. Maybe she doesn’t care who she treats as long as she gets paid.

I know that’s all I’d care about.

She helps me to the bathroom, switches on the light, and leaves me alone to assess my surroundings. The bathroom’s small but spotless, with checkerboard tile, a pedestal sink, and a vintage mirror edged in rust. A stack of neatly folded towels sits beside a bar of unopened soap, and the air smells faintly of bleach and coconut.

There’s one possible exit. A window that I know I’m in no condition to utilize. My chest hurts, and aside from being freezing, I’m exhausted and confused as to why a cop would kill Juan.

As I slip behind the bathroom door, hiding from her view, I dig into my bra and pull out the memory card. I can’t risk taking the time to see if it’s bone dry, and I have no way of testing it, so I unsnap my bra, slide into one of the robes hanging on the back of the door, and leave my underwear on the bathroom floor. I need a place to hide the memory card until I can retrieve it.

“Are you all right in there?” the nurse calls.

With little more than seconds to spare before she comes looking, I grab the sewing kit on the vanity and slide the memory card inside the cardboard concealing it. Since she’s listening, I flush the toilet and wash my hands before rejoining her.

Her smile is a mixture of professional patience and concern as she gestures for me to sit. “I need to check your vitals, but if everything looks good, I can help you take a shower if you like?”

My lips flick upward into a smile at the offer. “That’s okay.”

As she pulls out a stethoscope and gestures for me to pull down the back of my robe, my eyes stay on my backpack two feet from the bed. The money is in a sealed bag, along with my passport. If I can just get out of here, I still might have a chance.

After a few breaths in and out, she slips a device on my finger that starts to blip. I watch the numbers rise until they reach ninety-eight percent.

“Your oxygen saturation is good, and I can’t hear any fluid in your lungs.”

“Great,” I mumble.

She carries on fussing around me. “Does it hurt anywhere? Were you injured? Any open wounds?”

I press my hand to my head. “I knocked into something, but it doesn’t hurt too bad.”

She carefully examines my forehead. “Hmmm. I can’t see anything. If you develop a headache, let someone know.”

I nod and pull my robe tight.

“Thank the Lord you had someone there to save you.”

Huh? “Right. God saved me, sure thing,” I mutter.

She pats me on the hand. “I’ll go update Caleb.”

Her eyes travel to my sodden pack. “Do you have any spare clothes?”

When she moves toward the pack, I grab her arm. “No!”

With a frown, she stoops down to pick up my T-shirt and squints at the label. “Okay. I’ll see if someone can get you some warm clothes in… size eight?”

In an attempt to draw her attention from my pack, I smile. “On a good day.”

A ten would be better, because I need loose clothing so I can climb out the window. But I can’t tell her that.