Priscilla escorted Frankie into the cavernous room housing the huge hyperbaric chamber and scurried off to answer the telephone just as Andie’s tense voice reverberated over the intercom.
“Nicole, pressurize fast and get in here.”
A little blonde rushed past her in a blur of motion. An alarm sounded from somewhere deep inside the chamber. Frankie stood still, brittle and silent, trying to keep out of the way. Bile rose in her throat.
Frankie listened to their voices for a few moments before easing up to the observation window. Through a cloud of anxiety, she peered inside. Andie held firm pressure on Damon’s thigh. He was bleeding profusely around her hand. Each time she readjusted her grip, dark red blood gushed from the wound. Frankie was so startled it barely registered that he was naked.
Damon moaned and tried to roll over. Nicole’s gentle hand forced him to his back. “Close your eyes,” she encouraged in an angelic voice. “Go back to sleep. Everything is fine.”
Frankie shuddered from the top of her head down to her toes. Trembling, she searched further into the chamber. What had they been doing when they were injured? They were both exceedingly cautious, expert divers. They didn’t take needless chances. What had happened down there?
Once, during her rookie year as a pilot, she had helped carry the litter of a navy diver to an awaiting hyperbaric chamber. That chamber was a scaled-down, less forbidding version of the monstrosity now housing half her crew. The navy diver had not survived.
Frankie wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She couldn’t stop shaking.
There was a line of three stretchers against the far wall. Frankie swallowed hard and forced herself to look again. She could see Gage’s dark mop of hair and the curve of his angular, unshaved chin jutting out from under a blanket. He was pale, sweating. His brow was knitted in a damp frown. Her knees almost buckled. She looked back to Damon and the nurses hovering above him.
“He started bleeding the moment we got to four ATA,” Andie’s voice carried eerily through the big room. “He severed a big one.”
“Arterial?” asked Nicole.
Andie shook her head no. “Venous.”
Nicole gently eased a specialized tourniquet strategically above the wound and inflated the device over the ragged laceration. The pinpoint pressure stopped the bleeding immediately. “These guys look strong and fit,” Nicole talked while she worked. “Do you know what they were doing when this happened?”
“Nope.” With the tourniquet securely in place, Andie bent down to check the pulses in Damon’s foot to ensure adequate blood flow remained.
“Do you want me to hang another bag of saline or a unit of O-negative this time?” Nicole asked.
Andie looked at the blood soaked sheet. “O-neg. He needs the extra blood.”
From the corner of the chamber, a sudden cry jolted them to a new problem.
“Greg, look out.” Gage screamed. “Cutaway! Cutaway!”
He thrashed on the cot like a trapped wildebeest, heaving blankets across the chamber. He tore off his monitoring equipment, nearly ripped the IV from his forearm while he fought some unseen enemy. Gage half sat up, his unfocused eyes turbulent with confusion. Nicole dashed over but kept a measured distance between herself and his powerful, flailing limbs. “Gage, wake up. It’s a dream,” she tried to calm his delirium with words first. “You’re safe.”
“No! Where’s Greg? Where’s Damon?” He flung himself partially off the gurney, still too out of it to know what was happening yet strong enough to do serious damage if he kept struggling.
“Gage, wake up, you’re dreaming.”
“No!”
Nicole produced a syringe from her jacket and found an open port on the IV tubing trailing down to his forearm.
“Okay, wild-child, it’s time for a nap.” She swiftly administered the medication while dodging the plastic oxy-sat monitor he sent soaring across the chamber. Gage swayed for a moment and collapsed backward, mumbling something about a woman leaving him. Nicole shook her head and heaved his legs back on the gurney.
“What’s with these two guys?” She spoke while replacing the equipment he’d dismantled. “They both go nuts at the same time.” She added mischievously, “Have you checked him for other injuries?”
Frankie’s face was pressed to the window.
“No,” Andie waved to her. “Maybe later.”
* * * *
Frankie was glued to the outer chamber.
