Intensive Care

by Jessica Andersen

  Just like all the others.

  He halted in the middle of the wide elevator lobby. So why was he walking back to Radiation Safety? He should be in R-ONC, questioning her until she broke down and admitted to taking the personnel file off his desk, until she told him everything she knew about Ida Mae Harris and the radioactivity Dixon supposedly found in the broom closet.

  He had an ugly suspicion the two were related.

  “Damn it.” He spun on his heel and marched back the way he’d come. “This time, I’m not leaving until I have some answers.”

  But when he reached the outer office, Cage found R-ONC deserted. “It’s almost five on a Friday.” He cursed. “What did I expect? Dedication?”

  Noticing that the door to the inner office stood ajar, he crossed the carpeted floor and peered inside. It was empty. Casually glancing back toward the corridor, he eased across the room to her desk, feeling awkward even as he assured himself it was the right thing to do.

  He needed to know what she’d been hiding that morning. He needed to see those papers. They weren’t on her desk, so he was reaching for the top drawer when he heard a thump out in the hallway. It didn’t sound like Ripley Davis’s purposeful stride, but he didn’t want to be caught rifling through her stuff. Feeling ashamed by his actions, though he couldn’t have said why, he walked across the outer office and peered into the hall.

  It was deserted. A faint whiff of cleaning solution suggested that the janitor had begun his work for the evening. Satisfied, Cage turned back to the inner office. Another thump brought him up short. This time he thought he heard a voice.

  “Help me.”

  “What the hell?” Adrenaline kicked him into the hall, which was still empty. The corridor was lined with closed doors. Heart pounding, he yelled, “Hello? Does somebody need help?”

  There was no response, but the smell of cleaning sol vent grew stronger. He wrinkled his nose and glanced over at the R-ONC broom closet, where Dixon had found the jar of radioactive material.

  There was a key in the lock.

  “Hello? Is someone in there?” The smell was stronger near the door, but there was no answer. Maybe he’d imagined the voice. His heart pounded as he twisted the key and pulled open the door.

  Ripley Davis tumbled out at his feet, followed by a cloud of thick, choking air.

  Shock poured through him, followed by panic. She wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

  She looked dead.

  “Christ!” When he inhaled, the reflexive cough practically tore his throat apart. Choking, he lifted her in his arms and cradled her limp body against his chest. He staggered away from the closet. Away from the poisoned air. “Dr. Davis! Ripley! Can you hear me?” The words were trapped in his burning lungs, but the pressure eased once they were in the fresher air of the outer office.

  She felt light in his arms. Too light, as though the life had already drained from her.

  He slammed the door shut and lowered her to the floor. He knelt beside her, as close to praying as he’d been for half a decade. Trying not to remember that his prayers had been ignored before.

  “Come on, Ripley. Come on, baby, breathe!” His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone. “Come on, damn it. Breathe!”

  And she did.

  She took a gasping breath. Then another. Then she started to cough and struggle weakly against him. A spurt of pure relief sizzled through Cage. She was alive.

  Barely.

  He couldn’t even name all the emotions that flooded through him. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He sagged down beside her and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re okay. Just breathe. Take it nice and easy.” He soothed her with mindless words as she curled into him. “Easy now. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  He felt an impotent rage build. He’d been tossing her office while she was in dire danger.

  With every deadly incident, it became clearer that she needed his protection, not his suspicion.

  Too soon, she tried to talk. She gasped, “Call…HazMat,” between breaths in a voice as scratchy as raw wool. “Chlorine.”

  He placed the call, directing the Hazardous Materials crew to the closet and deflecting their questions with a curt, “No, I don’t know what the hell happened. Just get down here.” He glanced down at Ripley, who was curled against his chest, shaking. His heart constricted. He’d almost been too late. Again. What the hell was going on here? “Hang on. I’ll call the ER and get a gurney sent up.

  Her sudden grip on his wrist was firm, though she was still shivering with reaction. “No…ER. I’ll be…fine.” She pushed off his lap and shook her head. “Not…weak in public.”

