Julie Garwood - Mercy

Preston lunged to get Theo in his sights, but Theo lashed out with his foot and nailed him in his knee. And still he didn't go down. He staggered back, firing into the ceiling.

The doors around the corner suddenly exploded. Preston didn't look behind him to see who was coming. He was just a couple of feet away from a darkened room, saw the swinging doors, and knew it was time to get the hell out. He rushed into the OR, hoping there was another way out on the other side.

Preston stopped and squinted into the dark, listening as he edged away from the doors. He turned toward Michelle, the barrel of his gun pointed in her direction.

She could hear him panting. He was too close. Another step and he'd bump into her. She knew she'd have to step t»ack to get a good swing at him. But he'd hear it, she thought.

Why wasn't he moving? Did he know she was there? Just one step forward.

She needed a distraction. Something… anything to get him to turn away from her so she could strike. Willie Nelson came to her rescue. "To all the girls I've loved before…" The instant the song started, Preston whirled around and fired again and again at the tape recorder. Michelle swung the extinguisher, slamming it into his jaw.

"Hit the lights," she shouted as he staggered backward into the hallway. She went after him, struck him again on the side of the head. The second blow seemed to do the trick. He went flying back and landed with a thud against the wall.

Michelle stopped. Theo sprang in front of her as Preston was bringing his gun up. Theo fired and hit him in the abdomen.

He was using his back to push Michelle into the OR and out of danger.

Preston fell to his knees as Noah ran toward him shouting, "Drop the gun."

Preston turned toward Noah and took aim. He never got to pull the trigger. Noah fired. One bullet through the temple. Preston pitched forward facedown on the floor. A pool of black blood rapidly formed a puddle around him.

Michelle nudged Theo forward to get him out of the way of the doors as she called out, "It's clear. Get the patient to recovery."

Theo leaned against the wall, then slowly slid down into a sitting position as Noah squatted next to Preston and lifted the gun from his hand.

Everyone started shouting and talking at once then. Theo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could hear the squeak of the rollers as the nurses pushed John Patrick's bed out and around Preston.

Michelle knelt down beside Theo. She'd peeled her gloves off and was gently probing the cut below his eye.

"I'm too old for this," he muttered.

"You okay?" Noah asked as he reholstered his gun.

"Yes. Did you get the one she called Monk?"

"No."

"No?" he shouted. He was trying to dodge Michelle's hand so he could see Noah.

"I don't know how he did it, but he got away. I know I winged him," Noah said. "All the exits are blocked, and they're making a sweep of each floor, but he's long gone."

"You can't know that."

"A patient up on four was looking out his window and saw a man run across a bed of flowers up the hill. The patient said he was bent over."

"What about John Russell? Any sign of him?" Theo asked.

"No," Noah answered.

"You tore your stitches," Michelle said.

"What?"

She'd whispered the news and it sounded like a scolding. He was looking at Noah, wondering what the white streaks were on his face when she'd interrupted. He finally looked at her face. And when he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, he was astonished. She wasn't so tough after all. Not with him, anyway.

"I didn't do it on purpose, sweetheart."

He tried to wipe a tear from her cheek. She pushed his hand away. "I'm going to have to sew you back together again." She was trembling now like an alcoholic who'd gone too long without a drink. "Look at my hands. They're shaking."

"Then we're gonna wait before you pick up a needle and go to work on me."

"You threw yourself in front of me so he'd shoot you. That was very heroic, you big jerk. You could have been killed."

He wouldn't let her push him away this time. Cupping her face with his hands, he whispered, "I love you too."

Always have a contingency plan. When two police cars came zooming down the drive to the hospital with their lights flashing and their sirens blaring, John knew it was time to leave. He ducked down in his seat-an unnecessary precaution, but instinctive all the same-and turned the ignition, on. He waited a couple of seconds, until he saw the policemen running into the hospital. Then he slowly backed the car out of the parking spot, turned, and eased out of the lot.

He didn't really care if his friends were dead or alive. Why would he? His plans weren't going to be affected, no matter what the outcome.

Even if the police took them alive and they told them everything they knew, it would be too late. And if by some miracle one or two of them escaped, well, that just didn't matter either. John had enough time to get the money from the Sowing Club account transferred to the account in Switzerland he'd set up years ago. He had his laptop with him-he found it curious that Dallas

hadn't questioned him as to why he'd brought it along-and all he had to do was to get to a phone line, type a few commands

on his computer, and he would be set for life.

Getting away quickly was all he cared about now. Within the next few minutes, one of those policemen might come running outside and try to block the main entrance leading into the hospital drive.

"Hmmm," he whispered. There might already be a police car there now. Too risky to chance being stopped, John decided. He backed the car into the lot again, turned around, and then drove at a snail's pace down the tarred service road behind the hospital.

And that was when he spotted Monk hobbling up the hill toward the street. One hand was clutching his side. Had he been shot?

It looked as though he had.

John chuckled. The opportunity was simply too good to pass up. No one was around. No one would see. He owed Monk a considerable amount of money. "Hmmm," he whispered again. Do it, his mind screamed. Do it now.

He seized the moment. Turning the car sharply, he drove over the curb, then pressed his foot down on the accelerator. Monk heard him coming and turned. When he saw John, he stopped and waited.

He thinks I'm going to pick him up. He increased his speed as he got closer. The expression on Monk's face when he realized what was going to happen was hilarious. He looked positively shocked.

John miscalculated, though. He thought Monk would dive to the left and turned the wheel ever so slightly so he could hit him straight on, but Monk leapt the other way, and the car only brushed him as it sped past.

He didn't dare risk backing up and trying again. "Oh, well, you do what you can," he said as he hit the curb and bounced into

the street. Cutting through run-down neighborhood, he reached the main street six blocks away from the hospital and

knew then he was safe.

He picked up his cell phone, dialed the pilot he'd hired months ago, and told him he would arrive at the municipal airport in forty-five minutes. He turned left at the stoplight and headed in the opposite direction from New Orleans. He'd never be able to go back, of course. Even though he had a new identity-the passport was in the case with his computer-he knew he would never return to the United States.

No great loss, he thought. After all, he had millions of dollars to keep him happy. John wasn't one to gloat, but he did just that now. He had, after all, gotten away with murder.

Michelle finished writing orders and then went into recovery to look in on John Patrick. The nurse had led his parents in, and