Nightwatch

by Jo Leigh

  She hesitated long enough for him to know she hadn’t considered Heath in her plans. “Of course.”

  “Have you given any thought to what you’re going to do after the funeral?”

  “No. I haven’t. But you’ll be the first to know when I do.”

  His hand gripped the phone so tightly he felt as if it would crumble to dust. “Fine. I’ll see you later.”

  She didn’t even say goodbye, which was just as well, because he’d run flat out of civility. God, that woman made him insane.

  It was time to do rounds. The E.R. was pretty quiet, but there were still patients to be seen. And Rachel.

  He still couldn’t quite believe he’d asked her to go to Los Angeles and that she’d said yes. He hoped she hadn’t changed her mind.

  The only problem was his promise to her. It had plagued him all last night. He’d told her he wanted her there as a friend, and God knows that was true. But as for the part about not seducing her? That might prove to be a challenge.

  He got his stethoscope from behind his door and wrapped it around his neck. Connie was on the phone and didn’t even look up at him as he headed toward the E.R. The sound of an ambulance coming into the bay set his adrenaline pumping. He’d never really thought about it, but he was so conditioned to the sounds of the hospital. A code, a siren, the beep of a monitor—his response was Pavlovian, and it happened outside the hospital, as well. His body was trained to respond, and even now, though he didn’t have a clue what to expect, the initial treatment procedures were running through his head.

  The truth was, medicine was in his blood. He’d been at it for over twenty years. Days, nights, weeks, months and years, seeing every form of trauma that could befall a human, and yet there were still surprises, still challenges every day. Or there would be, if he hadn’t been so bogged down with administrative duties.

  He loved so much about the work. It defined him. When he’d become chief of the E.R., he’d had everything he ever wanted.

  So why the questions? Why had Heather’s death and Heath’s birth spun him into such turmoil?

  By the time he got to the ambulance entrance, Rachel was already there, listening to the EMT as he rattled off the patient’s condition. A car accident, a bad one.

  “He’s pink, warm, slightly diaphoretic,” the paramedic said, carrying a bag of saline as they wheeled the patient to trauma one. “Heart rate tachy at 110. Respirations also tachy at 27. Temp normal at 97.9.”

  As soon as they were in the room, on the count of three, the patient was transferred to the bed.

  “I need two large-bore IVs,” Rachel said, her voice steady and calm. “Call X ray, we need STAT c-spine clearance in order to take the patient off the board. Katya, get the Foley. Solumedrol 2 grams IV bolus.”

  Guy didn’t interfere, although he paid close attention to Rachel as she continued to guide her team, covering all the bases.

  His focus shifted from the patient to Rachel herself. It was like watching an athlete in her prime, or an artist. Every move had meaning, and there was no waste, no hesitation.

  The supporting players followed her commands with complete confidence, and the process went smoothly. The woman was born to do this. Like Guy, Rachel’s work defined her. He understood that part of her in a way that only another E.R. doctor could. But there was more to her than her trauma skills. And that part remained a mystery, one worth investigating.

  The question was, would Rachel let him close enough to do that? She was the most private person he’d ever known. It wasn’t just him, either. No one at the hospital knew much about her, although Connie had some interesting insights.

  Mostly, Connie believed Rachel was one of the good guys. And for Connie, that was saying a lot. Her instincts about people were startlingly accurate. When Connie didn’t trust someone, Guy kept his ears sharp and his back protected, and ten times out of ten, she’d been right on the money.

  His own instincts had led him to hire Rachel, and he’d never been sorry. But he’d also respected her privacy and never, until these last few days, considered pursuing anything more than a professional relationship.

  Now all he wanted was for Rachel to open up. To tell him everything about herself. And he wanted to make love to her.

  He stepped back, shocked at the power of his desire. Knowing Rachel had the situation well in hand, he continued rounds, needing some distance.

  What had triggered this reaction to a woman he’d known for so long? The turnaround was unprecedented, unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  His reaction to women had always been immediate and primitive. It wasn’t one thing that drew him, but a combination. Of course, looks counted in a woman, although his tastes were varied. More critical was that she was bright, inquisitive, adventurous.

  He knew Rachel was smart as a whip, and that she approached the world as a student as well as a teacher. But she’d never given him any indication she’d been interested in him. Maybe that was it. He wanted what he couldn’t have. Needed a challenge to take his mind off—

  Shit. He really was a shallow bastard. In it for himself, and nothing else mattered. Tammy had him nailed. If he had any decency at all, he’d tell Rachel to forget it, that he could manage in L.A. by himself.

  RACHEL STRIPPED OFF her bloody gloves and lab coat and dumped them into the biowaste unit at the edge of the trauma room. Her body ached in a too-familiar way after hours of concentrated focus. It seemed as if she’d used every muscle and absolutely all of her brain function. Coffee and a rest beckoned, but not yet. She still had to talk to the patient’s wife.

  She’d known after the first five minutes that the man would never walk again. His spinal cord had been so severely injured that he was lucky to have any feeling at all in his hands. Maybe after extensive therapy, he’d be able to hold a cup or brush his teeth.

