Free Viper's Kiss by Shannon Curtis Page A

away.
    He neatly twisted the wrist of the hand holding his arm. A hiss of pain, and the grip loosened. He let go and ran down the hallway, ignoring the shouts of the security guards and the police officer.

Chapter Seven
    Maggie pushed the door to Room 621 open and slid inside, quickly closing it behind her. The sound of the alarm was muted through the door.
    Her mother lay on a bed. Nasal tubes had been inserted to help increase her oxygen intake.
    Maggie approached the bed. Her mother looked so tiny, so thin and forlorn in the standard bed that looked so large in comparison to the fragile patient lying in it. She gulped. She looked around the bed. There were no reassuring dings or beeps measuring her mother’s tenuous hold on life. The silence was punctuated by the rattling breaths slowly dragging into her mother’s lungs. The sound shocked her. Then the sound stopped.
    Maggie’s mouth opened in horror. Oh, please no, not so— The rattle sounded again as another breath was drawn, and Maggie’s shoulders sagged in relief. For a moment there…
    She sat on the edge and reached for the frail hand lying atop the bed covers. The skin was cool and dry, like tissue paper. She placed her other hand over the top, trying to imbue it with some warmth.
    “Mom,” she whispered.
    No response.
    Rattle. Pause. Rasp. Pause. Rattle.
    Maggie tried again, a little louder. “Mom, wake up. It’s me, Maggie.”
    Lillian Kincaid’s brow furrowed, and her eyelids fluttered. She stared blankly out at the room.
    “What—?”
    Maggie leaned forward, into her line of vision. “Hi, Mom. It’s me, Maggie.”
    Lillian’s face collapsed with horrified concern. “Och, child, what’s happened to you?” Her Scottish accent was still strong, despite her barely audible voice.
    Maggie’s eyes widened in comprehension. The bandages . She must look like a beat up mummy. “Oh, hush, it’s okay, Mom. It’s pretend.” She touched the cloth, then tapped it with a knuckle. “See, I’m not really hurt.”
    “Are ye sure, Maggie?”
    “I’m positive, Mom. Fighting fit,” Maggie lied, a tremulous smile on her lips.
    “What they’re saying about ye, did ye…?” Her mother’s voice trailed off as she tried to draw another rasping breath.
    “No, Mom, it’s not true. There’s been a mistake, but I’m fixing it.”
    “Och, thank the lord fer that. Sweet Mary, but it threw me when the police turned up at our door.”
    Maggie rubbed her hand over the palm she held. “I’m sorry, Mom.” Try as she might, Maggie couldn’t prevent the rogue tear from trailing down her cheek. “I’m so sorry.” For the pain her mother was in, for the worry she’d caused her. For wishing her dead.
    Lillian moved her head slightly. “No, darlin’, it’s me that’s dreadful sorry. I put ye into this sad position.”
    “No,” Maggie cried. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” She watched as her mother struggled to take another breath. She heard the door open behind her, and she ducked her head. She wanted to cry out, to rage at the intrusion. She’d run out of time. She was about to be arrested. Her mother would die thinking her guilty of the crimes she was accused of.
    “No, if I hadn’t taken up with that Andy,” her mother began. “And then the number eight business…”
    Maggie shook her head. “Shhh.” She placed her finger on her mother’s lips.
    She looked over her shoulder. Luke stood just inside the door, flanked by his associates. They all wore identical expressions of furious determination. Luke recovered first and stepped closer.
    Maggie shook her head, tears rolling freely down her cheeks. The man was… relentless .
    “Please,” she whispered hoarsely.
    He slowly approached the bed and looked down at the ill woman lying there.
    “Mrs. Kincaid,” he said.
    Lillian looked up at him, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Do I know ye?”
    Luke shook his head. “No, my name is Luke Fletcher. I’m here for your daughter.”