Inside, the waiting room had been upgraded to something resembling a posh airport lounge. In the middle was a circular reception desk in a bubble of light. Jamie adjusted his path, scanning the faces of the staff.
“Jamie,” Samira whispered, tightening the straps of the rucksack on her back, “there’s a woman staring swords right at you.”
So there was. A tall, trim figure in a white shirt, a tablet in her hands, leaning back against the reception desk, looking noticeably less accommodating than the junior doctor he remembered. As they approached, he glanced behind. Beyond the mirrored glass, Blondie was checking the back of an ambulance.
“Looking well, Harriet,” he said.
“That’s because you’re no longer around.” Her gaze dropped to where his hand joined Samira’s and then rose to Samira’s face. What was that—pity? Whatever happened to jealousy? She clutched the tablet like it was a ballistic chest plate. “I assume you want something.”
“I need to borrow your security pass, just for five minutes. And quite quickly.”
She raised thin eyebrows. “And that doesn’t sound at all dodgy.”
“We’re passing straight through—I won’t touch a thing, I promise. There’s a guy following us. We have to lose him.”
“Is he a cop?”
“No.”
“What did you do to him? Maybe I should let him catch up.”
“Harriet...” He sharpened his tone. She needed to think he still posed a threat.
“You know I could lose my job? I’ve only just recovered from the last time we—” She glanced at Samira. “Traded favors.”
“Only if somebody finds out. And you know I don’t share secrets.”
Her mouth tightened, a pucker of smoker’s fissures. They both knew he had her at “secrets.” Blondie was nearing the automatic doors.
“Seriously, we’re in a bit of a hurry,” he said. “I don’t have time to explain.”
“Good. I don’t want to hear it.”
She exhaled in disgust and swiveled. They followed her around the circular desk until they were shielded from view of the entrance. He squeezed Samira’s hand, which hadn’t defrosted one degree. Harriet swiped at a security check and pushed a door open, ushering them into a deserted hallway—leading to the acute ward, if that hadn’t changed. The door swished closed and the lock clicked. He pulled Samira away from a window set into the door.
Harriet hugged the tablet again. “Did you ever stop running, James, this whole time?”
“Nope. That’s why I’m so square-jawed and fit.”
“Oh, please don’t think I’m going to go all weak-kneed from one smile. I’m immune to you. I’ve developed antibodies against the virus that is James Armstrong. We’re even now, right?”
He held out his palm. “Card.”
“Which gate are you heading to?”
“We’ll go out the west staff entrance to the Thames Path.”
She yanked her lanyard over her ponytail and shoved it into his hand. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Straight through. Keep it out of sight. Don’t talk to anyone.”
He closed his fingers around it. “Didn’t plan to.”
“Mariya’s charge nurse in the Princess Alice wing today. Leave it with her—no one else. I take it you remember her.”
Mariya. His luck was holding. “I do, as a matter of fact.”
“Don’t let the bosses see you, and for God’s sake, restrain yourself from operating on anyone on your way through. We can all do without your ‘help.’”
“Ah, you know me so well, Harriet.”
