Table of Contents
Title Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
19
20
22
23
25
26
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
RUBY DAWN
by
Raquel Byrnes
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RUBY DAWN
COPYRIGHT 2011 by RAQUEL BYRNES
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given away to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading an eBook edition, and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the publisher and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
www.pelicanbookgroup.com
PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410
White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First White Rose Edition, 2012
Print Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-114-4
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-115-1
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To my beautiful children. You can do no greater thing in this world than to show others the love of God.
Praise for Purple Knot
Raquel Byrnes blends contemporary, suspense, drama, and intrigue into one powerful novel. Don’t miss Purple Knot if you love dramatic romantic fiction.
~ Nikki, Siren Book Reviews
1
San Diego, California
I should have known to stay away from dark corners. Nothing good ever happened to me in them. But it was my job to look, and it was a good thing I did, because the ghost I found that night belonged to me. In retrospect, the asphalt and the blood seemed fitting, considering my start in life.
A broken child found abandoned in a bus station, I was eight years old and newly born. I lay unconscious for two days in the I.C.U. No memory of who I was, or who hurt me so badly ever came. I simply blinked into existence one morning. The nurses named me Ruby Dawn, after the color of the morning sky the day I opened my eyes.
I grew up on the streets outside various foster homes. Never quite comfortable in the unfamiliar houses or with the well-intentioned, I often stayed out until it was too cold or too dark to remain under the sky. I don’t think I ever left the streets I roamed as a child.
I wander them still.
That is how I came to be outside the old brownstone this frigid winter evening. The last stop on my daily route, I parked the beat-up sedan against the curb. Peeling back the duct tape that held the glove compartment closed, I reached for a flashlight. Catching sight of myself in the rear view mirror, I frowned. I tried to tuck my hair back into a ponytail and smooth out my bangs. My eyes looked pale and tired. My shifts as an ER resident, coupled with the time running the free clinic were taking their toll.
How long could I keep this up?
I rubbed my eyes and got out of the car. I pulled some donated coats from the passenger’s side seat and started down the sidewalk. Munch and Joe, old men ravaged by life on the streets, huddled close to a trashcan set ablaze in the alley. They recognized me walking towards them and hid their liquor. It was their version of cleaning up for company. Joe smiled at me with vacant gums, and Munch waved. His gravelly voice echoed in the filthy alley like a kicked tin can.
“Ruby-D!”
“Hey Munch, Joe, how’re you guys holding up tonight?” I forced a cheerful smile.
“Aw, you know.” Joe shrugged in his layers of suit blazers and sweaters. All his clothes eventually took on the same color as the asphalt. He was shivering, but smiled.
“You guys should get to the shelter. It’s going to be an all-time low tonight. The weatherman said.”
“Weatherman…only job on earth you get paid for bein’ wrong most a’ the time.” Munch waved his hand dismissively.
“We should all be so lucky, huh?”
“Whatcha got there, Ruby?” Joe craned his neck to see what I was carrying.
“Couple a winter coats. Thought you guys might want them.”
“Nothin’ wrong with what I got on.” Munch wrinkled his nose at them.
“No, you’re right about that. I was just thinking that come morning, if you want, you can take these to the thrift shop for me. I could use the favor.”
Joe shrugged, but I saw his tongue snake out and lick his cracked lips. He was interested. He wouldn’t take charity, but he’d take a wage for a job.
“I have so much to do and you guys usually head out that way, anyway, right?”
“Aw, that store only gives out food vouchers for clothes.” Munch wrinkled his nose again.
Actually they paid cash, except to people I sent in. Anyone who came in with something marked with my initials, got vouchers for food, not cash. I wasn’t interested in supporting the local liquor store.
“Well, I hear the shelter is setting aside something special for the food voucher customers.”
“Special, how?” Joe’s eyes lit up.
I shrugged and made a mental note to drop off a case of something special at the shelter tomorrow night.
“I’ll bet its pudding. Man, I love that chocolate pudding. Those cups don’t need no fridge.” Munch smacked his lips and took the coats from me.
“Maybe.” I nodded.
Something at the far end of the alley crashed against metal trash cans, making me jump. The movement in the shadows looked human. I thought I saw a prone figure flail. Concerned it might be a kid in trouble, I looked closer.
“S-Stay here, guys.”
I pulled the heavy steel flashlight from my backpack and shined the beam down the alley. The light bobbed with my shaking hand. I crept forward. A man writhed on the ground holding his side. I flashed the light back up to the top of the fence he must have just scaled—no one there. I walked towards him, gritting my teeth to quell the fear bubbling in my chest.
“Hey, Ruby, don’t get too close.” Munch called from behind me.
I turned to shush him, and then the man moaned.
