Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(5)

He didn’t bother pointing out that the dark-haired female—who looked anywhere between the ages of twenty and forty—was the least likely candidate for a wild weekend at Padre.

“Haven’t you been watching the news?” Nadine asked Vasquez. “They suspect terrorists,” she pointed out with an indignant sniff.

“What does the media know?” The guard rolled his eyes. “Watch. She’ll show up on Monday with nothing worse than a sunburn.”

Nadine shook her head, clearly not in agreement, and looked back to Reid. “Good night.”

Reid fixed a smile to his face as she slipped from the room, the guard close behind her.

The door clicked softly shut, and he sat there for a long while, letting the minutes tick past, letting the hospital sink deeper into night, his hand twitching anxiously at his side. It was hard being inactive for this long. If you were idle on the inside, you didn’t last very long.

CNN streamed a constant feed of First Daughter Grace Reeves while reporting absolutely nothing new or enlightening. Graduate of some all-girls college. She looked uncomfortable in her own skin. She was dating the White House communications director, with rumors of an engagement imminent. Surprising, since she didn’t look the type to be with the slick-looking guy mugging for the camera.

They flashed pictures and footage of Grace Reeves from a braces-wearing awkward adolescent to current day still-awkward-looking adult. You would think the President had someone on staff that could coach her on how not to look so pinch-faced. Maybe they could dress her better, too. Not like a middle-aged bureaucrat.

When the clock on the wall read 12:34, he decided he’d waited long enough. They had left him unrestrained. Injured and wearing a sling and with a guard standing watch twenty-four/seven, they deemed it unnecessary. Fortunately for him.

The trick would be getting out of the room—and out of the hospital—undetected.

He rose from the bed and slipped the sling over his head. Dropping it on the ground, he moved his arm gingerly, experiencing only a slight twinge of discomfort from the deepest of the lacerations in his chest, but not the arm itself. The arm felt good. He’d had worse.

He fashioned a lump under the covers, doing the best he could to make it look like a body. He turned off the light above his bed. It might pass for him if someone took a cursory peek inside the dim room.

Moving quietly, he slipped the surgical scissors out from where he’d stashed them under the mattress and moved a chair beneath the ceiling access panel.

A draft crept through the back slit of his hospital gown as he climbed up on the chair and lifted his arms, working two of the tiny screws loose in the panel. It swung down soundlessly.

Sucking in a breath, he pulled himself up through the panel, grunting at the strain in his still sore muscles. The square space was barely wide enough for his big body, but he managed to heft himself through, stretching to his full height.

Above his room, the space was dark and crowded with conduit pipes and hot water valves. He hunkered and ducked his head, walking on pipes, carefully choosing his steps so he didn’t crash through the Sheetrock.

Light trickled in from another access panel ahead. Reid peered down between the slats, identifying the hallway outside his room. He kept going, looking through the square metal panels until he finally came to one that overlooked a break room.

He listened to the rumble of voices below and glimpsed the top of one man’s balding head as he changed shirts. “See you tomorrow, Frank.” A locker slammed shut. “Tell your wife to make some of those cookies again.”

“They’re supposed to be for me,” Frank complained.

“I’m doing you a favor,” the other guy laughed. “You’re fat enough.” He left the room and it was just Frank for a few more minutes. He was out of his range of vision, but Reid could hear him rustling around. Soon, another locker shut and his footsteps rang out as he strode from the room.

Reid waited a few seconds and then worked the screws loose until the panel swung open. He lowered himself down, clutching the edges of the opening until his feet landed lightly on cold tile.

He moved swiftly, starting with the lockers, hoping there was one whose combination lock hadn’t shifted and would lift open for him. He got lucky on his sixth try. Even better, a pair of men’s scrubs and a hoodie hung inside. Several dollars and loose change littered the bottom of the locker floor along with a pair of tennis shoes and a pocketknife. Reid grabbed it all and shut the locker. Arms full, he disappeared into one of the bathroom stalls to change.

The shoes were a little snug, but the scrubs fit. He tightened the drawstring at his waist and slipped on the hoodie, zipping it halfway up. Snatching up his hospital gown, he stuffed it into a trash can on his way out.

He walked out into the hallway like he belonged there. Squaring his shoulders, he slipped one hand in the pocket of his hoodie and immediately brushed the cold cut of metal. He wrapped his fingers around the clump of keys, thumbing the clicker. Sweet. Lifting a car would be simple enough.

Reid didn’t pass anyone as he strolled down the hall. He dove through a corner door that led to a stairwell and hurried down the flights. Vasquez could check on him any time. He needed to be far from there when that happened.

The first floor had a little more life to it. An orderly turned the corner before him, humming a tune as he pushed a cart. A nurse passed him as he strode toward the front lobby. She barely glanced up from the chart she was studying. He felt the stare of the camera in the corner but kept walking. It was like he was invisible.