Both men leaned forward, hovering just above Lucy's face. One of them removed the damn oxygen mask. "Okay then, what happened?"
Finally, someone to listen to her. Lucy mustered every ounce of command presence and forced it all into her shredded voice. "I'm an FBI agent. Get me a phone. Time's running out."
The nurse's eyes went wide. She jerked back, and Lucy thought maybe she was reaching for a phone, but the older man said, "First, I need to know if a dog is responsible for your ankle and foot injuries."
Lucy nodded. "Forget the dog. Lives are at stake. I need to warn them."
"How long ago did the dog attack you?"
Who the hell cared? She needed to get help to Nick and Megan, warn the FBI about the attack on their computers. "People will die if you don't get me a phone. Now."
Her voice was fading, but something in her face must have convinced the nurse, who said, "Let me grab my cell for you."
"How long?" the man repeated.
Lucy shrugged, regretted the movement. Did they have any idea how painful lying on a slab of wood felt after being banged up? "Don't know."
She'd escaped the septic tank the first time a few hours after the man had taken her, but she'd been knocked out part of that time … The sun had been almost directly overhead-she remembered that-before the dog … She flinched at the memory of the pain. "Around noon. I think."
She pivoted away from the doctors, ignoring the pain that lanced through her leg with the movement. Glanced at the clock. 6:49.
"Get me the phone. Or call the FBI office. Please, you don't understand-time is running out." Her voice faded before she could finish.
Didn't matter, the doctors had turned their backs to her, eyeing the X-rays once again. "Damn. That's way too long. Open fracture, contaminated, dog bite … "
The younger man moved back down to her foot, pressed one finger against it for a long moment, then released it. "Delayed cap refill, circulation's compromised. She'll probably lose it."
"Still, we should let the surgeons decide," the older man said.
"I'll give them a call, see if they want to transfer her to Three Rivers." Three Rivers Medical Center was one of Pittsburgh's major trauma centers. Sounded like this small community hospital wasn't equipped to deal with her injuries-least of her worries.
The second hand on the clock wouldn't stop its relentless movement. 6:50.
"Forget the foot," Lucy tried to shout. She pulled herself up to a sitting position and immediately wished she hadn't. Her vision blurred with a wave of dizziness, but she had their attention again. Where the hell was the woman who'd promised the phone? "I need the FBI. Now."
Before the men could answer, the woman returned-along with a sheriff's deputy. Relief surged through Lucy. She just needed to hold on for another minute or two, long enough to get word out to her team. They'd take care of Nick and her family.
She turned to the deputy. His expression was dour. No surprise. Locals didn't like messing with anything federal-and she knew right now she didn't look like any FBI agent they'd seen before. Didn't matter. As long as he listened and called Walden. Walden would take it from there.
"This the woman who crashed Lloyd Cramer's Jeep?" he asked.
"She says she's an FBI agent," the nurse said.
"You see any ID?" Before anyone could answer, he handcuffed Lucy's wrist to the bed rail.
Lucy jerked against the restraints in surprise. "Take these off."
"Whoever she is, I'm not taking any chances," the deputy said. "And there won't be any phone calls until we get to the bottom of this."
"Bottom of what?" the younger doctor asked.
"Bottom of whoever killed Lloyd. I just found his body back at his barn. Someone skewered his face on a combine blade."
Then
2:31 p.m.
The man was silent, giving Lucy plenty of time to think. He wanted her to imagine all the myriad ways he could torture her before killing her, taking his time, keeping her alive until she begged for release.
Hell with that.
She wasn't playing by his rules. Or his timeline. She knew how this would end.
She also knew how to save her family.
Who cared about the database of pedophiles and predators? She'd caught them before, she'd catch them again-or someone would.
She gave him the damn password.
Behind her, he stirred in surprise. She almost smiled. "What was that?"
She repeated the string of numbers and letters. They were easy to remember: the date and abbreviation of the city where Megan had been conceived. Something no one except her would know-and maybe Nick, but he was awful with dates. "It's the passcode."
