Chapter 4 - Poison in the IV
By 3:00 a.m., the fourth floor of St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital had been transformed into an impenetrable fortress.
Gideon’s tactical guards stood stationed at every stairwell and elevator exit. The heavy double doors leading into Room 412 were locked from the inside, guarded by two former Special Forces operators armed with concealed sidearms.
Inside the room, the dim yellow light of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the wall.
Lily was tucked under a fleece blanket on the leather sofa near the window, sleeping soundly. Her fever had dropped to 99 degrees, her small face pale and peaceful for the first time in three days.
Roman sat upright in his hospital bed, wearing a dark grey cotton shirt Gideon had brought him. An IV line was still hooked to his left arm, feeding him saline and antibiotics.
I sat on a wooden chair beside his bed, holding a warm mug of black coffee Gideon’s men had brought from the staff lounge.
“You shouldn't be doing this for us, Mr. Vale,” I said softly, staring into the dark liquid. “Victor is a powerful man. He’s going to come after us.”
“Victor is a coward who talks big when he thinks a man is dying,” Roman replied, his voice growing stronger with every passing hour. He was rubbing his right shoulder, where the coma-induced muscle stiffness was slowly fading. “He wouldn't dare face me in the light.”
“He said forty-seven hours,” I whispered, looking up into Roman’s eyes. “Yesterday... when he brought those flowers... he told someone on the phone that the backup generators only had to fail once. He paid someone in this hospital to kill you.”
Roman’s jaw tightened, the sharp muscles along his cheekbones standing out like carved marble.
“I know,” Roman said quietly. “He didn't know I could hear him. I was trapped inside my own head, Elena. I could feel my heart slowing down. I could hear the monitors ticking toward zero. I was ready to let go.”
He reached out, his thick fingers lightly brushing against my wrist.
“Then you brought her in,” Roman whispered, looking toward the sofa where Lily lay sleeping. “Her little hand touched my chest. Her warmth... her heart beating against mine... it felt like a jolt of electricity straight to my soul. She dragged me back from the dark.”
Before I could answer, the electronic lock on the nursery-wing door buzzed.
A doctor in a white coat walked into the room, carrying a stainless-steel tray holding a fresh IV bag and a syringe. He had a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face, his blue eyes darting nervously toward the corners of the room.
“Time for your midnight potassium drip, Mr. Vale,” the doctor said, his voice high and tight.
I stood up instantly. Something in my gut—the same survival instinct that had kept me alive working three jobs as a single mother—flared to life.
I looked at the doctor’s hands.
He wasn't wearing a hospital ID badge. And his rubber gloves were smeared with a tiny smudge of dark grease—the kind of grease found on the door hinges of the hospital’s basement generator room.
“Wait,” I blurted out, stepping between the doctor and Roman’s IV line.
The doctor froze, his eyes snapping to me. “Step aside, cleaner. This is a medical procedure.”
“Dr. Harrison always checks Roman’s pupil response before hanging a new IV bag,” I said, my voice rising sharply. “And Dr. Harrison doesn't wear black work boots under his scrub trousers.”
The fake doctor didn't waste another second.
He dropped the steel tray with a deafening CLANG and lunged toward Roman’s neck with the syringe!
“GIDEON!” I screamed, throwing my whole body weight into the assassin’s hips.
We crashed into the rolling IV stand, sending bottles and medical equipment smashing across the floor. The fake doctor snarled, kicking me in the ribs with his heavy boot, forcing a sharp scream from my throat.
He raised the syringe again, aiming directly for Roman’s exposed neck line!
BANG!
A suppressed gunshot echoed through the room.
The fake doctor’s body went limp instantly, collapsing onto the tile floor beside my chair.
Roman stood over the bed, holding a suppressed 9mm pistol he had pulled from beneath his pillow—a weapon Gideon had stashed there twenty minutes ago.
The door burst open, and Gideon rushed in with two guards, weapons drawn.
Roman dropped the pistol onto the mattress, his chest heaving, his dark eyes locked onto me where I lay on the floor, gasping for air and clutching my bruised ribs.
Roman moved faster than a man five minutes out of a coma had any right to move. He ripped the IV line clean out of his arm, swung his legs over the bed, and dropped to his knees beside me on the floor.
“Elena!” he growled, gathering me into his massive arms, pulling me against his broad chest. “Did he hurt you? Talk to me!”
“I’m fine... I’m fine...” I choked out, pressing my forehead against his neck, breathing in his warm, masculine scent of cedar and hospital soap. “Lily... is Lily okay?”
Roman looked over at the sofa. Lily had woken up from the gunshot noise, sitting up under her fleece blanket, clutching her little plush rabbit, staring at us with wide, sleepy brown eyes.
“She’s safe,” Roman whispered into my hair, his arms tightening around me until I felt completely weightless in his grip. “You saved my life again, Elena.”
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He looked up at Gideon, his face turning into a mask of pure, murderous vengeance.
“Get the cars ready,” Roman ordered, his voice echoing off the blood-stained floor. “We are leaving this death trap tonight. Take us to the Rhode Island estate.”