  He missed the feel of her against him even as his mind registered the danger in the emotion. He faced her down, saying, “Bull. You were gassed unconscious. You’re going to the ER and no arguments.” He glared to let her know he was serious.

  Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand in a vulnerable, almost childlike sweep, and said, “Thank you. I didn’t think anyone was…” She took a breath. “Thank you.” When he reached for her, she shifted away. “No. I’m fine. I can hold myself up.”

  Cage dropped his hand, realizing he’d wanted the contact for himself, and knowing his brain was right in thinking she spelled danger. She was in danger, and she was dangerous. Of all the women he’d met since Heather’s death, she was the first one he was attracted to. The first one who might make him lose sight of his purpose. His vow.

  His penance.

  There was a commotion out in the hall as the gurney arrived on the heels of the HazMat team. Ripley was loaded onto the bed over her protests that she could walk just fine. As they wheeled her away, Cage could hear her say over the rising din in the hallway, “Nobody calls my father, understand? I don’t want anyone to know about this.”

  He hesitated, knowing that meant she’d be alone. Vulnerable. Then he shook his head. She’d be surrounded by people. Nothing could hurt her in the ER.

  He hoped.

  “Mr. Cage, over here!” One of the HazMat guys waved.

  Seeing that the big inspirators were sucking the last of the fumes out of the closet, Cage glanced in. “What have you got?”

  “I’ve got a gassy closet, that’s what I’ve got.” The protective-suited figure pointed to the far corner of the little room. “A couple of bottles fell off the shelves and leaked into each other. Add drain cleaner to bleach and poof!” He spread his hands wide. “Instant chlorine gas. Luckily it was contained in this space.”

  “Dr. Davis was locked in the closet at the time,” Cage said, watching the other man’s eyes widen.

  “No kidding! What was she doing in here? Is she okay?”

  “She’ll make it,” he replied, thinking that he had no idea what she’d been doing in the closet. Now that she was gone, and her presence wasn’t distracting him, his thoughts turned in a new direction. A less welcome, more familiar direction. Deception. What if she’d been in the closet hiding more nukes? Or removing them? He hated himself for it, but couldn’t set the suspicion aside. “Do you have a Geiger counter with you?”

  “Sure.” Another suited man handed it over. “But why bother? Chlorine gas isn’t radioactive.”

  No kidding. Cage didn’t bother to answer, he simply cranked on the Geiger counter and swept the room.

  Nothing. Relief skittered through him, followed by a sense of shame. He’d been searching her desk while she was locked in the closet with poisonous gas. Now he was scanning the closet that had almost been her death, while she was down in the ER. Alone.

  If he didn’t get his head screwed on straight and figure out whether to protect Ripley or build a case against her, he’d end up doing neither. He didn’t think he could bear another death on his conscience.

  “How’d she lock herself in?” the first guy asked. “These doors unlock from the inside.”

  “Not if you leave the key on the other side.” Cage fingered the meta
l object in his pocket. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

  Three masked faces peered at him in astonishment. “What else would it be?” one asked.

  Cage touched the key again, considering. Worrying. He couldn’t believe that she’d accidentally locked herself in the closet and knocked over the bottles of cleaner. But what was the alternative? A conspiracy gone awry? A plot against her? None of it made sense. He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll talk to you later. I’m going down to the ER to make sure she’s okay.”

  He had a few questions for Ripley Davis. Then he was going to wait with her in the ER, whether she liked it or not.

  Nobody, not even a R-ONC, deserved to stay in the hospital alone.

  TWO HOURS LATER, Ripley and Cage were buzzed into Leo Gabney’s office. Her throat still stung and her eyes were an odd shade of red, but she knew Cage’s arrival had been her salvation. A few minutes more and she’d have been facing serious lung damage. Or worse.

  She suppressed a shiver and took a step nearer Cage. She frowned and moved away again, knowing she couldn’t afford the weakness. He’d saved her twice in two days, and she was physically drawn to him. But that didn’t mean she could count on him. Didn’t mean she liked him.

  Didn’t mean she wanted him.

