Vanish by Tess Gerritsen Read Free Book Online Page B

that. It’s so not sexy.”
    “I think it’s very sexy. In fact . . .”
    Laughing, she slapped his hand. “Go. Get yourself some lunch. And bring me back a
    hamburger and fries.”
    “Against doctor’s orders. No food.”
    “She doesn’t have to know about it.”
    “Jane.”
    “Okay, okay. Go home and get my hospital bag.”
    He saluted her. “At your command. This is exactly why I took the month off.”
    “And can you try my parents again? They’re still not answering the phone. Oh, and bring my
    laptop.”
    He sighed and shook his head.
    “What?” she said.
    “You’re about to have a baby, and you want me to bring your laptop?”
    “I’ve got so much paperwork I need to clean up.”
    “You’re hopeless, Jane.”
    She blew him a kiss. “You knew that when you married me.”
    “You know,” said Jane, looking at the wheelchair, “I could just walk to Diagnostic Imaging, if
    you’ll only tell me where it is.”
    The volunteer shook her head and locked the brakes on the chair. “Hospital rules, ma’am, no
    exceptions. Patients have to be transported in a wheelchair. We don’t want you to slip and fall
    or something, do we?”
    Jane looked at the wheelchair, then at the silver-haired volunteer who was going to be pushing
    it. Poor old lady, Jane thought, I should be the one pushing her. Reluctantly she climbed out of
    bed and settled into the chair as the volunteer transferred the IV bottle. This morning, Jane was
    wrestling with Billy Wayne Rollo; now she was getting carted around like the queen of Sheba.
    How embarrassing. As she was rolled down the hall, she could hear the woman wheezing,
    could smell the old-shoe odor of cigarettes on the woman’s breath. What if her escort
    collapsed? What if she needed CPR? Then am I allowed to get up, or is that against the rules,
    too? She hunched deeper into the wheelchair, avoiding the gazes of everyone they passed in the
    hallway. Don’t look at me, she thought. I feel guilty enough making poor old granny work so
    hard.
    The volunteer backed Jane’s wheelchair into the elevator, and parked her next to another
    patient. He was a gray-haired man, muttering to himself. Jane noticed the Posey restraint
    strapping the man’s torso into the chair, and she thought: Jeez, they’re really serious about
    these wheelchair rules. If you try to get out, they tie you down.
    The old man glared at her. “What the hell’re you looking at, lady?”
    “Nothing,” said Jane.
    “Then stop looking.”
    “Okay.”
    The black orderly standing behind the old man gave a chuckle. “Mr. Bodine talks like that to
    everyone, ma’am. Don’t let him bother you.”
    Jane shrugged. “I get a lot more abuse at work.” Oh, and did I mention that bullets are
    involved? She stared straight ahead, watching the floor numbers change, carefully avoiding any
    eye contact with Mr. Bodine.
    “Too many people in this world don’t keep to their own damn business,” the old man said.
    “Just a bunch of busybodies. Won’t stop staring.”
    “Now Mr. Bodine,” the orderly said, “no one’s staring at you.”
    “ She was.”
    No wonder they tied you up, you old coot, thought Jane.
    The elevator opened on the ground floor, and the volunteer wheeled out Jane. As they rolled
    down the hall toward Diagnostic Imaging, she could feel the gazes of passersby. Able-bodied
    people walking on their own two feet, eyeing the big-bellied invalid with her little plastic
    hospital bracelet. She wondered: Is this what it’s like for everyone who’s confined to a
    wheelchair? Always the object of sympathetic glances?
    Behind her, she heard a familiar cranky voice demand: “What the hell you looking at, mister?”
    Oh please, she thought. Don’t let Mr. Bodine be headed to Diagnostic Imaging, too. But she
    could hear him grumbling behind her as they rolled down the hall and around the corner, into
    the reception area.
    The volunteer parked Jane in the waiting room and left her there, sitting next