Callie couldn’t let them be brought into this situation, yet riding in the back of the utility van wasn’t good for Robbie. He needed bed rest and time to heal. For her own peace of mind, she wanted to run the lab tests that would tell how his condition was progressing.

  She adjusted the blanket around Robbie and pulled her hand back, noticing blood on her fingers. Tugging the blanket and hospital gown aside, she saw the bright red stain on the gauze dressing, covering his incision. Robbie needed to be stabilized to stop the bleeding. A complete blood count, or CBC, would determine the amount of blood he had already lost.

  “Magnolia Medical isn’t far from here,” she blurted out before she could weigh her words.

  The three gunmen turned and stared at her.

  Joe shot her a cold glance from the mirror.

  “The main lab’s closed over the holiday weekend,” she explained. “No one will think to look for us there. We can park the van behind the building and out of sight. I’ll be able to run Rocky’s lab tests. There are medical supplies, blood for transfusion.”

  Arnie snorted. “I don’t like labs.”

  “Rocky’s bleeding bad,” Sanchez confirmed, gazing at the stained bandage.

  “All right, all right.” The ringleader nodded. “We’ll hole up at Magnolia Medical.”

  Joe turned left at the next intersection and headed for the large medical complex situated on the edge of town. The cop looked back, his eyes hooded.

  Callie’s heart quickened, realizing too late she had provided the gunmen exactly what they needed—a safe place to hide out.

  Her stomach dropped. What had she done? Reacting too quickly, she’d provided the gunmen with the perfect solution to their problem—a problem that had just grown worse for Callie, her brother and the driver, whose neck muscles were already tensed with frustration.

  She touched Robbie’s side as fresh blood stained the gauze. If only she’d learned when to keep her mouth shut.

  Long ago, she’d suggested her sister play outside. Callie had made a mistake then that had led to her sister’s death. Hopefully, she hadn’t made a second mistake that would cost her brother’s life, as well.

  FIVE

  Joe gripped the steering wheel, trying to override the frustration that was bubbling up within him. Cute as she was, Callie had a stubborn determination that might get them all killed. Most folks would be cowering back in silence, afraid to mumble a word. Not this gal. She was becoming more vocal by the minute.

  “Turn left at the next intersection,” Arnie directed. Driving away from the busy downtown, Joe steered the van through an industrial area. Empty parking lots signaled plant employees had the Christmas weekend off. No one would notice the van snaking along this deserted back road toward the laboratory.

  In the distance, Joe saw the top of the Magnolia Medical complex above the barren treetops. A few doctor’s offices and small medical clinics bordered the side roads. A drugstore appeared to be the only place open for business. A couple of cars were parked out front.

  Arnie grunted for Joe to turn into the laboratory lot and steer toward the rear of the main building, where the parked van would appear to be waiting for employees, returning to work on Monday morning. If this situation wasn’t resolved by then, the medical personnel going into the lab would be put in danger, as well.

  Following Arnie’s direction, Joe parked near a side entrance. Sanchez climbed out and opened the driver’s door, his gun trained on Joe as he stepped to the pavement.

  “Get the kid,” Arnie ordered.

  Rounding the van, Malachi opened the rear door. Joe held out his hands and helped Callie climb out. A scent as fresh as sunshine swirled around her, so different from the smell of death that clung to the gunmen.

  He squeezed her fingers. “Are you okay?” Standing close, he could see her long lashes, which fluttered over her cheeks, the curve of her lips, the arch of her brow. His breath caught, and for an instant he thought only of how smooth Callie’s skin felt to his touch.

  “Move it,” Arnie barked.

  As she stepped aside, Joe glanced into the van, seeing the kid’s pain-stretched face wedged between the plastic containers. A small, clear area had provided Callie room to kneel at his side, which must have been uncomfortable for her as well, yet she hadn’t complained.

  Sensing her gaze, Joe turned. She stood next to Malachi, arms wrapped around her chest for warmth or to ward off the dread that lined her pretty face. Joe raised his chin, hoping she’d see the gesture as acknowledgment of her courage.

