by Alexi Venice
Jen’s words finally pierced Victoria’s blind rage. She registered that Amanda was on her knees, and Tommy was lying unconscious on the grass. She turned to look at Jen, her oyster-colored eyes evil in the glow of the street lamp. Her mouth formed words, but no sound issued forth.
“Get the fuck out of our lives!” Jen yelled.
Victoria dropped the rake and ran toward the bar.
Jen would have knelt next to Amanda, but Tommy was bleeding from the side of his head, demanding her immediate medical attention. Amanda retched into the grass, still gasping for air, as Jen attended to Tommy.
Thirty-Four
Tommy absorbed the full brunt of the rusty, metal tines to the side of his head, directly above his left ear. He went down hard, landing face-first on the ground, blood quickly wetting his hair.
Going into physician-mode, Jen rolled him over, opening his eyelids and feeling his wrist for a pulse. Even though she expected a pulse, she was still relieved when she found one. She assessed his wound, the gushing blood obscuring its size and depth. She quickly removed her flannel shirt and dabbed at the wound until she could see the depth and contour of the ragged, gaping cut, at least two inches long and very deep. Stitches would be required to close it. Damn Victoria. Fucking criminal!
“Tommy.” Jen roughly massaged his chest to wake him. “Tommy!”
“Whoa,” he groaned, his eyes rolling and unfocused. “What?”
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
He put his hand to his head and felt of his matted hair and the wet flannel. His eyes grew wide as he registered the moisture and what it meant. When he lowered his hand and looked at his bloodied fingers, alarm sprang to his unfocused gaze. “I’m bleeding.”
“Yes. You have a cut. It needs stitches.”
“How?”
“Victoria hit you with a rake.”
“Such…bullshit,” he mumbled.
“I know, but we need to get you to the car. Can you walk?”
“Yeah,” he groaned. “How’s Amanda?”
Jen admired his concern in the presence of his own injuries. She glanced over her shoulder to see Amanda wiping her mouth and feeling of her face and neck. When Amanda’s eyes connected with Jen’s, heartbreak traveled between them. Suddenly, Jen knew exactly how she must have looked when Amanda told her she’d been unfaithful with Roxy. Jen knew the pain. The confusion. The anger simmering just below the surface. Well, at least Amanda got to work out her aggression right away. I had to wait to beat the shit out of Roxy.
“How is he?” Amanda asked, breaking the silence.
“He needs a hospital,” Jen said. “Can you run and tell Jake and Dave that we need the car?”
“Of course,” Amanda said, getting to her feet, swaying a bit, then angling toward the restaurant door, off-kilter like a dog on the run.
“My head hurts like hell,” Tommy slurred.
“I’m so sorry,” Jen said, returning her attention to him. “You’re bleeding pretty badly, so I have to keep this shirt pressed against your head, okay?” She continued to apply pressure to her balled up shirt, holding it against his bloody, matted hair.
They waited, the evening air cooling around them. Time passed in slow motion until Dave, Jake and Amanda arrived in the Suburban. Amanda and Jake spilled out of the passenger side and rushed to Jen and Tommy. Dave got out of the driver’s side and lowered the third seat into a flat cargo space.
“Hey, Tommy.” Jake kneeled, inspecting Tommy’s head and reading the look on Jen’s face. “Can he walk?”
“Probably not too well,” Jen said. “We might have to carry him to the truck.”
“I can walk.” Tommy suddenly sat up, causing more blood to pulse into the soaked flannel.
Jake sprang to his feet and held out his hand for Tommy to stand. Once he did, Jen and Jake quickly helped Tommy to the truck and folded him into the cargo space. Jen crawled in after him, so she could apply pressure to the wound on the way to the hospital.
Jake got in the front passenger seat and Amanda sat in the second row. Once the doors closed, Dave asked, “Where to?”
“Summerfield Hospital in Eau Claire,” Jen said from the back.
“I’ll give you directions,” Jake said to Dave.
They sped out of the parking lot, and Dave calmly, but quickly, drove them to Highway 53.
Jen was glad she was in the back, so she wouldn’t have to wither under Amanda’s disbelieving stare, a stare Jen was certain would turn angry and resentful, having been there herself.