“What?”
“P-police…call,” he gasped between groans.
“Uh, you need an ambulance, not a police car.”
He reached a hand out to me; it was covered with blood. My hear
t thumped in my chest. I took another step towards him, the flashlight beam quivering across his body. He lay on his side, his face bruised and covered with grime.
“No…I’m on the job.”
“You’re a cop?” I gasped.
He nodded and tried to sit up. I yelled back down the alley at Munch and Joe.
“Call 911! There’s a phone in my car, hurry!”
I leaned in to help him, and then the beam of light hit his face. I pulled back reflexively.
Green eyes under dark brown eyebrows stared back with shock. “Ruby?” he stammered.
“Tom, where have you been? What happened to you?” I grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him into a hug. Breathless, I laughed nervously.
He groaned in my arms. I looked at the pain on his face and let go. He smiled, and it looked like it took all of his strength.
“Well, for starters, I’ve been shot.”
I wiped my eyes and helped him to his feet. We staggered to the mouth of the alley.
The officer that patrolled this neighborhood pulled to a stop in front of us. In the habit of checking on me, Officer Farrell must have been close by when he heard the call. I waved him over, panting under Tom’s weight. “We’re almost there, Tom. Stay with me.”
Tom groaned with the effort.
Officer Farrell rounded the front of the cruiser and pulled open the back passenger door. Covering the top of Tom’s head with his hand, he helped guide Tom onto the back seat.
“Dr. McKinney, are you OK?” Officer Farrell asked me. His gaze ran over the blood on my hands and shirt.
“I’m OK, but I need to get this guy to the ER. He’s losing a lot of blood.” I caught Officer Farrell’s arm with my hand. “He’s a cop.”
“I can’t go in under my own name. Call it in, but don’t use my name.” Tom gasped from the back seat.
“Buddy, I have you covered,” Farrell replied.
Tom turned, his face pale in the car’s interior light. Breath ragged, he held his hand out to me from the back seat. I climbed in next to him, and Farrell slammed the door shut. We tore off towards the emergency room with lights flashing.
Tom’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, and my chest tightened, panic soaring. I shook him and he started.
“You know, I never said sorry,” he breathed.
I pulled my scarf off and wadded it up, pushing it against his bullet wound. Sticky warmth oozed between my fingers. Sobs welled in my chest. “Don’t start.” My voice cracked.
He reached up and ran his finger down the bridge of my nose. He’d done it a thousand times before, a lifetime ago.
“I shouldn’t have left like that. I shouldn’t have just disappeared.”
I wouldn’t look at him. I couldn’t, not without crying. “You did what you had to do.” I pushed on the scarf.
“Do you still hate me?” He winced through the pain.
I looked at him then. I wanted to yell, and cry, and shake him for all of the heartache he’d caused me, but I didn’t. Instead, I frantically slapped the mesh that separated the backseat from the front. “Hurry, Farrell, hurry, please!” I leaned in and whispered to Tom. “Just concentrate on not dying. I only yell at healthy people.”
“I am sorry, Ruby. I…” Tom’s eyes fluttered, closed mid-sentence.
Praying desperately, I held him while we flew through the streets. Lights flashed past the windows, and my heart ached so bad, I struggled to breathe. Tears trailed down and landed on Tom’s dirty wool cap. I cried because I’d lost him before and couldn’t bear to do it again.
2
Farrell pulled the cruiser up to the emergency room and together we dragged Tom out of the back. I screamed for a gurney. A couple of doctors and a nurse crowded around us as we got Tom on the inside. I ran alongside, my hand still pushing the scarf against his wound. “He’s got a gunshot wound to the left lower flank with loss of consciousness en route from the scene. I don’t…I don’t know his BP.” My voice scratched out his condition.
“Dr. McKinney? Do you know this man?” The head of emergency room medicine, my boss, Dr. Blaine Daniels, looked at me with surprise.
I nodded and tried to blink back the tears that stung my eyes. “Yeah, Blaine, this is a friend of mine.” I leaned in and whispered. “He’s on the job.”
Blaine nodded. “We’ll get him patched up.”
We didn’t break stride until we swerved into one of the trauma rooms. Trained in trauma medicine, I shifted into assessment mode. I snapped on latex gloves. We swarmed around Tom, cut through his clothes to the wound, and took his vitals. All the while, I prayed silently that he would make it. “His pressure is tanking. Christy, spike a liter of saline. Call the blood bank and get type specific for him. He’s A-positive.” I was surprised my voice sounded so calm. My mind flashed on Tom and me as teenagers giving plasma for money.
Blaine turned to me, his face impassive, clinical. He had his finger in the bullet wound and blood oozed out along the edges.