  His wife was in the waiting room. A pretty woman, so very young. And there was a child, too. A little girl who would grow up with her father in a wheelchair. They’d never play ball together or take a walk to the corner store.

  The prospect of telling them what their future looked like chilled Rachel to the bone. She didn’t want to witness the horror as Mrs. Wilson started to comprehend that nothing in her life would ever be the same. If she was lucky, the marriage would last and she would form a deeper relationship with her husband. But if she was like most women, the marriage would be over in about three years.

  Rachel hoped she could help.

  Just days ago, the concept of offering kindness wouldn’t have crossed her mind. In fact, she’d have been appalled at involving her own feelings at all. Her job was to tell the truth, to give the family options, including who to go to for counseling. Certainly not her. She’d done her magic in trauma one. She’d saved the man’s life. She’d done everything medically possible to make sure he’d get maximum use of his body. That was her gift, not compassion.

  Steeling herself, she put on a clean lab coat and headed toward the waiting room.

  Mrs. Wilson and her child, a little girl Rachel guessed to be around five, were alone. There was a blizzard of torn tissues scattered across the fake-leather seat, and several pieces on the floor. The little girl was wearing a pink jumper with tiny white tennis shoes and carried a doll with wild blond hair.

  Mrs. Wilson looked at Rachel with such hope that her resolve wavered. Her chest constricted and hot tears burned her eyes.

  Turning away, Rachel struggled to get herself under control. The last thing this woman needed was a weepy doctor. She needed strength for the long road ahead, and damn it, Rachel was going to give it to her.

  After slipping off her stethoscope and putting it in her pocket, Rachel walked slowly into the room and mustered her most reassuring smile. She sat down, close enough to the woman that she would be able to speak softly. Far enough away that they wouldn’t touch.

  As Rachel began to explain what had happened, it was everything she could do to keep her voice steady, her eyes clear. The
pain in her heart was like a scalpel, cutting past all the defenses she’d built year after year, tragedy after tragedy.

  This was why she couldn’t let go. Why she had to keep her distance. Because when the walls came down, all they revealed was her weakness. Her terribly human, achingly flawed weakness.

  It didn’t matter that through her tears, Mrs. Wilson thanked her. It didn’t matter that she leaned across the distance and hugged Rachel tight. What mattered was that Rachel had, from the moment she walked in, stopped being a doctor and become an emotional woman. Who couldn’t help anyone. No one at all.

  “WHO IS THIS?”

  Rachel sniffed, wiped her nose, then turned her head back to the phone. “It’s me.”

  “Rachel?”

  She nodded.

  “Rachel, what happened? Speak, damn it. I can’t hear you if you don’t say anything.”

  “Allie, I made a big mistake.”

  “What? Did someone die?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. No one died.”

  “Thank God. So what’s this big mistake?”

  Rachel started crying again, and she had to turn her chair in case someone walked into her office. She couldn’t stand it if anyone from the hospital saw her this way.

  “Honey? Rachel? Please, stop crying and just tell me what happened.”

  “Hold on.” Rachel put the phone down and plucked two more tissues from the box. She blew her nose as hard as she could, then picked up the phone again. “I said yes.”

  “Uh, you said yes to who?”

  “Whom.”

  “Great, let’s call the grammar police. I’m sure they can help.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Okay. So you said yes to whom?”

  “Guy.”

  “Rachel, stop crying. Take a deep breath. You can do it. I know you can.”

  Rachel obeyed, and in a minute, she was calmer, although no happier. “Okay.”

  “What did you say yes to?”

  “He asked me to go with him to Los Angeles. To his stepdaughter’s funeral. And to help find the guy that got her pregnant.”

  “Oh.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Rachel asked, her eyes welling with tears once again. She plucked another tissue from the box.

  “Well, give me a second,” Allie said. “I’m trying to process here.”

  “You have one minute.”

  “Gee, thanks. At least tell me why you’re crying.”

  “I just told you.”

  “Nope. Not buying that. Try again.”

  “Damn you.”

  “I love you, too. Now come on. Why?”

  “Because this guy, he was hurt in a car accident.”

  “Bad?”

  “He’ll never walk again.”

  “Ouch.”

  “And when I went to talk to his wife and his little girl…” Her throat closed up.

  “I’ll wait,” Allie said, her voice ten degrees calmer.

  Finally, Rachel could speak again. “I was a wreck,” she confessed. “I cried. I felt horrible for her. All I could see was that little girl trying to understand why her daddy couldn’t pick her up. How they were going to have to change their house, and that nothing would ever be the same again. And how strong everyone was going to have to be, and that most marriages don’t make it when something like this happens, and she was this really nice woman, and her little girl was named Alice.”

  Allie’s breath came in a whoosh over the phone. “Oh, my.”

  “It was awful.”

  “Rachel?”

  She sniffed. “What?”

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to listen.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re dumping, which is fine, but now I need you to calm yourself down and listen to what I’m going to say.”

  Rachel wanted to argue, but she didn’t. She just breathed as deeply as she could, letting out the air slowly. Allie had always been her rock, her safety net, and when it came to relationships, no one did it better. Allie would know what to do.

