Desi’s laugh came out lighter this time. “Another mother-daughter pair that knows how to enjoy each other.”
Max put an arm around Desi. “I’m glad the Lord sent a great parent into your life.”
“It’s not like having Dad back, but it’s more than I ever expected.”
“Where is the mom-in-law-to-be?”
“She stopped at the nurses’ station to ask directions to Dr. Braniff’s office while I checked to see how you people were holding up.”
“Were dandy, so you go get the scoop on Tony.” Max waved toward the elevators.
Desi turned to see Gina approaching.
The woman wore a tight smile. “The practitioners’ offices are on the second floor.”
Desi raised a hand toward Max. “Keep up the prayers.”
“You got it.” Anxious hope glowed from her green eyes.
On the way down to the second floor, Desi’s stomach rode in her throat as if the bottom had dropped out of the elevator. They found the doctor’s office by two minutes to three, but waited another fifteen minutes for him to show up.
He ushered them into his carpeted domain with a smile and an apology. “Things always take longer than you think. Have a seat.” He waved toward a pair of guest chairs. Braniff’s desk was crowded with medical journals and office paraphernalia. He jiggled his computer mouse. “Give me a minute to check the results from the blood draw.”
Gina settled into her chair; Desi perched on the edge of hers. The doctor’s lips pursed as he clicked his mouse and scanned pages. Desi dragged her gaze away and studied cherry-wood bookshelves stuffed with medical tomes. She knew better than to stare at someone as if she could will an outcome. Dozens of boardroom drills while administrators considered the merits of HJ Securities had taught her that manifest anxiety was counterproductive.
Good grief, if she could keep her cool in a Mexican museum surrounded by hostile board members and a pair of Greybeck scoundrels, she could control herself now. Maybe. Desi’s fingers dug into her legs. She would not leap across the desk to throttle answers out of the doctor.
Braniff unwound his stethoscope from his neck and set it on the desk. “You’ve probably heard wondrous tales about children resuscitated after as much as an hour under water in hypothermie conditions. With adults, the opportunity for resuscitation and recovery is much shorter.”
Gina nodded. Desi sat stiff.
“We used extreme measures to restore Tony’s body temperature. Every drop of his blood was removed, warmed, and then fed back into his body. A parient can go into shock and die during the process. And then we were forced to perform an emergency splenectomy. Tony’s superior physical condition contributed to his ability to withstand the trauma of medical intervention, on top of the other traumas. Now that he’s conscious, apparently with all his mental faculties, a number of hurdles remain.”
The doctor leaned forward and folded his hands. “The body’s natural defense mechanisms during hypothermia ensure that blood flow to vital organs is the last to be disrupted. But his body temperature fell so low, and he was without oxygen for so long—” He frowned.
“Cut to the chase, Doctor.” Gina’s tone was well modulated but scalpel sharp.
Desi suppressed an urge to cheer. The next best thing to a leap across the desk—a lionhearted mom.
Dr. Braniff consulted his computer screen. “His lab results aren’t what we’d like to see in regard to liver function, but with medication, proper diet, and time, livers regenerate. His kidneys are the main concern. He appears to have acute tubular necrosis, a rare complication of severe hypothermia. The breakdown of muscle tissue has overwhelmed the kidneys with protein. In most cases, given time, the organs clear up and recover fully, but…” He fiddled with his stethoscope.
Desi gripped the arms of her chair. “Not always.” Was that her voice so firm and clear?
Braniff’s expression remained clinically stoic. “I think we can be confident that his kidneys will recover to a degree, but to what degree is unknown at this point. He could require periodic dialysis for the rest of his life. But that is the least likely scenario.”
“However, you want us to be aware of the possibility.” Gina clasped her hands together on her lap.
The doctors face softened. “Yes. I would do you no favors to withhold the complete picture.”
Desi laid her hand on top of Gina’s. “Does Tony—” Her throat filled, and she cleared it. “Does Tony know?”
The doctor nodded. “In general terms.”
