“We should just wait up at the top,” says one. His accent is immediately familiar to me. Boston.
“We got told to search, so we search. The asshole’s not in the ward.”
A new voice, and this one is a rich Irish brogue: “Probably got evacuated.”
“No sightings yet,” says the second man. “We have the other team up there looking, just like we’re supposed to—”
“Hey—”
The voices go silent and I picture them whispering. Something’s caught their attention. The answer occurs to me even though I’d rather not know it: that smear of Luca’s blood that I left on the door when I was pushing it open.
I feel around for Luca’s hand, holding it tight. For the first time, I hope hedoesn’tcome around, not yet. If he makes any involuntary noise…
There’s a loud bang as they kick the doors of the kitchen area outside open, and all of us jump—except Luca. Darla lets out a soft whimper. I have no idea where I put my gun—Luca’s gun.
I’d probably just shoot the wrong person, anyway.
We hear the footsteps out in the kitchen shuffling around again.
“We should just shoot the place up,” mutters one voice.
“We need himalive,” hisses another, and it’s answered by a dissatisfied grunt.
We wait in the silence, just wait there to be found. I try to calm my breathing, try to match the slow pace of Luca’s, try tothink. If they need Luca alive, Garcia and Frank might have a chance to take out the shooters before they kill us instead. I feel my way to Luca’s neck and press shaking fingers against his pulse, reassuring myself that heisstill alive. The beat in his neck is steady but not strong, and all I can hope is that he’s not bleeding out.
“Over here,” snaps a voice outside. And there’s a bang on the door of our hiding place, like it’s been kicked. Lights start to flash in the plexiglass window set into the door, but it’s so dusty I can’t tell if they’ve seen us.
I kneel up and press my face into Luca’s neck, into his hair, breathe him in.
“Come on out,” shouts the Irish voice, “and we won’t kill you. We just want the Donovan kid.”
What thefuck?
I raise my head so sharply that my neck cracks painfully, and catch Frank’s good eye in the shaking lights from outside. He’s looking straight back at me, as stunned as I am.
He shakes his head.
“We’re looking for Howard Donovan,” shouts the voice again. “Come out and you won’t be hurt.”
I rise up on my knees. Frank makes furiousget downmotions with his prosthetic hand, but I ignore him. Garcia is staring at me as though I might suddenly turn on her.
“Come on, now,” coaxes the voice outside. “We all know you’ve got a death wish, Donovan, but what about those folks in there with you? Think of them.”
“My name is D’Amato,” I call out. “Not Donovan.”
After a short silence, the Irishman says, “No disrespect meant, Howard. Come on out, now.”
“I’ll come out,” I call back to the men. “But you need to promise the people in here with me won’t be hurt. They’re hospital staff. They have nothing to do with this.”
There’s a short, whispered conference outside, and I can hear them all coming close to the door. “Sure,” the man says, not shouting this time. He’s right up against the door. “You come with us, Howard, there’ll be no need for further bloodshed.”
I spot Luca’s gun on the floor and pick it up, checking that the safety is off. “One more thing,” I say, and I sound so calm to my own ears it’s like someone else’s voice. I get to my feet. “I know you need me alive. So listen carefully. I’m holding a gun to my head. If any of you start shooting at anyone in this box, I’ll blow my brains out myself.” Silence. “Capisce?” I say, and then add, “If you know me like you think you do, then you know I’ll do it.”
“Sit down and shut up,” Frank hisses behind me, but he’s got Darla curled up in the corner behind him and doesn’t dare move. I point at Garcia and then at Luca. She scrambles over quietly to position herself in front of him, in case these motherfuckers do open fire when I go out the door.
Because I am most definitely going out the door, and I have no other bargaining chips to play except this one: my own life.
The man outside gives a vicious chuckle. “So it’s true, eh? That famous death wish really does exist. Alright, Howard. Come on out. We won’t shoot.”
