Intensive Care Crisis

by Karen Kirst

  Curses blistered the air as the man went down. Quickly divesting the man of his single weapon, Julian flattened against the wall and peered around the corner. Kneecap Guy’s cohort was on his way to investigate. That didn’t faze him.

  What caused ice-cold dread to spread through him was the sight of Audrey’s limp form dangling from the weight station. He couldn’t be too late. Not again.

  Stepping fully into the exercise area, he trained his weapon and shot the man’s gun hand. Hissing in agony, he dropped his weapon and, after a second’s indecision, escaped through the side door.

  Julian kicked the gun under a stack of barbells for the authorities to retrieve later. He reached Audrey and immediately took her weight, positioning her against his shoulder to lessen the tension on her neck. “Audrey, can you hear me?”

  He glanced up into her motionless face. Her cheeks and lips still held the blush of color. A good sign. Images of the burning wreckage and the faces of his unresponsive team members poked at his composure. He had asked them the same question. Over and over until his voice had gone hoarse.

  Can you hear me? Wake up. Hold on. The ambulance is coming.

  He shook his head to dislodge the memories. Focus, Tan. Audrey’s life depends upon your actions.

  Dragging a weight bench over with his foot, he positioned her shoes on the soft pad and, not letting go, climbed onto it and unwound the cables with one hand. The flutter of her heartbeat and small, panting breaths filled him with relief. He kept his ears open for foreign sounds. If the guy at the Mercedes was indeed part of the operation, he’d come to see what was taking his buddies so long.

  Finally, when he had her free, he climbed down, hoisted her into his arms and dashed for the women’s bathroom. The locker rooms with toilet stalls were in the adjoining indoor-pool section. These consisted of one-room units with locks on the doors.

  He yanked open the door, ignoring the responding ache in his injured wrist, and gently laid her on the tiles against the wall opposite the sink. After sliding the bolt into place, he returned to her side and did a quick scan for obvious injuries. He would’ve liked to hold her, to cushion her head in his lap, but he didn’t want to exacerbate any hidden injuries. Instead, he smoothed his fingers over her forehead and down her cheek.

  His pulse raced when she arced toward the caress.

  “Audrey, you’re safe now.”

  A groan escaped her parted lips. She reached up and would’ve touched her throat, but he clasped her hand to prevent germs from entering the open scratches. There weren’t many. Mostly the welts were puffy and red. Her eyes flew open.

  “Julian.” Her brow knitted. “How did we get in here?”

  He explained about the thug outside with his flashy ride, as well as her volleyball teammate.

  Terror filled her eyes. “Is Laney safe?”

  “I sent her on a roundabout course to the office,” he explained. He couldn’t verify that her friend had reached her destination.

  “Where are my attackers?”

  “One fled on foot, and the other is incapacitated. There could be a third one who will help them evade authorities.” Julian made a quick call to the police. Disconnecting, he said, “Your friend made it to the office, because several units are already en route. We’ve been instructed to remain here until they say it’s safe to come out.”

  Chest heaving, she started to sit up.

  “Whoa, steady.” He moved to assist her, retracting his hand when she hissed in pain. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

  Easing to a sitting position, she rested her head against the wall and balanced herself with both palms on the floor. “I got in the way of a barbell.”

  Julian shifted closer and lifted her sleeve. The flesh was a mass of dark purple. Concealing a burst of anger, he said evenly, “You’ll need to get that examined.”

  She gingerly rotated her shoulder and raised her arm up and down. “Doesn’t feel broken.”

  “Still, I’m calling for an ambulance.” He took out his cell.

  “No.” Her fingers closed over his wrist. “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  The entreaty in her eyes was at odds with the militant angle of her chin.

  “After what you’ve endured, you need to be evaluated by a physician. At the very least, you’ll need X-rays of that arm and shoulder.”

  Her fingertips pressed into his pulse point. “This is personal, Julian. I want to decide who knows and who doesn’t. If I go there for treatment, every employee will be talking about it.”

  A shiver ripped through her, and he noticed how cold her fingers were. Tucking away his cell, he covered her fingers with his hand and tried to warm them.

  “I can take you to Wilmington.”

  “I’m fine.” She studied his face and sighed. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call Lincoln. He’s a surgeon and good friend.”

  Julian refused to give voice to curiosity. Whether or not she had a boyfriend was none of his business. “Call him.”

  “I’ll ask him to come to my apartment.”

  “Make it my apartment.”

  The protest brewing on her lips died a quick death. “I can’t stay in mine, can I?”

  “Not anytime soon. You’re welcome to my guest bedroom as long as you need it.”

  Her mouth twisted. “That would mean dragging you deeper into this. Putting you in harm’s way. I’ll go to a hotel—”

  “I’m already in this with you.” The thought of Audrey facing these monsters alone was untenable. “I’ve thwarted the enemy’s plans. I’ve wounded two of their own. My name’s on the hit list along with yours.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You did that for me.”

  “I’d do it again if it meant saving you.”

  SIX

  “Apply this antibiotic ointment a couple of times a day, and baby that shoulder. You’re going to be sore for a while.”

