Ryan Kaine by Kerry J Donovan

Ryan Kaine

Ryan Kaine: On the Wing by Kerry J Donovan (Ryan Kaine’s 83 series Book 7)
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 444 KB

A member of The 83 is viciously attacked. Someone wants her to die in prison. One man risks everything to save her.
When alleged murderer, Melanie Archer, is violently assaulted and left for dead by unknown attackers, she reaches out to the only organisation who might be able to save her life, The 83 Trust.
Before international fugitive and former Royal Marine, Ryan Kaine, puts his team in danger to help her, he wants to determine her guilt or innocence—in person. Against the advice of his closest allies, he and his insistent partner, Lara, con their way into the lion’s den—the last place he’d ever expect to go willingly.
Unarmed and with no eyes or ears inside the prison, Kaine and Lara are trapped, with only a hasty disguise and a false identity preventing them from taking a permanent holiday at Her Majesty’s pleasure.
Using his well-honed instincts, a mountain of luck, and the fear of incarceration to his best advantage, Ryan Kaine is … On the Wing.

For the exam, Milliner asked a few general health questions, ticked the answers on a form attached to a clipboard, and made Mel sign it. No stethoscope to the chest, no blood pressure test, nothing “hands-on”.

Medical over, the real horror began.

How long ago was that? Two weeks? Three?

The days blurred. They merged into one long, indeterminant routine, interspersed with threats and intimidation, leading to … here.

Metal scraped onto a hard surface close to Mel’s head. It made her jump. Plastic rustled and crumpled. A vacuum-sealed bag popped open. The lid of a plastic bottle clicked, its seal broken. Liquid poured into a small container.

“This will feel cold,” Dr Milliner said, her voice close, her breath still reeking. “Nothing but distilled water to clean your eye. Keep it closed until I’m done.”

Cool liquid from a cotton wool swab soaked her lid. The cold water ran down the side of her face and pooled in her ear. Tickled. The doctor’s touch was more gentle than expected. A dry swab dabbed away the excess liquid and, two firm swipes later, Milliner pulled away from the bed, taking the smell of stale cigarettes with her.

“Okay, try now.”

Mel opened her eye, closed it against the sharp white light, and took a shallow breath. She opened the lid again, blinked two, three times, and waited.

Slowly, the fuzzy pictures coalesced. The blurry images sharpened, but didn’t clear fully.

The hatchet-faced Dr Milliner pressed the tips of her fingers to Mel’s bandaged head and held up a brown-stained index finger.

“Follow my finger. Don’t move your head.”

The hazy digit moved left and right, up and down. Mel followed it as best she could, keeping her head still. The migraine flared when she looked up and to the left. She winced and groaned but said nothing.

Milliner pulled away.

“You’ll have a headache for a while. If it gets any worse I might be able to prescribe some ibuprofen.” She paused, reading the time from her wristwatch. “Paperwork to do. I’ll be back to check on you shortly, maybe remove that neck brace. Meanwhile, try to get some rest.”

The doctor spun on a low-heeled shoe and marched away. Her footsteps clicked on the tiled floor once again, and the keychain attached to her belt jangled. She paused at one of only two doors in the three-bed ward, selected a key from the bundle, and turned the lock. She left the ward without looking back.

“Paperwork? Really. Fag break, more like,” Mel mumbled, struggling to form the words with damaged lips.

Someone turned off the radio. Apart from the continuous ticking of the cheap wall clock, the room fell silent. For the first time since entering Falston Manor, Melanie Archer felt safe.

But how long would it last?

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