She circled back, drove to the rear of the building, and parked under a tree in view of the service entrance. Her partner had claimed he’d shot Elise before she disappeared into the cornfield. Maybe she’d die on her own, but it couldn’t be left to chance.
It had been several minutes since the explosion at the lakefront, and she looked down the road for a sign of her partner. He was nowhere in sight. A small laundry truck approached the clinic and backed up to the service entrance. The driver hopped out, rang the buzzer, and an orderly propped open the door.
The woman smiled and reached for a small case. Inside was a makeup kit and a black wig. She applied a darkening cream to the naturally light skin of her face, neck, and hands. Then she pinned up her hair, slipped on the wig, and inserted a pair of brown contact lenses. Next, she slipped on the black ball cap she’d worn earlier and pulled the brim low. The final touch to distract from her natural features was a heavy pair of pink-framed eyeglasses.
She waited until the deliveryman entered the building with a load of clean laundry, then she ducked through the open door. The doorway opened into a cramped, dim stockroom. She stepped behind a tall shelf stacked with sheets and blankets. The deliveryman was retrieving bags of dirty laundry that lined the corridor. When he stepped outside with a load, she snatched a remaining bag and pulled it to her hiding spot.
She rifled through a twisted pile of patient gowns until she spotted a green doctor’s smock. She ditched the ball cap and pulled on the smock, finding it close to her size. She rose with the bag as the deliveryman reentered.
“Uno más.” She handed it to him and turned on her heels.
Exiting the storeroom, she snatched a clipboard hanging on the wall and entered the hospital’s main corridor.
The clinic was larger than she expected, with more than fifty beds. That would help protect her anonymity, but would make it harder to find the woman from the boat. She walked toward the entrance of the building, holding the clipboard to her nose whenever an employee appeared. Near the front desk, a pair of swinging doors plastered with red stripes marked the emergency room. She opened one of the doors and peered inside.
It was empty except for an orderly cleaning up a treatment table. Moving back down the main corridor, she found another door marked CUARTO DE RECUPERACIÓN. Entering the room, she encountered a leather-faced nurse.
“¿Está de servicio?” the nurse asked.
Unsure of her Spanish, the woman simply nodded, then scanned the recovery room. It held a half-dozen beds, each shielded by hanging drapes. Just two were occupied. The nearest held an old man surrounded by family members. At the far corner, behind a half-closed curtain, lay Elise.
The woman brushed past the nurse, strode to Elise’s bedside, and pretended to study her medical monitors. The American aid worker’s arm was heavily bandaged, and she appeared sedated.
The woman glanced over her shoulder. The duty nurse had taken a seat by the door and was typing on a computer. She pulled the curtains around Elise’s bed, turned down the volume on a beeping heart monitor, and stepped to the head of the bed. Beneath her smock, she felt the grip of a handgun, but felt no need to use it. In Elise’s unconscious state, she could be smothered quietly and without protest.
The woman reached for Elise’s pillow, heard the curtains draw back. She wheeled to face two flushed and breathless men, one tall, the other short.
“Is she all right, Doctor?” Pitt asked.
The woman eyed Pitt’s damp clothes, recognizing the duo from the boat. “Sí. Surgery was a success,” she said in a gruff voice. “The young woman, she needs rest. No molestar.” She raised her clipboard and tried to shoo the men away.
But Giordino had already plopped into a chair beside the bed. “We’re not going anywhere until she’s well enough to walk out of here.”
Pitt nodded. “Her life may be in danger. Can you call for security protection?”
Time was short. She saw the determination in both men’s faces and realized she couldn’t coerce them away. She gave a frustrated glance at Elise and nodded.
“Yes, I will take care of it.” She turned away quickly and strode out of the room.
“Something funny about her,” Pitt said.
“What’s that?”
“The page on the clipboard looked like a stockroom inventory sheet.”
“Maybe somebody’s been pilfering her supply of white stockings.”
The two men were eyeing Elise’s first stirrings when a bearded doctor entered a moment later with a nurse at his side.
“¿Cómo está nuestro paciente?” he asked.
“She’s well, according to the other doctor,” Giordino said.
“What other doctor?” the man asked in English.
Pitt described the woman, the doctor shrugged.
Pitt and Giordino looked at each other, then motioned toward Elise.