  He was rude. He was afraid of cancer patients. He was the RSO and she was a heartbeat away from losing her department.

  And he reminded her of her father.

  Besides, Cage had been sending conflicting signals ever since he’d shown up in the ER. Sometimes she had felt protected by his fierce bulk. Other times it seemed as though he thought she’d locked herself in the closet to throw off suspicion. That he thought she’d killed Ida Mae and was trying to cover it up.

  He might not be able to make up his mind, Ripley thought, but she had. She didn’t need Zachary Cage to protect her. She was just fine on her own.

  Except that he’s saved you twice in two days. And you liked it when he held you. Unable to deny the truth of it, Ripley ground her teeth as the Head Administrator waved them to chairs facing his ocean-sized desk.

  “Dr. Davis. Mr. Cage.” Gabney sat down and grew six inches. Rumor had it his desk chair was so tall his feet didn’t hit the floor. “What’s this I hear about problems in Radiation Oncology?”

  “Big problems.” Cage rose to his feet and prowled the spacious room like a jungle cat, pausing for a moment in front of the scale model of the Gabney Wing that would be built if, no, when Boston General won the ten-million-dollar grant. “Dr. Davis was attacked yesterday by a patient’s husband.”

  Ripley couldn’t guess the mood behind Gabney’s pudgy face and cool gray eyes. She’d never been able to read the Head Administrator, even the day he’d called her in to tell her R-ONC was next on the downsizing list. The little man had savored the news, knowing it was an underhanded blow at her father, Howard Davis, who had been Gabney’s predecessor as Head Administrator. Now he shrugged. “The Harris case is old news, and it’s been dealt with.”

  Startled, she asked, “What do you mean, ‘dealt with’?” How could Ida Mae’s death have been settled when they still didn’t know why she died?

  A small smile tugged at the administrator’s lips. “We can’t have rumors that our head R-ONC killed a patient, now, can we? At least not until the award has been given out.” He sniffed and flicked his fingers to indicate that the attack had been a nuisance rather than a real threat to Ripley’s life. “The witnesses have been spoken to, and I smoothed things over with Mr. Harris personally, though we may revisit the topic in a few weeks.”

  The subtext was clear. Gabney needed R-ONC intact for the vote. After that, she was expendable, and so was her department. Damn it! With no local R-ONC openings, she would either have to give in to her father’s demands or start over in a new city. A new hospital.

  And what of her patients here? She feared some of them, like little Milo, would fall through the cracks and disappear. She couldn’t let that happen.

  But at the same time, she couldn’t ignore Ida Mae’s death or the radioactivity in her body. Nor could she ignore Cage, who asked, “What did Mr. Harris say when you spoke to him? Yesterday, he said the voice—”

  “What he said is not important, Mr. Cage,” Gabney interrupted firmly. “Harris was overwrought and not responsible for his actions. Beyond which, he’d been drinking heavily. He has no recollection of what he said or did.”

  “Convenient,” Cage muttered with a black look at Ripley. She wasn’t sure if he was angry with her or the administrator. “But it doesn’t change the fact that his wife’s body is badly contaminated, nor does it explain the file that disappeared from my desk, or what Dr. Davis was doing in the R-ONC broom closet.”

  “I didn’t touch your desk,” she snapped, “and I told you, the broom closet was an accident.” Though she was still shaking from her terrifying experience, Ripley couldn’t believe it had been deliberate. It was too horrible to contemplate. She’d think of such things later, in private, when she could be afraid. Weak. “Mr. Frank left the door open and I went inside to see where the smell was coming from.”

  She didn’t want to remember the fear that had driven her into the hallway in the first place. The sense that she was all alone, or worse, not alone at all.

  “Mr. Frank was working on the other side of the building,” Cage retorted. “And it wasn’t his key in the lock.”

  “It was an accident,” Ripley repeated, not meeting Cage’s eyes. She didn’t want him to see the doubt there. The fear. The weakness. “What’s the alternative, that someone set a trap for me? Be real, Cage. Nobody cares enough to kill me, except maybe Harris, and he’s in Psych.”

