Chapter 9 - The Lemonade Lady
My vision tunneled. "Mrs. Harris," I whispered. "She was in the yard the whole time."
"Who is she, Mark?" Vance barked, shining her tactical light around the empty room, checking the bathroom. "Clear! Where does she live?"
"Next door to Sarah! She’s lived there for twenty years! She used to babysit Emily when she was a toddler!"
"She's not just a neighbor," Vance said, kneeling near the wastebasket and pulling out an empty sedative ampoule. "This is veterinary-grade ketamine. A seventy-year-old grandmother doesn't carry horse tranquilizers in her purse."
"Emily trusted her," I choked out, pure fury roaring through my veins. "She called out to her. That's why Emily let go of my wrist at the fence."
Vance’s radio finally crackled through the thick hospital walls. "Units responding to County General, be advised: suspect vehicle, gray Dodge Caravan, just blew through the north ambulance exit gate heading south on Route 4."
"That's her minivan," I said, sprinting for the exit. "She drove a gray Caravan with handicap plates."
"Miller, you can't engage them!" Vance yelled, chasing me out toward the parking lot where my personal pickup was parked. "They are armed and organized!"
"She has my daughter!"
I slammed my key into the ignition of my Dodge Ram. The heavy V8 roared to life. Before Vance could reach the passenger door handle, I threw the transmission into reverse, smoked the rear tires, and whipped the wheel around.
As I blasted out of the hospital parking lot, my headlights caught a black SUV idling across the intersection.
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The moment I turned onto the southbound avenue, the SUV's headlights snapped on behind me, tailing my bumper by less than two car lengths.
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