Intensive Care Crisis

by Karen Kirst

  Her gaze glued to the monitor, she willed his heart to respond.

  It didn’t.

  She resumed CPR, putting her all into it. “Come on, Sergeant,” she urged. “Fight.”

  “My turn,” the nurse told her when Audrey would’ve continued.

  Julian’s body received another jolt of electrical current. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as Audrey waited for his rhythm to settle.

  Dr. Menendez’s voice cut through her preoccupation, ordering her to administer amiodarone.

  She didn’t immediately move. Her attention bounced between Julian’s face and the monitor. Come on. Please—

  His heart rate slowed. “Yes, that’s it,” Audrey murmured.

  “Harris,” the doctor snapped.

  Audrey leaped toward the crash cart and the medications stored there. By the time the team got him stabilized and left, she was shaking. She lingered by his bedside, reassured by his restored color and the rise and fall of his chest.

  Chasity walked over, her eyes troubled. Although needed in pre-op, Veronica had ordered she return until Julian left the recovery area. “He’s going to be moved upstairs.”

  “I expected as much.”

  Because of his cardiac arrest, they would want to keep him under observation for a couple of days. Audrey wouldn’t be able to watch over him. Maybe it was better to keep her distance, anyway. Maybe he’d be safe as long as he stayed far away from her.

  She turned, and her sneaker nudged something. She crouched and, peeking beneath the bed, found a syringe. It wasn’t hers. She’d discarded the one she’d used in the sharps container.

  “Chasity, get Veronica.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Pulling a single glove from the box on the counter, she used it to gingerly pick up the syringe. “Tell her we need the police.” At her friend’s confused look, she said, “Tell her I’ve found evidence the intruder left behind.”

  With this in their possession, they could identify the substance he’d injected into Julian and dust for fingerprints that could end this crime spree before anyone else got hurt.

  * * *

  Julian had had enough of hospitals. He was supposed to have gone in and gotten out in a matter of hours. Because of the incident that had nearly killed him, he’d been forced to stay longer than originally planned. Answers had proven elusive, thanks to tight-lipped administrators. He knew they were closing ranks in case he decided to pursue legal action.

  At least he was home, finally, with his own bed and his own television and utter privacy.

  Fitting another puzzle piece in place, he flexed the fingers of his injured hand and ground his teeth together. Two days after his procedure, the pain was dull and throbbing. Sinking against the soft leather chair, he stared at the calendar pinned to the corkboard above his desk. The serene beach photograph of Oahu’s Lanikai Beach didn’t distract him from the red lines slashing out every February day he’d missed work. Eight days gone. The entire month of January had been a wash.

  Rolling the chair back, he stood and stalked to the apartment’s compact kitchen and perused the fridge’s meager contents. His appetite hadn’t returned, and he wasn’t interested in the assorted yogurts or chicken salad of indeterminable dates.

  The doorbell chimed. Probably one of his buddies coming to cheer him up. That seemed to be the goal these days—distract Julian from the accident, remind him that he shouldn’t feel guilty. His frustration building, he swung the door open and promptly forgot the words he’d been formulating.

  “You.” He stared at the fresh-faced brunette in his doorway. “You were at the hospital. You were my nurse.”

  She wiped her palms on the outside of her blue scrubs. “I’m Audrey Harris. I’m—”

  “Gunny’s daughter.”

  Julian used the door to support his weight, confusion setting in. Hers was the face dominating his memories. In fact, the expression of deep disquiet she wore now matched what he remembered of her. But was it real? Because it wasn’t uncommon for him to see her around the complex. He’d been introduced to her while in a hospital bed, the first time he’d been admitted. His superior, Gunnery Sergeant Trent Harris, was infinitely proud of his only child. Protective, too. While Harris had been happy to introduce her to one of his marines, there was no question he expected Julian to keep his distance.

  “You remember me?” Edging closer to the door frame to let a young mom with a baby on her hip pass, Audrey’s big blue eyes clouded. “I didn’t think you would.”

  He noted how expressive her eyes were, how clear and unguarded. In fact, her entire face was a billboard advertisement for her feelings. Currently, worry creased her forehead and weighted her full, pink lips into a frown.

  “Did Gunny send you?”

  “No. I came to your hospital room thinking you might like a break from cafeteria food.” She lifted a brown paper bag. “I didn’t know you’d been discharged this afternoon.”

  “What is that?”

  “Soup. Two kinds, since I don’t know your preferences.”

  “You brought me soup.”

  Why would she do that? He was technically a stranger. Unless... Was her conscience bothering her? Was she the reason he’d coded?

  “Your choice of chicken noodle or vegetable beef.”

  He didn’t feel like company, but his mom had preached the importance of good manners. Besides, he might be able to pry some answers from Audrey Harris.

  “Why don’t you come inside?”

  As she stepped past him, her sweet scent struck him as both exotic and familiar, not quite citrusy yet not floral, either. He couldn’t place it and ceased trying. The pleasure he used to find in sorting out details and mulling over conundrums eluded him now.

  The nurse stopped beside his desk. She was tall and svelte. He’d seen her jogging in the park and participating in their complex’s organized sports.

