“When first I come in, I thought you were a doctor.” Luke’s mother tugged at the scrubs Susannah wore. “What happened to your clothes?”

“My clothes were messed up. One of the nurses loaned me these until I can get some more clothes.”

Mrs. Papadopoulos grasped her enormous purse in both hands. “Where is your suitcase? I will get your clothes and bring them here. You stay here with Daniel.”

“I don’t have any more clothes. I, um, didn’t bring any with me.”

“You came all the way from New York City and brought not one stitch of clothing?” The woman lifted her brows and Susannah felt compelled to explain.

“I came today on an impulse.”

“An impulse.” She shook her head. “Complicated. So you did not plan to stay?”

“No. I’ll go home…” Susannah frowned, suddenly unsure and uncomfortable to be so. “I’m waiting for another patient to wake up. When she’s all right, I’ll go home.”

Mrs. Papadopoulos stood up. “Well, you cannot go anywhere dressed like that. You have not even any shoes.” It was true. Susannah wore hospital slippers. “Give me your sizes. My granddaughter works in a clothing store at the mall. She is a fashionable girl. She will get pretty things.” She stood up and Susannah followed suit.

“Mrs. Papadopoulos, you don’t have to-” A fierce look had Susannah backpedaling. “Mama Papa, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Mrs. Papadopoulos stared down at her and Susannah could see where her son got his probing black eyes that seemed to see too much. “Daniel’s Alex told me what you did for that girl, the one you saved.”

Susannah frowned. “I don’t think anybody is supposed to know about her.”

Mrs. Papadopoulos shrugged. “Already I have forgotten her.” Then she smiled kindly. “You didn’t have to save her.”

Susannah swallowed hard. She’d had blood drawn and cultures taken, knowing every possible test would be run to ensure her health. Still it was possible she could pay dearly for what she had done today.

But Jane Doe had paid dearly for what she had not done all those years ago. “Yes, I did. I really did.”

“Then yes, I do,” Mrs. Papadopoulos said, so gently that new tears sprang to Susannah’s eyes. “I really do. So say thank you and allow me this good deed today.”

The need to do a good deed Susannah could understand. “I’m a seven petite,” she said. “Thank you.” Luke’s mother gave her a giant hug and left her alone in the chapel.

Susannah squared her shoulders. She’d done what she needed to do this morning when she’d found the box. She’d done what she needed to do that afternoon, when she’d saved Jane Doe from bleeding to death. Now she’d do what she needed to do tonight. Daniel’s boss had given her the phone number for Chloe Hathaway, the state’s attorney who’d be prosecuting the sole remaining survivor of Simon’s club.

Susannah picked up her briefcase and left the haven of the chapel. She had things to do. Calls to make. Her self-respect to regain. But first she’d check on Jane Doe.

Ridgefield House, Friday, February 2, 8:00 p.m.

“They’re ready,” Rocky said.

Looking up from the personnel files on the computer screen, Bobby stowed the fury that bubbled up at the sight of Rocky, who’d put everything in jeopardy. I should have gone to the river place myself. Now Bobby had to find a new doctor to issue health certificates on each shipment and a new cop on the inside of Dutton’s sheriff’s office.

At least Chili had come through. Finally. The scanner was abuzz with calls for every available firehouse to converge on Granville’s house. Mansfield ’s should be next. Who knew what incriminating evidence those two had kept in their homes?

The business would be protected. And tonight there was money to be made.

Bobby looked over the five young women standing in a row. Two were brand new pretties from the river place and they were clean again, dressed and presentable. The other three were old hands. Every one had her eyes downcast. Every one trembled, two of them shaking so hard their dangling earrings swayed. Good. Fear was good.

The outcome of tonight’s business venture was a foregone conclusion in Bobby’s mind. Haynes liked blondes with that healthy, tanned, all-American look. That look was Bobby’s niche in an ever-expanding market of foreign imports. They offered their clients a chance to buy American. “Haynes will choose the blonde. Ashley, right?”

“No.” The blonde shrank away while the other four slumped in relief. “Please.”

Bobby smiled pleasantly. “Rocky, what is Ashley’s home address?”

“Her family lives at 721 Snowbird Drive, Panama City, Florida,” Rocky replied instantly. “Her mother died two years ago and her father works the night shift. Now that she’s ‘run away,’ her father’s hired a sitter to stay with her brother while he’s at work. Her brother sometimes sneaks out at night to hang at the-”

“That’s good enough,” Bobby said when the blonde began to cry. “I know everything about your family, Ashley. One misstep, one dissatisfied client, and someone in your house will die. Painfully. You’re the one who wanted adventure and now you have it. So stop crying. My clients want smiles. Rocky, get them out of here. I have work to do.”

Bobby reopened the personnel files and was deep into review of a very promising medical candidate when the throwaway cell phone trilled. This was the number given to contacts and informers, those who could be convinced to become Bobby’s personnel because they’d done some very naughty things they didn’t want made public.

Information was power. Bobby liked power. The incoming number had an Atlanta area code. “Yes?”

“You said to call if anything happened at the hospital. I have information.”

It took Bobby a few moments to place the voice. Oh, yes. Jennifer Ohman, the ICU nurse with the drug problem. Informants usually had a drug problem. Or a gambling problem. Or a sex problem. Whatever the secret addiction, the result was the same.

“Well, go ahead. I don’t have all day.”

“Two patients were airlifted from Dutton. Special Agent Daniel Vartanian was one.”

Bobby abruptly straightened. That Vartanian had been shot had been on the police scanner, along with the deaths of Loomis, Mansfield, Granville, and Mack O’Brien, plus the guard they hadn’t identified. Chatter regarding any other dead bodies the police might have found in the bunker was noticeably absent. “Who was the second?”

“She’s a Jane Doe, sixteen or seventeen. She was critical but survived surgery.”

Bobby slowly stood, the swirling, bubbling fury within becoming flat dread. “And?”

“She’s stable. They’re keeping her secret, with a guard posted at her door, 24/7.”

Bobby drew a very deep breath. Rocky had been very clear that all the girls left behind were dead. So either this girl was a modern-day Lazarus, or Rocky had lied. Either way, Rocky had made a serious miscalculation. “I see.”

“There’s more. Two others came in by ambulance, a man and a woman. Bailey Crighton was one. She’s the woman who’s been missing for a week.”

“I know who she is.” Granville, you asshole. Rocky, you idiot. “And the man?”

“Some army chaplain. Beasley. No, Beardsley. That’s it. They’re both in stable condition. That’s all I know.” The nurse hesitated. “So now we’re even, right?”

Now there were three people to neutralize and one lone nurse would not be sufficient, but the nurse would still be a valuable asset. “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I want the girl dead. Poison her, smother her, I don’t care. I do not want her to wake up. Do you understand?”

“But… No. I won’t do that.”

That’s what they all said, initially. Some had to be pushed harder than others, but in the end the outcome was the same. Every one did as they were told. “Yes, you will.”