  Wind swirled through the parking lot, scattering the last of the autumn leaves like lost souls looking for a place to rest. Joe quickly studied the surrounding area. Nothing indicated a source of help. Callie’s words echoed in his mind: “No one will find us here.”

  Arnie dropped the bundle of keys he’d pulled from the ignition into Callie’s hand and pushed her toward the side entrance. “Open the door,” he ordered.

  Joe lifted Rocky into his arms, and the kid’s head rolled back. His eyelids fluttered but failed to open. Trying to keep him steady, Joe followed Arnie and Callie into the first floor of the laboratory’s main building.

  The ringleader shoved Callie along the corridor. She stumbled forward then caught herself and straightened. He grabbed her arm, but she jerked free.

  Glancing right, then left, Joe familiarized himself with the building. Biohazard signs hung on various doors that undoubtedly led to labs off a central main corridor. He noticed a stairway at each end of the hallway. Water fountain. Public restrooms.

  “The therapeutic donor room is on the third floor.” Callie glanced back at the patient. “He’ll be comfortable there.”

  She stopped at a bank of elevators and pushed the up button. The door whooshed open. They filed in, wearing strained expressions on their faces, and rode in silence to the third floor. The only sound was the kid’s heavy breathing.

  “This way.” Callie took the lead when the elevator stopped. The lab was her home turf, and she walked with determined steps as if taking charge of the situation.

  All that assertiveness could get her into trouble. Arnie Frazier wasn’t known as a nice guy. He’d hurt anyone, including a woman, who didn’t follow his directions.

  Callie opened a steel door, which bore an Authorized Personnel Only sign and a biohazard logo. The smell of chemicals wafted past Joe, sharp, acidic, not totally unpleasant but distinctive in an antiseptic way. He followed Arnie across the threshold and into an expansive clinical lab. Rows of slate countertops and overhanging cabinets filled with laboratory supplies occupied the greater portion of the room.

  The ringleader hesitated. “This place filled with germs?”

  “Depends. Watch where you put your hands.” Callie kept moving past a number of freestanding automated analyzers and a row of refrigerators.

  Arnie caught Sanchez’s eye and motioned him forward. “Check it out. Make sure no one’s around to disrupt our privacy. Cut the phone lines while you’re at it.”

  Sanchez grunted and headed off on his own.

  Joe spied a smaller room to the right. The sign above the door read Micro Lab.

  “In here.” Callie pointed them forward. A fire extinguisher hung on the wall behind her.

  Still carrying the kid, Joe stepped into the windowless room about the size of a two-car garage. Four padded contoured donor chairs sat two-by-two in the center. The walls were edged with the same slate counters and overhanging cabinets as in the main lab area.

  A small Christmas tree stood dark in the corner. On the nearby countertop, ceramic figures of Joseph and Mary huddled around a tiny infant in what appeared to be a handmade stable.

  “You draw units of blood in here?” Arnie asked as he looked around.

  “Not the blood used for transfusions,” Callie explained. “This room is for patients who have hemochromatosis—too much iron in their blood. Every so often they need a unit drawn off to drop their levels into normal range.”

  Arnie nodded as if he understood about iron levels and therapeutic blood draws. Opening a door on the far side of the room, he peered into the corridor at the stairwell directly opposite. Evidently satisfied, he closed the door.

  Callie pulled a bedsheet from the wall cabinet and slipped it over the leather recliner then helped Joe lower Robbie onto the chair, his hips angled into the contour. Pushing aside the hospital gown, she checked the blood-tinged gauze that covered the incision on his side before she drew a blanket from another cabinet, covered him and tucked the fabric under his legs.

  Joe walked to the sink, searching for something—anything—that could serve as a weapon.

  Malachi raised his gun. “Whatta think you’re doing?”

  “Washing my hands.” Joe turned on the water and lathered his hands with soap. “I need to examine your buddy.”

  Lowering his weapon, the mocha-skinned gunman leaned against the counter and shrugged. “Watch your step.”

  Once Joe dried his hands, he reached for the latex gloves on the counter and held the box out to Arnie, who stood with his back against the wall.