  Audrey scooted off the guest-room desk in Julian’s apartment they’d used as a makeshift exam table. “Thanks for coming, Lincoln. I know house calls aren’t in your job description.”

  “Anything to help a friend.” He handed her the ointment tube and returned the extra gauze to his backpack-turned-doctor’s-bag.

  In his late thirties and divorced, Dr. Lincoln Fitzgerald was admired for both his professional skills and charisma. With his smooth olive skin, startling blue eyes and raven hair threaded with silver, he reminded Audrey of a famous Greek tycoon who was often in the news. No wonder Chasity had fallen hard for him.

  “Chasity’s on call this weekend,” he said, “and they needed her to fill a shift. Otherwise, she’d be here demanding answers.”

  The undisguised concern in his eyes tempted her to recount what had happened. Audrey had admired his humility and commitment to local charities ever since she’d come to work at Onslow General. She’d gotten to know him better since he and Chasity became an item last year. The couple had invited her along on multiple outings, and she’d been treated to lavish meals in his luxurious home. Now she considered him part of her inner circle, which was admittedly quite small.

  “The less you know, the better.”

  “That’s hardly a satisfactory answer,” he chided. “We’re both worried about you, Audrey. We want to help, if we can.”

  This recent attack flashed through her brain, evoking panic. She’d blacked out, been on the verge of death, only to regain consciousness in Julian’s care.

  There’s no need to be scared, she consoled herself. Julian’s right outside.

  Somehow, he’d become her safe place. Her harbor in the storm.

  She had a feeling he’d run far and fast if he knew.

  Lincoln slung the backpack over one shoulder and jerked his thumb toward the closed door. “Who’s the guard dog?”

  Out in the central liv
ing area, a television program couldn’t mask the almost constant movement of her host. She could picture him prowling around like a caged jungle cat—all sleek muscle, lethal cunning and harnessed power.

  “He works with my dad.” A simple definition for a man who’d gone to great lengths to save her life. Twice.

  “His name sounds familiar.”

  “Julian is the only survivor of the recent training mishap at Camp Lejeune. You were on vacation at the time, but you might’ve seen his picture in the local papers.”

  Understanding dawned. “I remember reading about the helicopter that went down.” His brows descended. “Is he the reason for your current troubles?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “You trust him, though?”

  Audrey recognized the implication and the telltale hurt. Laying a hand on his sleeve, she said, “He’s involved in this through no fault of his own. I can’t intentionally put you and Chasity in harm’s way.”

  His phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen. “It’s her. She wants an update on your condition.”

  “Tell her I’m fine.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Fine isn’t a word I’d use to describe your current state.”

  “Lincoln.”

  “I’ll be intentionally evasive. How’s that?”

  While he typed out a response, Audrey opened the door and almost collided with Julian’s wide chest. He steadied her, his fingers gentle on her cool, sensitive skin.

  His golden brown gaze scanned her from head to toe before zeroing in on Lincoln. Maybe she was imagining the flare of dislike. Everyone who met Lincoln liked him. Well, except for his ex-wife.

  His fingers trailed down her biceps, past her elbow and along her forearm before falling away. The touch was fleeting and insignificant, she was certain, but she felt the effects all the way down to her toes. How she could think about her reaction to him at a time like this was beyond her.

  “What’s the prognosis?” he asked the surgeon.

  “I’m fine,” she answered for him. Julian’s scent teased her closer, as did his molded shoulders and strong arms.

  Forget it, she scolded herself. There was no need to seek solace in his embrace. She’d dealt with Seth’s death and the ensuing grief on her own. She’d handle this new trial, too.

  Skirting around him, she went into the living room and chose one of the bar stools. Julian had been busy. While she’d been getting examined, he’d laid out a variety of snacks—a bowl of oranges and kiwis, individual trail-mix packets, yogurts and string cheese. She snagged some cheese and peeled open the wrapper.

  Breakfast had been an apple, and there hadn’t been time for lunch. The police had interviewed her and Julian at length and hadn’t released them from the crime scene until every last surface had been swept for prints and DNA samples. Remembering the goon’s expression as he’d watched her struggle, she lost her appetite and barely managed to swallow the last bite.

  A cold soda can was pressed into her hand. Startled, she glanced up and saw understanding in Julian’s face.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ll need to eat more than that to keep up your strength.”

  Lincoln entered from the bedroom. “She’ll require rest, as well.”

  “I’ll rest today,” she responded. “Then I’ll be back on shift tomorrow.”

  Julian frowned. Lincoln shook his head. “I’ll speak to Veronica and arrange for sick leave.”

  She popped up. “You will do no such thing.” Both men stared at her as if she had two heads. “I can’t miss work. I have bills to pay.” Her meager savings were for routine emergencies, like a broken-down car or hefty medical bills.

  Julian leaned against the end of the bar and crossed his arms. “Staying away from the hospital is the wise move.”

  Lincoln, along with the rest of the surgical unit, knew about the storage-room attack. He didn’t know details, however. “He’s right.”

