The Southern Comfort Series Box Set by Clark O'Neill Lisa

Author:Clark O'Neill, Lisa [Clark O'Neill, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-11-30T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

VINCENT Santone didn’t care for loose ends, and Donnie Martin was due to be snipped. The man knew things, and comatose or not, that was a problem. He understood his southern compatriot’s reticence to do anything that would draw attention, but figured by this point no one was likely to connect Martin’s passing with the fact that he’d been shot. It would simply be one of those unforeseen and unpredictable setbacks – of the permanent variety – that were all too common in so many long-term patients.

It amused Vincent that the wisdom of getting rid of Martin once and for all was one of the very few points of agreement he had with his late nephew, who was a disappointment all the way around. His sister would mourn his passing, of course, just like she had for that waste of a husband. But in the end, Vincent figured she was better off. No more abusive husband, no more wastrel of a son, no more reason to hide herself away in shame and embarrassment.

Slitting that boy’s throat had been a favor to them all.

He looked at the large bouquet of flowers that disguised the hypodermic he planned to use on Martin, and figured he was probably doing that man’s sister a favor, also. From what he’d heard about the girl, she was wasting her life by her brother’s bedside. And as far as they could tell, the young woman knew nothing about what had landed her brother in the hospital. Watching her had been prudent but fruitless, and the search of her apartment had turned up nothing, so there was every chance that the incriminating items Martin had taken from Joey had been hidden someplace else. Someplace where Samantha Martin hadn’t seen them. It was worrisome that the items were still out there, but at this point it seemed foolish to worry about the girl any longer. She clearly knew nothing, was just a woman who loved her brother like every good sister should. And with her own brother wasting away uselessly, someone should look after her, like Vincent looked out for his Maria Theresa.

So he’d help ease her burden by easing Martin into the afterlife.

Smiling, Vincent stepped off the elevator, following signs toward Martin’s unit. No one gave him a second glance. A man carrying flowers through the corridor was like white noise in a hospital. And between the ball cap he wore and the bouquet hiding his face, he worried little about the cameras. He’d slip in, unplug Martin’s monitors, inject the hypo into the man’s intravenous line, and be long gone before anyone realized Martin was dead. And if foul play was ever suspected, he’d be back in New York by the time the police got around to watching any security videos. There was nothing to tie him here, nothing to connect him to this patient. Really, this whole loose-end snipping would be a piece of cake.

This area of the hospital was considerably quieter than the ones he’d come through, probably because the patients here were only half-alive anyway.

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