She was still reeling from the reality of what had transpired in the last 24 hours. First, she had fooled around on Amanda. Let’s be honest, she scolded herself , being apart for a week didn’t justify my hookup with Victoria. Second, Victoria had become fucking unglued and beaten both Amanda and Tommy senseless, devastating Jen. It was one thing for Jen to live with her own guilt, but another to have the people closest to her suffer physically and emotionally. What a nightmare. Third, her family—including Kristin—had witnessed the confrontation. Kristin. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Kristin.
Tommy moaned, pulling her from her thoughts. His eyes were closed.
“I’m so sorry,” Jen said softly.
“Shit happens. Don’t worry about it.” He squeezed her arm.
She watched him for a minute then turned her attention to Amanda. “Amanda.”
Amanda didn’t turn around.
“Amanda,” Jen said louder.
She still didn’t turn around.
“Amanda, please!” Jen barked.
Amanda turned, disbelief coloring the edges of her narrowed eyes and downturned lips.
“I’m so sorry,” Jen said. “I thought we were separated.”
Amanda brooked no battle, asking in a small voice, “For a week? After one fight?”
Still holding the flannel to Tommy’s head, Jen felt a mixture of regret and anger surge through her, spiking her blood pressure. “It didn’t take a week apart or a fight for you to sleep with Roxy. You managed to do that while we were still together.”
Amanda nodded, her hair falling around her face, her expression hardening into the realization that Jen wasn’t exactly who Amanda had thought. Devastation flashed across her face but was replaced by determination. Being beaten by Victoria had temporarily weakened Amanda, but also had sobered her. The instinct to survive and fight another day had always been one of Amanda’s most durable qualities. She was the most resilient person Jen knew. Grit would grow from the welts and bruises created by Victoria.
Amanda might be dying inside over Jen’s affair, but she would survive and thrive, finding something that stirred her passion and required her to submerse herself in a quest. She had always been adept at losing herself in work to forget heartbreak.
In stark contrast, Jen didn’t feel any better after saying what she had wanted to say—and doing what she had wanted to do—ever since Amanda had fooled around with Roxy. The irony stung like a slap across her face. She had never played the part of the revenge-seeker, and had learned today that she wasn’t cut out for it. Hers was a pyrrhic victory.
Their gazes lingered over each other’s faces, reading the lines around closed mouths, the uncertainty in misty eyes, and the resolve in clenched jaws. There was nothing more to say at the moment.
Amanda turned and faced forward again, her shoulders slumped.
Jen returned her attention to Tommy for the remainder of the drive to Eau Claire. When they arrived at the circular Emergency Department drive, Tommy was in rougher shape than she had ever seen him, leaning heavily on her, Jake, and the nurse who greeted them. He stumbled in a topsy-turvy gate through the sliding glass doors, and they shouldered his weight onto a cart in the hallway. Once he was secured, the nurse rolled him into an exam room.
A flurry of people in scrubs joined them. While one person asked questions, an attractive woman in her mid-forties donned blue gloves and hovered her hands over the flannel. She had long, brown hair
with fat curls hanging over her shoulders. “Hi, I’m Denni. I’m going to be your nurse. Looks like you’re bleeding from your head.”
“Yeah,” Tommy said, but couldn’t manage anything more than that.
Denni looked at Jen and raised her eyebrows.
“I’m Dr. Jen Dawson and this is Detective Tommy Vietti. He took the brunt of metal tines from a rake to his head while breaking up a fight outside a bar.”
Denni’s eyes brightened with curiosity, but she quickly refocused on Tommy’s head. “Are you in pain?”
“Lots.”
“Okay,” Denni said. “I’ll get you something for that after I assess what we have here.”
While Denni gingerly removed the flannel and inspected the wound, Jen said, “He lost consciousness after the blow. When I initially looked at his wound, I thought it looked long and deep enough to require staples or stitches.”
Denni quickly and efficiently blotted the wound, surrounding skin and blood-matted hair with several gauze squares soaked in anti-septic solution. “I agree. It’s about two inches long and pretty deep.”
