“Yep, here it is. Room 222.”
“Sorry,” Quinlan said quietly as he struck her in the jaw. She collapsed against him and he lowered her to the floor, pushing her under the desk.
“We passed 222. Quick, Dillon, I’ve got a feeling that our charmed existence is about to be shot down in flames.”
They ran swiftly down the hallway, back the way they had come. “Here it is. No light. Good.”
Quinlan slowly pushed at the door. The damned thing was locked, just as he’d known it would be. He motioned Dillon forward. Dillon examined the lock, then pulled out a pick. He didn’t say a word, just changed to another pick. After a good three minutes, the lock slid open.
Quinlan pushed the door open. The soft light from the hallway beamed into the room, right on the face of a man who was seated on a narrow bed, leaning over a woman. He whipped around on the bed, half rising, his mouth open to yell.
14
“I DIDN’T KNOW you could move that fast,” Dillon said in admiration after Quinlan had leaped across to the bed and slammed his fist into the man’s mouth before he could let out a single sound. He dumped him off the bed to the floor.
“Is this Sally Brainerd?”
Quinlan looked briefly at the small man whose nose was flooding blood, then up at the woman on the bed. “It’s Sally,” he said, such rage in his voice that Dillon stared at him for a moment. “Let me get that door closed and then we’ll use our flashlights. Take the little guy and tie him up with something.”
Quinlan shone the flashlight in her face. He was shocked at her pallor and the slackness of her flesh. “Sally,” he said, gently slapping her face.
She didn’t respond.
“Sally,” he said, shaking her this time. The covers slid down and he saw that she was naked. He looked over at the slight man who was now tied up as well as unconscious. Had he been planning to rape her?
She was deeply unconscious. He shone the light on her bare arms. There were six needle marks.
The damned bastards. “Look, Dillon. Just look what they’ve done to her.”
Dillon ran his fingers lightly over the needle marks. “It looks like they gave her a real heavy dose this time,” he said as he leaned down and pulled up her eyelids. “Real heavy dose,” he said again. “Bloody bastards.”
“They’ll pay. See what kind of clothes are in the closet.”
Quinlan noticed that her hair was neatly brushed and smoothed back from her forehead. That little man who’d been leaning over her, he’d done that. Quinlan knew it. He felt himself shiver. Jesus, what went on in this place?
“Here’s a nightgown and a robe and a pair of slippers. Nothing more.”
Quinlan got her into the gown and robe within minutes. It was difficult dressing an unconscious person, even a small one. Finally, he lifted her over his shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They were through the back emergency door and nearly out the garage when the sirens went off.
“The nurse,” Quinlan said. “We should have tied her up, dammit.”
“We’ve got time. We’ll make it.” When Quinlan tired, Dillon took Sally. They were almost to the fence when the German shepherds, barking louder than the hounds of Baskerville, came racing smoothly toward them.
Quinlan tossed out the other piece of meat. They didn’t stop to see what the dogs did with it.
When they got to the fence, Quinlan climbed it faster than he’d ever climbed anything in his life. At the top, he straddled the fence on his belly and leaned back toward Dillon as far as he could. “Hand her up to me.”
“She’s like a boneless Foster Farms chicken,” Dillon said, trying to get a firm grip on her. On the third try, Quinlan got hold of her wrists. He slowly pulled her up. He held her around the waist until Dillon was on top of the fence beside him. His arms were cramping by the time Dillon swiveled around and leaped to the ground. He brought her around and began to lower her. “Hurry, Quinlan, hurry. Okay, just another couple of inches. There, I’ve got her. Get down here!”