Tony’s mother puffed out a long breath. “We appreciate your frankness, Dr. Braniff.”
“Actually, my name is Frank. You can call me that if you like.”
“Very well, Dr. Frank.” Gina canted her head. “No, that doesn’t work. Sounds like a character from a Shelley novel.”
The doctor laughed. “I’m glad my last name is Braniff.”
“Then I shall continue calling you Dr. Braniff. That works best in the context where you are my sons doctor. And now I have a few questions.”
“Fire away.” His gaze took on a fresh level of respect and admiration.
“What about Tony’s lungs and his heart?”
“His lungs sounded clear this morning, but we’ve been pumping antibiotic into him to stave off pneumonia. His heart sounded good too, but the tale won’t be told until we give him a stress test a few weeks down the road. For the moment, getting his strength back will be challenge enough. As an athletic man, hes going to be appalled at how weak he is.”
Desi could vouch for that. Not being able to do for himself would irk Tony to no end. Gina had pegged her son spot-on. Heel be a baaad patient. “How long will he be in the hospital?”
“Until either he receives his first dialysis, or we see his kidneys start to work.” He fiddled with his stethoscope between thumb and forefinger. “Were doing all we can to facilitate the latter by regulating his diet and fluid intake. He’s receiving an IV diuretic and something to reduce potassium levels in the blood. Also, we’ll get him up in a chair today, perhaps even allow a short walk, which may stimulate his functions. He’ll be weak from trauma and woozy from pain meds, so orderlies will support him.”
Gina nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard that activity can be a good internal stimulant. But why on earth is the poor boy bruised from top to bottom? And how did his spleen get ruptured? Can a fall into the water do that?”
“I understand that when he was found, the swells were slamming his body into the quay. Were luck—” He stopped. “We can be thankful we’re not dealing with broken bones.”
Desi mustered her thoughts, and one item stood out. “The first thing Tony’s going to worry about is his job.”
“You are wrong, mia figlia.” Gina touched her cheek. “The first thing he will think about is you.”
“But what if he can’t return to the FBI? Losing his career will destroy him!”
Enough lying around. Tony yawned, and his jaw creaked. He rubbed it and two-day-old whiskers rasped his palm. He must look as bad as he felt, but at least he didn’t feel as bad as he had a few hours ago. His nap had done some good. Chased away all the company too.
With no one here to cluck over him, he might even make it out of bed. A man needed to jump to his feet after life knocked him down. His dad drilled that advice into Tony before the senior Lucano left his family to keep them off the radar of a mobster with a vendetta. After Dad walked out—well, Tony hung on to that standard through all the anger and confusion, and he hadn’t regretted it.
He lifted one arm over his head, then the other. A groan left his lips. His muscles hadn’t complained this bad since he was a kid newly enrolled in martial arts class.
Work through the pain. You can do it, Lucano.
He fumbled until he located the button that raised the head of the bed and pressed it until the mattress stopped moving. Whoops! A little dizzy there. He waited for the room to right itself.
With the light off and the blinds mostly clo
sed, shadows striated the walls. In one dark corner crouched an armchair with a big blob draped over it. Some kind of medical equipment? On the opposite wall, a closet stood at attention near an open doorway that must lead to a bathroom—which he didn’t need to use right now. Unfortunately.
He shoved away the doctor’s unvarnished words about renal failure. Find a short-term goal and go for it. A stroll across the room to open the blinds made a good excuse for a walk.
Tony tossed the covers away and flopped his legs off the bed. Breath hissed between his teeth. Man, it hurt to move.
He glanced down at himself. Why couldn’t they have given him some decent pajamas? He felt ridiculous in this hospital gown, and the open back chilled his spine. Good thing no one was here to see, particularly since that stupid catheter led to a bag—still all but empty—on a low hook of his IV pole.
He stared at the few feet between him and the window. Every inch stretched a mile. Oh, well, he ran many miles a day. He couldn’t let a few baby steps intimidate him. Maybe he could use the IV pole as a mobile support. Smart idea. Nothing wrong with the old noggin anyway. He wrapped the hand with the IV line in it around the pole. Cold! He jerked the hand away. Since when did a little cold bother him? He let out a long breath.
