The eyes.

The eyes looked at him.

Judging him. Mocking him. Even in death.

He stepped across the bench and bent over, shoving his knife into the eye socket. He pressed down until the eyeball popped out with a sickening pop, then repeated the process on the other side. He gathered the eyeballs and threw them toward the dumpster behind him. Alley cats needed dinner, too.

He stepped back and studied his handiwork. It was the first time he’d managed a clean cut through the neck. It was an efficient way to kill someone but not an interesting one. It was all over too soon. Not enough suffering. Not enough time to contemplate all the bad decisions one had made.

Like marrying Emma.

Anger and loathing flared up inside him as he thought about David dying like this. Cut so cleanly and deeply that he didn’t have a chance to finish what he’d started. Caught by surprise by a whore. But that was okay. Emma would pay for what she did to David. She’d pay for not dying like she was supposed to. But first, he’d make her wish she’d died that night instead of David.

He pulled off his hoodie and used it to wipe the blood off his knife and hands. Then he threw it in the Dumpster and grabbed the paramedic’s shirt off the hedge and pulled it on. It was a little tight—the paramedic wasn’t as toned as he was—but it was good enough to get by. Good enough that no one would look twice. He pulled a ball cap from his back pocket and pulled it on. He knew how to avoid security cameras.

The receptionist barely glanced at him as he walked into the emergency room lobby and headed through the double doors. He walked past the empty rooms designated for emergencies and followed the hallway to the intensive care wing. David had told him that’s where Emma worked, so he knew she was somewhere nearby. He looked down one hallway but saw only patient rooms. On the next hallway, he hit the jackpot.

He pushed open the door to the break room and walked inside, barely holding in a smile when he saw the room was empty. At the back of the room was another door. He hurried to it and pushed it open, peering inside. The light from the break room streaming through the door opening was the only light available, but it was enough for him to catch sight of her.

His jaw clenched involuntarily when he saw her sleeping. That wouldn’t do at all. He wanted her awake and terrified. Resting was out of the question.

Voices sounded in the hall, and he jumped back from the doorway and hurried over to the cooler. When the nurses entered the room, he gave them a nod and exited the room with a cup of water. He could still hear them chattering as he walked down the hall.

He needed a distraction—something that got them mobilized in one location long enough for him to get to Emma without being caught. He turned down the hallway that contained the intensive care patients and headed to the last room. He pushed open the door and peered inside, smiling when he saw it was occupied by an old woman. He pulled on gloves as he walked over to the bed and glanced at her chart. Melody Pitre. A broken hip was about to be the least of her worries.

He stepped closer to the front of the bed and eased one of the pillows from beneath her head. She didn’t even stir. The lack of challenge was almost disappointing, but then Melody Pitre wasn’t really a target. She was simply a tool.

Leaning over the bed, he shoved the pillow down onto her face. Immediately, she started thrashing, and he was surprised at her strength. He could feel her fingernails digging into his hands as she pulled at his fingers. If not for the gloves, he had no doubt she had the strength to break the skin. He pressed harder, and after ten more seconds of struggling, she went still. The heart monitor set off an alarm and he dropped the pillow on the floor next to the bed and fled the room.

He ran toward the hallway to the break room and slipped into the janitor’s closet. Seconds later, he heard a rush of footsteps as the nurses ran past. He waited a couple more seconds, then slipped out of the closet and hurried for the break room. As he’d expected, the room was empty, but he knew that could quickly change.

A few minutes—that’s all he could risk.

But that’s all he needed.

Chapter Twenty

Clara picked up Miss Melody’s hand one more time, checking her pulse. It was faint but steady. She blew out a breath. This had been a close one. More than one time while they worked on her, Clara had been afraid that Miss Melody was never going to see Netflix again. They’d all been relieved when they got a pulse. Until she was conscious, they had no way of knowing how much damage, if any, had been caused, but she was alive. Right now, that was all that mattered.

Clara stepped back from the bed and reached for the pillow that had gotten kicked under the bed while they were working on Miss Melody. She’d get a new pillowcase from the linen closet. She looked down at Miss Melody once more and frowned. What in the world had happened? Clara had checked on the senior just thirty minutes before. Nothing in her vitals had indicated that her heart was under any more stress than normal.

The doctor had dismissed it as the stress of the hip surgery and Miss Melody’s weak heart, but Clara couldn’t help but feel that something was off. From a medical standpoint, the doctor’s assessment was sound. From Clara’s decades of experience standpoint, the doctor’s assessment was missing something.

She shook her head and pulled the pillowcase off the pillow. A flash of color on the white cloth caught her eye and she lifted the case up to get a closer look. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the pink lips impressed onto the pillowcase.

Mrs. Melody’s heart hadn’t given out on her. Someone had tried to smother her.

Shaye!

Still clutching the pillowcase, Clara ran out of the room, an irrational panic coursing through her. Miss Melody is a patient and no relation to Shaye, she reminded herself as she raced to the break room. There’s no reason for Emma’s stalker to attack a patient like he did Corrine. But every awful thing Emma had told her ran through Clara’s mind, and the logical argument didn’t cause her panic to subside.

She hurried across the break room and pushed open the back door, the light from the break room illuminating the sleeping area. Emma was still curled up on the back bed, but in the dim light, Clara couldn’t tell if she was breathing. She tossed the pillowcase on a table next to the door and grabbed a box of tissue and crammed it under the door to prop it open. She stepped into the room, peering into the dark corners, praying that no one lurked in the shadows.

Please, Lord, let her be all right, she prayed as she inched across the floor.

When she reached the bed, she leaned over and looked at Emma’s chest, but it was too dark for her to see if she was breathing. She hated to startle her, but seeing no other choice, she reached down and placed her fingers on Emma’s neck. She choked back a cry of relief when she felt it beating strong beneath her fingertips.

She backed out of the room, grabbing the pillowcase before she pulled the door shut behind her. As soon as the door clicked shut, she sank into a chair, silently willing her racing heart to slow. She took several deep breaths and blew them out slowly. Emma was safe and that was a blessing. But someone had tried to kill Miss Melody.

She needed to call the police.

###

“Unit 718. Come in.”

Mike Phillips jolted awake and banged his elbow on the steering wheel of the ambulance. “Damn it!” He grabbed the radio. “This is unit 718.”

“Car accident at the corner of Esplanade and Burgundy.”