The last words she heard Gage utter as he went under the effects of a strong sedative reverberated in her head and lodged deeply, painfully, within her heart, “Robin, why did you leave me?” His face contorted in a look of shattered despair that almost dropped Frankie to the floor. She clung to the window ledge as realization slammed into her. Gage was still in love with Robin. Waves of suffocating nausea rolled over her. She took a numb step backward, straightened her slumped shoulders and reassessed the situation.
Damon’s bleeding had stopped.
Gage was sleeping.
Her presence wasn’t necessary. Quinton would arrive any moment and take care of notifying Damon’s parents. He might even know how to get in contact with Robin. Gage told him things he never confessed to anyone else. Things he never told her. She fumbled in her pocket for the car keys, dropped them, picked them up, and dropped them again.
“Pretty boys.” Her stomach coiled into a knot. “They are always wanting someone else.” She turned and sprinted from the room.
When the situation in the hyperbaric chamber was under control, Andie looked up to find Priscilla where Frankie had been.
“Where’s Frankie?”
“She just left,” Priscilla answered. “She told me that Quinton would know what to do.”
Andie frowned.
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No.”
Chapter 16
THE MORNING AFTER
He awoke to a bright light shining painfully in his eyes. Rough fingers held his eyelids open wide. The stench of antiseptic and sweat stung his nostrils. He had every intention of saying something vulgar when a loud voice called out, “Hello? Is anybody in there? This is Doctor Dorset. Can you hear me, Mister Adams? If you can, hold up two fingers.”
A long middle finger flew up to jab the unfortunate doctor in the solar plexus.
Gage Adams was awake.
“What the hell is going on?”
“You had a diving emergency,” Dorset coughed, retreating to the foot of the bed to nervously rub himself. Gage peered out with one blurry eye and tried to connect the dots. His befuddled brain didn’t recognize the bullnecked, thick-waisted, rounded shoulders as belonging to anyone identifying himself as a doctor.
Used car salesman, maybe. A physician? No way.
“Where’s Damon?” his voice rasped.
It was Quinton who answered, “Good morning, sunshine. Damon is asleep in the next room. Glad to have you back with us, mate.”
A bad taste hung in Gage’s dry mouth. He moved his jaw, trying to work up some saliva.
“How is he doing?”
“Weak and tired,” Quinton said. “He’s got some point A to point B memory deficits. They’re keeping him here an extra night for IV antibiotics.”
“IV antibiotics? What for?”
“He had a deep cut on his leg. They’re worried about infection.”
Gage nodded. Details of the accident rapidly clicked into place. He remembered the blood, their race to the surface and Damon’s calmness, his trust in Gage to save him.
“What about his parents?”
“Already been and gone.” Quinton shook his head in humorous disbelief. “His mother knows how to work a crowd. The woman left twenty pounds of Almond Roca at the nursing station. With that much chocolate and McGoldrick charm, he’ll get the best of care.”
Gage’s voice was a ragged whisper. “Who’s his nurse?”
“A lovely little bird by the name of Sophia. She’s on loan from the I
CU.” Quinton’s baby-blue eyes twinkled. They both knew what he was thinking. “Sophia hasn’t left his side since they brought him in. Claims she’ll be more than happy to drive him home tomorrow after he’s discharged.”
“Sophiaaaa,” Gage let the name trail off musically.
“Mister Adams,” Dorset suddenly rallied, aware they’d forgotten he was there. “I would like to give you a complete physical examination. The secondary effects of decompression sickness—”
“I know all about secondary effects,” Gage interrupted rudely. He struggled to sit up. His head felt two sizes too big and throbbed with pain. “Where’s Frankie?”
“Who?”
Once again it was Quinton who answered. “According to the office manager of the hyperbaric chamber, Frankie left about twenty minutes before I got there.”
The expression on Gage’s face was thoughtful, yet unreadable. He asked evenly, “Was there a problem?”
