to a door at the back.
“That’s the refrigeration room,” Frank replied. “It’s where we store bodies for the longer term. Nobody is in there at the moment.”
“I’d like to take a look.”
Frank sighed. “If it will put your mind at rest, then please look inside.” He walked to the door and turned the handle. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Deborah anyway?”
“We were high school sweethearts.”
Frank’s eyebrows shot up high. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “I should’ve recognized the name. You’re the Cole Strachan.”
Cole was taken aback. Had Deborah spoken of him? “Yes, I’m the Cole Strachan. Has she mentioned me?”
Frank gave a wry smile. “A little.” He opened the door. “But trust me, you don’t want to know.”
Cole ignored the comment and walked past Frank into a room with numerous refrigeration compartments. It was empty and quiet, except for a tapping sound coming from behind the wall of steel.
“Someone is trapped in one of these units,” he said, feeling his pulse start to race. “It must be Deborah.”
He rushed to the compartments and began to slide open each one. Body after body greeted him, pale and lifeless. He and Frank worked together until, at last, Cole saw Deborah slide into view. Her delicate features were unchanged, and her hair was still as lustrous and blond as it ever was. Her eyes were closed, and her body was shaking uncontrollably from the low temperature.
“She may be hypothermic,” Cole said, gathering her into his arms, remembering how slender and lithe her limbs were. Her skin felt like ice beneath her thin cotton scrubs.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Cole?” she slurred. “Is that really you? Am I dreaming?”
“Yes, it’s me,” he said, carrying her through the morgue and out into the corridor, searching for a doctor to assess her condition. “This isn’t a dream. I’m right here.”
* * *
Deborah sat up in her hospital bed, looking at the anxious faces around the room. Frank Carlisle stood nervously by the door. Dr. Julie Warren was deep in hushed conversation with her colleague Dr. Toby Cortas, and Diane sat close to the bed, holding Deborah’s limp hand. Finally, her eyes came to rest on a face she never thought she’d see again in her life—Cole Strachan. He was gazing at her as if the past ten years had never happened. His hair was shorter than he used to wear it, speckled with the tiniest hint of gray among the strawberry blond strands, but his face was still as freckled and youthful as she remembered. His green eyes had always been his most striking feature, and clearly they still were, blinking in his usual languid, unhurried way. He sat leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands firmly clasped together as though he were desperately trying to maintain his calm appearance. His clothes were those of a workman: dark T-shirt and blue jeans, tool belt and steel-toed boots. It took her a few moments to realize he was actually here. It had not been a dream or mirage or delusion. Cole was here.
And she wanted him gone.
She fixed him with a stare. “Please leave,” she said, before turning her attention to Frank. “I don’t want him here.”
Diane squeezed her hand. “He saved you from the morgue storage unit,” she said gently. “And he hasn’t left your side since.”
Deborah flicked her eyes to Cole’s and lifted her head. He was looking down at the floor. “Thank you,” she said tersely. “I guess that makes us even.” She heard the hardness in her voice and she didn’t like it. This wasn’t who she was. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m grateful you helped me.” She let her head flop back on the pillows, still fatigued from the low temperatures she had been subjected to.
Frank stepped toward the bed. “I’m so sorry this happened, Deborah. Dr. Kellerman from the morgue insists that he did not page you. We’re looking into it.”
“I’ll tell you what happened,” she said. “Somebody pretended to be dead and then forced me into...” She stopped. The experience clearly had had more of an impact than she’d realized. Cole’s presence in the room made her dizziness worse. Her breathing became more labored. Dr. Warren walked to her side and placed a stethoscope on her chest.
“Calm down, Deborah,” Dr. Warren soothed. “Slow, deep breaths, okay?”
Deborah could take it no longer. She pointed to Cole and addressed the hospital administrator, who was skirting the edges of the room, hands in pockets. “What exactly is he doing here, Frank?”
“Mr. Strachan is here to help us with our security arrangements,” Frank replied. “Just like you asked.”
Deborah frowned. “So you go and hire a navy SEAL?” she asked incredulously. “Is that really necessary?”
Cole spoke. His voice was an octave lower than it used to be. It was rich and velvety and took her by surprise. “I’m not a SEAL anymore, Dee. I retired six months ago.”
Her eyes shot to his and she felt her nostrils flare. His use of her pet name was overstepping, and her glare was intended to let him know exactly where he stood.
Cole produced a business card. “I run a security firm now called Secure It. Frank called me to ask if I could install some extra features to make you all a bit safer.” He leaned over and placed the card on her bedside table. She caught a faint trace of his aftershave in the air. “But I never realized how serious it was until I got here. Whatever happened to you today was probably a deliberate attack, designed to hurt you or scare you, or both. And I want to get to the bottom of it.”
Cole’s strong, commanding voice caused the other four faces in the room to stop and turn in his direction.
“Just hold on a minute,” Frank said. “Have you considered that this might simply be a prank gone wrong? Those guys down at the morgue have a pretty dark sense of humor, you know.”
Dr. Warren exchanged a look of concern with Dr. Cortas. “Frank,” she said. “Another child became sick today with suspected renal failure—a tiny baby boy. That makes a total of six in the last three weeks. Deborah was the one who initially raised the alarm, and she’s the one who’s been pushing for an investigation, as well as extra security on the unit. That certainly would mark her as a target for anyone tampering with patient medicine.”
Frank closed his eyes and put a hand on his forehead. “The toxicology reports have all come back clean on these patients.” He opened his eyes. “There is simply no evidence to suggest foul play.”
Cole stood up. Deborah had forgotten how tall he was. His full height dwarfed everyone around him. “Deborah was attacked,” he said. “That’s evidence enough for me that she’s onto something, and somebody wants to stop her.”
“Let’s wait until an investigation is complete before we jump to conclusions about an attack,” Frank said. “The morgue staff are being interviewed by hospital security guards, and CCTV footage is being analyzed.”
Cole let out a snort of derision. “I met your security guards on my way in here. I very much doubt they could find a GI Joe in a toy store.”
Deborah suddenly felt a tear spring entirely unprompted from her eye and land on her cheek. She tried to brush it away quickly, but Diane saw it and turned to the men in the room. “You’re upsetting Deborah. She doesn’t need this now. She needs time to recover.”
Cole swiveled to look at Deborah. She refused to meet his eye, but in her peripheral vision she saw him rub his fingers roughly over his face, coming to rest on the cleft in his chin. She bowed her head low. Her tears were coming too fast to stop them, and he was the very last person she wanted to see her raw emotions.
“I’m sorry, Deborah,” Cole said. “It’s insensitive of me to argue while you need to rest.” He gesticulated toward the