Graham Pike was not impressive.
That surprised Dileia.
She had expected evil to announce itself somehow.
A scar.
A cruel smile.
Something cinematic.
Instead Pike looked like the kind of man who would politely complain that his hotel room had the wrong pillows.
Fifty-three.
Expensive outdoor jacket.
Wire-rimmed glasses.
Carefully trimmed gray hair.
The gun looked almost unnatural in his hand.
Lucian was on the concrete floor near the far wall.
Blood darkened his shirt.
Alive.
Barely.
Colette sat tied to a metal chair.
A bruise marked her cheek.
Her broken ankle had been struck again.
Dileia felt fury sharpen inside her.
Ror took one step forward.
Pike raised the weapon.
“Stop.”
Ror stopped.
Marcus stood behind him.
Two security men remained outside because Pike had threatened to kill Colette if more than three people entered.
Dileia had insisted on being one.
Ror had objected.
For almost thirty seconds.
Then Colette had screamed through the phone line in the background:
“Bring the nurse!”
That ended the argument.
Pike nodded toward Dileia.
“Give me the files.”
“They’re with federal investigators,” she said.
His expression flickered.
“Then you’ve made this difficult.”
“You derailed a train carrying civilians.”
“No. Lucian derailed a train.”
Lucian groaned.
Pike smiled slightly.
“He authorized the access. He funded the contractors. He wanted Colette frightened enough to surrender the key.”
“You changed the safety settings,” Dileia said.
“You can’t prove that.”
“We already have your name.”
“Names are not evidence.”
Ror’s voice was quiet.
“The federal government is inside Dock 17.”
Pike looked at him.
“Then Lucian goes to prison.”
“You’re on the warehouse surveillance.”
“I visit transportation facilities.”
“You were moving stolen pharmaceuticals.”
Pike smiled.
“Through companies Lucian controls.”
Lucian whispered from the floor.
“You bastard.”
Pike glanced down.
“You wanted revenge. I offered you infrastructure.”
“You said nobody would die.”
“You believed me because you needed to.”
Lucian tried to rise.
Pike kicked him back down.
Ror moved instinctively.
The gun swung toward Colette.
“Careful.”
Ror stopped.
Dileia studied the room.
Emergency medicine had taught her an uncomfortable truth.
Panic made people look at the obvious threat.
A wound.
A weapon.
A scream.
Good clinicians looked at everything else.
Exits.
Breathing.
Position.
Objects.
Patterns.
Pike stood eight feet from Colette.
Five from Lucian.
Ror was between Dileia and him.
There was a rusted maintenance pipe along the ceiling.
A fire suppression valve.
An electrical panel.
A portable oxygen cylinder beside an old first-aid station.
More importantly, Lucian was bleeding heavily.
If they waited too long, he would die.
Dileia stepped sideways.
“Don’t,” Ror said.
She ignored him.
Pike looked amused.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m checking Lucian.”
“No.”
“He’s bleeding out.”
“That seems like his problem.”
“If he dies, you lose your best scapegoat.”
Pike considered that.
Dileia continued.
“You need him alive long enough for everyone to believe he ran the operation.”
Ror looked at her.
He understood.
She was negotiating.
Pike said, “You’re smarter than your employment history suggests.”
Dileia’s anger sharpened.
“You investigated me.”
“Of course.”
“You know about Norah.”
“Yes.”
“Did you send the man to her hospital?”
Pike smiled.
“That part was unfortunate.”
Ror’s face became murderous.
Dileia kept speaking.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
There.
A confession.
Hopefully Marcus was recording.
Pike continued.
“Lucian lacks imagination. I don’t.”
“You were going to kill her.”
“She was leverage.”
“She is a human being.”
“Most leverage is.”
Dileia wanted to cross the room and break his nose.
Instead she said, “Let me stop Lucian’s bleeding.”
Pike thought.
Then nodded.
“Slowly.”
Dileia approached.
She knelt.
Lucian had a gunshot wound through the upper abdomen.
Bad.
Pulse weak.
Skin pale.
Breathing shallow.
She pressed folded cloth against the wound.
Lucian grimaced.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
Then whispered, “I didn’t order your sister killed.”
“I know.”
“I’m still responsible.”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
“Fair.”
Colette watched from across the room.
Dileia caught her eye.
The older woman looked upward.
Once.
Toward the ceiling.
Dileia followed the glance.
Sprinkler pipe.
Then Colette looked at Dileia’s left hand.
Near the oxygen cylinder.
Dileia understood.
Maybe.
Ror spoke.
“Pike. Let them go.”
“And then?”
“You take me.”
Dileia turned sharply.
“No.”
Pike laughed.
“There it is.”
Ror ignored Dileia.
“You wanted Fontaine Maritime.”
“I wanted control of the ports.”
“You can have my authorization codes.”
“You’d surrender them?”
“For my mother.”
Pike looked interested.
Ror continued.
“You already know Lucian’s credentials. With mine, you could access every shipping system we control.”
Marcus said quietly, “Ror.”
“Stay out of it.”
Pike moved closer.
“You would do that?”
“Yes.”
Dileia knew immediately that Ror was lying.
Not because his face revealed it.
Because he had spent the previous day turning documents over to federal agents.
Even if Pike got access codes, they would be monitored.
But Pike did not know that.
“Phone,” Pike ordered.
Ror removed it.
“Unlock it.”
He did.
“Place it on the table.”
Ror obeyed.
Pike walked toward the phone.
