Hidden in Plain View. Diane Burke

her heart.”

      “Is she dead? Were they able to resuscitate her?”

      “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to check. I’ve been organizing the search.”

      Joe’s shocked expression echoed the one Sam was sure he wore as well. “How did this happen? Nobody can be this lucky. The guy’s a ghost.”

      “The guy’s no ghost. He’s as much flesh and blood as you and me.”

      “I just don’t understand. What happened?” Joe shot a bewildered look at Sam.

      “I was there, Joe. Right there.” The remorse in his voice was evident. “He got past me anyway and got to Sarah.”

      “Were you hurt? Did he hit you over the head or something?”

      A red-hot flush of shame and embarrassment coated Sam’s throat and face. “Sarah was sleeping. I’d stepped into her bathroom to throw some cold water on my face. I didn’t hear him come in until it was too late. The room was dark. He threw something at me. It distracted me enough that he was able to get past me.”

      Joe nodded. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. It could have happened to any of us.”

      “But it didn’t. It happened on my watch. Mine, Joe.”

      Joe grimaced. They’d been partners long enough that Sam knew Joe understood this was about more than what was happening now. This shame and pain and anger stretched back to another time and another place, when Sam had been helpless to save loved ones or bring perps to justice.

      Joe patted Sam’s arm, empathy evident in his eyes, and then changed the subject. “Where do we stand with the search?”

      “The best I’ve been able to do is get all the exits covered. We’re dealing with graveyard shift. We don’t have a lot of warm bodies in the security department right now.”

      “Where do you want me?”

      “Downstairs.” Sam walked with Joe to the elevator bank. “I don’t believe the guy will try to walk out any of the obvious exits. He’s got to know they’re the first places we’d shut down. Check every single room in the basement. Housekeeping has storage rooms, supply rooms. I think there are even some employee lockers and break rooms down there. And, of course, the morgue and the autopsy rooms. I’ve sent security guards to the loading platform by the morgue, but I’ll feel better if one of us is checking things out.”

      “You got it.”

      The elevator doors opened, and Joe stepped inside.

      “Be careful. Fitch was found dead with his throat slashed.”

      “Great. Just what I want to hear.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin just as the doors shut.

      Within thirty minutes of the initial alert, the SWAT team, special weapons and tactics, arrived, quickly followed by Captain Rogers. Sam shared what he knew, and they took over command of the ongoing search.

      They hadn’t located the perpetrator yet. But the hospital looked like a military camp in Afghanistan for all the uniformed and armed personnel swarming the halls. They’d catch him.

      Sam threw a glance at his captain and saw the man in a deep conversation with both the SWAT team leader and the head of hospital security. Everything that could be done was being done. Finally, he’d have a moment to find out what had happened to Sarah.

      * * *

      Adrenaline hammered through the intruder’s blood stream, and the beat of his heart thundered in his chest. Who knew all those morning jogs along the beach outside his home would have prepared him for the race of his life? He’d made it down five flights of stairs into the basement without anyone seeing him and, he was certain, before anyone could even sound the alarm.

      What a rush! He thought it had been too simple when he caught the cop sneaking away for a break. But that’s why he loved operating during the graveyard shift. People often snuck away or fell asleep. Made his job so much easier.

      But when he’d slipped inside the darkened hospital room, he’d never expected someone might be in the bathroom.

      The man had been dressed like an Amish guy, but he wasn’t any more Amish than he was. Not carrying that 9 mm Beretta he had fired at him. He was probably an undercover cop.

      Undercover cop. Undercover villain. Both disguised in Amish garb. The whole situation was laughable—and dangerous.

      He stood with his back against the wall of the storage closet, trying to quiet the sound of his heavy gasps.

      He could hear the pounding of feet racing down the corridor and hear the anxious, high-pitched whispers the guards shot to each other as they did a quick search of every room.

      The sounds grew louder as the men approached his hiding spot.

      He pushed into the far back corner of the room and crouched behind a utility cart with a large white mop and aluminum bucket attached. His hand tightened around the pistol grip of his gun, and he waited.

      The door to the closet swung open. One of the security guards scanned the room with a flashlight. Just as quickly, he was gone.

      Idiots.

      They hadn’t even bothered to throw on the light switch or step into the room. No wonder hospital security guards had the reputation of being toy cops. How did they expect to find anyone with such a lazy, half-done search?

      He grinned and relaxed his hand, lowering his weapon.

      Lucky for them they were stupid, or they’d be dead security guards just about now.

      He stepped out from behind the cart when a sudden flash of light made him squint and raise his hand to his eyes. Someone had thrown on the switch, illuminating the room, and it took his eyes a second to adjust.

      “Don’t move! Drop your weapon and slide it over to me. Do it now!”

      This wasn’t a security guard. He looked into eyes of cold, hard steel. This must be a detective. A smart one, too.

      Slowly, he lowered his weapon to the floor and kicked it in the detective’s direction.

      The detective moved farther into the room, never lowering his gun. He stepped to the side and withdrew a pair of handcuffs with his free hand. “Nice and easy now. Put your hands out where I can see them, and slowly walk over here.”

      Again, he did as requested.

      The detective clasped a cuff onto his right wrist.

      With speed resulting from years of martial arts training, he spun, released the blade sheathed on the inside of his sleeve and slashed the detective’s throat.

      The killer grinned. He always loved the look of surprise and horror on his victims’ faces, and this detective looked shocked, indeed.

      He removed his Amish clothes and quickly donned the detective’s cheap brown suit. His lips twisted in disgust. The pants were about two inches too short, the waist at least two sizes too big, and the sleeves of the suit jacket revealed too much forearm. He shoved some towels under his shirt and cinched his belt tight to hold them in and his pants up.

      He glowered at the pant length. When a scenario like this played out in the movies, the exchanged clothes were always a perfect fit. Just his luck this wasn’t a movie. But he’d have to make do.

      He slipped the detective’s badge onto his belt, retrieved both guns from the floor and took one last look around to make sure he left nothing of significance behind. His eyes paused on the dead body.

      “Sorry, buddy. You were good. Much better than those security guard wannabes. But I’m better. You never stood a chance.”

      He used a towel to wipe away fingerprints on the light switch and doorknob. He shut off the light, glanced up and down the empty corridor, stepped into the hall and leisurely walked away.