Читать книгу: «Intensive Care Crisis»

ONE
Jacksonville, North Carolina

Someone was harming her patients.

Audrey Harris was determined not to let anything happen to the force-recon marine currently in her care. Not only was Sergeant Julian Tan her neighbor, but he was also in her father’s unit. Fortunately, the recovery room where she worked had only three patients this morning, and they weren’t scheduled to receive more until after lunch.

She reassessed the IV lines and inspected the dressing on his lower arm.

“My team,” he murmured, shifting restlessly beneath the thin sheet. “Have to reach them.”

Audrey winced. His team was gone, their deaths the result of a training exercise gone horribly wrong. Julian had escaped with several broken bones in his left arm and wrist. The first surgery—performed a month ago, at the time of the accident—had been a success, but he’d had an allergic reaction to the stitches. They’d had to go back in and replace them.

His head lifted from the starched pillowcase. “Where are they?” he demanded in a thick, slurred voice.

“You’ve had a surgical procedure and will feel groggy for a while. As soon as the anesthesia wears off, I’ll take you to post-op.” Typically, those nurses would retrieve him, but she wasn’t letting him out of her sight.

His eyes, shimmering like copper pennies in a fountain, narrowed in confusion. “I’m in the hospital? Where are the others?”

She’d been on shift when he’d been brought in with the marines who’d initially survived the helicopter crash. While she hadn’t been assigned to him, she remembered he’d responded poorly to anesthesia and woke disgruntled.

Audrey wished he didn’t have to relive the news of his fellow marines’ deaths. Coming around to the other side of the bed, she laid her hand on his shoulder.

“Julian, is the anti-nausea medicine I gave you working?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you feeling sick to your stomach?”

When he didn’t answer, she clicked off the overhead light. “Try and rest, okay?”

She started to move away. His uninjured hand clamped over her lower arm, preventing her from leaving.

“Who are you?”

The strength in his grip surprised her. Not because of his physique—he was hewn from steel, it seemed, his body the military’s version of a living weapon—but because he was still suffering the effects of powerful medication.

Audrey covered his large, calloused hand with her own, trying to reassure him with her touch. “Audrey Harris. We live in the same apartment complex.”

Julian’s face remained blank. Even fully alert, she doubted he’d remember her. He wasn’t the sort to flirt and make small talk, like some of the single male residents. When he wasn’t off saving the world, he went about his daily life with single-minded focus. She passed him sometimes on his way to the apartment’s gym and indoor pool.

The squeak of rubber soles on the polished tiles heralded her coworker’s arrival. “How’s our wounded warrior doing?”

Chasity Bateman’s sparse eyebrows lifted at the sight of their joined hands. Audrey separated herself from his hold and pulled aside her friend and fellow nurse.

“He’s out of sorts, and who can blame him?”

“Good thing he has a pretty nurse to distract him from his troubles.” Stray blond curls peeked out from her surgical cap.

“I don’t date patients.”

“You don’t date anyone. That’s the problem.”

Audrey glanced at the bed. His eyes were closed, his spiky lashes forming dark crescents against gold-dust skin. Julian Tan was a striking man. Short, sleek brown-black hair framed proud, angular features offset by a generous mouth. He was strong and handsome, but intense and private. In their one exchange, when her father had introduced them, she’d gotten the impression that few people were allowed into his personal circle.

“A handsome, intriguing guy like him could be the one to make you finally forget about Seth.”

Grief pinched her—less potently than in the past, which troubled her. “I can’t forget.”

Chasity nudged her. “There’s no crime in having a little fun. Seth wouldn’t begrudge you that.”

“Shouldn’t you be with your patients?”

The recovery area in their modest-size hospital consisted of a single, long room with beds lining both walls and an aisle in the middle. There were privacy curtains, but none were currently in use. Near the entry doors, two women occupied beds opposite each other. Both were quiet.

Too quiet?

“What happened last week was a fluke, you know,” Chasity said, picking up on her sudden anxiety.

Audrey tugged on the ID card hanging around her neck, then allowed it to snap back into place. “A fluke? Alex Shields had an allergic reaction that could’ve killed him. Wanda Ferrier came in for outpatient surgery but wound up staying five days because she was given the wrong dosage.” Her heart pounded with remembered dread. “Someone stole my log-in, Chasity, and deliberately set out to harm my patients.”

Her friend was unable to mask her skepticism. “I know it’s hard to accept that we’re capable of mistakes, but we all get busy and distracted.”

“This isn’t a case of simple carelessness. I’m being made to look incompetent.”

All because she’d done the right thing. In recent weeks, she’d noticed inconsistencies between the supply list and the actual supplies in their stockroom. More serious was her suspicion that an Onslow General employee was diverting narcotics and other medicines. She’d spoken to a handful of her coworkers in the surgical unit, but they hadn’t had useful information to share. So she’d taken her concerns to the charge nurse. Veronica “Iron Nurse” Mills had promised to look into the matter. That was when the mishaps started. Audrey could only conclude that the thief was attempting to discredit her.