  The gunman hesitated for a moment then pulled out two gloves and slipped them over his hands. Evidently he didn’t like germs.

  Callie handed Joe a disposable lab coat and held another one out for Arnie. He shrugged off the offer.

  “Doing okay?” Joe whispered, his voice muffled by the running water as she washed her hands.

  “Scared.”

  The tremble of fear he heard in her voice cut into his heart.

  “Anyone expecting you home today?”

  She shook her head.

  “What about at Lazarus House? Won’t someone realize you were working today?”

  “I got a call about an hour ago. I visit the patients most weekends. I was asked if I could fill in by drawing some of the lab work.”

  “So no one would suspect you’ve been taken hostage?”

  Once again she shook her head. Joe didn’t want to sound an alarm, but it seemed neither he nor Callie would be missed by anyone today. From the news report, he knew the cops hadn’t been able to question the guard or head nurse, so the responsibility of escaping rested solely on Joe’s shoulders.

  “Stay out of their way and keep quiet,” he told her. “Let me handle the gunmen.”

  Their gazes locked. Her eyes were clear as a mountain stream.

  Wanting to focus on something other than Callie Evans, he glanced at the supply cabinet in the corner. “I need a weapon. A scalpel, scissors. Anything sharp that can inflict a wound.”

  Sanchez returned to the donor room. “The lab checks out, Arnie.” He caught sight of the wall phone hanging in the corner. “You want me to cut that phone line, too?”

  The ringleader shook his head. “Leave it. We might need it later.”

  Spying the reclining chairs, Sanchez smiled. “I’m gonna stretch out and relax for a while.” He holstered his weapon and pointed to a wall-mounted television. “How ’bout turning on the tube?”

  Malachi raised his hand and flipped the power switch. A Spanish variety show came on. The sounds of Christmas carols—some sung in English, some in Spanish—filled the room.

  “Help me out when I examine the patient,” Joe whispered as he slipped into the lab coat and gloves then stepped to the donor chair where Robbie lay.

  Noticing how Arnie was staring at them, Callie raised her voice for his benefit as she pulled on gloves. “I’ll draw the CBC you ordered and the chemistry panel.”

  “Perfect.” Joe took the kid’s pulse then checked the whites of his eyes, felt the lymph glands on his neck and palpitated his lower abdomen. At least he knew the basics. Hopefully his act would convince the gunmen he was a qualified physician.

  Callie pulled a stethoscope from the cabinet drawer. Wrapping the cuff around the kid’s upper arm, she pumped up the pressure and watched the indicator slowly drop. “One hundred over seventy-five.”

  “We need to keep him stable so his blood pressure doesn’t drop,” Joe said.

  Callie pulled the blood-drawing supplies she’d grabbed at Lazarus House from her pocket. Tying a tourniquet around the patient’s arm, she swabbed his vein and inserted the needle. Joe glanced over his shoulder at Arnie. The gunman’s face blanched, and he averted his gaze as the color-coded tubes filled with blood.

  Working swiftly, Callie unsnapped the tourniquet and jabbed a gauze square against the point of entry before discarding the needle into the special receptacle for sharp objects hanging on the wall.

  The kid’s eyes fluttered open. “Cal…?”

  Sanchez stared at the television. Malachi asked a question that deflected the ringleader’s attention. Turning back to the patient, Joe leaned down. “What is it, kid?”

  Still dehydrated from surgery, he tried to swallow. “Cal…?”

  Callie grabbed his hand. “I’m here, Robbie.”

  His lips broke into a strained smile. “Callie,” he whispered, and then his eyes closed, and he slipped back to sleep.

  A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Joe’s stomach. “You know the kid?”

  Face drawn, she pulled back ever so slightly. “He…he’s my brother.”

  The air knocked out of Joe’s lungs. Callie and the kid were related? Now that was a complication he hadn’t expected.

  Up to this point, Callie had trusted him, but that might change if she found out the truth. Joe had ordered the middle-of-the-night transfer to Lazarus House to keep Robbie out of the hands of the Exterminators. Unfortunately, his strategy had backfired.

