Diane Burke - Hidden in Plain View

Sam nodded.

“Good. Now get back to Sarah. I’m going to finalize the room move with the hospital administrator while Joe coordinates the shift coverage outside her door.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He was halfway down the hall with the door easing shut behind him before the captain had stopped speaking.

* * *

The man made a final adjustment to the fake beard that covered the lower part of his face, being sure to keep his upper lip clean, as was the Amish custom. He stared at the reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and admired his handiwork.

The blond shaggy wig brushed the back of his neck. It made him twitch the way one might with an errant insect racing down your arm, and he shivered with disgust.

He was a man who took great pride in his appearance. His chestnut-brown hair was always faithfully groomed in a short, concise military cut. His fingernails were manicured at all times, his clothing choices impeccable. He’d be glad when this distasteful costume was no longer necessary.

He leaned in for a closer look at the blue contacts he’d worn to conceal his brown eyes. He finished off the look by donning a pair of plain, wire-rimmed glasses. The transformation was amazing.

He glanced down at his outfit. His clothes looked like they’d been woven a century ago. What kind of people willingly dressed like this?

He couldn’t wait to get out of this outfit and back into one of his expensive Armani suits. He longed to sit in his butter-soft leather chair, sip the prime Scotch from his private collection and gaze out his plate-glass window overlooking the ocean.

He hooked his fingers behind his suspenders, turned sideways and grunted with satisfaction.

One obstacle still remained.

He glanced at his immaculate nails. He’d have to go outside and dig in a flower bed. The thought of dirt under his fingernails actually caused his stomach to roil. But these men worked on farms. He imagined they grew used to the feeling of soil and debris as their manicure of the day. The thought made his lips twist into a frown of disgust.

Well, it wouldn’t be for long. Diamonds valued in the billions were definitely worth this ridiculous costume and a little dirt, weren’t they?

He sighed heavily. He’d have a very limited opportunity to interrogate the woman. But he wasn’t worried. If he couldn’t get her to tell him where she’d hidden the diamonds before he eliminated her, then he’d find them another way.

He rolled his white sleeves up to his elbows and smiled with satisfaction. Even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. If she had still been alive, that is. He paused for a moment and allowed himself to remember the look of panic and fear he’d seen in her eyes moments before he squeezed the life out of her.

He’d learned many things in his lifetime. One of the most important lessons was that when you needed to infiltrate enemy lines, it was best to blend in, give off an air of confidence, act like you belonged exactly where you were.

It had served him well over the years. His enemies had never sensed his presence—even though he was often right in their midst, hiding in plain sight, as the saying goes.

He stepped back, donned his straw hat and headed to the door.

* * *

Nighttime in hospitals always gave Sam the willies. Fewer staff. People speaking in whispers. Tonight his “willies alert” was operating on full throttle. Some cops called it gut instinct. Either way, Sam hated the tension that shot along his nerve endings, the fingers of unease that crept up his spine.

The only discernible sound as he moved through the empty corridors was the soft whirring of machines from open doorways, an occasional whimper of pain or a soft snore.

He was tired. Bone tired. He hadn’t had more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past thirty-six hours, and it was beginning to catch up with him. He wasn’t a kid anymore—thirty-four on his next birthday, and he needed those eight hours of sleep. Or at least six. Who was he kidding? He’d settle for four if he could snatch them.

He glanced into the rooms as he passed by. They’d taken a risk when they’d moved Sarah to the pediatric floor. He didn’t want to imagine the uproar the parents of these children would unleash if they had any idea that the bait to catch a killer had just been moved into their midst.

Captain Rogers had arranged the move. He firmly believed this would be the last floor in the hospital the perpetrator would expect to find Sarah. The captain didn’t seem worried about the sensitive location. He was certain that even if the killer did locate Sarah, the children would be safe because they weren’t his target. Sarah was.

Sam moved past the rooms filled with sleeping children. He offered a silent prayer that the captain hadn’t made a horrendous mistake. As he drew near Sarah’s room, he recognized the officer sitting in front of the door.

“Hey, Fitch, how’s it going?”

The policeman folded his newspaper and grinned when he saw Sam approach. He gestured with his head toward the door.

“You’d think she was a Hollywood celebrity or something. Orders came down from the top that this is the last day allowed for visitation. It’s been a steady stream of Amish folks in and out all afternoon saying their goodbyes. First thing tomorrow morning, the only Amish visitor allowed to visit is her former mother-in-law, Rebecca Lapp. No one else. Period.”

Sam nodded. “Good. How did everyone else take the news?”

“Truthfully, I think they were a little relieved. They’ve been taking turns keeping vigil at the hospital all week. I’m sure they want to return to their homes and their farms.”

Officer Brian Fitch stood and stretched his back. “I must admit I’m glad they’ve cut back on visiting. Less work for me. I hear the Amish go down when the sun does, so that’s probably why it’s been quiet the last few hours.” Fitch shot a glance at Sam’s Amish attire. “No offense intended or anything.”

Sam grinned. “None taken. You’re right. The Amish do go to bed early because they are up before dawn each day to begin their chores. Running a farm is not an easy task.”

Sam leaned his hand flat against the door and then paused before he pushed it open. “You look beat. Why don’t you go stretch your legs? Maybe grab a cup of coffee while you’re at it? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure?”

Sam opened his jacket and patted the gun in his shoulder holster. “I’m still a cop. Remember?”

Fitch grinned. “Yeah, well, you sure could fool me. You look like a natural fit with the rest of those folks. If I hadn’t recognized you from our precinct, I’d be checking your ID and trying to talk you out of visiting altogether.”

Sam grinned. “That coffee is calling your name, Fitch.”

“You want me to bring you something back?”

“No, I’m good.”

Taking advantage of Sam’s offer to cover the room, the guard nodded and hurried to the elevator banks, not giving Sam a chance to change his mind.

The telltale ding of the arriving elevator filled the silence of the night, and Fitch waved. Sam gave him a nod and then entered Sarah’s room.

FOUR

The night-light above the hospital bed cast the room in a soft, white haze. Sam looked down upon the sleeping woman, and his breath caught in his throat.

With stress and pain absent from her expression, she looked peaceful, young and surprisingly beautiful.

Long blond hair poked from beneath the bandages that swathed her head and flowed like golden silk over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, giving her smooth complexion a rosy glow. Lost in sleep and probably dreaming, her lips formed a tiny pout. For the second time in as many days, he had to fight the temptation to taste the softness of those lips.