  “This isn’t just about a paycheck. This is about providing adequate patient care. Lincoln, you know we’re straining every day simply to have enough staff to run the unit. It’s dangerous and unethical. If you want to help, put pressure on HR to fill the vacant positions.”

  Before Lincoln could reply, Julian cut him off. “We could ask Jacksonville PD if they’ll station one or two of their men outside your unit. Hospital security would be on the floor. And I’ll be there, as well.”

  “You’re supposed to be recuperating,” she admonished, wrapping her palms around the chilled aluminum can.

  “Sitting there and doing nothing is the same as sitting here and doing nothing.”

  “I don’t like it.” Lincoln looked disgruntled, a rare mood for him. “Too risky.”

  “I can ask Veronica to shadow me. At the first sign of suspicious activity, I’ll clock out and take a leave of absence.”

  “What about your shoulder? I don’t advise lifting anything above five pounds.”

  “Maybe Veronica or another nurse can pitch in.”

  When he’d conceded to her wishes and bid them both goodbye, she turned to Julian.

  “Why did you take my side?”

  His tanned fingers ran lightly over his bandaged wrist and hand. “Because I know what it’s like to be banned from doing what you were born to do.”

  The veneer cracked, allowing her a glimpse of deep-seated anxiety. His future with force recon—and the Marine Corps as a whole—was in jeopardy. She blinked, and the moment passed. He was the implacable, competent marine once more. Untouched by normal human emotion.

  Behind the controlled mask, he had to be wrestling with intense grief and misplaced guilt. Audrey was well-acquainted with both. She wanted to help him, to repay him somehow.

  She curled her hand around his wrapped palm. “I lost someone close to me. I’m here if you need to talk.”

  He glanced down at their joined hands. The heat of his skin warmed her through the gauze. His fingers were long and lean, like a piano player’s, and his palm was wide and sturdy. She found she didn’t want to sever the connection.

  This is what happens when you spend too much time alone. You become supersensitive to the simplest of actions.

  He gently disengaged. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”

  It was a lie, but she didn’t call him on it.

  “Let’s talk about what happened at the gym,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Violent encounters can take a toll if you don’t know how to work through them.”

  Rehashing the evil ordeal was the last thing she wanted right now. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good,” she quipped.

  He merely inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  As he crossed to the desk and rifled through the top drawer, Audrey experienced a pang of regret.

  “Julian—”

  “What are you in the mood for?” He fanned out a sheaf of pamphlets like playing cards. “Italian? Tex-Mex? Chinese? There’s a place on Western Boulevard that rivals my father’s cooking. Their dumplings are ono.”

  “Ono?”

  “Delicious.”

  Audrey hesitated, wanting to continue the conversation but thinking better of it. Julian had the right idea. They would be spending an indeterminate amount of time together for the foreseeable future. Better to keep matters between them as impersonal as possible.

  She pointed to the menu with a dragon printed on the front. “Chinese it is.”

  * * *

  The impenetrable, self-protective shell Julian had cultivated during his years of service wasn’t as foolproof as he’d thought. One sincere overture from Audrey, and he’d seriously considered baring his soul. His palm still tingled from her innocent touch. Clenching his fist, he focused on the dull ache while blocking the remembered sadness and appeal in a pair of enchanting blue eyes.


  His innate sense of self-preservation warned that Audrey Harris had the power to worm beneath his defenses. If he was ever ready to share his private pain, and he doubted he ever would be, he wouldn’t do so with his superior’s daughter.

  Standing in his kitchen, he looked at the tray he’d prepared and shook his head. A mug of herbal tea joined a turkey sandwich, cereal bar and apple. This was a first—playing host to a woman on the run. Pampering others wasn’t his style. Or maybe he hadn’t been in the position before. It wasn’t because he was infatuated or interested, he reassured himself. Audrey hadn’t eaten much of her dinner. Afterward, she’d retreated to the guest bedroom despite giving the impression that she didn’t truly wish to be alone.

  He paused in the guest room’s open doorway. “Mind if I come in?”

  Letting the curtains fall into place, she turned. “Of course not.”

  She’d changed into a pair of worn blue jeans, a black tank top and a thin, zip-up hoodie. The worry and exhaustion cloaking her did nothing to diminish her appeal. There was a vulnerability about her, but also a dogged determination to persevere.

  “I brought you a snack,” he said, sliding the tray onto the desk. “I’m not used to having anyone stay here besides family. While my sisters aren’t shy about raiding the kitchen, I wasn’t sure you’d be so comfortable.”

  Audrey crossed the room to his side, picked up the mug and sniffed. “Smells good.”

  He shifted to the other side of the desk because her soft, flowing tresses and signature fragrance made him hyperaware of her closeness. “You didn’t have much of an appetite earlier, and I don’t want you going hungry.”

  “Thoughtfulness is an admirable quality. Did your parents drill it into you or does it come from growing up with sisters?”

  “How am I supposed to answer that without sounding conceited?”

  She shrugged. “Tell me about your family,” she said, tapping the candid photo pinned to the ribbon-trimmed corkboard above the desk. “How did your parents meet?”

  Julian’s intention to deliver the food and leave evaporated. He picked up the plate and held it out to her. “I talk. You eat.”