  As much as he wanted to explain everything to Callie, he couldn’t. The stakes were too high, and emotions were stretched too thin. It was easy to see how much she loved her brother. If anything happened to him, she would never forgive Joe. Even though they’d been together only a short time, he wanted to ensure their fragile relationship stayed intact.

  His job was to get her out alive.

  Maybe then he would be able to share the secret Robbie’s sister needed to know.

  SIX

  Working as efficiently as possible under the trying conditions, Callie smoothed the blanket over Robbie and tucked the edges under his legs. When her hand brushed his calf, he jerked and groaned with pain.

  Alarmed, she pulled back the blanket. The side of his leg was scraped. Normally, she wouldn’t be concerned, but a small open sore, no larger than a dime, had erupted in the center of the irritated skin. A circle of angry, red tissue surrounded the opening, indicating infection. Something Robbie didn’t need.

  Callie grabbed a transfer tube and culture swabs from a nearby cabinet and rubbed them against the wound while Joe held Robbie’s leg in place.

  Arnie stepped out of the room. Despite his tough-guy facade, he apparently had a problem with body fluids and open sores.

  “How long will it take to know what’s causing the infection?” Joe whispered. At least he understood the seriousness of this new complication.

  “Depends how fast the organism grows. I’ll make a smear and look at it under the microscope. If we’re lucky, it may give me a clue about what bug we’re dealing with. A more definite identification comes once the culture grows out, which could take twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” Time they didn’t have.

  Lowering her voice, she added, “I’ve got scissors in the micro lab. I’ll get them when I set up the culture.”

  Once she covered the sore with a gauze square, Joe helped her smooth the blanket back into place.

  His fingers touched hers. “Be careful, Callie.”

  Warmth spread through her and a sense of gratitude for the concern she saw in Joe’s dark eyes. His calm in the face of crisis reassured her. Somehow he’d get them out of here.

  She thought back to all the times she and Theo had prayed for his cop brother. God must have a sense of humor to allow Callie and Joe to meet under such trying circumstances.

  Her daily prayer for so long had been for the Lord to bring Joe back into Theo’s life. Either Joe or God had missed the mark at the nursing home by three rooms. She almost smiled, knowing the cop had been the one with the bad aim.

  If the hostage situation ended on a positive note, she would do everything in her power to ensure the two brothers reconnected. Reconciliation might be asking too much, but God worked in mysterious ways, and His timing was perfect. Maybe He would even use their present predicament to bring about change for the better.

  “Theo was right,” she said, seeing confusion wrap around Joe’s handsome face. “Your brother said you were a good man.”

  An edge of vulnerability flashed in Joe’s eyes. There was a lot of hurt in his past, Callie knew. Every family had problems. Some more than most. Her own proved the point.

  She’d made a mistake the last time she and Robbie had been together. This time she’d ensure her brother knew she loved him. She’d let him know the Lord loved him as well. From what Theo had said, Joe might need that same message.

  Malachi peered down at the patient. “How’s he doing?”

  “Rocky needs to be in a hospital,” Joe insisted.

  “Forget it.” Arnie stepped back into the donor room, appearing somewhat composed now that the wound was covered.

  Callie gathered the tubes of blood and culture swabs. “I need to run these lab tests.”

  “Malachi, go with her.” Arnie pointed Joe to the corner. “Sit on the floor, Doc.”

  “If I help her, we’ll have the results faster,” Joe said.

  “Malachi, aim your gun at her head. One wrong move and she dies.” Arnie glared at Joe. “Got it?”

  He fisted his hands. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  Callie sent him a reassuring glance, hoping he got the message. She’d be okay as long as he didn’t do anything rash.

  Malachi followed her into the small microbiology lab and plopped down on one of the tall swivel chairs.

  Callie pulled in a calming breath, hoping to ease some of the tension that tightened the muscles in her neck. She labeled three petri dishes then touched the end of the cotton swab, containing the discharge from the sore on Robbie’s leg, to the gel culture media. Lighting a Bunsen burner, she sterilized a tiny steel loop in the flame and streaked the discharge across each plate.