Page 103 of Target Acquired

“That would make things easier, for sure,” Greene said.

“There’s got to be more security footage.”

“We watched and never saw him actually come out here. What if he detoured to a different exit?”

Kenzie frowned. “Where?”

Greene pointed. “The morgue.”

COLE OPENED HIS EYES AND GROANED, nausea clawing at the back of his throat. While he fought it, he registered he was lying on his left side on a comfortable mattress. The gurney? Yes, but he wasn’t in the hospital anymore. Chills shook him and he pressed a hand to his head. “What—?” His throat rasped and he coughed, gagged, and stilled until the desire to be sick faded.

Once he thought he could, he rolled to a sitting position, caught his breath, then stumbled off the gurney to his feet, only to have to fall back onto the bed while the room spun.

“Okay, then,” he rasped, his voice loud in the complete silence. “Easy now.”

When the room stopped twirling, he took a moment to look around and noted he was in some kind of room about seven by fourteen. Two iron-framed twin beds minus mattresses were tilted and stacked against the opposite wall. A very dirty window let in just a glow of light. Morning? Afternoon? He had no idea. A tiny bathroom to his right with no door. Just a sink that now rested on the floor, and a toilet. No shower. And it stunk. The smell of mildew and dirt hit him. And he’d swear the odor of . . . stale urine? . . . hovered in the air.

A chair that looked like it belonged back in the late 1940s sat in the corner. There were restraints on the arms and legs and they looked new.

With all these details swirling in his head, he eased himself off the mattress once more, made sure his stomach was going to stay put, then walked to the door and yanked on the handle. He wasn’t surprised to find it locked. Cole patted his pockets, looking for his phone. Again, not surprised to find it missing.

He moved to the window, whose curtain hung by threads. The pane was surprisingly still intact, but caked with so much dirt and grime that he couldn’t see much through it. Then he spotted a sliver of clean glass, placed his eye next to it, and squinted.

He almost didn’t need the visual confirmation to know where he was, what he’d suspected.

Lake City State Hospital.

And while he knew it was impossible after all these years, he definitely smelled urine and who knew what else had been left behind. Gross.

The lock clicked on the door and Cole scrambled to search for a weapon, but if he had to defend himself, he was going to be in trouble. Weak from giving blood and the drug that was still in his system, he was a hot mess. A toddler could knock him over.

The door opened and the man stood there, mask on his face, gun in his hand. Cole let himself fall back against the wall. His mind was still a blank as to how he’d gotten here.

Or who had brought him. Fake doc.

“Woke up a little faster than I thought you would in spite of two more doses,” the man said.

That voice. Where did he know that voice from?

“Who are you?” He really hoped he wasn’t going to have to engage in a physical fight because his muscles quivered like Jell-O.

“Someone who needs a favor.”

“You could have spared us both all the drama and just asked.” His head was splitting and he found it hard to keep his eyes open. He’d give just about anything to stretch back out on the gurney and sleep it off.

“Not this favor.”

Again, the man’s voice tickled Cole’s memory, but he couldn’t place it. “What is it?”

“You’re going to call whoever you need to call, as far up the chain as you need to go, and tell them that they’re going to get rid of Kenzie King and hire someone to take her place.”

He stared at the dark eyes peering at him through the small eyeholes in the mask.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, you won’t live to see another day—and neither will Kenzie King or any of the others on your team. You’ve managed to protect her up to this point, but you and I both know eventually I’ll succeed.” His phone buzzed and he motioned with the gun. “Sit in the chair and strap yourself in. Legs first. Then one arm. I’ll do the last one.”

“No way.”