In His Sights. Danica Winters

and make sure she was doing better. For the most part, she had seemed only mildly phased by the chemical attack, but the EMTs had been adamant about bringing them in for all kinds of testing. Luckily, aside from some irritation in his lungs, he had been given the all clear—a far cry from what had happened to Hans, who had died almost instantly on scene. They had taken his body to the morgue, where he was being kept in isolation until they could determine the chemical that had been used in the attack.

      He ran his hand down his face and sat up from his hospital bed. Somewhere down the hall he could make out the shrill beeps of an IV pump that had run dry, the monotonous trill of an EKG machine, and the thump and whoosh of a ventilator. The whole place stank of the terror of the long-ill and bedside commodes.

      He couldn’t stand being in this place another minute. It was worse than being a prisoner of war. At least there, he would have felt he had better odds of making it out alive.

      He went to the closet and opened up the melamine door. His clothes were MIA, but there was a small white plastic bag with Beth Israel printed on the side. It contained his wallet and small personal belongings.

      He should have expected as much. Of course, they would have disposed of anything that could have been contaminated. He was just fortunate that the hospital staff had stopped using full-blown bodysuits—ones that looked like something straight out of a nuclear war zone—every time they had come in to check on his status.

      Thankfully, they hadn’t been forced to remain in isolation for long once it was established that the nerve agent used had already dealkylated and run through its half-life. Leaving nothing to chance, he’d already made sure to have the hospital staff send a sample off to his people within the CIA.

      A draft worked its way through the back of his gown. It was going to be a breezy walk.

      Unlike him, Mindy had seemed to welcome the reprieve from her daily life. She had barely woken once since they had been brought here, possibly an effect of the sedative they had received. His dose had worn off rather quickly, but it had left behind lethargy.

      All night he had been thinking about who could have pulled this off and why. He’d come up with many options—ranging from the Swedish government itself all the way to his enemies within the Gray Wolves, a crime syndicate responsible for his sister Trish’s death in Turkey.

      The Gray Wolves hadn’t been exactly quiet about their distaste for Jarrod and his family—and their leader, Bayural, had left them with a warning that he would soon be coming for the entire Martin family. Jarrod had no doubt that the man would come through on his word.

      Still, the attack wasn’t typical of something the Gray Wolves would have put together. They were far more crass and deliberate. They certainly weren’t the type who would hit and run; rather they would face him down as they drew their weapons. Bayural wanted him and his family to know exactly who was pulling the trigger and why.

      So, in essence, he had been left with no real answers—only more questions.

      He tied the back of his gown as tightly as he could and made his way down the hall one more time to Mindy’s room. Nurses rushed from one room to the next.

      At the nurses station stood a man who appeared to be visiting the floor. Jarrod guessed he was in his midthirties, with a high and tight haircut and a stiff back. As Jarrod approached, he made sure to walk closer to the wall, masked by the comings and goings of the staff and visitors, and outside of the man’s direct line of sight. Something about him felt off, but he couldn’t attribute that feeing to anything obvious about the man’s appearance.

      Jarrod passed behind him just as the man said something to the nurse at the counter.

      Had the people responsible for the nerve agent attack found them? They had to have known they would end up at a hospital.

      To be safe, he and Mindy had to get out of there, but at the same time, he didn’t want to alarm her. She’d had enough happen in the last twenty-four hours. If she caught a whiff of their being under further attack she might bolt—and likely end up dead.

      He tapped on the closed door of her room, and the TV inside the room clicked off. “Come on in,” she said.

      His body clenched at the sound of her voice. He had known she would be fine, but there was still a tremendous amount of relief in hearing her sound so healthy.

      He looked toward the nurses station one more time, but the suspicious man had turned and was now walking down the hall in the direction of Jarrod’s room. He opened her door and slipped inside. He was probably making something out of nothing.

      “Hey.” He walked over to the window, carefully holding the back of his gown shut.

      “Hey.” She gave him a look that made him wonder if she was as much at a loss for words as he was.

      What could they say about what had happened out there on the street? The nerve agent attack wasn’t something a person was forced to endure very often.

      For a moment, he considered making a joke about the weather, but he remained silent.

      “Feeling okay?” Mindy asked.

      He nodded. “You?”

      She nodded. “Were you a man of this few words yesterday, too? Or is this something new?”

      He cracked a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m super chatty.”

      “Wow, if that’s true then you must think I never shut up.”

      He laughed. “I know for a fact you are quiet sometimes. Last night, for example, you only snored a little bit.”

      She covered her face with her hands but peeked between her fingers, the action uncomfortably endearing. “You did not come in here when I was sleeping, did you?” she asked, sounding slightly embarrassed that he would have seen her in such a vulnerable state.

      “Not in a weird way,” he said, trying to make her feel better. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

      She motioned down her body. “As you can see, I made it through unscathed. And I am so ready to get out of here.”

      “Have you looked in your closet?”

      She shook her head. “Why?”

      “Well, you and I are going to have matching gowns on the way out. That is, if you want to go AMA with me.” He hitched his thumb toward the open door, beckoning her. He tried not to sound hurried or alarmed, but his thoughts kept moving back to the man at the nurses station. If one of them had been the intended target of the nerve agent attack it would be no time at all before the perpetrators found them and finished them off.

      “I should’ve known you were a rebel.” She got up from the bed and walked over to the closet. When she opened the door, there was only a plastic bag filled with her wallet and personal items.

      “Crap.” She took the bag out and put it on the bed as she rifled through it.

      “What?” he asked.

      “My phone. It’s missing.”

      “You threw it on the ground, remember?” He could still hear the sound of the glass of the phone crunching as it hit the concrete. He was impressed she had thought to sacrifice her phone for the greater good.

      “Dammit… Okay, first stop, I need a new phone.” She looked up at him, appearing somewhat frantic at the prospect of being cut off from the outside world.

      “If you need to get ahold of someone, like your boyfriend or whatever, you can use my phone.” He lifted the bag he was carrying for her to see. “It’s in my briefcase.” He reached inside his bag and pulled out his cell phone.

      He had twenty-seven text messages. Most of them were from his sister Zoey, who had pulled data about the attack and immediately pieced together what had happened. The farther he read down into her texts, the more frantic they had become, with the last unanswered text reading, I’m on my way to