by Dana Mentink
“Wound to her leg. Superficial,” he said. “The fall knocked her out.”
Violet grabbed a handful of gauze and pressed it to Lila’s injury.
Dan shot her a look.
“I needed the money, Dr. Blackwater,” Violet said. “We believed all the patients were willing participants. But I’m still a nurse, no matter what you think of me.”
Angela sucked in a shaky breath. It could have been worse. So much worse. She went to Tank, shaking him gently, trying to wake him up. Across the room a flash of movement caught her eye. For one moment, Harry Gruber peered through the partially opened stairwell door, face contorted in anger. Before the door slammed shut, she heard a sound that froze her blood.
A cry. A tiny wail. A baby.
Tank’s words echoed in her memory. Got to save him...for Julio.
Breath stopped, she looked at Lila, understanding at last why Tank had handed himself over. Then she was running for the stairs.
Donna screamed, “Angela, no.”
But she did not hear. There was only one thought in her mind now.
Save Lila’s baby.
Julio’s son.
TWENTY-TWO
She slammed against the panic bar and raced up the basement steps, taking them two at a time. The baby’s cries were louder now.
“Stop,” she screamed at Gruber, filled with a fury she could not contain. A baby. A helpless innocent. How dare he use him like a chess piece to get Tank to deliver himself up. With Tank’s wife safely in Mexico, Gruber knew the only choice was to threaten Quinn. Lila must have revealed the truth to Tank, that the child was Julio’s.
Gruber pounded up the steps ahead of her, one flight, two. He was huffing; she could hear his rasping pants. Her own legs were cramping from the effort. Where was he headed? She heard keys scrabbling on metal as he unlocked the stairwell door.
He’d banged through, and she was after him in a moment, void of any kind of a plan except to get that child out of his arms. Close now, she was only a few feet away from him. Behind her she heard the door shut, locked from the outside as it was when they’d encountered Peter Gruber. Darkness made her pause, her eyes adjusting. She could hear Harry’s feet scuffing over the tile now, loud in the darkened office. Easing forward, she emerged into the examination area and stopped so suddenly her feet squeaked on the tile. No movement. Was he behind one of the partitions, waiting to attack her as she went by?
She recalled the feel of his knife on her back, the numbing terror she’d felt as he held her down, the bullets screaming at her past the lighthouse when he’d terrorized her then. Not this time, she decided. I’m going to protect that baby. One foot in front of the other. She crept forward another step, ears straining.
Where was he? The sounds were distorted by the cubicle walls, a clock ticking, muffled shouts from somewhere below, the wild thumping of her own pulse nearly drowning out everything else.
The groan of wood and metal jerked her attention to the back wall. Gruber heaved open the window with one hand and stepped out onto the fire escape. That’s why he’d run to the second floor. He intended to escape down the ladder since the police might very well be entering through the front door. Sprinting forward, she was at the open window in a moment.
“You’re not getting away,” she said. “Not with that baby.”
He stopped, hands under the squirming baby’s arms as if he were some detestable thing Harry could not bear to hold close. Slowly he turned to look at her, beads of sweat dancing on his forehead. “You’re right,” he said, a smile lighting his face. “Not with the baby.”
In horror she watched him grab the back of the baby’s jumper with one hand and dangle him over the railing.
“No,” she shouted, lunging forward.
He swung the baby farther out, stopping her progress with an upturned palm.
Quinn pinwheeled his plump arms and legs, wailing, head lolling on his delicate neck.
“Don’t,” she said. “You’ll hurt him. Please stop.”
He smiled. “And now we’re at the point where the rubber meets the road, Detective. Or do you go by Chaplain these days?”
“You’re finished. There’s no way out. Too many people know about your organ harvesting. Lila will tell everything to the police when she comes to, and so will Tank.”
“Ingrates,” he muttered. “They were happy to cooperate when it benefited them. Now they go all high-and-mighty when things get dicey.”
“There’s no reason to hurt the baby and make things worse for yourself.”
“No reason?” His lips twitched, the smile gone. “How about simple justifiable anger? My plans are spoiled, plans that I labored over and poured money into. Why should Lila get to enjoy her little brat when I won’t be able to dote on my grandkids like I’d planned? I helped Lila with school. Rent. I kept the money coming her way, and what do I get out of it?”
“You manipulated her into breaking the law.”
“The law?” His laugh was bitter. “You know what, Chaplain? There’s a higher law. Shouldn’t you know that from your Bible teaching? Saving lives is the greater moral law, isn’t it?”
“You’ve lined your pockets from your illegal organ harvesting. Don’t try to pretend it’s some noble calling. You did it for money, pure and simple.”
“It was a win-win. I saved many lives by providing organs instead of making people wait until it was too late. But it’s too late to save Lance Torrey. Now that you’ve wrecked my setup, he’s going to die waiting for a kidney. His death is on your conscience, just like Tank’s brother. What was his name again? Julio, wasn’t it?”
The name struck at her. She blinked. Another death laid at her feet? Guilt rose dark and thick. She shifted.
“Yes, Guzman jumped in front of a bullet that was meant for you. How do you live with yourself knowing that?”
