Blind Spot by Nancy Bush Page B

herself, she shook it off. She carried pepper spray. She was safe, even if she had to remember the spray every time she went through that damn security at the airport. Moron TSA agents. Acting like she was some kind of terrorist when they ripped it away and glared at her through stupid, suspicious eyes. Twice she’d been taken to a special room and had to strip down. Sickos. Full-on bull-dyke lesbians getting a thrill to see her in her Victoria’s Secrets.
    Fuck ’em all. She was important, and they were miserable larva.
    “Hurry up,” she told the production crew at large. “They’re only giving us a few minutes.”
    “We’re ready,” Darrell said as he hefted the camera on his shoulder. He, at least, could get the job done.
    Pauline led Darrell through the front doors; all she needed was one cameraman for the interview. She’d been granted access, but still needed to bully her way past all the hospital security. To that end, she smiled at the woman at the desk, who pressed some button and opened the doors. She looked slightly alarmed, gazing through the glass doors to the van outside, then back again to Pauline and Darrell as they entered.
    “Doctor Freeson invited us,” Pauline said. “He wants to get your Jane Doe’s face on camera, try to find her family members.”
    The girl nodded, slowly, like the news was taking a loonngg time climbing up that neuron. “I’ll call him,” she finally said and picked up the receiver.
    “We’re only here for a few minutes. We have places to be,” Pauline pressed. She glanced around quickly. Entry room. Straight ahead a main room with tables, a gathering place. Several hallways branching off north and south. Stairs sweeping grandly to an upper gallery and more hallways.
    “Dr. Freeson, some newspeople are here…?”
    “Pauline Kirby, thank you,” Pauline said tautly.
    “Pauline Kirby,” the girl responded dutifully, but the little bitch apparently had no idea who Pauline was.
    There was a brief interchange and the girl hung up, eyeing Pauline warily. “Dr. Freeson will be right here.”
    “Stat,” Pauline said. “Good.”
    They moved away from the desk and Darrell said in her ear, “Play nice.”
    “Playing nice is for amateurs.”
    “And you’re no amateur.”
    Pauline shot him a look but Darrell wisely didn’t respond. They were both diverted by the arrival of Dr. Freeson bustling down the grand staircase. He was a slight man with a Vandyck beard and a fussy style that made Pauline smile internally.
    He looked suitably starstruck as he came up to her and stuck out his hand. “Ms. Kirby, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you want to do the interview here?” He gestured toward the gathering room.
    “Can you take us to see the patient, please?”
    “I’m sorry. That’s against hospital pol—”
    “Has anyone contacted you about her? Our station received a number of call-ins after our first story, but we didn’t have a good picture, if you recall.”
    “I do. I know. That’s why we wanted more exposure.”
    “We need a picture. Can’t we just take our cameras to her? We’ll be out in less than ten minutes.”
    “I’m sorry.” He shook his head and looked like he really was very sorry. He could see his fifteen minutes of fame blowing to dust.
    “Then can you bring her to us?” Pauline motioned to the general area surrounding them.
    Dr. Freeson hesitated. Pauline’s upper white teeth bit into her lower lip while she was smiling. A shark’s look. One she’d perfected without even being aware of it. “One quick shot, and then maybe we can go into that room with the chairs and talk with you a while.”
    Freeson’s eyes slid a look to Darrell and the television camera he balanced on his shoulder. Bingo, Pauline thought, but she kept her expression pleasantly neutral.
    Everything was going swimmingly until a slim brunette in a lab coat with surprisingly good legs entered from one of the hallways. Pauline recognized her vaguely.