Hannah Alexander - Safe Haven

“No, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’ll go for it.”

“I’m sorry, I’d like you to remain in the vehicle until we can get an ambulance here to do a more thorough—”

“No.” Her voice was firm. “I told you I’d be okay. I am willing to sign a PRC form so you can release me without getting into trouble.”

Taylor bit back a sharp retort. A Patient Refusal of Care form would release him from any liability if she should develop complications later. She sounded as if she was accusing him of trying to cover his backside.

“Look, Ms. Fletcher, I’m not interested in covering for myself, I just want to make sure you don’t have any—”

“It doesn’t look like there’s too much damage,” she said, gesturing toward the front of her car. “And I wasn’t speeding. I realize that the damage to the car isn’t always the best indication of injury to the occupants, but you’ll have to trust my judgment. I promise to check in with the local clinic first thing in the morning.” There was a hint of sarcasm in her words and a touch of irony in her gaze, and he wondered what that was all about.

“By the way,” she said, “I tried to start the engine and it refuses to budge. Know of anybody I might call for a tow in the morning?” Her voice mingled with the cat’s in a grating duet.

Taylor didn’t bother to curb his own sarcasm. “The engine won’t start?” He raised his voice to be heard over the yowling in the back seat. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed, then reached out and took his left arm in a firm grip. With that grip she urged him backward. “You don’t listen too well, do you?”

She released him and stood gingerly to her feet. She was tall. The top of her head came to his eyebrows, and he was six-three.

“I’m refusing care. End of…discuss—”

Her focus seemed to waver, and the color drained from her face once more. She grabbed her stomach and doubled forward. He reacted quickly to step out of the line of fire, but not quickly enough. His uniform pants would never be the same.

Sirens blasted through the air and bounced from the side of the building where Fawn Morrison crouched, panting from the run, terrified. She was at least three city blocks from the hotel-theater complex she’d escaped, and panic continued to shake her body so hard she could barely get enough air into her lungs. Red-white-blue lights reflected across the parking lot. She could only gamble that no one driving into the lot would catch a glimpse of her dress from beyond the thick hedge that shielded her.

She knew that if she moved quickly, she had a better chance of escape, but still she squatted in the shadows. All she wanted to do was pull herself into a tight little ball and block everything out.

She reached into her purse for a hair clip, twisted her long blond hair into a knot at the back of her head and anchored it. She pulled her bangs out of the stiff helmet of dried hair gel she’d used to keep them off her forehead. They made her look younger. Too young for her taste—like about fourteen—but it might save her hide to look younger, just for tonight. Now if she could get out of this dress, and scrape off some of this makeup….

As the whine of the sirens died, she limped along the edge of the building to a tall privacy fence that she guessed shielded the cast entrance for this theater. A searchlight flickered across the treetops at the theater next door. In spite of her ankle, she ran to the fence, jumped up and grasped the top edge, pulling herself up, kicking hard to swing herself over. Splinters gouged her arms and legs, and she gasped with the pain as she dropped to the asphalt on the other side.

The shriek of sirens continued to split the air as Fawn limped to a concrete loading dock. She climbed the steps and tested the door. It slid open, and she slipped inside to be overwhelmed by the smell of roast beef and onions, and the clatter of cookware. A kitchen. As late as it was, they would be cleaning up after a banquet, maybe. Or this could be a dinner theater. Judging by the size of the five-story structure, this, too, was a hotel-theater complex, which was a good thing.

She passed by a broad doorway and crept as quietly as she could along the shadowy hall. If she could find her way to the connecting hotel—

“Hey, you!” came a sharp male voice from the bright kitchen.

Going cold all over, she turned to see a thin-haired man standing beside a stack of pots and pans at a huge sink. He wore a white shirt and slacks and an apron.

“You lost?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Where’s the ladies’ room?”

“Back out the Staff Only entrance and to your right,” he said drily, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he gave her a once-over.

She nodded and continued along the service corridor until she knew she’d be out of sight of the kitchen, then she opened a door to her right. The lights were off, of course, but the hallway fluorescents revealed a small office. No good place to hide. She checked the next room down on her left, but it was locked. Several yards farther, the next door on her right, was a linen room, complete with huge stacks of towels, aprons and uniforms.

This could work! They did it in all the movies—people sneaking into the closet of a hospital and pulling on a doctor’s lab coat so they could blend in with the hospital staff. She could blend in. She’d worked at a hotel for a couple of weeks.

After a hopeless search for a light switch in the room—this must be one of those places where a master switch was located elsewhere—she pulled a tiny key-chain flashlight from her purse, stepped into the room, closed the door behind her. The thin stream of light flickered, threatening to go out as she grabbed a set of whites from the top of a stack in front of her. The pants would’ve fit an elephant. The next set in the stack looked as if they might fit. She pulled a hairnet from a package on the shelf beside the clothes. Of course there were no shoes.

She stripped off her dress and shoved it deep behind a stack of tablecloths. The clothes fit—the bottoms were a little too snug around her hips, but she could still move without ripping them. She pulled the black hairnet over her head and tucked her bangs beneath it. With the clip holding her hair up off her shoulders, she might get away with this. Except for her shoes. Still, she couldn’t go barefoot.

The tiny flashlight flickered out as she tugged on her shoes. She couldn’t coax any more from it. Should’ve changed the battery last week.

She felt around in the darkness for her purse, and was slinging the strap over her head when she heard the sound of purposeful footsteps and a man’s deep voice.

“…police department. I need to ask you some questions.”

The footsteps stopped, and Fawn caught her breath.

“I don’t think any crooks or bad guys came through here tonight, if that’s what you mean,” came the voice of the dishwasher who’d given her directions to the bathroom. “Just people from the dinner theater.”

“Is the show over?”

“Should have been over about fifteen minutes or so ago.”

“Did anyone come through this way recently? A woman in a blue dress, blond hair?”

Fawn bit the inside of her cheek. No, please don’t tell him.

“Hey, you kidding? Sure did,” came the reply. “Blue dress? Really pretty?”

“Sounds right.”

“She was in here just a few minutes ago. Looked a little spooked, if you ask me. What happened, Officer?”

“We just need to question her.” There was a sound of static, like one of those walkie-talkie things Fawn’s Uncle Ralph used to have. “We need to have a look around.”

“Okay by me, but I’m not the one you have to ask. My boss—”