Rescue Team

by Candace Calvert

  “I know.” Kate’s throat tightened. Where were you ten years ago, my friend?

  “Great. So I was thinking if you’re not going to California for Thanksgiving, maybe—” Lauren grimaced suddenly, pointing her fork over Kate’s shoulder. “Hunker down. Look at your plate. Barrett Lyon’s sniffing the air. Oh no, he’s heading—”

  “Kate.” Barrett arrived beside them, flashed Lauren a smile. “Lauren, good to see you.” His gaze connected with Kate’s for longer than was comfortable.

  “Was there something you needed?” Kate asked, thinking her friend was holding her fork more like a weapon than a utensil. “I’m grabbing a bite of lunch, and then I’ll be back in the office if you have business to dis—”

  “I only have a few minutes. I’m due at the courthouse.” He shot a glance at Lauren. “If I might interrupt and speak privately with you, Kate?”

  Kate let herself imagine how he’d look with a cafeteria fork stuck between his well-groomed brows. “Lauren, I—”

  “No problem.” Lauren set her fork on the tray and stood. “I wanted to say hello to Dana anyway.”

  “Thanks. Sorry.” Kate’s gaze returned to Barrett as he claimed Lauren’s chair. In a room dotted with scrubs, his beautifully tailored suit made him look like a foreigner.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His lips quirked at the confusion on her face. “Yesterday, when we spoke on the phone. You said you weren’t feeling well.”

  When he asked her out to dinner. Saying, “We should pursue this.”

  “But now . . .” Barrett’s gray eyes seemed to note her new nail polish like it was evidence in a fraud case. “You look fully recovered.”

  Kate refused to feel flustered. “Thank you. Never better.” She lifted her chin. “That is, unless there’s some new problem?” She noted the leather briefcase he’d set on an empty chair.

  He leaned forward slightly. “I spoke with Austin PD this morning.”

  Her throat constricted.

  “The detective who came to your house,” Barrett explained. “He said you gave a limited description of the young woman on the tape. It was dark, obviously. He said it seemed clear to him that your conversation with her was brief. And that she offered nothing to indicate she was in serious distress.”

  Other than grabbing my arm . . . asking if I’d really help her.

  “Which supports any defense the hospital may have to present.” Barrett smiled. “You did well, Kate.”

  “Has there been progress in locating that girl?”

  “Nothing from the photo sent to doctors’ offices and clinics. But I expect the police will get responses now that the local media has it.” He raised his brows. “You probably saw the mention on the news. Last night?”

  “No. I missed it.”

  “At any rate, the police are doing what they can to find Ava Smith. And as I explained before, the best-case scenario liability-wise is that it doesn’t happen. She stays lost, the church buries Baby Doe, and it all dies down.” He tapped the tabletop like he was banging a gavel. “Second-best outcome is that she’s found negligent in her baby’s death.”

  Kate fought a wave of nausea.

  “If that doesn’t happen and the hospital’s backed into a corner,” he continued, “the optimal defense would be—”

  “To put the blame on the triage nurse,” Kate whispered, unable to stop herself from stealing a glance at Dana Connor. Lauren was still at her table.

  “I hope it doesn’t go there. But yes.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get to the courthouse. I wanted to bring you up to speed. And say thank you.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “I’m playing golf this afternoon. With Dub Tarrant,” he added, dropping the hospital board chairman’s name like a winning putt. “I’m sure he’d like to hear that his emergency department director is doing a fine job.”

  Something in his eyes made the statement seem more like a question. Her application for a permanent position would soon be under review. Barrett knew that.

  “Later, then,” he said, reaching for his briefcase. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  Kate managed a weak smile. Then pushed her tray away with a groan. Was Barrett Lyon so sure of her? Confident she’d root for that troubled girl to stay lost and alone with her pain and guilt? Or face arrest and conviction for her baby’s death? Did he think Kate was the kind of person who could point a finger at a fellow nurse and accuse her of negligence? She glanced Dana’s way again, remembering what Lauren said about the question Dana wished she’d asked Kate the day that baby died: “Have you ever made a mistake?”

