Exit Strategy (Nadia Stafford 1)

"For privacy, yes, that would be best."

She fingered her badge and bit her lip.

"Is that a problem?" I asked.

"No, I guess not." She looked around, as if searching for someone. "Everyone's on break, but I guess--" She swallowed. "I guess I could take you."

So that was the problem. She didn't want to leave her protective cage. I hoped she got a new job soon...for the patients' sake.

After another worried look up and down the hall, she stepped out.

Nurse Nervous left me in a small windowless room that could have passed for a corporate meeting room. I studied the posters on the wall. Good taste on a budget. The furnishings were likewise a compromise between quality, comfort and cost: decent upholstered chairs and a sturdy conference table. A long way from padded rooms and leather restraints.

Outside the room, the silence was broken only by the occasional swoosh of a door and staccato clicks of staff passing by, their steps quick and purposeful. When I caught a whiff of cleaning solution, I thought of Jack and hoped he wouldn't have a problem finding Moreland's room.

While I waited, I ran through the list of questions I was going to ask Moreland. Basic queries, easily answered, none of which would reveal any hint of our suspicions because my main role was to get Moreland out of his private room long enough for Jack to get what he needed.

As footsteps squeaked down the hall, I listened. Voices drifted in, both female. The first I recognized as the young nurse.

"--ever tells me anything."

An older woman answered, her voice clipped with authority. The squeal of a cart covered her first few words. "--show up, demanding access to Ben, saying it's part of this horrible Helter Skelter killer mess. We've had to notify the director, round up every doctor Ben's ever spoken to, alert security--believe me, Angela, informing a junior nurse was the last thing on our mind." The women's footsteps receded around a corner. "Who did you say wants to talk to Ben now...?"

I nearly shot out of the room, but managed to stop myself at the door and crack it open for a quick peek before hightailing it out. I started marching in the other direction and got five steps before Jack swerved around a corner and grabbed my arm.

"Lawyer?" the older nurse's voice trumpeted down the hall. "Lord, that is just what we need. Where did you put--?"

"Fuck," Jack whispered, drowning her out.

Still clutching my elbow, Jack strode to the first door, checked it, then moved to the next. Another peek. Then he yanked it open and propelled me inside.

I caught a glimpse of brooms and buckets. Jack wheeled in, closed the door and the closet went dark.

"FBI," he whispered, breath tickling my ear.

"How many?" I whispered.

"Don't know. Just heard the nurses talking." A pause and he shifted, moving against my hip as he leaned toward the door.

I put my ear to the wall, but heard only pipes gurgling. The small closet made for very tight quarters. Warm, too. Much longer in here and we'd be putting our deodorant to the test.

The room already stank--of bleach, as if there was an open container or a small spill--and between the smell and the heat, my head started to spin.

"Hold on," Jack whispered. Like I was going anywhere.

The soft grate of a doorknob turning. A splinter of light lit Jack's face. He pressed his cheek against the gap, then pulled back. The light vanished and the door clicked shut.

"Nothing."

"You get some of Moreland's hair?" I whispered.

A shake of his head. "Don't need to. It's a match."

"Wha--?" I bit off my near-yelp of surprise.

"That's why Feds are here. Got a tip. Hair matches Moreland's DNA."

"Shit. So it was a plant."