The bleeding had slowed considerably, so Denni was able to leave a few dry gauze squares on top of it. “Dr. Dawson, can you hold these while I get one of our doctors?”
“Of course,” Jen said.
A minute later, Denni returned with an attractive woman in her fifties wearing a white doctor coat and a stethoscope draped around her neck. “I’m Dr. Callaghan. I understand you were struck in the head with a metal rake?”
Jen retold the story, Dr. Callaghan’s astute and kind blue eyes tracking everything Jen said. Like Jen, Dr. Callaghan had heard it all in the ED, and, in the scheme of things, a bar fight didn’t compare to half the situations she faced on a daily basis. “Well, Dr. Dawson, I’m glad you were there to provide care.”
“Thanks,” Jen said.
“I’m also relieved to hear this doesn’t have anything to do with the terrorist attack.”
“What?” Jen, Tommy and Amanda asked in unison. Dave and Jake were outside the room.
“Oh. I assumed you’d heard,” Dr. Callaghan said. “Early this morning, authorities discovered Eau Claire’s water treatment plant had been attacked. The terrorists killed employees at the plant and a police officer in a car nearby. After testing the water in the holding tanks at the plant, officials reported they couldn’t find any contaminants, but that didn’t leave Eau Claire residents feeling any better. Most everyone I know has been drinking bottled water.”
“Are they sure it’s terrorists versus a disgruntled ex-employee?” Amanda asked.
“I think they are.”
“Why?” Amanda asked.
“Because the live video feed from the treatment plant to ECPD was interrupted and disguised. That was too sophisticated for a spontaneous fight. Whoever attacked the plant had high-tech equipment and methods. There was a report that one of the terrorists was killed by a plant security guard, and they confirmed he hadn’t worked there.”
“Really?” Amanda asked, her ears perking up.
Nurse Denni gave Tommy some pills to wash down with a cup of water.
“Yes,” Dr. Callaghan said, glancing over her shoulder at Amanda and her Hermès bag.
“Did they identify him?” Amanda asked.
“Not that we’ve heard,” Dr. Callaghan said. She donned blue gloves and poked and prodded at Tommy’s wound. Even though Nurse Denni had cleaned the wound, it still oozed, a rivulet of blood tracking down the side of Tommy’s whiskery neck and disappearing inside his Giants baseball T-shirt.
“Has anyone taken credit for the attack?” Amanda asked.
“Not that we know of,” Dr. Callaghan said, as she pressed alongside the wound. “The authorities said they called in a group of terrorist experts.”
“And, no one has appeared poisoned or sickened?” Amanda asked.
“Not yet,” Dr. Callaghan said over her shoulder.
“Very strange,” Amanda muttered then removed her phone from her bag and typed a message.
Dr. Callaghan finished her exam of Tommy’s wound and spoke directly to him. “How do you feel?”
“A little dizzy, and my head hurts like hell.”
“I think I can close this wound effectively with staples, and they’re less of a hassle than stitches. What do you think of that?”
He shrugged. “Staples sound good to me.”
Dr. Callaghan looked at Jen, expecting her to chime in.
“I can remove them later,” Jen said.
“We can send a staple remover home with you,” Denni offered.
“Thanks,” Jen said. “I appreciate your generosity. I don’t know if we’ll be here or back in San Francisco, but either way, I’ll deal with them.”
Dr. Callaghan took a prepared syringe from a metal tray and poised her hands above Tommy’s scalp. “I’m going to numb the area with some lidocaine. The first needle poke might feel like a mosquito bite. Are you ready?”
“Whenever you are,” Tommy said.
“The mosquitos are giant in Wisconsin,” Amanda mumbled, as she typed rapid-fire onto her damaged phone screen, drawing an amused smile from Jen.
“They are,” Nurse Denni said. “I take it you don’t have any in San Francisco?”
“Not that I’ve seen,” Amanda said without looking up.
After Dr. Callaghan numbed Tommy’s scalp, Nurse Denni cleaned the wound more vigorously—squirting a bolus of clear solution into it and sopping it up with a white towel—while Dr. Callaghan prepared the stapler. Once Denni was finished, she placed her fingers on Tommy’s wound, pressing it together, while Dr. Callaghan shot staples through his skin, closing it.
