Page 11 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

As the hulking man bustles me inside, I’m shivering so hard I can’t think about anything but getting warm.

The interior is dim and still, the faint scent of lemon polish clinging to the air.

Retro tile floors stretch beneath my feet, and curved archways lead into a quiet sitting room furnished with mid-century chairs and faded tropical prints. A ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring the heavy silence.

I don’t understand any of this. Not the cops, not Mick saving me, not the fancy bed-and-breakfast. None of it makes sense.

I should be dead.

Given who I’m with, that might still be the better option.

A woman appears, khaki pants, loose linen shirt, sensible shoes. With her short nails, hair tied back, and no makeup on her, either she’s the nurse they arranged to be here, or she’s posing as one. The concern on her face seems real enough, but I know better than anyone that appearances can be deceiving.

“Oh, you poor thing, come with me,” she says.

Caleb hands me off to her, and she grips me tight as though I might topple over any minute. Not a chance. Whatever happened to me is over and done with.

Time to regroup and find a way out of here.

The nurse leads me into a bedroom, where she’s set up a makeshift medical center. Supplies are spread across a desk and nightstand—gauze, antiseptic, a blood pressure cuff, and a small oxygen tank. A portable monitor beeps softly in the corner, and a box of gloves sits beside a roll of medical tape.

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.

She chuckles and peers down at my shoes.

“These will take a few days to dry out, but I don’t expect that’ll be an issue.”

My heart thumps a little harder.

“It won’t be?”

She gets to her feet and starts packing away her medical equipment.

“Not if you’ll be staying here for a while.”

I pull the robe tighter, and a fresh wave of panic overtakes me as she pads out of the room.

I get to my feet, a little wobbly but desperate to know what’s going on in the next room. When I hear the nurse’s voice, I position myself behind the door and listen in as she gives her report.

“She’s doing well, but someone needs to stay with her just in case her condition worsens.”

It’s Caleb who answers, confirming that he’s in charge of this puzzling rescue mission.

“Mick, you know what to look out for?”

My eyes widen. No. No. No! Anyone but him.

“Of course I do, but I?—"

Caleb cuts him off.

“Jake and I need to follow up on the boat. As far as anyone knows, you’re out of town. Let’s keep it that way.”

My toes dig into the carpet. Mick’s supposed to be out of town? That explains the pack I noticed in the Jeep.

“You can’t expect me to stay here with her. Alone,” he says.

Caleb’s reply confuses me even more.

“She might be able to identify the cops.”

The nurse seems to be scolding them all.

“Whatever you boys are doing this time, she needs time to recover. I can drop by again after my shift, but I’m not leaving until I know she’s in capable hands.”

“She is.”

The nurse still doesn’t seem convinced, but she relents, and the sound of her leaving makes my stomach plummet.

“Isn’t there anyone else at Hightower who can babysit her?”

Mick asks.

Hightower? What is Hightower?

“Nope. Relax. Jake will drop some clothes and food off for you in a few hours.”

So Mick isn’t calling the shots? Whoever Caleb is, he has a hold over him.

But that won’t mean anything once Mick and I are trapped here together. I move as quickly as my wobbly legs allow for and unzip my soaking pack. I have no idea if the gun will still work, but I’m not facing him without protection. The idea of spending any length of time with him makes my pulse spike.

As the other two men leave with promises to stay in contact, I slide the gun into the pocket of my robe.