Right. This is no time for sentimentality. For this to work, we need to be focused. Every step needs to be done exactly as planned. Because if we make one wrong move, it won’t just be Bea going to prison, but the rest of us, as well.
I give Ace a quick nod before replying, “Okay. We’ll use the employee entrance on the west side of the building. Tyler said there isn’t a security guard posted there; it’s just the badge access control system, which he’ll be bypassing for us. Once we’re inside, we’ll take the stairwell to the fourth floor, where Bea’s room is.”
Even though Tyler didn’t join us on our hurried trip from Portland to DC, as our resident tech expert, he’s an integral part of this mission. In a matter of hours, he managed to hack into the hospital’s security system, create false identities for me, Ace, and Webb as traveling nurses,andhe’ll be shutting off the lights in Bea’s wing so we can get her in and out without notice.
“There’ll be a police officer stationed outside her room,” I continue. “When we’re ready, I’ll give Tyler the signal to shut off the lights. Then I’ll knock out the officer while you two stand guard.”
“What about the backup generator?” Webb asks. “Won’t it kick on as soon as the regular lights go off?”
“Tyler said he’ll take care of it. But we’ll need to move fast. He can only reliably keep the wing dark for ten minutes or so. After that, we run the risk of some hospital IT guy overriding it.”
“Okay.” Ace meets my gaze. “So we’ll wait until the lights go out, neutralize the guard outside her room, and get Bea out of there. You’ll take care of the medical stuff, I assume.”
Since I used to be the medic for my GB team, it makes the most sense for me to handle the medical side of things. According to hospital records, Bea regained consciousness around eleven-thirty last night, but she’s still disoriented and suffering from post-traumatic amnesia. Not the ideal circumstances to spirit her out of the hospital, but I’m hoping she’ll be asleep when we get in there, and I’ll give her a mild sedative to keep her that way.
“I will,” I reply crisply. “I’ve got the sedative ready. And we’re all dressed as nurses, so if she does wake up, the sight of us shouldn’t alarm her.”
Webb glances at the glowing numbers on the dashboard. It’s six-thirty-two. Sunrise is at seven-twenty-five today, so we don’t have a lot of time to work with if we want to be back in the car before that.
Ace follows my gaze. “I’m good to go if you are.”
Webb nods. “Same.”
“Alright.” I glance down at the hastily-made ID badge clipped to my scrubs, identifying me as Grover Matthews, RN. It looks good enough to pass a quick inspection, but hopefully we’ll be in and out before anyone gets close enough to check. “Let’s do this.”
By silent agreement, we all exit the car, closing the doors softly behind us. We’re parked at the edge of the lot, where the light from the lampposts doesn’t quite reach. Staying tucked into the shadows, we hurry towards the hospital, not running—that would look far too suspicious—but moving at a quick clip, like we’re three employees rushing to get to their shift on time.
As we close in on the hospital, adrenaline surges. My pulse jumps.
I’ve been on plenty of treacherous ops. Ones where the odds of survival weren’t great. Ops when we found ourselves outnumbered ten to one. Recon missions where a misstep could mean the difference between life or death.
Butthismission.
A fuck-up won’t mean death. But it could mean criminal charges. It could take away the new life I’ve begun to embrace.
A fuck-up means Bea will go to jail. Probably for decades.
A fuck-up is unacceptable.
Once we reach the entrance, we stop. Sharing a quick glance with Ace and Webb, I ask in an undertone, “Are you ready?”
They nod in unison. The flickering LED light above the door casts an eerie glow across their faces. “Let’s do this,” Webb murmurs.
“Let’s get your girl out of there,” Ace adds.
I almost argue,She’s not my girl. Not like that.
But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Bea out of there and keeping her safe until we can find the real killer.
And if a small part of me wishes sheweremine?
No.
Not now.
Slamming the metaphorical door shut on that line of thinking, I reach for my phone and shoot off a quick text to Tyler.
We’re ready to move in.