  Did Barrett really think Kate could do any of those awful things? Still . . . for the first time in so long, there was finally some hope. And so much to lose. If Barrett put in a good word—

  “Hi there!” Judith Doyle set her folded newspaper on the edge of the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You didn’t, really. I was just thinking.” Kate wrinkled her nose. “And avoiding this enchilada.”

  “Probably wise,” Judith agreed. “I wanted to tell you that my volunteer shift ends at three today. You’d mentioned going for coffee. Is that a possibility?”

  “Not today, unfortunately,” Kate told her with regret. “I have to come back for a budget meeting tonight, so I’m leaving a little early to go over some notes at home. Maybe get a short jog in before it starts to rain.” She pulled out her cell phone. “But let’s exchange numbers. And check our calendars—plan for that coffee. Okay?”

  “Sounds good.” Judith paused. “You haven’t seen Trista and her baby, have you?”

  “No. I heard her father signed out of the hospital AMA.”

  “Yes. I’m a little concerned because she usually drives him for those rehab appointments. Brings Harley, sits in our waiting room. She’s not here today. But maybe he’s taking a break because of the surgery.”

  “Could be,” Kate reassured, touched again by the woman’s kindness and dedication. “I wouldn’t worry, Judith.”

  They exchanged numbers, made a tentative date for coffee. As the volunteer left in a swish of pink, Kate noticed she’d forgotten her newspaper. An Austin American-Statesman folded to the editorial page. Kate picked it up, frowned: another commentary from Waiting for Compassion. She skimmed the well-written letter alleging unsafe practices in a local ER. Kate sighed with relief. At least it didn’t appear to be Austin Grace this time.

  - + -

  Wes found Kate exactly where her text indicated she’d be. On the greenbelt near the trailhead in Zilker Park. Next to a bench under the trees.

  His breath snagged. Could she have any idea how beautiful she looked right now?

  “You found me.” She smiled, her face dappled by shadows from the boughs—and by dark clouds overhead. Her hair had gone wavy from the building humidity, her skin almost glowing. “Such as I am.” Kate glanced at her jogging attire: blue-and-gold San José State University T-shirt, shorts over dark running tights. “Pretty grubby. I warned you.”

  “So you did,” he managed to say, though his pulse had taken off as if he’d been the one jogging. “And . . .” Wes closed the space between them in a heartbeat, wrapping his arms around her. She giggled, breath warm against his neck, then clung to him as his hug lifted her nearly off the ground. “I missed you,” he whispered hoarsely with his lips pressed to her hair. “I know I told you I wouldn’t be able to see you today. Then you said you’d be home early . . .”

  “And you . . .” Kate regained her footing and leaned back just enough to blink up at him. Her expression was like a child reaching for a soap bubble let loose from a wand, not sure it would last if she touched it. The look blossomed into a smile that warmed his heart. “You couldn’t stay away?” she asked.

  “No.” He reached out to rest his hand along the side of her face, brushing his thumb over her moist skin. “I couldn’t.”

  There was a sharp crack overhead and then a huge rumbling roll
of thunder.

  “Oh, wow.” Kate stared at the sky.

  The ground trembled.

  “I think the temperature just dropped like a rock,” she said, hugging her arms around herself.

  “Texas.” Wes shook his head. “There’s a saying: ‘If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes and it’ll change.’” He took hold of her hand, wanting the connection again. “I’ve been following the reports. Dust storm in Monterrey, Mexico, blowing into south Texas. And a band of showers headed in from the west. We could see some strange weather.” He glanced away as a pair of joggers passed them, heading through Zilker Park.

  “I’m glad I got most of my run in, anyway.” Kate’s warm fingers moved inside his, making him very aware that talking about weather was a big waste of time.

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  “It’s like five minutes away. Less.” Kate shook her head. “I could walk there before I climbed into that big truck and got my seat belt fastened. Besides, we both have meetings to get to. If the weather doesn’t interfere.”

  Wes eyed the trail that headed toward the greenbelt, thinking of its trees and dense stands of shrubbery. Kate had just come through there, and Gabe thought the inmate was going to reveal the area as a crime scene.

  “Wes?” She smiled at him, that bubble-wand look back on her face. As if she weren’t used to someone being concerned for her safety. “I’m fine walking. It’s all good.”