I glanced at Tom’s ashen face and couldn’t breathe. “Blaine?” I looked at my boss.
“It’s a through and through, but he might have nicked an artery.”
I clicked through the possible dangers of a wound to that area of the body. Most complications arose when the liver, small bowel or intestines were involved. “We can red line him to the O.R. and get a laparotomy going.” I chewed on my bottom lip. The amount of Tom’s blood on my shirt along with what already soaked into the scarf on the floor, set off alarms in my head. I fought back panic.
“We need to find the bleeder or he’ll crash on the way up to surgery. Ruby, grab the portable sonogram.” Blaine glanced at the monitors over Tom’s head and furrowed his brows.
I nodded, strode through the interconnecting door to the next trauma room, and grabbed the hand-held sonogram machine. My hands shook as I fumbled with the buttons on the way back.
Blaine grabbed the Doppler wand and traced it around the area over Tom’s wound.
I watched the image on the screen without breathing. A shadow flashed into view, and my gaze snapped to Blaine. “Is that free fluid?” I asked. “That could be the artery.”
He took a second look and nodded curtly. “Call and have them prep a room.”
I snapped off the latex gloves and reached for the phone.
Sandra Walsh, the operating room coordinator, answered.
“This is Dr. McKinney, we need you to clear and prep an OR for a trauma patient.”
“We’ll have a room ready in about thirty minutes.”
I looked back at Tom’s chest, barely rising and falling, and forced down the dread in my throat. “No, Sandra, this is a red-line patient,” I explained. “He needs to be under the knife in less than ten minutes or it won’t do any good.”
She must have heard the anxiety in my voice because she didn’t answer for a few seconds.
“Sandra? Did you hear me? He needs to be up there now!”
“Uh…yes, Dr McKinney…bring him up.”
I slammed the phone down, my hands shaking, and turned back to face my boss. He was watching me with concern.
“We’re cleared. Let’s pack him up,” I said.
Blaine nodded to the other doctors and nurses in the room, but motioned for me to join him in a corner.
“Ruby, you can’t go up with him.”
I looked at him with shock. “I have privileges on the surgical ward, Blaine.”
He shook his head, leaned in and whispered. “You’re falling apart, Ruby. What will you do if he codes on the table?” His words slapped me back. I couldn’t form an answer. Blaine put his hand on my shoulder and smiled sadly.
Fear roiled in my chest, crushing me into the wall. “Please, Blaine—”
“I’ll do my best for him,” he promised.
I wiped the hot tears from my cheeks and nodded. They wheeled Tom past me. I reached out and let my hand glide along his face. Blood, tears, and fear: this all seemed so familiar, somehow.
3
I paced outside the surgical recovery room annoyed at the squeaking of my rubber-soled shoes. I’d changed from the clothes stained with Tom’s blood into the cornflower blue scrubs in my locker. The door down the hall opened, and my heart skipped a beat until I saw that it wasn’t Blaine. Tom’s surgery was rounding out the third hour, not good. I glanced down at the crowd of origami animals on the plastic table. I’d made them out of magazine pages. A nervous habit; I folded anything within reach to keep my hands busy.
My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was Lilah, my assistant at the free clinic. “Hey, Lilah.” My voice hitched as I rubbed the knots in my neck.
“Oh my goodness, Ruby, what happened to you? You never came back to the clinic, and then Dakota and I drove your route and found your car. Munch told me you were shot!” Her words tumbled out of the phone. I pictured her wrinkling her forehead the way she always did when she was worried.
“No, Lilah, I wasn’t shot. A friend of mine was hurt, and I took him to the hospital.”
“Well, that’s good.” She sighed heavily.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, no, I don’t mean it’s good your friend was shot. I mean it’s good that you’re all right.”
Down the hall, Blaine came out of the surgical suite and pulled off his mask. He motioned for me.
“Lilah, I have to go now, but see if you can get the car back to the clinic for me, OK?”
“I’ll come down there.”
“No, Lilah, you don’t have to come down here. I’ll be by the clinic in the morning, and we’ll talk then.” I strode towards Blaine.
“Uh, we’re already on our way.”
I ground my jaw. I didn’t want to explain how I knew Tom...not yet. I ran a hand over my eyes. “OK. I’ll see you in a few, then.”
I hung up and looked at Blaine. Sweat soaked his hair cap, and dark circles traced under his eyes. “We found the bleeder just in time.”
“What…is he OK?” I bit my lip to stop it from trembling. I didn’t feel like a doctor. I felt like one of the thousands of worried family members I’d talked to after a loved one came into the ER. I’m sure I appeared terrified. I looked at Blaine at a loss. I should know what questions to ask, but they wouldn’t come to mind.
Ruby Dawn Page 1
