Jethro parked at the end of the parking area, away from other vehicles. “You know, it’s entirely possible it was somebody from the FBI who interviewed Jeremy yesterday.”

Angus nodded. “I’m aware.” He twisted his phone in his other hand, waiting for Brigid to send the accident report concerning the paramedic who’d died months ago. She’d seemed like a nice woman—bubbly and earnest.

Jethro cut the engine. “Take a minute here, mate. Lassiter is a killer and he enjoys getting close and personal, right? So, there can’t be any connection between him and the paramedic’s death. It doesn’t make sense. If he wanted her dead because she knew something that you didn’t pull out of her before, he wouldn’t cause an accident, would he?”

Angus slipped his phone in his pocket. “He’d much rather kidnap and torture her, I know.” Yet it might have been even more important to keep her quiet. Six months ago Lassiter hadn’t wanted to make his presence known. “He’d have the patience to just arrange an accident if he had a bigger plan in mind.” One that started with the killing of victims who looked like the members of Angus’s team. “We need to talk to the doctor.”

“The long-legged one.” Jethro stepped out of his car and scouted the area. “Don’t see any guns pointed at us. It’s probably safe for now.” Sarcasm uttered in a British accent still sounded classy.

Angus stood and shut his door. “We have to find the person who keeps trying to kill me.”

Jethro looked at him over the car. “You make it sound like a nuisance case. Somebody wants you dead, mate.”

“It is a nuisance,” Angus muttered, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and striding across the long expanse of parking area toward the emergency door entrance. “I can’t be chasing Lassiter and have somebody keep trying to shoot me or blow up my homes.” They had to figure out who the team had pissed off the most, so he could concentrate on the more important case, damn it. He entered the doorway and walked to the receptionist, a sixtysomething woman with long, gray hair styled in one of those fancy braids. “Hello,” he said, wishing for his badge.

“Hi.” She looked up behind thick glasses and smiled. “How can I help you?”

He put on his most charming smile. “We’re looking for Dr. Emily Shelman. Do you know how we could find her in this big hospital?”

The woman reached for her telephone. “Can I tell her who’s looking for her?”

“Of course.” Angus kept his casual smile in place. “Please tell her that Angus Force, from the FBI, and Jethro Hanson, from British Intelligence, just have a couple of quick questions for her about a patient. Nothing scary.”