Biting into my lip, I shake my head. “We’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Joe narrows his eyes at me in a way that makes my heart stop.
“Ty needs medication. He needs antibiotics and sedatives and lidocaine…those are all things that have to be checked out and thoroughly documented.”
Joe clenches his jaw, whipping out his phone. “You take the long way to the pharmacy, and leave the rest to me.”
“Okay.” I don’t trust Joe as far as I can throw him, but right now, we’re teammates and I need him if I want to make it out of this.
The pharmacy is just down the hall, and I recognize the technician right away.
“Hi Dr. Taylor. Need something for one of the shooting victims?” She smiles brightly, completely unaware that she’s about to participate in a crime.
“Yes,” I say. “I need two bags of amoxicillin and two of oxycodone. And can you throw in a vial of lidocaine? And an order of Midazolam.”
“Got it. What’s the patient’s ID number?” She pulls something up on her computer, my pulse skyrocketing with every click of her keyboard.
“Um…”
“Perfect.” She rolls her eyes. “The entire system is down on the busiest day we’ve had all month.”
She hands me a pen and a piece of paper. “Here. Write the ID number down while I go get your stuff. I’ll have to enter it later this week.”
I glance back at Joe, who sits patiently in the waiting area. He shoots me a cocky wink when our eyes meet. Did he honestly just hack into the entire hospital database? Before I can really think about all the ramifications of that, the tech comes back with my things and I walk towards Joe.
If it’s possible, I’m even more nervous than before.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Joe swings his arm around my shoulder as we walk out of the emergency room. “We make a pretty good team, Mads.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say, squirming out from under him.
Joe chuckles. “I have to say, you have more guts than I gave you credit for. You might survive Roman Molanari yet.”
Chapter Four
MadisonMarieTaylor.Twenty-sevenyears old. Born and raised in St. Louis, Missouri. Graduated med school last year, and took a residency in trauma surgery at St. Luke’s.
Medicine seems to be somewhat of a family tradition for the Taylors. Her dad is ranked as the top trauma surgeon in all of St. Louis, and she’s got two older brothers, who both followed in his footsteps.
She spends her off days volunteering at the local animal shelter, can run a marathon in four hours and twenty-two minutes, is allergic to coconut, and when she was seven, she nearly drowned in her backyard pool. Those are just some highlights from the file that Dante put together on her in the last hour. It’s basically all useless, but her handiwork has held up and Ty’s been restful since she and Joe left. Reading up on Madison has given me something to do so I don’t go insane.
I thumb through a few of the pictures that Dante printed, stopping on one in particular. It’s a snapshot of her at a wedding,in a long black dress that fits her like it was sewn right onto her body. Deep brown eyes, honey dipped curls draping over her shoulder, and a pair of rosy lips that frame a sparkling smile.
Setting the picture down and closing the file, I rub my jaw. I sure hope she’s a good doctor, because it would be a fucking shame to kill a woman who looks like that.
“You’re sure about this. Roman? There are plenty of hospitals that we could take him to. It doesn’t have to be—” The file on Madison kept Dante occupied too, but now that he’s finished, he’s getting antsy.
“We’re not going to a hospital. He’ll be much more comfortable here, and I can control the situation.” Not to mention the security.
Joe and Dante might not understand why I’m so adamant about this, but that’s because neither of them lost their wives to a medical error. Perhaps the worst part of Talia’s death is that it was completely preventable. They got her to the hospital in time, and she could’ve survived her injuries, but there was a mistake made with her medication.
As unreasonable as it might be, letting a random doctor we met in the park operate on Ty feels less risky than wheeling him into the same hospital, with the same doctors, who killed his mother six months ago.
“Right.” Dante paces in front of me, raking his fingers through his hair. “And what do you plan to do with the girl once all of this is over? It’s not like we can just let her go.”
