12
The nurse in question was a bearded, six-foot-four lumberjack of a man whose biceps were bigger than my thighs. The only reason we got the jump on him when we portalled into the thirtieth-floor suite was that he was busy changing Gary’s morphine drip.
Rohan injected the nurse with Methohexital, a fast-acting sedative with a brief window of action that we’d picked up at Demon Club La La Land on our way over. I’d made Ro go in and get it without me because I wasn’t ready to revisit the scene of the tragedy.
The chemical kicked in, and in seconds, the nurse went limp.
Ro slid him to the bedroom floor and set an alarm. “Five minutes.”
I ran over to the closet, flipping through Gary’s clothing for the jacket he’d worn the night he was injured.
Gary shifted, groggily opening his eyes. “