  Her wide gaze soaked in the leather furniture, big-screen television, lava lamp and hermit crab tank. She zeroed in on the map of his home state framed above the couch.

  “You’re from Hawaii?”

  He closed the door and stifled a sigh. He’d struggled to make small talk with friends recently, much less strangers. “Born in New York. My father’s Chinese. Mom’s American. We moved to Oahu when I was eight.”

  “Must’ve been wonderful to grow up in paradise.”

  “It has its perks.” There were downsides, too, like any other place. Expensive rent. Traffic jams.

  She studied the surfboard propped in the corner.

  “You surf?” he asked, not really interested.

  “I never learned. I preferred to play beach volleyball.”

  “There are plenty of people willing to teach you.” At the sudden question in her eyes, he added, “For a fee. Ask the local shops.”

  “Maybe,” she said, noncommittal.

  Julian crossed to her. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Her thick waves were restrained by an elastic band. He had the inane thought that he’d never seen her hair down and wondered how long it was.

  She thrust the sack at him. “I, um, hope you like at least one of them.”

  He accepted the offering, set it on the counter and leaned against a bar stool. “Mahalo.”

  “How’s your pain level?” She gestured to the gauze encasing his arm and wrist. “Are you taking the prescribed antibiotics?”

  “It’s tolerable. And yes, Nurse Harris, I’m following orders. You could say I’ve grown accustomed to that.”

  “Right.” Her gaze swept the length of him, taking in his marine-issued green T-shirt, black pants and socks. This wasn’t a flirtatious or interested inspection. Audrey Harris was worried about him. Or worried about her job?

  “You were there when I went into cardiac arrest, weren’t you?”

 
; Startled by the abrupt question, she sagged against his desk, her hip perilously close to the puzzle he’d been laboring over for weeks.

  “What happened in the recovery room, Audrey?” he asked. “Why is it that, more than thirty-six hours after I was supposed to have had a routine procedure and discharge, I still don’t have answers?”

  “I can’t say,” she whispered.

  He resisted the urge to use his physical stature to intimidate her. His goal wasn’t to frighten her. “Did you make a mistake?” He kept his tone casual. “Did you give me the wrong medicine?”

  There. A telltale flicker of guilt. “No.”

  Unable to contain his impatience, he straightened and took a single step toward her. “I almost died thanks to hospital error. I deserve to know the truth.”

  “It wasn’t hospital error,” she blurted, popping up from the desk.

  “Oh?”

  “Someone masquerading as hospital staff entered recovery and administered a lethal dose of epinephrine.”

  “What?”

  “We don’t know his identity. The police weren’t able to get fingerprints off the syringe. They’re combing through security footage, but there are many areas of the building that aren’t covered.” Her dark brows snapped together. “I’m sorry, Julian.”

  Vague memories of a man wearing a surgical mask emerged. He hadn’t spoken, but the intent in his eyes had unsettled Julian. He’d worn latex gloves and had a short ponytail.

  “I saw him.”

  “You did? What does he look like? If you can give a description—”

  “His face was obscured. The curtain was drawn and the light behind my bed turned off.”

  “I turned it off so you could rest,” she admitted, biting her lip.

  He paced to the window. There wasn’t much activity in the parking lot below or the public park bordering their Jacksonville complex. This was the dinner hour, when people would be sharing meals with their families. He ignored the pang of loneliness. What right did he have to feel lonely? His team members, his brothers—Paulson, Akins, Rossello and Cook—didn’t have the luxury.

  “I don’t have enemies.” His adversaries inhabited foreign soil. They didn’t know him by name. They only knew his organization—United States Marine Corps Force Reconnaissance. “This can’t be connected to me.”

  “I should go. I’ve already said too much.”

  Her shoulders were hunched and her mouth pinched. She was hiding something. Blocking her exit, he said, “Where were you when the intruder got to me?”

  The color drained from her face. “I had another patient. She was ill. I stepped out to get her a cup of ice.” Her lashes swept down. “When I returned, I saw the curtain drawn. I saw his outline. I tried to stop him and would’ve gone after him, but you’d gone into V-tach. I had to begin CPR at once—”

  “You saved my life?” Julian attempted to picture her springing into heroine mode. She hadn’t caused his brush with death. She’d kept him from succumbing to it.

  “I did what I was trained to do.”

  He recognized the refusal to take credit. Audrey Harris, RN, didn’t view her job as extraordinary. Sometimes force-recon marines got their names in the paper or received medals from government officials. Like Audrey, Julian had been trained for specific tasks and taught to react to emergencies. He didn’t think of himself as special because of it.

  Her phone beeped. She took it from her pocket and, reading the screen, frowned. “I have to go.”

  “I have more questions.”

  “I’m in apartment 478, on the other side of the elevators and vending machines. If you have any questions regarding your recovery, come by anytime.”

  The emergence of stubborn resolve surprised him. He hadn’t seen past the very real apprehension cloaking her. But she was the daughter of a career marine. What had he expected? A wilting flower?

  Deliberately stepping around him, she reached for the doorknob.

  “You should know I don’t give up easily,” he said.

  Audrey paused. “Get some rest, Sergeant Tan.”

