After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 103

Don’t go there, she warned herself. Nothing good will come of it.

She couldn’t have Shane thinking she was unraveling.

“It’ll be okay,” Shane said now, kissing the top of her head.

She muffled a little choking sound.

Okay? Things would be okay?

She hoped to hell he was right, but deep down she didn’t believe him for a second.

CHAPTER 22

The digital clock on her dash indicated it was after three when Cassie and Trent finally drove across the Marquam Bridge and wound their way to Mercy Hospital. Cassie had spent most of the day at Jenna’s house bringing her mother and stepfather up to speed on what had happened to her and where she was in her own amateur attempts at finding Allie.

Jenna had been freaked, of course, and Cassie didn’t blame her. Over coffee and eventually lunch, Jenna, Cassie, Trent, and Shane had mapped out a loose game plan. While Trent and Cassie were visiting Mercy Hospital, Shane would call Detective Nash and later they would converge at the police station with the mask.

Cassie wasn’t looking forward to the meeting with Detective Nash. Now, her car lugged down and she had to step on the accelerator to climb the steep hill to Mercy Hospital. Fir and maple trees lining the road shivered with the rain, the windshield wipers scraping water off the glass and the car’s heater working overtime to clear condensation from the windshield.

“I hope you’re right about this,” Cassie said to Trent, who had called his ranch hand, Shorty Something-Or-Other, to take care of the place while Cassie and Trent drove into Portland. The street was rain-washed, asphalt shining, headlights reflecting off the pavement in the gloom of the deep cloud cover.

As they rounded a final curve, the entrance to Mercy Hospital came into view. Cassie’s hands clenched over the wheel and though she fought it, she felt her pulse elevate a notch. She hadn’t left the hospital under the best of conditions and she expected nothing more than a frosty reception.

Which she got at the front desk when she asked to see Steven Rinko.

“Miss Kramer,” the woman seated importantly behind the counter said. “You of all people should know hospital policy. When you were a patient here, and you specifically asked for your privacy, we ensured it.” Her beady eyes, intense behind rimless glasses, drilled straight into Trent, who was standing next to Cassie, but Trent’s gaze had drifted to the reception area.

Cassie said, “If you asked him, I’m certain Steven would want to talk to me.”

“His family has asked for his privacy.” Staunch. Unmoving. A gleam of satisfaction in her eyes that she had this authority, the keys to the kingdom, as it were.

“We can wait while someone contacts him,” Cassie said.

The woman flashed a grim, unyielding smile. “I’ll contact his doctor and then we’ll see. Unfortunately Dr. Sherling is out of the hospital now, in clinic, I think, so you might be waiting a while and even then . . .” She lifted her slim, stiff shoulders. “. . . you might not be in luck.” Again the cold grin with no hint of teeth showing. “Why don’t you leave a message for Dr. Sherling and go out and go shopping or grab a bite? Portland’s known for its great restaurants, you know, farm fresh, organic and all that. Then call back. I’ll see what I can do.”

Cassie’s temper started to boil. “Just tell Steven we’re here.”

“I’m sorry.” She folded her hands, fingers neatly manicured. “Are we going to have a problem, Ms. Kramer?”

Cassie’s temper went through the stratosphere. “No problem, Connie,” she gritted out, knowing the woman always went by Constance.

The receptionist’s lips pulled into a knot of disapproval. “I can call security, if you’d like.”

“What I’d like is to talk to Steven Rinko. Now tell him we’re here to see him and—” She felt Trent’s hand on her shoulder and stopped midsentence.

“And?” Constance prompted, raising her plucked brows above the tops of her rimless glasses.

“We’ll be back,” Trent replied calmly.

Cassie was having none of it. “I want to see Steven.” She tried to shrug off Trent’s hand, but his grip tightened. He was folding? Just like that? After he’d come up with this wild theory and they’d driven over an hour to get here? He was ready to just walk out the door?