His breath echoed through the dark chamber. Then silence.
Suddenly he was right behind her, his arms snaking through hers to pull her body upright, pressed against his. Her left foot hit the floor with the unexpected movement. She gasped in pain.
But not much fear. Now that he had what he wanted, he'd kill her. But her family would live. There was nothing for him to gain by hurting them-a sociopath like him, it was all about getting what he wanted. And she'd given it to him.
Time to die.
She waited, limp in his arms, balancing her weight on her good foot. Knife to the throat? Gunshot to the head? No, he was greedy, he'd take it slow. Didn't really matter. He might have gotten what he wanted, but so had she. He thought she'd given up, that he'd won. Wrong. She'd won: her family was safe.
He slid one hand free, palm beneath her left breast, against her heart. Nothing sexual about his touch, more clinical. His arms were well muscled, not straining as he supported her weight. His breath came in slow, hot waves, brushing the top of her head as he effortlessly held her in place.
Then he dropped her. Pain screamed through her foot. She choked back her shriek, but couldn't stop the whimper that emerged.
"You disappoint me, Lucy." His voice was smooth, a stiletto that cut through her calm. "Don't waste my time. We only have until seven."
He'd mentioned that deadline earlier. What happened at seven?
"I gave you what you wanted," she protested.
"I told you what would happen if you disappointed me. I told you I'm a man of my word." He sounded betrayed.
She struggled to get beyond the pain reverberating through her body. Shifted her weight away from her injured foot. Then froze as he leveraged his booted foot against her bloody one. He didn't press down. Just held it there, a silent threat.
"Do you think I'm stupid?" he demanded. "I study my subjects, know everything about them. I know the wrong passcode will lock the system down, send a security alert. And I know you, Lucy. The way you saved all those children from the hospital bombing. How you never give up on a victim, even tracking that serial killer years after everyone thought he was dead."
He let up on her foot. She leaned away, bracing herself, knowing he was toying with her.
"You're smarter than any serial killer," she said, trying an appeal to his vanity. "I knew better than to resist. The password is the correct one. I would never try to trick you, not with my family's lives at stake."
He crouched behind her, his arms stroking her shoulders and arms, tracing the lines of her body in the darkness. She shivered, straining to anticipate his next tactic. How could she convince him that he had won?
"No," he finally said, his hand caressing her injured foot. His touch was gentle, barely brushing the torn skin and mangled bones beneath it. Still more than enough to send a shock wave of pain through her body. "You would never give up this easily."
He stood once more, stepping back, abandoning her on the floor. A bright light seared through the darkness-his phone a few feet in front of her. A slide show of images played across it. Her mother. Nick. Megan.
"No," she gasped. "I gave you what you wanted. Please, no."
"I told you what would happen if you disappointed me, Lucy." His tone was fatherly, chiding a wayward child. "I'm a man of my word."
The images rotated like a roulette wheel.
"Your choice, Lucy. Which one will die?"
Now
6:56 p.m.
"I'll need all her possessions and clothes bagged for evidence," the deputy told the ER staff. Lucy rattled the handcuffs to get his attention.
"FBI," she mouthed, cursing her stolen voice. But there was still hope. If she could get him to call the FBI, they'd verify who she was-it would take longer than calling Walden directly, but she'd have to risk it. What choice did she have?
"I'll call them and get the detectives down here to do an interview," he told her. His expression was strained: a simple MVA turned into a homicide investigation was less than routine for a weeknight's patrol. It was clear he was trying to do everything by the book, but Lucy needed him to throw the book out.
She rattled the cuffs again. The deputy bent close. "The man?" she whispered. "Cramer?"
"If you are who you say you are, then you know I can't question you until you've been read your rights and the doctors clear you. And if you aren't, well, we'll just wait for the detectives. Nothing's getting thrown out on a technicality, not on my watch."
Lucy shook her head, frustrated that he didn't understand. She took a breath, trying to bolster her voice. Decided to go ahead and play the role of the victim, hoping he'd respond better than he had to her earlier demands. "He threatened my family. Please. Check them."