  “Of course it was an accident,” Leo agreed, though Ripley held no illusions that he cared for her welfare. “Let’s be realistic. Nobody locked Dr. Davis in the closet and tried to poison her. Things like that just don’t happen at Boston General.” His eyes slid over to the scale model of the Gabney Wing, and Ripley could almost hear the words, and they certainly don’t happen the week of the Hospital of the Year vote.

  Cage scowled. “Yet Dixon claimed to have found radioactivity in that same broom closet before he left the RSO’s position. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  “What!?” Ripley surged to her feet. “What the hell are you talking about?” The shout tore at her abused throat, but she was too upset to care. She turned on Gabney. “There were nukes found near my department and you didn’t tell me about it?” She saw Cage watching her out of the corner of his eye and she snapped, “What? Did you think I put them there? Have I acted surprised enough to convince you I didn’t?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. Or else you’re an excellent actress.”

  “I would never, ever do something to endanger my patients, Cage,” she hissed. “And that includes misusing radioactivity.”

  “So why does Ida Mae Harris practically glow?”

  “I don’t know!” she shouted, then subsided back into her chair when her raspy voice gave out on the last word. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “So you say. Which only proves the point that we need official help. This is beyond both of us.” Cage slapped a hand on Leo’s desk hard enough that the administrator jumped. “I want you to quarantine the morgue, I want Ida Mae Harris’s room locked down until I clear it, and I want access to the husband.” Cage shot a glance at Ripley. “I want R-ONC shut down, I want a guard assigned to Dr. Davis until further notice, and I want to call the police in to launch an investigation.”

  There was a beat of silence. Then, surprisingly, a chuckle from the Head Administrator.

  “An investigation of what?” Derision laced Gabney’s voice. “You have no evidence that there was ever radioactivity in the broom closet because Dixon lost it. And you said yourself that HazMat considers the chlorine gas an accident. Dr. Davis is fine and nothing more needs be said about the matter.”

  “And Ida Mae Harris’s body?” Cage’s voice was level.

 
Gabney shrugged. “Like I said, the husband has been dealt with.” His eyes sharpened and he leaned forward and poked a chubby finger at Cage’s chest. “Nothing fishy is going on in Boston General, do you hear me? You have no evidence and no case, and I don’t want to hear anything more about this. I fired Dixon for gossiping and I’ll do the same for you. Just do your job and shut up, Cage. Got it?”

  Ripley’s stomach twisted and she sagged back in her chair. Gabney didn’t care about her safety. He didn’t care about the patients’ safety. He only cared about the hospital’s reputation. Ten million dollars’ worth of Boston General’s reputation.

  The sense of betrayal was keen.

  “And if my job includes investigating a radioactively contaminated corpse?” Cage’s voice was deadly even.

  Gabney twitched a shoulder. “Then by all means, investigate. Quietly.” He flicked a glance at Ripley. “Dr. Davis will help you, if she knows what’s good for her ca reer. I don’t want anyone else involved. The fewer people who know about this, the quieter it will stay. George Dixon taught me that.” The Head Administrator leveled a look at Cage, and Ripley suppressed a shiver at the menace in the small man’s eyes. “But keep in mind that if you do anything to interfere with the awards vote, your evidence—and your jobs—will disappear faster than you can say ‘Nuclear Regulatory Board.’ Do you understand?”

  Cage didn’t answer. He simply turned and left the room.

  Ripley stared at her boss for a beat. He smiled slightly. “Dr. Davis, I’m willing to overlook a single unexpected death in R-ONC. I’m even prepared to cover a malpractice suit. That is the cost of doing business at Boston General.” He leaned forward and leveled a finger at her. “But I will not allow you to interfere with Boston General becoming Hospital of the Year. Remember that when you are assisting Cage in his investigation.”

  The emphasis on the word, and Gabney’s raised eyebrow left no misunderstanding. If she foiled Cage’s investigation and helped Gabney cover up the radioactive corpse, she could keep R-ONC. If she helped Cage, she could lose her job, her department, and her patients.