Since someone, probably McCluskey’s guys, fished him out of the big drink in the middle of winter. Mental note—thank McCluskey.
Tony grabbed the pole. Fish or cut bait, Lucano. He eased off the bed and yelped as his bare feet hit the linoleum. Tremors shot up his body, invading his brain and edging his vision with black. He wobbled a step forward, and his toe connected with the base of the pole. The pole teetered toward him, bag wagging, and his knees buckled.
Someone shouted as he hit the floor, IV apparatus crashing around him. Sharp pains in his hand and shoulder competed with shrieks of abused bruises. He lay on his side, not daring to move. Groans escaped between clenched teeth.
The light flipped on, and Tony clamped his eyes shut. A familiar voice fried the air with choice words. Someone touched him, and Tony squinted up at Stevo kneeling beside him. Ah, the dark blob from the chair in the corner.
Tony shot him a jaw-clenched grin. “Sorry…to disturb…your beauty rest.”
Hand on the call button, Stevo scowled back. Typical expression, except for the fear in his ice-blue eyes. “You trying to kill yourself, Lucano? Pull a fool stunt like this again, and I’ll do it for you.” He vented another colorful thought. “Your hand is bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“That may be…the least…of our problems…I think I broke—”
Tony spiraled into blackness.
Dr. Braniff leaned his elbows on his desk and folded his hands in front of him. “The verdict isn’t in about his career. His health information waiver with the FBI allows me to share medical information with his immediate supervisor. I plan to recommend a medical leave of absence of at least twelve weeks. We should know in that amount of time if Tony will still be suited for work as an agent.”
Desi’s heart clunked into her toes. How could she bear the look in Tony’s eyes if he was disqualified from the work he loved? But she needed to be there for him if that moment came. They could still have a life together. Please God, let him see that. Besides, didn’t a leave of absence offer a great opportunity for a wedding and honeymoon?
Desi met Gina’s gaze and read in the older woman’s eyes the same determination to share the pain and make something good happen in spite of it. “Let me be the one to tell him, okay? I’ll choose the time and—”
“He knows, cara. If the doctor has given Tony even a little of this information, he understands that his job is at stake.”
“I need to go to him. I—”
The ring of the desk telephone sent her nerves skittering.
The doctor picked up. “Braniff” His nostrils flared, and then he rose. “I’ll be right there.” He cradled the handset. “It seems our star patient has overexerted himself and taken a tumble. We may have a broken bone after all.”
Twelve
I’m a blockhead.” With his hospital bed raised to sitting position, Tony gazed at the pair of stern-faced women. The ache in his cracked collarbone added a wordless scold. “I confess and repent. My hop out of bed yesterday was temporary insanity. It won’t happen again.”
His mother sniffed. “So you will ask for help?”
“Sure. When I need it.”
Desi snorted and crossed her arms. “And who determines when you need help?”
“Um. Let me guess. My two favorite ladies?” He grinned.
Desi lifted an eyebrow, no smile. Mom glared. Guess his charm fell short on this subject.
His mother tapped his good shoulder. “And the doctor. You will follow his instructions?”
Tony clamped his lips shut. Better not answer that loaded question too hastily. He shifted, and the brace on his collarbone pulled. Okay, they win. Lifting a hand, he made the Boy Scout symbol. “No reasonable instruction shall be ignored.”
The women shared one of those looks that told a guy his goose was already sliced, diced, and sautéed. Fat chance he’d have any say over what was reasonable—at least as long as he was under their watchful eyes. Sounded like that might be a long time. A sigh heaved from his chest.
Desi’s face softened. She pressed her lips to his. “Darling, will it really be so awful to have your two favorite ladies waiting on you hand and foot?”
Her touch spread warmth better than a blanket. “Not if I can have as many of those as I want.”
Desi’s cheeks went pink. “My pleasure.”