The lidocaine was so powerful he didn’t even flinch.
Jen, who was standing at Tommy’s side, chose to watch the stapling rather than look at Amanda.
Suddenly, they were interrupted by a frightened-looking nurse who stepped around the curtain. “Dr. Callaghan, we have a mass casualty situation developing. All hands on deck if you’re finished in here.”
“What?” Dr. Callaghan asked.
The nurse had the undivided attention of everyone in the room. “From the terrorist attack. People who’ve drunk the water are starting to arrive en masse. The parking lot is filling up with cars.”
“Has a mass casualty code been called?” Dr. Callaghan asked.
“Yes,” the nurse said.
“Has Central Command been set up?” Dr. Callaghan quickly disposed of her used gloves in the waste basket.
“Yes,” the nurse said. “The pages went out, and the administrator on call is on her way in.”
“Who is it?”
“Suzanne Regan,” the nurse said.
“Good. I like her. She’s a former nurse,” Dr. Callaghan said. That comment drew a nod from both nurses.
“Facilities is coming with tents for the parking lot, so we can triage people out there,” the nurse said.
“Dr. Dawson, are you in good standing in your practice in San Francisco?” Dr. Callaghan asked.
“Yes,” Jen said, fully anticipating what was coming next.
“Do you have time to help us out?” Dr. Callaghan asked.
“Let me discuss it with my friends, and I’ll let you know in five minutes,” Jen said.
“Very well then,” Dr. Callaghan said in a heavy voice. “You can find me in the center of the action in the ED. I’m sorry to cut short my visit here, but it looks like I’m needed elsewhere. It was nice meeting you, Detective Vietti. I wish you all good luck.”
Everyone shook hands and Dr. Callaghan left.
“Here’s the staple remover, Dr. Dawson.” Denni handed the remover to Jen then followed in Dr. Callaghan’s wake.
“What the fuck?” Tommy exclaimed. “A water terrorist attack?”
“Unbelievable!” Jen said. “I’m seriously considering volunteering to help.”
“Go for it,” Tommy said. “Dave and Jake can drive me home.”
“Aman
da?” Jen asked.
“I think you should,” Amanda said. “In fact, Tommy and I have been asked to help as well.”
Jen looked at Amanda like she was nuts. “Did I miss something?”
At that second, a familiar voice with a Scottish accent asked from behind the curtain, “May I come in?”
“Yes,” Amanda said.
The curtain was thrown back in a dramatic swipe, and none other than Agent Roxanne MacNeil appeared, standing in her mysterious bubble of international spy craft. She looked more refined than her previous faux-grunge image. Her hair was darker—a dirty blonde—and pulled neatly into a pony at the nape of her neck. She wasn’t wearing the heavy, smoky eye shadow that she had in San Francisco, and she looked healthier—like she had gained a few pounds. But those eyes, those intense eyes still looked like indigo-colored coral shining up from the bottom of the sea.
“Good evening,” Roxy said. “I understand you got in a bit of a scrape, Tommy?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, his jaw on the floor. His eyes darted around the room, pinging among the three women. He immediately wondered whether he would be needed a second time that evening to break up a girl fight.
“Jen,” Roxy said, holding out her hand.
“Roxy.” Jen reluctantly shook Roxy’s hand. “What are you doing here?”
Roxy smoothed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was called in to solve the terrorist attack because I oversee certain anti-terrorist units for MI-6 and the CIA.”
Jen looked at Amanda, who didn’t look surprised. “Amanda?”
“Yes?” Amanda asked innocently.
“Did you know about…this?” Jen waved her hand over Roxy’s body, currently clad in all black.
“Sort of,” Amanda said. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you and Tommy that I was fired from my job in San Francisco, and Roxy offered me a job with her unit.”
“What the fuck?!” Jen said.
Amanda held up her hands. “I haven’t accepted Roxy’s offer yet.”
“No wonder you took down Mayor Woo,” Tommy said. “Did he have anything to do with firing you?”
“Of course,” she said.
“What about Ryan? Is he going down too?”
