“You’ll see it when we get there,” said Scott.
“Tell him about the bleeding,” said not-Scott. “Maybe it would help if he knew that.”
“You said the bleeding had mostly stopped,” said Henry.
“It took a long time to slow down,” said not-Scott. “He was—”
“Shut up, Jason,” ordered Scott.
Scott and Jason.
“I think the doctor should know he lost a ton of blood,” argued Jason.
Shit. Not good.
“Yes, that’s helpful information,” said Henry. “When did the fever start?”
Keep them talking.
“Yesterday,” said Jason.
“He’s conscious?” asked Henry.
“Sometimes.”
Henry mentally ran through what he’d thrown in the duffel bag, thankful he’d grabbed several IV bags of fluids but wishing he could have brought blood for a transfusion.
“There it is,” said Jason.
“I see it,” answered Scott.
See what?
Henry had no concept of time. He didn’t know if they’d been on the boat for fifteen minutes or thirty. During the ride, his mind had churned up a thousand thoughts and worries. He’d vacillated between concern for Julie and worry about Cate’s reaction when she discovered he was missing. He wished he could stop the shower of emotions that she was about to experience.
His own situation was lower down in his list of concerns. He had a skill the two men wanted, and he doubted they would hurt him until their friend was better. He hadn’t seen their faces, so he currently wasn’t a threat to them. He needed to make it clear to them that his priority was to help the gunshot victim. He suspected the threat about shooting him if their friend died was an empty one. The men had simply said whatever it took to get him out the door.
The boat slowed almost to a stop, and the two men quarreled again as one of them maneuvered the boat and the other dealt with rope. Henry sat still, listening for any sort of sound that could tell him where they were. His best guess was that they’d gone around to the north side of Widow’s Island. Maybe somewhere off the state park.
But why wouldn’t we just drive there?
The boat swayed as Jason jumped out, and Scott snapped at him about the way he’d tied up the boat. Henry was tired of their sparring. Then there was another awkward moment where Henry had to essentially flop onto his stomach on the dock as Scott heaved his legs over the edge of the boat and up onto the wood. Jason helped him stand.
“This would have been a lot easier with my hands free,” muttered Henry. Wherever they had docked was quiet. No distinguishing smells or sounds. Just the usual lap of water against the pilings.
“Take that thing off his head,” Scott ordered.
“But, Scott—”
“Do it.”
“But—”
“I don’t fucking care anymore. It doesn’t matter. Take it off. He can’t work on Mark if he can’t see him.”
Scott, Jason, and Mark.
Henry tensed, elated yet apprehensive. He didn’t care what had changed Scott’s mind. He wanted the thing off his head. One of them pulled at the gown and worked to untie the knots. Henry stood perfectly still, as if a single movement might make them reverse their decision.
A moment later it slid off, and Henry took a deep breath.
His first observation was that it was dark. But one of the men held a flashlight that showed him they were on a short dock near a rocky beach. Then the flashlight shone in Henry’s face, blinding him, and he shut his eyes and turned away.
“Let’s go,” said Scott.
Henry blinked, trying to get rid of the spots in his vision that the flashlight had created. “Hang on,” he said. “I’m a bit blinded.”
Someone shoved his shoulder. “Then you can walk the same as it was before with your head covered.”
Henry automatically looked back at who shoved him and met Jason’s gaze, and his stomach dropped.
Jason had removed his mask.
Shocked, Henry turned to Scott. The man smirked over the gun pointed at Henry.
Scott was unmasked.
I can see their faces . . . and they don’t care.
I’m a dead man.
4
Cate looked over Julie’s shoulder, watching her fast-forward through video of every person who had walked into the clinic that day. Cate was stunned by the number of people coming in the door. “How do you see them all for treatment?” she asked.
“We’ve got a good system,” said Julie. “And truly, most of them have minor issues. It’s all tourist scrapes and bruises this time of year. I think it will slow down and return to residents by the end of September. It seems like the locals avoid us unless it’s completely necessary during the summer.”
So far the women had paused the video for two different men who’d entered but then agreed they didn’t have the same physique of the men in black. The front door was a good reference for height since they had a freeze-frame of when the men in black had entered.
They knew what they were looking for and hadn’t seen it yet.
In the waiting room, Tessa paced back and forth while on the phone with the sheriff and checking in with the other deputies at the marinas. She ended a call and approached the reception window. “No odd reports have come in from anyone on the island,” she told Cate and Julie. “Nothing that sounds remotely related to this.”
Cate nodded and continued to focus on the stream of people rapidly entering and exiting the clinic. It was frustrating to stand in one spot when she ached to run outside and look for Henry. Her phone rang, making both her and Julie jump.
It was her old boss.
“Thanks for getting back to me, Phillip,” she answered.
“I thought you retired,” said her former FBI supervisor. “But every time I turn around, you’re knee deep in a federal investigation.”
“Not by choice. Are you familiar with the men in the photo I sent?” Cate had no patience for small talk at the moment.
“Yes and no,” said Phillip. “I believe these are two of the three men who robbed a bank outside of Seattle. We have video of them dressed exactly the same way. They shot two of the employees dead at the scene, and a third just passed away from their injuries two hours ago—that news hasn’t been released to the media yet.”
“Oh, my god.” Cate ran a hand over her eyes. She’d known the bank robbers had left death in their wake, but Phillip’s serious tone was hammering home one fact:
Killers have Henry.
“I’m sorry, Cate. I know that’s not the news you wanted since Henry is with them.”
“Who are they?”
“That’s the part I don’t know. We’ve linked them to three other bank robberies—two in Montana and one in Idaho—but we don’t have identities. They’ve left nothing behind to pinpoint them. No fingerprints, no vehicles. They vanish into thin air after every robbery.”
“Someone will eventually talk,” she said. “Someone will be unhappy about their cut or will feel slighted. It always happens.”
“I don’t want to wait that long,” said Phillip. “These guys are violent, and from what your text said, one of them is gravely injured.”