  When Rachel was just shy of hyperventilating, she said, “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Good. Because, sweetie, it wasn’t awful. It was fantastic.”

  “Allie—”

  “What did I say?”

  Rachel closed her eyes and tried hard not to curse. “Fine. Go on.”

  “Okay. Here’s the thing. You felt something today you haven’t let yourself feel for a long time. And you got through it.”

  “But I cried!”

  “So what? You got through it. You told the woman what she needed to hear. And I’d be willing to bet my entire year’s salary that she was incredibly grateful that you cared, Rachel. That you could see and understand her pain.”

  “No. She needed a doctor, not a wuss.”

  “Who made the rule that a doctor can’t be a wuss? It happens all the time. With the best of them, that is.”

  Rachel’s hand froze halfway to her nose. “Are you saying I haven’t been a good doctor?”

  “You’re the best technician I know. I’d rather have you operate on me than anyone else in the world.”

  “But?”

  “I’d rather have the candy striper tell me the prognosis.”

  Rachel didn’t answer. She couldn’t. This was her best friend—her only real friend—telling her she was more of a machine than a person. A technician with no soul. “It hurt too much, Allie,” she whispered.

  “I know. And it always will. But please, Rachel, do yourself the biggest favor of your life. Go to Los Angeles with Guy. Please. If you’ve never trusted me before, trust me now. Go to L.A.”

  Rachel stared at the wall behind her desk as she hung the phone delicately on the cradle.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GUY RESTED AGAINST the back door of the elevator on the short ride from the fourth floor to the first. Alone at last, with Heath comfortably sleeping and Tammy on her way to the airport. He couldn’t remember being more exhausted. There were only a few things he had to do before he could go home.

  The elevator came to a gliding stop and he walked into the brightly lit hallway. Following the red line, he made his way back to the trauma rooms, but Rachel wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her office, either. He knew she hadn’t gone home, so he got back on the elevator and went down to the basement. To the left was the morgue and the autopsy bay, to the right, around the corner, the cafeteria. He headed right.

  Rachel was at a small table at the far end of the room, by herself, staring at her plate.

  Along with the civilians, there were several nurses, one of the pharmacists and a couple of guys from maintenance occupying the pale blue plastic tables. The mural on the wall was a scene from Courage Bay’s history. It showed the sailors being rescued from their ship by the local Indian tribe. In fact, one of the sailors depicted was his ancestor, Pierre Giroux. Guy didn’t see any resemblance.

  He started toward Rachel, but the grumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in a hell of a long time, so he checked out the food line. Neither clam chowder nor vegetable beef soup appealed, and he didn’t want a salad, either. Instead, he got some meat loaf, which was one of the best things on the menu, mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli. There was still some room on his tray, so he grabbed a piece of apple pie.

  After paying, he headed straight toward Rachel’s table. She jumped when he said, “Hello.”

  “May I?”

  She pushed her tray to the side. “Sit.”

  He did, and another wave of exhaustion hit him, making the act of eating seem like a Herculean effort. “You haven’t eaten much.”

  She looked at the barely touched lasagna and green salad on her plate. “I’m not very hungry.”

  He folded his napkin on his lap and studied her subdued expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hmm.”
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  She arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that you don’t look like nothing’s wrong. I’m hoping you feel comfortable enough with me to let me know if I’m right.”

  When she didn’t answer, he took a few bites of meat and potatoes. Finally, she sighed, poking her fork into her pasta. “Did you find out any information about hospitals?” she asked.

  Guy nodded. “Three. One hospital had three babies with the same symptoms. All the births took place within the past five years. But I ended up with only one address on Stan DiGrasso, although they were going to keep digging.”

  “But that’s a start, right?”

  “Right.”

  She nibbled on a piece of lettuce.

  “So okay,” he said. “I won’t press it. We can talk about Stan some more if you like.”

  The look Rachel gave him said she was on to his tactics and wasn’t sure she wanted to play. But then she put the fork down and stared him straight in the eye. “I’m debating the wisdom of joining you in Los Angeles.”

  He swallowed, then cleared his throat. He wasn’t surprised, just disappointed. Yeah, he’d initially talked himself out of inviting her, but damn it, now that she was saying no, he realized how much he was counting on her being with him. “Any particular reason?”

  “Lots. Starting with my number-one rule.”

  “Which is?”

  “Not dating anyone from work. Ever.”

  “Dating?”

  Her cheeks flushed a pale pink, but there was no other sign she was flustered. That wasn’t particular surprising. Rachel Browne was tough where it counted, and didn’t let much get under her skin. Guy wondered if she had equal access to her softer side.

  “Fine, dating wasn’t the right word. Getting involved.”

  “Where does friendship fit in?”

  Her lips, painted her famous red, curved up at the edges, although he wasn’t sure if she was amused by his comment or just stalling for time. “In case you haven’t noticed, Guy, I’m pretty used to keeping my own counsel, as it were.”

  He didn’t laugh, even though he wanted to. She was so serious, so reserved—just shy of standoffish.