So Close the Hand of Death by J. T. Ellison Page A

their Thanksgiving hams. Her mouth watered at the thought—she was suddenly starving. She sipped on the latte to curb her hunger. She hadn’t realized how close they were to the holidays. With the madness of Fitz’s kidnapping, then the Halloween massacre, she’d completely lost track of time. She usually went to Sam’s for Thanksgiving. She’d have to check and see if that was still the plan. If not, she might have to do Thanksgiving herself this year. She would need to host Fitz, make sure he was well taken care of. Maybe McKenzie and Bangor, too. And Lincoln and Marcus, plus Daphne. Good grief, where was she going to put all of them?
    Baldwin turned onto Twenty-first Avenue, then right on Pierce, which led them directly to the entrance of Vanderbilt Medical Center.
    She was loath to climb out of the warm truck. Whenshe did, she regretted it immediately; the wind bit frantically at her cheeks.
    Baldwin’s face turned pink as a flash-boiled shrimp and he slouched farther into his coat. She realized they still hadn’t talked about his hearing at Quantico. She got the feeling he wasn’t all that keen to share what had gone down.
    They hurried across the street. Inside the building at last. Heat rose in waves. The surgery center was painted a sunny yellow, warm and inviting, quite unlike the gray drabness of the emergency rooms Taylor was used to.
    Taylor badged the nurse at the front desk. “We’re looking for Peter Fitzgerald.”
    The nurse took their credentials carefully, checking them against a notepad she had at her elbow.
    “May I see your driver’s license, please?” she asked politely. Taylor nodded and dug her wallet out of her back pocket—a slim golf wallet she’d bought for her dad’s Christmas present several years earlier and instead confiscated for herself. It was easy to carry, and had only the essentials, a twenty, two credit cards, her license and insurance cards. She’d do anything not to be bulked down with a purse. Baldwin handed his own license over. The nurse compared that pictured against his FBI credentials, wrote their names down on a pad of paper, then handed it back and apologized.
    “We were under instructions to double-check everyone trying to see Mr. Fitzgerald today.”
    Taylor smiled and said, “Good. You did good. How is he?”
    “He’s just out of recovery and back in his room. He’s up on the third floor, room 323. The doctor will be seeing him later today.”
    “Did the surgery go all right?”
    “I don’t know, dear. Why don’t you go on down and see him?” The nurse smiled kindly and focused back on her work.
    Baldwin punched the button on the wall and the doors swung wide. They walked the long hallway to Fitz’s room in an uneasy silence. Before they reached the door, Taylor grabbed Baldwin’s hand.
    “Have you ever thought about how easy it would be to kill someone in a hospital? That nurse did the right thing asking for ID, but she could be overpowered in a heartbeat. And once you’re past her, look out. You can go anywhere in a hospital without anyone giving you a second glance. It’s not safe, Baldwin. He’s not safe here.”
    “Honey, I doubt the Pretender has any more interest in Fitz. His part in this is over—he’s suffered, and relayed the message to you. Besides, Lincoln is with him now. If you’re that worried, we’ll get a permanent guard on him, in addition to all of us.”
    In her heart, she knew he was right. It wasn’t necessarily the Pretender she was worried about. The idea of Fitz, so alone, so hurt, missing his eye, missing his girlfriend, his life upended…she just didn’t want him to be by himself. Not now. Not when she couldn’t be there 24/7 to hold his hand and reassure him that everything would be all right. The Pretender was done with Fitz, but Fitz would never be done with the Pretender. Not while they both lived.
    They took a few more steps, reached the door. She blurted out the question that had been on her mind all