His mom took his hand—the one that wasn’t swathed in a bandage that covered the spot where he’d ripped the IV line out. He’d refused to let them poke the other hand now that he could eat, drink, and take medications by mouth, but no way would he mention that bit of rebellion to his faithful guardians.
“Caro, our plan is for the best.”
He knew that cajoling coo and narrowed his eyes.
She laughed. “Desi has the perfect setup for us in her first-floor apartment. I can move in with you there. The couch is very comfortable for me, and she will be upstairs. The proprieties are served, and we will both be your devoted slaves.”
More like taskmasters—er, un taskmasters. “But what kind of a son makes his mother sleep on the couch while he takes the bed?”
“The kind of son who wishes to recover from an accident, marry the woman of his dreams, and present his mother with grandchildren.”
Grinning, Tony shook his head. “You both look way too smug, but okay, I surrender. Anything to get me out of here.”
The door swished open. “Now, Mr. Lucano, don’t tell me you’re not having a special time in this fine facility.” It was the cocoa-colored nurse who had helped the doctor the day before. She carried a covered tray.
He scowled. “Torture chamber, you mean. What diabolical instruments do you have there?”
The nurse giggled. His mother muttered, “Oh, you!” Desi just grinned.
The nurse lifted the cover from the tray, but not so much that he could see what was on it. The smell of food teased his nostrils.
“If you don’t want your lunch,” she said, “I can always take it back.”
“Oh, no you don’t. Bring it right here.” He tapped the overbed table. “I hope there’s more substance to it than the mush and toast I had for breakfast. Not even a piece of bacon! How’s a man supposed to survive without meat?”
“Complain, complain.” The nurse deposited the tray. Her badge said Olivia.
Tony curled a lip. “Half a baked potato, a slice of dark bread, some funky-colored liquid—”
“Vegetable broth,” Olivia announced as if she were presenting a treat.
“—peaches, and a cup of tea. Still no meat?”
“Sorry.” The nurse sashayed toward the door. “A bland, low-protein, high-carb diet until those innards start working.”
The innards in question curdled as Tony stared at th
e unappealing meal tray. No kidney action yet. Unless that changed today—Nope! Not thinking about dialysis or other dumb things that weren’t going to happen.
“If you want, we can feed you.” Desi batted her eyelashes.
Tony picked up his fork. When did they start making these things so heavy? He stabbed at a peach, and it slid around the dish. He set his fork down. “Here’s a thought. Since you two are determined to watch after me, how about one of you runs down to the deli and sneaks me back a ham sandwich? It’ll help me regain my strength.” He glanced from one stone-faced woman to the other. “No?” He shrugged and wished he hadn’t. “Worth a try, anyway.”
Desi cut him a neat slice of peach with the side of the fork and handed the utensil to him. He grimaced and ate like a good little boy.
The ladies better enjoy this while they can, because Anthony Marco Lucano is coming off this bed sooner rather than later.
If he was so convinced of that, why did his gut feel like somebody had dumped a load of gravel into him?
Whispering voices brought Tony awake.
“At least he doesn’t resemble a beached codfish anymore.”
“Real sensitive, Haj.” Polanski sounded ready to take a poke at the stocky Japanese.
“Well, you gotta admit he looked pretty terrible when they hauled him off.”
Slight humph. “True. I didn’t think I’d be standing here three days later—”
“Talking about your supervisor like he can’t hear every word.” Tony opened his eyes and stared at the visitors surrounding him.
Hajimoto and Polanski and even the ever-sober Slidell grinned wide enough to break their faces. Tony hit the button to sit up.
“Glad you decided to stick around, boss,” Haj said.
“Couldn’t leave you yahoos to fend for yourselves, could I?”
Everyone laughed. Well, not Dell, but for him the grin was a breakthrough.
Tony waved toward the guest chairs that seemed to multiply like rabbits in the corner of his room. “Pull up seats, team. If I don’t get an update on our case, I’m going to bust.”
Reluctant Smuggler Page 13