  In other words, focus on complete healing instead of pursuing this mystery.

  When she’d left, he returned to his puzzle but had trouble concentrating. Audrey knew more than she was willing to share. Was she worried about compromising her position at the hospital? Or was it something far more serious?

  Either way, he was determined to discover the truth.

  THREE

  Audrey tugged at the wet material clinging to her skin and grimaced. Her foot had gotten caught on the hospital bed wheel, and she’d stumbled, spilling apple juice down her front. If it had been water, she would’ve let it air-dry. But the juice would start to smell foul. And it was sticky.

  She headed for the door. “I’m going to get a new set of scrubs from supply.”

  Veronica, who’d hovered like a thundercloud since the incident, looked up from her handheld device. Her garish red lips formed a disgruntled slash. “Hurry up.” She tilted her head at the unoccupied beds. “Our ten o’clock knee replacement is almost done.”

  In the hallway, she removed her cap and tucked it in her pocket. She readjusted the band holding her hair in place as she navigated the brightly lit hall. A security guard passed and nodded in greeting. There hadn’t been any more problems with her patients, for which she was grateful. Almost losing Julian had rattled her. He didn’t play a role in her life, but there was something about the stoic marine that touched a chord inside. Maybe it was the fact he’d ignored his own safety to pull the others out of that wrecked helicopter.

  His striking looks had nothing to do with it, she reassured herself. Neither did his brooding demeanor or the loneliness and grief he tried to hide from the world.

  Pushing thoughts of the sergeant from her mind, she left the surgical unit, passed through the central lobby area and entered a stairwell that would take her down to the basement level. Their unit’s supply room had run out of space months ago. Until they could rearrange stock or create more storage, overflow was located in a secondary area that didn’t see much traffic.

  Muted orange-yellow light spilled down the concrete stairs, drawing attention to gouges in the cement walls and the stair rail’s peeling paint. At the bottom, she shouldered open the heavy door. A vinegary odor emanating from the basement labs greeted her in the narrow hallway. She didn’t pass a single person as she followed the worn, cracked tiles to the room at the end. Inside, she flipped the switch. Only about half of the overhead lights flickered on, leaving much of the high shelving systems in shadow.

  “Great,” she muttered. With no windows to admit natural light, it was going to take time to dig through the scrubs to find her size.

  She wove through the network of short aisles to reach the rear wall. Rounding the last section, Audrey nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud crash clattered right behind her. Her hand pressed to her thrumming heart, she pivoted and saw that her foot had dislodged a mop propped against the wall. Crouching down, she grabbed the wooden handle off the hard tiles and set it right again.

  Another sound reached her, then...the grinding of sand beneath a rubber shoe sole.

  The hair on her arms stood at attention. Audrey did a complete turn in the tight passage, between wooden shelves and a painted block wall.

  “Hello?”

  The thought of the person who’d invaded the recovery room flashed in her mind. Had the thief decided his current methods weren’t working? After all, she hadn’t quit. Hadn’t been fired. Hadn’t remained silent.

  Had he switched targets?

  Audrey remained frozen for long minutes, her ears straining for out-of-place clues that she wasn’t alone. There was nothing. Hurrying to the stacks, she sorted through shirts and pants for her size, too distracted to worry about tidying up after herself.

  “Th
ere. Done.”

  A presence registered behind her before she could turn around to leave. Measured breathing. The rustle of clothing.

  Adrenaline charged through her system too late. Something hard and unyielding came up and over her head and pressed against her throat, cutting off her air supply. Silencing her.

  The scrubs slipped from her fingers. Reaching up, she gripped the stick. Can’t breathe.

  She couldn’t dislodge it. He was immovable, her captor, his arms and chest forming a vise around her.

  Dots danced in her vision. She struggled. Writhed. Kicked. Her lungs stretched to the bursting point.

  Audrey reached up to claw at his face. If she could gouge his eyes—

  He increased the pressure. Pain was a scream lodged in her throat.

  As consciousness ebbed, thoughts of her dad filled her with sadness. The loss of Audrey’s mother had almost destroyed him. What would burying his only child do?

  Her body was growing limp. She was out of time.

  A tear dripped down her cheek.

  Shouts pierced the black cloud. Suddenly, the arms around her went slack. He let the mop fall and spun away from her.

  Audrey swayed and fell to her knees. A scuffle ensued between her attacker and would-be rescuer. In the murky light, she recognized the stark white dressing on the second man’s arm.

  “Julian,” she gasped.

  He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be confronting an attacker in his condition, most likely the same man who tried to kill him mere days ago.

  Julian blocked the other man’s fist with his good arm, and then used his leg to land a forceful kick to his opponent’s gut. When the man’s body glanced off the shelf, Julian tackled him. The pair hit the floor in a blur of blows and deflections, their grunts loud in her ears.

  Her attacker was clad in black. A ski mask obscured his face. His greater bulk made him a fearsome foe. However, he was less agile than the marine. Julian quickly gained control of the situation. He pinned the man on his stomach and wedged his knee against his spine.

  After removing a pistol tucked beneath the man’s suitcoat, he cast a searching glance in her direction. “You okay?”