The swish of a door interrupted their exchange, and in walked the taskmaster who ruled the department with an iron fist. Veronica was tall for a woman and of an indiscriminate age. Her brassy yellow hair was styled in fat sausage rolls reminiscent of a bygone era. She wore her uniforms starched and was never seen without her trademark fire-engine-red lipstick. Since Audrey’s transfer from the ICU to surgery eighteen months ago, she’d gotten the impression that Veronica disliked her more than anyone else. And since she was displeased by most everyone and everything, that was saying something.

Her broad nose pinched at the sight of them. “Heather’s gone home with a fever. You’ll have to spend the rest of your shift in pre-op, Chasity.”

Her friend cast Audrey a sideways glance, then inclined her head. “Of course.”

When the petite blonde had gone, Veronica’s gray gaze swept over the three occupied beds. “I trust you’ll be able to handle yourself?”

The underlying message was clear—no more mess-ups.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She sniffed. “See that you do.”

The next twenty minutes passed in a blur, as one of the female patients roused and promptly vomited. While Audrey was tending to her, the other woman’s vitals started fluctuating, calling for her to investigate the issue. She didn’t like that the hospital was understaffed. Typically, in the recovery area, each nurse was assigned to one patient. But HR had been slow in replacing the employees they’d lost. In recent months, two nurses had moved out of the area, one had quit to be a stay-at-home mom and yet another had accepted a different position in the hospital.

“Please, I need water.” The girl who’d gotten ill was perspiring.

Audrey looked down the aisle at Julian. Because of his history of responding poorly to anesthesia, Chasity had thought it best to place him apart from the others. He appeared to be resting comfortably.

She wouldn’t be gone long. Five minutes, tops. “I’ll get you some ice chips.”

“Thank you.” The patient gave her a weak smile.

In the hallway, an X-ray technician strode past, acknowledging her with a simple nod. David was a new hire. Quiet and introverted. Heather in pre-op had a crush on him. Something about his small, shifty eyes made Audrey think of him as stalker material.

She waited until the hallway was clear before hurrying to the room where they kept sodas and snacks for patients. There were three nurses in line ahead of her. Stifling a sigh, she experienced a rising tide of unease. It won’t happen again. It can’t. Not on my watch.

* * *

Julian was on the helicopter again. He felt it list sharply to the right. Saw the ground racing up to meet them. Heard the other guys’ warning shouts. Smelled the stench of gasoline and blood. Death was all around him, coming to claim him, too.

He jerked awake. Seconds passed before he could make sense of the stark white walls, the metal rails on the bed and the tube attached to his hand. He was in the hospital for an outpatient procedure. He wouldn’t be stuck here for days on end, like last time.

Movement registered in his peripheral vision. He turned his head. A doctor was pulling his privacy curtain closed, creating a small cocoon of blue-tinted shadows. The man didn’t introduce himself. Between the surgical cap and mask, only his eyes and eyebrows were visible. He gazed down at Julian with scalpel-sharp concentration.

“What’s the prognosis, Doc?” Julian said, his mind fuzzy and his stomach doing somersaults. He hated being put under.

There was no response to his question.

The snap and tug of latex grated on Julian’s nerves. Once the white gloves were in place, the doctor produced a syringe and needle and reached for his hand.

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

“What is that?”

Still silent, the man quickly inserted the needle into the port attached with tape to his hand. He injected the substance into the line.

“Where’s my nurse?”

What was her name? He could clearly picture her youthful face, her vivid blue eyes painted with disquiet. She was familiar to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint the connection.

After recapping the needle, the doctor stood and stared at him. Waiting.

Julian glanced around for a call button. There was none.

His heart began to pound. A cloud of pain spread through his chest. His lungs felt full of water. Couldn’t...breathe—

“You drugged me,” he sputtered, his words slurring.

A buzzing sounded in his ears. Black patches distorted his vision.

An alarm close to his bed began to go off. His blood pressure. Too high.

The man reached across and flipped a switch. Silence.

“Help—”

A gloved hand clapped over his mouth, preventing him from calling out.

He pushed at the man’s arm with his uninjured hand. The surgical meds, combined with the mystery drug he’d been given, left him weak. He couldn’t utilize his hand-to-hand combat skills if his body refused to cooperate.

Pray. Seek God’s help.

Dizziness washed over him.

God hadn’t heard him when their helo went down.

He was going to die, after all. Not a hero’s death.

Murdered by a stranger. For what reason?

Sweat poured off him. He thought of his parents and three younger sisters. And his team members’ loved ones, who viewed him as their last link to their fallen marines. And he thought about his nurse, whose name he couldn’t remember. She had compassionate eyes. She would take a patient’s death hard.

He tried again to dislodge the man’s hand.

A distant shout echoed down the room. The stranger ripped through the curtain and bolted for a set of doors.

Julian clawed at the IV tube and yelled for help.

Trying to draw breath into his lungs was an impossible chore, and his heart was spasming.

He had seconds left to live.