Quinton quirked his eyebrows and gave a look that said there was much more to the story that was better left for a private moment. Gage winced and asked a safer question.
“Did you come here alone?”
Quinton shook his head. “Isabelle and the girls are with me.”
“Where are they?”
“In the cafeteria getting something to eat. They should be back to torment you shortly, mate. It was all I could do to keep Grace from painting your toenails peony pink.”
In spite of the aches and pains, Gage had to smile. “Pink, huh? That’s not my color.”
“Mister Adams,” the doctor blurted, “May I proceed? The sooner you let me examine you, the sooner I can write your discharge orders and release you from the hospital.”
“You just stumbled on the right combination of words to get my attention. By all means, Doctor, proceed.”
* * * *
He was quick and thorough, well aware that Gage wouldn’t tolerate a lengthy exam. Both of them wanted out of there as soon as possible. After a brief neuro check Dorset was out the door, heading for the golf course. The moment he left, Gage turned to Quinton.
“Now, where the hell is Frankie and what happened?”
Quinton leaned forward and rested his forearms on his muscular thighs. A wisp of blonde hair peeked out from his open shirt. “Nobody seems to know. I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”
Dread rolled over Gage in sickening waves. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and mumbled, “Tell me everything.”
“According to Andie, the shit hit the fan. Damon was doing his best to bleed to death. You were delirious and generally trying to tear the place apart.”
Disquieting images swirled in his mind. The headache Gage was sporting blossomed into a full-blown migraine.
Quinton lowered his voice. “Andie said that once the medical situation was under control, Frankie left. No one has heard from her since.”
“I don’t understand,” Gage spoke softly. “Why would she leave like that?”
Quinton threw his hands in the air. “Face it, mate. You were out of control. Andie and Nicole had to restrain you just to keep themselves safe. My guess is Frankie couldn’t take it so she fled the scene.”
Gage hesitated. “Did you try her cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Her home phone? E-mail?”
“Abso-bloody-lutely.”
“How about her neighbors? A retired couple live south of her. They watch her house while she’s at work. They might know. They would have seen her. Blakemore is their last name, I think. Can you give them a call?”
Quinton was nodding. “Already done. Isabelle spoke with the missus about an hour ago. She said that Frankie asked her to look after the place for a couple of weeks, loaded her bags into the back of the Land Rover and took off.”
“Did they say where she was going?” Gage could feel anger starting to rise, replacing the dread. How could Frankie run off and leave him alone and hurting?
“Frankie didn’t tell where she was headed, only that she’d call to check in with them later in the week.”
Gage blinked over at the big Aussie. Quinton was sprawled in a recliner, looked relaxed and ready-to-spring at the same time.
“She didn’t leave an emergency number? A way to get in touch with her?” Gage tore the hospital identification bracelet off his wrist and flung his long legs over the edge of the bed. He instantly regretted it. The room swirled like a gyro. Every joint and muscle in his body reminded him of the insult it had experienced. He glanced down. Both of his wrists bore the blackish-blue circular bruises of leather restraints. He looked up at Quinton.
“I didn’t hurt anybody, did I?”
“Quite the opposite,” Quinton smirked. “They rather enjoyed tying you up.”
Gage scowled and tried to stand.
“Whoa there, mate. Slow down,” Quinton pushed him back down on the bed. “No use getting your feathers in a tangle. You took a big hit. The docs were worried you might even be deaf. Ease back.”
“I wasn’t deaf. I even heard the nurses fawning over the size of Damon’s dick.”
“Yes, Damon does the male gender proud.”
Gage managed a weak smile and tried to stand again.
“I’ve got to find Frankie.”
Quinton was shaking his head. “You need to take it easy. She’ll turn up when she’s ready.”
“I have to see her.”
Quinton cleared his throat and lowered the boom.
“I don’t think she sees it that way right now.”
Gage’s head jerked up so quickly his eyes crossed. “What do you mean by that?”