  “I’m driving you,” he insisted, drawing her into his arms again. “Right after—” Wes cast a discreet glance at the mercifully vacant trail, then sighed and dipped his head low—“this.”

  - + -

  Kate lifted her face for Wes’s kiss, not sure if the insistent thrumming in her ears was her heartbeat or another roll of thunder. The first splash of rain hit her forearm just as his lips met hers. She didn’t care. He was tender, thorough, and—

  “Oh! Water down my back!” She laughed against his lips as rain streamed between her shoulder blades. Her laugh turned to a sigh as Wes pulled her closer to kiss her again. And again. Her lips, cheek, neck . . . Rain trickled along her scalp, dribbled from her ear, its cool contrast making the warmth of his skin against hers even more wonderful.

  “It’s pouring!” Kate leaned back, breath almost catching at the sight of his handsome face soaked with rain. She blinked as drops wet her lashes. Then glanced down at the puddle forming around her feet. “You said two feet can carry an SUV away,” she continued, raising her voice over a humid gust of wind. “I’m a lot smaller.”

  There was another flash of lightning, and thunder rumbled.

  “My feet are soaked through to my socks. I think we should—” Kate gasped as Wes hoisted her high into his arms.

  “Hey, wait,” she protested, half-laughing as he began to stride toward the road, carrying her under the darkening sky. “What—?”

  “Consider yourself rescued,” he told her as she squirmed in a weak show of resistance. “Like it or not.”

  I do, she decided, smiling. Not that she’d tell him, of course.

  They were at her house in five minutes and he’d driven off to his meeting in less than seven, time for one more kiss—two if you counted the one that happened when she ran back to grab the water bottle she’d left on the seat. They’d managed it with impetuous acrobatics, Kate on her tiptoes and nearly doing a chin-up on the driver’s window and Wes leaning out. Both of them dripping from the rain.

  She wasn’t sure if she’d run or floated on air to the shelter of the house.

  Kate decided she’d shower and fix something to eat before heading back to the hospital. She grabbed the TV remote and gave it a click, laughing when she saw the puddle she was leaving on the hardwood floor. She’d get a towel to wipe it up. Hopefully the weather would clear before she left the house again. It didn’t really matter because even a Texas “thunder bumper” couldn’t dampen how she was feeling right now. Warm despite her soaking clothes. Cared for, safe . . . hopeful? Yes, maybe even that.

  She looked at her mother’s photo on the mantel, feeling her throat tighten. “Mom, I’ve met someone,” she whispered. “I think it’s good. I think—”

  The TV news blared, interrupting her.

  “Police are asking for anyone who might recognize this young woman—” Ava Smith’s shadowy image filled the screen—“in connection with the death of a newborn infant abandoned in the emergency department of Austin Grace Hospital,” the newscaster continued. “Any information should be—”

  Kate switched off the TV, shuddering against the chill of her sodden clothing for the first time. She glanced toward the window as rain continued to pelt even more heavily. Thudding like a lumberjack’s boots now. She squinted and walked closer, confused at what she was seeing. The window glass was brown with . . . mud? It looked like mud, streaks of it. But the windows had been cleaned a week ago. What on earth was happening?

  She walked, clothes still dripping, to the front door. Then out onto the porch, her mouth sagging open in confusion. She stepped onto the driveway, felt the sloppy brown grit splash her skin. It really was—

  “Raining mud!” her landlord shouted over the rosemary hedge and another menacing rumble of thunder. He raised his golf umbrella, splotched with the sludge. “Mexican dust storm hit that west Texas front. It happens.” He pointed to her car. “Don’t wipe it down. It’ll scratch your paint. Use the hose.”

  “Oh. All right. Thanks.” She stepped back into the house, stunned. Mud from the sky? Strangely, she thought of fireflies. One of her favorite things about Texas. Bright, magical, hopeful. What happened to fireflies when it rained mud?

  She stared at the blank TV screen, remembering Ava Smith’s face on the security camera clip. And Barrett Lyon’s comment that Kate had done well when questioned by the police detective, his unnerving confidence that she would continue to do as he dictated. Kate glanced once again at her mother’s photo. Only moments ago she’d been giddy and hopeful enough to risk saying out loud that this new relationship with Wes could be good. Then it rained mud.

