"Joe, remember me? My name's Murphy." He leaned a hand against the door. "I think maybe you need to come with me, bud."

"Magic Bus." That was what it was. Murphy wanted to laugh. Joe Leary was sitting in a stolen car at nine at night in his pj's singing "Magic Bus," and there wasn't anybody around to witness it.

"'Hey, Joe,'" he crooned, trying to get the guy's attention and thinking that it was the wrong song. "How the hell'd you get here?"

Murphy was leaning over far enough to see that Joe was barefoot. Joe turned, saw Murphy, and then looked up. Murphy was already bent over to get hold of Joe's arm. By the time he heard what Joe saw, he was too off-balance to protect himself. Murphy spun around in time to catch the impression of wood grain.

Oh, hell, was all he could think of as the bat cracked against his head and sent him slamming against the car. What a stupid jerk to fall for that one. And then the gravel bit into his cheek and he felt his legs go numb.

Chapter 26

Timmie was starting to get frantic. They'd combed every inch of Restcrest, and still there had been no sign of her father. Hospital security had been notified along with the police. They'd even called Alex, who, for once, hadn't answered. It didn't matter. With the temperature outside hovering in the teens, they didn't have time to wait.

"He was just in the main room enjoying a snack," Cathy kept protesting. "He couldn't possibly have wandered away."

Timmie wasn't in the mood for mercy. "My father could have been in New York by the time you had the first call into the police."

"They're going to get the dogs," the nurse promised.

And then they found the ankle bracelet that was supposed to keep her father safe. It had been sliced through with a dull knife—probably taken from the snack areas—and left by the side entrance. Timmie didn't wait any longer for the police or dogs or angel hordes. She shrugged into her coat and ran toward the ER.

Maybe if it wasn't busy she could get some help there. God knew the hospital was ready enough to turf the ER staff up to work Restcrest. Maybe they could also be used to help rectify its mistakes.

"Code blue, emergency room four. Code blue."

Timmie wanted to cry. There went most of her staff.

"Trauma code blue, emergency room one."

This wasn't just bad luck. It was a conspiracy. Well, at least she wouldn't have to face Cindy. Micklind should have carted her off at least an hour ago. And with any luck, at least one of the codes would be for show and only last a few minutes. Then Timmie could grab the extras. One extra. A tech with a flashlight. She didn't care.

She knew she was screwed when she spotted Ellen running down the work lane in full flight, tears streaming down her face.

Timmie tried to match her stride. "I need help, Ellen..."

Ellen stopped on a dime and pivoted. "No, Timmie. I don't have time right now. We're short-staffed, and now this. This!"

She waved her hand toward the room behind her, where the non-trauma code was in full swing, but Timmie didn't notice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come down like this. Have the police been here already?"

"The police? Why would they be here? Has something happened to Cindy?"

Timmie lost track of all the mayhem around them. "Happened? Haven't they picked her up?"

"Picked her up? Of course not. She walked out of here right after you hurt her, and we haven't seen her since."

Oh, God. Oh, no.

"Ellen—"

Ellen flashed an unheard-of rage. "I can't right now, Timmie. Don't you see we're busy?"

"But my dad's missing. And Cindy's missing. And nobody can find Alex."

Somehow that brought Ellen to a halt. "Find him? You don't need to find him. He's right there."

She pointed to that room again, and Timmie finally saw. Standing in the far corner, her eyes swollen and red, her hands wrung together like socks in a spin cycle, her voice a low moan of grief. Mary Jane Arlington. Next to her, Barb was slipping paddles back into the defibrillator, Mattie was yanking off gray slacks, and one of the techs was lubricating an Ewald tube.

"Okay," Barb was saying. "We've got a rhythm. Now get me some dopamine, and where the fuck's the Narcan?"

"Narcan?" Timmie asked for no apparent reason. She knew damn well what Narcan was the specific treatment for.

"Mary Jane found him in his office," Ellen all but accused. "He overdosed."

And then she just spun away and ran into the room, leaving Timmie behind to stare at Alex Raymond's naked feet like a witness at a roadside accident.

She didn't have time for this. Her father was out there someplace freezing to death, or worse. Cindy was missing. Alex was a big boy who should be able to handle his mistakes like an adult.

Which, of course, was why everybody in this town, including her, had spent so much time protecting him from reality.

Timmie wasn't going to be able to tolerate much more of this reality shit herself before she caved in like a tree house full of termites. She had to call Murphy. She had to call Micklind. She had to get the hell out of here before it dawned on her just why Alex Raymond had tried to kill himself.

"Hey, man," one of the paramedics was saying to a member of the other team as they restocked. "I'm sorry I almost sideswiped you. I didn't see that Porsche sitting there till the last minute."

"Jesus, no kidding," the other guy said with a shake of his head. "Can you believe somebody'd leave a classic like that just sitting there in the driveway with its lights out?"

Timmie turned to them. "Porsche?"

They nodded in unison. "Eighty-eight candy-apple-red Cabriolet."

This was impossible. How could this possibly get worse?

Timmie was a trauma nurse. She knew damn well how it could get worse. "You didn't see anybody inside?" she asked, her hands clutched as tightly as Mary Jane's.

"Not a soul. I told your security guys. Guess they'll tow it."

Timmie didn't even bother to say good-bye. She just ran for the phone and tried her damnedest to remember the number for the police department. She finally settled for the operator, who kindly suggested 911. It took Timmie precious moments to convince her that that wouldn't work. By the time she finally got Micklind on the phone, she could hardly think.

"Detective Sergeant Micklind."

Timmie almost wept with relief. "This is Timmie Leary. Did you pick up Cindy Dunn yet? Have you seen Murphy? Do you know my father's missing?"

"Whoa, slow down. Again."

She repeated herself. "I just don't think it's a coincidence that Murphy, my father, and Cindy are all missing at the same time. Do you?"

There was a pause. A small sound of impatience. "I really don't need this tonight."

"I don't need this ever! What are we going to do?"

"Timmie Leary, outside call, line six. Timmie Leary."

That was the hospital operator, paging. Timmie's heart jumped. "Hold on." She hit the hold button and dialed the outside line.

"This is Timmie Leary." She was so frightened her voice sounded like she'd been sucking helium.

Her caller whispered, "I want to say thank you."

Just from listening, she knew. It could sound like a man or a woman. Low, soft, anonymous. But it wasn't anonymous to Timmie.