Three steps.
Two.
One.
Closer to the oxygen cylinder.
Dileia wrapped one hand around the valve.
Ror saw.
He understood.
Pike reached for the phone.
Dileia opened the oxygen valve completely.
A violent hiss filled the room.
Pike flinched and turned.
At the same instant, Colette kicked the metal chair sideways.
It crashed into Pike’s knees.
The gun fired.
The shot hit the ceiling pipe.
Water exploded downward.
Ror lunged.
Marcus followed.
Pike fired again.
Dileia threw herself over Lucian.
Ror struck Pike’s wrist.
The gun skidded across wet concrete.
Marcus tackled him.
Pike fought wildly.
Not like a mastermind.
Like a frightened man losing control.
Within seconds, Marcus had him facedown.
Colette shouted, “Would someone untie me before I begin feeling neglected?”
Dileia crawled toward her.
“You okay?”
“I’ve had better vacations.”
Dileia laughed breathlessly.
Then looked at Ror.
Blood.
His shoulder.
Her heart stopped.
“You’re hit.”
He looked down.
“Apparently.”
Dileia rushed to him.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“That sentence is illegal around nurses.”
“It grazed me.”
“Sit.”
Ror Fontaine sat.
Immediately.
Marcus stared.
“I’ve worked for you fourteen years.”
Ror grimaced as Dileia examined the wound.
“And?”
“I’ve never seen you obey anyone that quickly.”
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Be quiet.”
Dileia tore fabric away.
The bullet had indeed grazed the outside of his shoulder.
Painful.
Bleeding.
But not life-threatening.
“You’re lucky.”
“I’ve recently been told that.”
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them.
Not gratitude anymore.
Something warmer.
More dangerous.
Then Lucian coughed.
Dileia snapped back into nurse mode.
“He needs surgery now.”
The nearest trauma center was forty minutes by road.
Ror called for the helicopter.
Federal agents arrived eleven minutes later.
Pike was taken into custody.
Before they removed him, Ortiz stepped into the lodge.
“You recorded everything?”
Marcus held up his phone.
“Every word.”
Ortiz looked at Ror.
“Did he confess to the hospital attempt?”
Dileia answered.
“Yes.”
“And the derailment manipulation?”
“Enough to investigate.”
Ortiz nodded.
“Good.”
Lucian was airlifted.
Colette refused to travel until Ror was bandaged.
“You were shot because of me.”
Ror sat beside her.
“I was grazed because of Dileia’s ridiculous oxygen trick.”
Dileia crossed her arms.
“It worked.”
Colette smiled.
“That’s my girl.”
Dileia felt something unexpectedly painful in her chest.
Nobody had called her that since her mother died.
Colette seemed to notice.
She took Dileia’s hand.
Again.
Always the hand.
Hours later, they sat in the waiting room of a Baltimore trauma center.
Lucian underwent surgery.
Ror stood by the window.
Dileia approached.
“You saved him.”
“No.”
“You could have left him there.”
“He deserves trial.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Ror looked at her.
“Lucian was my brother.”
“Maybe part of him still is.”
“He tried to kill my mother.”
“He wanted to frighten her.”
“That distinction is not comforting.”
“No.”
Dileia looked through the window at sunrise coloring the city.
“But people can be guilty and wounded at the same time.”
Ror was quiet.
“You always diagnose people this way?”
“Only difficult patients.”
“I’m not your patient.”
“You were shot.”
“Grazed.”
“Patient.”
His mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Then his expression turned serious.
“What happens after this?”
“What do you mean?”
“You return to Ashford?”
“My sister is there.”
“And your job?”
“I probably don’t have one.”
Ror looked surprised.
“Iron Crest’s director called me.”
“Why?”
“To ask whether you would accept the position.”
Dileia stared.
“What did you say?”
“That they should ask you.”
“Good answer.”
“I occasionally have them.”
“Signing bonus?”
“Triple what they originally advertised.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Did you interfere?”
“No.”
“Ror.”
“I did not.”
She studied him.
He appeared sincere.
“Why would they triple it?”
“Because seventeen patients from Northline 9 submitted statements saying you saved their lives.”
Dileia’s throat tightened.
“Seventeen?”
“Twenty-one, actually. Four were less dramatic.”
She elbowed him lightly.
He winced.
Her face changed.
“Sorry.”
“It was worth it.”
A physician appeared.
“Mr. Fontaine?”
Ror straightened.
“Lucian survived surgery.”
Everyone exhaled.
“He has a long recovery ahead, but we expect him to make it.”
Colette closed her eyes.
Relief.
Complicated.
Painful.
Real.
Then Dileia’s phone rang.
Ashford Memorial.
The transplant coordinator.
Her heart immediately accelerated.
“Dileia Ward?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling regarding Norah Ward.”
Dileia gripped the phone.
“What happened?”
“We’ve identified a potential kidney donor.”
The world stopped.
“What?”
“A deceased donor match became available forty minutes ago.”
Dileia could barely hear.
“We need authorization immediately.”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke.
“Yes. Yes, absolutely.”
Ror turned toward her.
Dileia started crying.
Not two seconds.
Not emergency-room tears.
Not controlled.
All of it.
Nineteen months of fear.
Bills.
Dialysis.
Phone calls.
Sleeping in chairs.
Pretending everything would be fine.
Ror did not ask.
He simply opened his arms.
Dileia stepped into them.
For the first time since the train derailed, she allowed somebody else to hold on to her.