  Her cell phone played its text ringtone. She walked to the coffee table, picked it up. Her father.

  Arrived in Phoenix. Home tomorrow. Seeing you was good, Katy.

  She closed the message with a sigh.

  If her landlord hadn’t said that raining mud wasn’t unheard of in Texas, Kate would have thought it was some sort of awful sign. From God, maybe. That her unforgivable mistakes doomed her like fireflies snuffed out by muddy rain. She’d have thought hope was impossible. But now . . .

  She hugged herself, remembering the warmth of Wes’s arms. Lauren’s friendship. And this newest proof that things were okay: her father’s text. Tomorrow he’d be in California. Before long Kate could forget that he had sat in this room and bared his soul.

  Yes. Things were back to normal. Better than that—they were bordering on “good” for the first time in forever. She took a slow breath. Right?

  “A NEAR DROWNING FROM THE STORM?” Kate peered at the ER tech from under her umbrella, raising her voice over the insistent drumming of rain on the ambulance bay overhang. She saw him nod confirmation.

  Until yesterday, Kate wouldn’t have believed such a thing was possible. But the downpour hadn’t quit except for a few hours around dawn. Last evening’s budget meeting had been canceled, and Kate lost count of how many times she’d been awakened in the night. By thunder, howling wind, and incredible flashes of lightning so bright she could see them through her closed eyelids. She glanced up at the sky—at least it was standard-issue rain, not muddy sludge.

  A handful of gathered staff hoisted a rainbow of umbrellas and awaited the Code 3 ambulance arrival. Kate caught sight of Dana Connor, saw her adjust her umbrella to avoid eye contact.

  Kate turned back to the tech. “This homeless woman was swept away by rushing water?” Sirens wailed as the ambulance pulled in behind the hospital.

  “From a group camping under a bridge,” he explained,
raindrops beading on his rust-colored beard. “Water rose and grabbed her sleeping bag and tent.” He shook his head. “A teenager. Runaway, I’d bet.”

  Kate’s stomach shuddered.

  “She was probably dragged down by the wet sleeping bag—like the proverbial cement overcoat—and hauled downstream,” the tech continued. “Then got tangled in an uprooted cedar tree, facedown. Good thing someone had a working cell phone.” He stepped forward, rain sluicing over his surgical cap as the ambulance pulled to a stop and began its backing-up beeping. “Here we go.”

  The ambulance doors burst open, and through a humid blur of rain, Kate saw the young girl on the stretcher. Very young. A paramedic hunched over her, one hand holding a face mask and the other squeezing a plastic Ambu bag. No cardiac compressions, but—

  “Trauma room one,” Kate directed above the din of voices, then closed her umbrella and trotted alongside the hustling stretcher shoulder to shoulder with Dana.

  “Carly Udall. Near drowning,” a paramedic reported as they clattered into the trauma room. “Sixteen-year-old, no available medical history. Underwater for unknown time; Glasgow Coma Scale 9 or 10. Glucose check 78. Some abrasions, no obvious head or neck injury. BP 100 over 60. Monitor shows sinus tach at 108. Respirations 32 and shallow. Lips dusky. Wheezes, crackles—pulse ox 87 percent on high-flow oxygen with bag assist.”

  The girl’s face was pale behind the rescue mask, her chin tucked into a protective cervical collar. She groaned and tried to raise her arm. A second medic lowered it, checked the tape on the IV, then gently plucked a twig from her soaking blonde hair. “Easy, Carly . . .”

  The paramedic squeezed the Ambu bag, supplementing her breathing efforts.

  “Let’s move her,” the ER physician instructed. “On my count. One, two . . .”

  “I’ve got it,” Dana said, moving alongside. Her eyes, unreadable, connected with Kate’s. “I can handle this.”

  “Right.” Kate stepped away from the stretcher, glancing to where the respiratory therapists were preparing for ventilatory assistance. BiPAP, probably, to enhance breathing through bi-level positive pressure. They’d also opened the intubation tray and laid out both the standard and fiber-optic laryngoscopes, as well as an assortment of endotracheal tubes—just in case. Kate moved to the crash cart, pulled out the necessary drugs for emergency intubation. Sedation and a paralyzing agent—this doctor called himself old-school in his preference for Versed and vecuronium.