He slipped through the door, closing it quietly, and checked for an alarm panel. There it was, next to the door. The light was green. Green is good. Green meant no alarm had been set. He was safe for now.

Creeping through the hallway, he looked for the drugs, pulling on every door until he found one that said SUPPLY CLOSET.

That was simple enough. Except that it had a combination lock, not a keyed lock. He exhaled as quietly as he could. Fuck. He couldn’t pick that.

He drew the gun from his pocket, tempted to shoot the lock off, but that only worked in the movies. With his luck, the bullet would ricochet and hit him, giving him another wound and even more infection.

Maybe it was good that someone was here. Especially if they knew the combination to that lock. If they knew, they’d tell him or he’d . . .

He’d figure that out if they refused. Maybe they’d just give him the medication. They were supposed to heal people, right?

He took another shaky step, then froze. A man stood at the other end of the hall, silhouetted by the light behind him. For a moment they simply stared at each other, then the man spoke.

“What do you want?”

Cade blinked hard. The man was holding something in his right hand, lifting it into the air. A gun.

Cade fired twice, the suppressor keeping the sound to a quiet pop-pop. The man crumpled to the floor, arm outstretched.

A woman screamed. “Miles! Oh my God, Miles!”

A few things became apparent in the next few seconds. Miles wasn’t holding a gun. It was a cordless phone. Fuck.

And Miles wasn’t wearing a shirt. Neither was the woman who now knelt beside him, frantically taking his pulse, still shouting his name.

The woman, who wore only a bra and a pair of scrub bottoms, looked right at Cade, her eyes wide with shock. “You shot him.”

“Get away from him,” Cade gritted out, motioning with his gun. “Come here and open the supply closet.” Irritated when she didn’t respond, he fired another bullet into the man’s leg. He didn’t have time for this. He also didn’t know if the man had managed to get a call in to 911 like George Garrett had. “Kick the phone toward me. Do it!”

The woman just stared at him, then back down at the fallen man. “Miles? Miles, open your eyes, baby. Please.” She rose on shaky legs, turning for one of the exam rooms.

“Stop,” Cade hissed. Dragging his leg behind him, he grabbed her and spun her toward him. He shoved her back against the wall, looming over her. “I said to open the damn supply closet.”

Her eyes widened farther as recognition mixed with her terror. “You,” she whispered.