Royally Claimed - By Marie Donovan Page 0,61
way but the agitated man grabbed her wrist. “Help me, Lyle!” she yelled. She vaguely remembered him tossing her away from him, her head cracking into the corner of the countertop.
When she opened her eyes next, she was on the floor, her head splitting in pain. Lyle lay near her, blood pulsing from his chest. He was pale and clammy, losing blood at an alarming rate. The patient stood about ten feet away, a red-stained scalpel in his hand. The scalpel from her kit. He must have grabbed it after shoving her and then stabbed Lyle.
Julia brutally forced back the pain, pushing up to a sitting position. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve had a rough evening.” He laughed nervously. “Any minute now, the cops will be here for me.”
What did he expect? A mint on his hospital pillow?
He read her scorn. “Oh, yes. But what you don’t know is that he’s not the only person I stabbed tonight. Caught my wife cheating. Tonight she grabbed a knife and well, I got to her first.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to, but she wouldn’t stop screaming at me about her stupid boyfriend. I had to shut her up.”
“Don’t make this worse for yourself,” she stated as firmly as she could. “Put down the scalpel and let me help the guard.” Other staff were yelling in the hall for help.
“Get back or I’ll finish them both off!” He shrugged. “What’s one more murder tonight? I’ll get life in prison whether it’s one life—or many.”
Julia went cold. Lyle wouldn’t make it if he didn’t get medical help soon, and she was pretty sure she had a bad concussion.
Sirens sounded in the background, distracting Mark. He looked away briefly, and she caught sight of a small ankle holster above Lyle’s heavy black shoe. She never would have seen it if she weren’t sitting on the floor. Non-regulation, but the guard was a retired cop and probably never went anywhere without a gun.
She crawled toward the guard. “Please, let me help him.” She clutched at his leg, unsnapped the holster and pulled out the small black revolver. She pointed it at Mark’s middle. “Drop the scalpel!”
“Now where did that gun come from?” He sounded more interested than intimidated, and that was more frightening than rage. He was a man with nothing to lose, holding her and a dying man hostage with a deadly weapon in the middle of the emergency department. He moved toward her.
“Get back!” Her vision split him into two and then back into one. But the scalpel was her focus.
He waved it so it glinted in the light. “You’re as bad as my wife. My late wife. My dear, departed, unfaithful wife.” His laugh echoed crazily. “Put the gun down and I won’t kill you.”
No, her father’s voice floated in her mind. Don’t. He’s lying.
“I know,” she whispered.
He grinned, blood trickling down his face and growing bloodlust in his eyes. The first murder might have been an accident, but she feared he was beginning to enjoy himself. “That’s a good girl. Gun’s getting heavy for a tiny thing like you, isn’t it?”
It was.
“And you don’t even know how to use it, do you?”
But she did. Her father had taught her in the pistol range when they lived in the Azores. Oh, Azores. Oh, Franco. If she failed, she would never see him again.
Thumbed back the hammer, the click deafening in the small room.
His eyes narrowed. His shoulders bunched. He was coming.
Her finger tightened on the trigger. God help her.
Aim for center mass, her father commanded. Start shooting. Don’t stop until the gun’s empty. He came.
She obeyed her father. For once. And he saved her life.
Julia sat up in bed with a scream.
“Julia!” Someone grabbed her around the shoulders and she screamed louder. She was immediately let go. “Julia, please! You are safe.”
She opened her eyes and saw Frank kneeling next to her. “Oh, my God, Frank. I am so sorry. Did I wake you?”
His eyebrows shot up even higher and she realized what a silly question that was. But he didn’t point out the obvious. “Julia, are you all right?”
“Fine.” She pressed her hand against her thumping heart.
“No.” He rested his hand on her knee. “Sometimes you cry out in your sleep, but nothing like this. What is your nightmare, Julia?”
She sighed. “I lived it a few months ago when I got hurt.”
“What?” He sat next to her and gathered her into his arms. “You told me you hit your head at