She took a deep breath, reaching deep down past the guilt and the horror, to a memory of his smile, his pride in the job he was doing, his service to others. “Julio Guzman sacrificed himself to save me. It was tragic, and I will carry that with me forever, but I won’t blame myself anymore.” It filled her with invisible strength to say the words out loud. God had lifted her out of the pit, she realized in that moment. It was still dark, frightening and far from over, perhaps it never would be, but she had hope that she was reconnected to the vine.
Fists pounded on the stairwell door, which had locked behind her. She pictured Dan, Marco and Donna hammering against it, desperate to help. But there would be no help. Not in time. Not from them.
“Harry, give me the baby,” she said, voice icy calm.
“I don’t think so. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen here,” Gruber said. “I’m going to climb down this fire escape and disappear, and you’re going to let me.”
“I’m not.”
He lowered his arm suddenly. The baby swung wildly, head jostling to and fro. Quinn wailed, face red where the collar of his clothing was cinched tight against his throat.
She stifled the urge to scream.
“My hand is getting awful sweaty,” Gruber said, jerking the baby around.
She switched strategies. “You don’t want to hurt this child, Harry. You love children. I know how much you love your own grandchildren, right?”
“I do love my grandchildren.” He looked at the dangling baby as if he hadn’t noticed him before. She felt a swell of hope. If she could just get him to put Quinn down.
“But I couldn’t care less about this specimen.” He swung the baby again, and Angela couldn’t hold back.
“No,” she screamed.
Gruber laughed. “Tell you what. I’m not an unreasonable man. Let’s trade.”
“Trade?” Her heart tightened with each movement of his arm, each infant gasp and cough.
>
“Sure,” Gruber said. “I’ll take you as a hostage and leave Baby Snookums here. How’s that sound? You’ll come with me until I get to the airport, and then I’ll let you go.”
She did not believe him for a moment, but she had to get the baby back inside to safety. Body prickling in terror, she nodded. “I will come with you. Just hand me the baby before he falls.”
He gave one last smile and then lurched. The baby cried out, and Angela gasped, impulsively making a grab. Harry laughed at his pretense. “You’re so easy to fool. Here. If you want this screaming brat, take him.”
Angela reached out through the window, snatching hold of the baby and pulling him close before Harry changed his mind. Quinn was rigid with fear, nearly unable to breathe through his choking wails.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she murmured over the wild thumping of her own heart. “We’ll get you to your mama real soon.”
“You know what?” Harry said, staring calculatingly at her. “I’ve reconsidered.”
She backed away, turning sideways to shield the baby. She’d have to run for the door if he came for them. She imagined what it would feel like to be shot in the back. Goose bumps prickled her flesh. “I’ll go with you, just like you said.”
“Angela,” Dan hollered. Dan and Marco must have split up. She could hear Dan coming closer, racing up the interior stairs now while the others continued to slam against the door, which vibrated from the blows. A piece of the door frame splintered off and plunked to the floor.
“Nah,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I’ve decided a hostage would just slow me down.”
“We had a deal.”
He smiled. “Like I said, you’re so easy to fool.”
He fired.
Angela did not feel pain when the bullet struck her side, blowing her off her feet. Her only thought was to keep the baby from hitting the floor. She clutched him to her as she fell.
Fragments of thought shot through her brain. The baby. Julio’s baby. She summoned up her only remaining strength. “Father God,” she breathed, “save Julio’s son.”
As her eyes closed, the last thing she felt was Quinn’s tiny hand on her cheek, whisper-soft fingertips searching for comfort she could not give.
* * *
Dan cleared the top step, the echo of the gunshot rocketing through his senses, twining together with another sound that made no sense, the crying of an infant. The shock caused him to stop dead in his tracks.
Angela lay on her side, body curled around Lila’s son. They were both very still, silent. For a moment, he could not move. This could not be the end, not for Lila’s baby, not for Angela. Horror choked off his breath, stunning him like a grenade blast.
Move, he commanded his body. For a moment he found his muscles would not obey. The outer stairwell door burst open as Marco kicked it down.
“Gruber,” he shouted, running to the window and clattering down the ladder.
Donna ran after Marco, stopping short when she saw what lay on the floor. Her mouth opened, eyes beyond anguished.
Her cry startled Dan into action. He leaped forward, sinking to his knees next to Angela, fingers reaching first for the child. Cold shuddered through him. For all his cases in Afghanistan, those burrowed most painfully in his memories were the children. Caught in the cross fire of enemies they did not know, steeped in poverty they could not overcome, they were the most undeserving of their cruel injuries. He forced out his fingers to stroke the baby’s cheek.
The boy flung up an arm, starting up a healthy wail that flooded Dan with deep relief. He extricated him from Angela’s grasp and handed him to Donna.
“Check him for bleeding.”
She gently put him on the floor as she examined him. “No sign of blood. He’s breathing and crying. I don’t see any wounds of any kind.” Donna picked him up and began to gently rock him, eyes riveted on her sister. “Oh, Dan. Is she...”
Marco raced in. “Cops got him at the bottom—” He broke off and raced to Angela.
