“Hummingbird?”
It was slight, but Roman smiled. “She’s small, but fast, a good escape artist—usually. She’s strong. She’ll be okay tonight. She won’t wake until morning.”
“I’ll be there when she does.”
“I have no doubt.” Roman stepped back inside, and said conspiratorially, “Good luck.”
“Thank you.” Taylor watched as the man shut the door and was left with a small shred of hope that maybe Roman had helped Jude as he had helped him. That maybe when Jude was here, she had him. No one could truly help her in the past, but hopefully she had someone on her side to listen, to be there, to comfort her when she’d needed it most.
On the ride home, he saw his missed call on the phone, but there were no other signs of use. Setting it down, he researched Bleekman’s and noted it was three hours northeast of the city, close to the Berkshires. He would get a plan together as soon as he got home. There was no way he would leave Jude in there.
When he arrived home, the suitcase tipped over just inside the apartment and Taylor bent down in the middle of the entry to open it. He felt around the edges, searching for anything besides clothes and shoes, a clue to something, anything that would give him an answer, a lead, something to pursue. Or to solve the mystery that was Jude. As he patted the clothes that looked as though they had been thrown in the case in haste, the fact that she had been packing to come home to him hit hard. He became desperate to find something of her, needing a piece of her to hold on to before he lost his mind.
Rifling under a soft blue sweater, he felt something hard and pulled the photo frame. The eyes staring back were familiar, the same coloring as Jude’s but maybe more green than blue. Ryan. He flipped it over needing the reprieve from her brother’s piercing eyes. When he looked at the photo again, guilt engulfed him. He hadn’t just let Jude down, but he had failed her brother. Taylor was supposed to take care of her. How could he let them take her away? Why had he let her go in the first place?
Remorse ravaged his soul and the tremors appeared. Fisting his hand, he pounded the hardwood floors trying to make it stop, trying to gain control over his weakness. When his hand was sore, leaning toward bruised, he stopped. He stretched his fingers. They ached, but it was better than the shakes. Getting up, he looked around his apartment, looking for her presence that was lacking in her suitcase where her life once touched. Reaching down, he took the frame and put it on the kitchen bar and went to his computer. Taylor stayed up until midnight contacting his lawyer and making arrangements.
Since he couldn’t sleep, he showered and changed clothes, packed his overnight bag, and put some of Jude’s clothes in along with some of her toiletries from the bathroom. The GPS was set on his phone, and he sat, waiting. Five o’clock couldn’t come soon enough. Eager to see his wife, he was standing curbside when a taxi pulled up to take him to the rental car company. The sooner he could get there, the better. With his charger, snacks, bottled water, and overnight bag in hand, he got in, ready to retrieve his wife, ready to have her home again.
The drive was long and uneventful. Taylor’s eyes were on the road, but his mind was on other things. Things like was Jude hurt—physically. He knew she was already hurt emotionally, but if they touched her… He tried not to let himself go down that path or he’d kill every doctor there. He redirected his attention to the plan. He would first try playing by the rules. If that didn’t work, he couldn’t guarantee people’s safety and something about that welling emotion even scared him. He just hoped that playing by the rules worked first.
He found the “center” at half past eight and sat in the parking lot. Scoping out the dreary cream-colored building and the fence that wrapped around it, he looked for entry and exit points. He’d seen enough movies to know this information would be useful if everything went to shit once he was inside.
At nine a.m. sharp, he watched a nurse help a patient out through the front doors to a bench in a little garden area. He got out, stretched his legs and back, and grabbed his wallet before heading to the front gate. His body was stiff, but he could fight an army if he had to. He would for her. He would do anything for Jude.
He pushed the call button on the speaker.
“Good morning. How may I help you?” a scratchy voice answered.
“I’m here to see Judith Boehler.” Barrett.
“One moment please.” The intercom buzzed, then went quiet.
The sound was blown out when it came back on. “You may come to reception.”
The gate unlocked and Taylor headed for the desk just inside two glass double doors. Putting his most charming smile on for the two women stationed there, he tapped the counter lightly when he reached it. They both glanced his way, then did a double take. One said, “Good morning.”
“Good morning. I’m here to see Judith Boehler.”
He saw a flash of recognition in her eyes when he mentioned Jude’s name, but she quickly looked down at her computer. “When was she admitted?”
“Last night. Maybe overnight.”
She hummed as she typed. The other receptionist told her to stop because it was driving her nuts. Then they laughed. “Nuts. Crazy.”
Taylor was not amused, but he tried to hide his disdain for their poor taste in jokes. The second lady looked up at Taylor and said, “She’s not been processed yet.”
“What does that mean? Checked in?”
“Correct. So she can’t have visitors until she’s been checked in and resided at least twenty-four hours inside the center.”
“Reside? That sounds like she’ll be here for a while.” He kept his voice light, inquisitive, but not on the offensive. Yet.
“Yes, it says she’ll be here for a month this time. So she’ll be placed in the residency hall when she’s processed.”
Processed? Like an animal. What the fuck? Covertly he took a deep breath, trying to keep his temper even. “Does it say when she’ll start this processing?”
The first lady looked up and smiled. Her lashes fluttered and her intentions were clear when she started to flirt. Flipping her short hair out, she leaned closer to him. “They’ve started. She’s been in holding since she hasn’t woken up yet.”
Leaning closer to her, he read her nametag, then returned her smile. “Woken up?”
“Yes,” she said, then giggled as if the people admitted here don’t mean anything to her at all. “Patients are given a light sedative to help make the transition easier.”
Easier on the patients or the doctors? He didn’t ask that though.
She asked, “Are you family or medical?”
He lowered his body so he would be closer to her and whispered, “I drove such a long way. What would it take to get back there for just a few minutes to visit with her? Is that a possibility, Maxine? Is there anything I can do to make that happen?”
“Sir—”
The other receptionist cut her off and said, “I would just about do anything for an extra large peppermint mocha from the coffee shop in town.”
Maxine stared at her, then turned back to Taylor. “I do like the ice they use in the large pear-berry teas.”
Taylor stood up smiling. “I’m gonna go on a quick coffee run. Would anyone like breakfast, you know, since I’m going?”
They both giggled and said they would love some donuts. Taylor was out the door and in his car within a minute. He found the coffee shop easily off the main road that ran through town. He placed the order, stressed while he waited. Every minute that ticked by felt like an eternity.
With drinks and donuts in hand, he was promptly buzzed back into the facility. The ladies oohed and ahhed over the service, the kindness, and how attractive Taylor was as they tucked away the monetary bonuses they conveniently found under their coffees. Maxine walked him to a hallway and instructed, “She’ll most likely be asleep, but she’s down this hall at the other end, second door from the emergency exit, on the right. You’ve got ten minutes.”