Quinton took a weighty breath. “Apparently you were quite vocal during your attempt to destroy the hyperbaric chamber.”
“Oh shit,” Gage groaned out loud. “What did I say?”
“You were crying out for your old fiance’, begging her to tell you why she left. Andie said it was a spectacular, heart-wrenching performance and Frankie heard every word.”
Gage held his aching head between his hands.
“Do you see where this is headed?” Quinton wanted to be sure there were no further communication screw-ups.
Gage nodded.
“She thinks I’m still in love with Robin.”
“Bingo.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“I’ve been saying that for weeks,” Quinton huffed. “If you’d stop shagging her every chance you get and think with your other head for awhile,” Quinton pointed to his temple, “you’d realize that too, mate.”
Gage looked down at his bare feet.
“Did you bring me any clothes?”
“And spoil the nursing staff’s hopes that you’ll be forced to display your assets in that flimsy hospital gown?” Quinton answered gleefully then quickly added, “Isabelle made me bring you something.” He reached behind the recliner and withdrew a bag.
More questions roared in Gage’s troubled mind.
“What about my scuba gear? We dove to retrieve her dad’s dog tags. They’re the last real connection she’s got with him.”
“I thought that might be the case.”
“I remember putting them in my vest pocket.”
Quinton stretched his long legs and yawned. “All your gear is in the back of my van. I’ve got Damon’s stuff too.”
“What about Spare Change? Was there any damage?”
Quinton knew that Gage took better care of his single-mast sailboat than any other possession he owned.
“She was towed into the marina by one of the local fishing vessels. It appears you were able to get Damon back to the sailboat and tie a towel around his leg to stop the bleeding. You must have passed out right after you made the mayday call.”
“I don’t remember any of that.”
“Mild concussion,” Quinton responded. “Maybe it will knock some sense into you. The skipper of the Buffy Marie heard you hail New Harbor. He detoured and got there first, saw you and Damon folded up like origami and radio
ed for the helicopter. I think you owe him a beer.”
This time Gage made it upright on his wobbly legs. Quinton was immediately at his side to lend an arm.
Gage allowed himself a moment of self-pity.
“What a fucking mess.”
“It can be fixed,” Quinton stared at him intensely, knowing Gage was still thinking about Frankie. “You have to talk to her. She has to know the truth and she has to hear it from you.”
Gage broke out in a sweat.
“She’s your friend, mate. She’s your lover. She’ll understand. You have to tell her everything.”
“I don’t want her pity.”
“No?” Quinton’s stubborn streak made a rare, abrupt appearance. “Well, how about her love? Do you want that? Pity seems like a small price to pay.” He shook his head in disgust and added, “The doctors were wrong, mate. You’re not deaf, you’re blind.” Quinton took a quick breath and continued berating, “And then there’s Frankie,” he muttered an exasperated oath. “She’s in love with you and doesn’t even realize it. How are you going to fix that, mate and when are you going to start?”
Quinton pinned him with a fiery blue gaze. Gage’s vision blurred. For a moment he thought he might throw up.
“I think I need to sit down.”
* * * *
The trip to New Harbor was made in strained silence. In the front seat, Isabelle kept turning around to give Gage worried looks. Quinton kept a close eye on him through the rearview mirror. Sarah and Grace, in brightly colored jumpers and matching sneakers, clung to him like festive barnacles. They took turns patting his arms reassuringly, tag-teaming him with adoration.
It gentled Gage being near them.
One look at the little girls left no doubt about their parentage or that someday they would grow into hauntingly beautiful women. Their long black hair was a baby-soft version of Isabelle’s but their eyes were large and Quinton-blue. Grace already had the husky bedroom-voice inherited from her father.
Gage shook his head at the irony of it. Quinton Herriman, legendary womanizer of the Australian Outback, was raising two future heartbreakers. He was going to have his hands full when they discovered boys. He might as well dig a moat and throw up some concertina wire while he was remodeling the house. One day it would come in damned handy.
Guarding the Coast Page 19