Until that moment, Dan was not completely certain of his God-given purpose. Was it to resume his career as a doctor knowing that there would be more names to add to his notebook, names of people he could not save? Or walk away and enjoy the life of easier pursuits that did not cost him a piece of himself each time another heart stopped under his care? He’d done his time, for sure, encountering more loss and carnage than any surgeon should witness in a lifetime.
Yet as he looked at Angela, blood staining the hem of her shirt, helpless, hopeless to aid herself, his purpose recrystallized inside him, strong and sure as it ever was. He hesitated no longer. Checking quickly for breathing and a pulse, he found both. A quick exam showed that the bullet struck her in the ribs, plowing its way inside with no exit wound that he could find. There was no telling how much internal injury had occurred as the metal drove through her insides. Marco was already on the phone demanding an ambulance.
It was on him to keep her steady, stable until they got there. She was strong; she had so many reasons to survive. You’re going to live, Angela. Then he heard the soft whoosh of air, and his body went rigid as she began to gasp, her face gone deadly pale.
“Get my bag,” he yelled, pointing. “Corner desk on the shelf.”
Both Donna and Marco sprinted toward his cubicle. Marco returned in seconds, putting the bag next to him. “What?”
“Traumatic pneumothorax.” Dan yanked open the bag.
“English,” Donna pleaded.
“The bullet hole is causing her chest cavity to fill with air. The pressure is going to collapse her lung if we don’t stop it.”
“How? Her lips are turning blue,” Donna said in horror. “Do something.”
Though he did not have a kit specially designed for the task, he handed Marco a plastic bag full of cotton balls while he pawed frantically through his supplies for tape.
“Cotton balls?” Marco said. “How’s that gonna help?”
“Dump them out. We need the bag.”
Marco did, and Dan cut off a strip of tape. “Hold this.”
Dan placed the bag over the wound and taped down one side.
“More tape.”
Marco peeled off another strip. By the time he’d secured it on three sides they heard the sirens.
Dan stopped him from cutting another strip of tape. “It’s sealed for now. No more air will get in. We’ll leave one edge open so hopefully some air can escape,” he said, while checking her pulse again. Her lips were still bluish, but her breathing was slightly improved, he thought. Or was it what he wanted to think?
He brushed the hair from her face. Knowing all the terrible scenarios that could take place as a result of a gunshot wound made him crazy. Was she bleeding internally right now? Her life ebbing away and him powerless to stop it?
No, not powerless. Dan Blackwater would never be powerless because he worked for the Great Physician, the one who’d healed Dan and would heal Angela in this world or the next. God had been that presence through every surgery, stilling Dan’s hands, sustaining his strength, protecting his mind. God was in the adrenaline-fueled moments when he’d triumphed and the sweat-soaked instances when he’d not. And He was here now with Dan, the connection strong as it ever had been.
He knelt very close so his mouth was next to her ear, the silky strands of her hair tickling him. “Hey, Angela,” he whispered. “You’re going to be okay, and I’m going to stay with you and make sure.” He kissed her cheek and laid his face next to hers, listening to the ebb and flow of each precious God-given breath. And then he began to pray.
TWENTY-THREE
Angela drifted in and out of consciousness for the next several days after the surgery to remove the bullet and repair the damage. It was a surreal time. Her mother was there; Sarah and Candace, Marco and Donna were ne
ver far away. She’d ascertained that baby Quinn was unharmed, returned to healing Lila, who was getting help from Tank and the newly returned Cora. This time when she forced her eyes open, it was Dan smiling down at her.
“Hey there, Chaplain. How are you feeling?”
She sighed. “Like I’ve been run over by a train.”
He laughed.
“I’ve been wondering about Peter.”
“He’s being charged, as well. He will be in jail along with his brother.
“Case closed,” she said, staring at him. “You’re wearing your doctor’s coat.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve returned to my duties. The hospital’s down a doctor and a nurse.”
“Will Dr. Lane and Violet go to jail, too?”
“At least for a while.”
“And Torrey?”
“Definitely Torrey. There’s some good news. I understand Lance has entered an alcohol treatment program so the OTPN is reviewing his case again.”
“Can you influence them? He’s the only parent to a little girl, and now her grandparents are going to be in jail.”
“I will put in my two cents—we’ll see where that takes us.” He took her hand. “And what about you?” His eyes were dark and soft. “Won’t be long before you’re released. What’s your plan?”
She understood what he really wanted to know. Was there room in her future for him? She pressed his hand to her cheek for a moment. “I’m so grateful to you for everything you’ve done for me—really I am.”
“But you’re going home and not planning on returning to Cobalt Cove anytime soon?”
Her throat thickened. “I’ve got to go back. I have to heal, get help. Most of all, I need to find out if I can be a chaplain again.”
He gave a slow nod. “And you’re not looking for friendly visitors.”
“I’m sorry, Dan. I know you care about me. And believe me—I will never forget everything you’ve done for me.” And I love you, she wanted to whisper, but the voice was locked inside with all the turmoil and fear and emotional muck she needed to wade through. “You helped me find God again.”
