“What I can tell you is that we were lucky to get him when we did. The pressure had built enormously. I’m not sure how much longer he would have lasted. I believe it was the decision of one of the helicopter pilots out in the field not to wait for the medical chopper but bring them in himself. It was a good call.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said. But it was a murmur, offhand. Her mind was already miles away.
Radchuk cleared his throat.
She turned again, as if she’d remembered that he was there. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.
He’d seen it before. “No problem.”
“When can I see him?”
“He’s in recovery. It’ll be a while before he comes around. If he comes around. At this stage it’s in the lap of the gods. I’ve done everything I can.”
She was absently biting at what was left of her thumbnail, flexing the curving nail between her teeth. Testing its resilience? Radchuk grimaced at the analogy and then realized it wasn’t all that far off, after all. She was weighing his answer, testing it. For acceptability?
“All right,” she said at last.
She had been deciding if she would accept his answer. What would she have done if she hadn’t liked it?
But she was already moving on. “The woman they brought in with him. Will she live?”
“I believe so. She’s not my patient and you should check with the doctor on duty for a better answer, of course.”
She pursed her lips, then shook her head a little. “Later, maybe.”
The tension in this woman. She was holding a war within, consulting only herself for decisions, actions. That was the only reason for the disjointed, odd answers she was giving, the distracted air.
Radchuk lifted his clipboard. “Isobel, I realize this has been hard on you. If you like, I can give you a mild sedative. It’ll help you relax, calm down a little. You’re in for a long night as it is.”
She pulled back a little, like she was looking down her nose. “I’m perfectly calm.” The low growl of her voice was reasonable, steady.
“Well, okay. I’ll have a nurse come and get you when Jack comes around.”
She speared him with a cool don’t bullshit me look. “You mean ‘if’, right?”
He held up a hand, defeated. This broad was a ball-buster. She just didn’t look like it at first glance. “Okay, if,” he agreed. He could be frank if that’s the way she wanted it.
“What are his chances, doctor?”
Up until thirty seconds ago, he would have hedged the bet. Now he just ladled out unadorned truth. “About even.”
She sighed again and turned back to the window. He’d been dismissed.
Chapter Six
He couldn’t get his eyes to focus. It wouldn’t come together. But it was comfortable here, so he didn’t push it too much. Then he realized there was no pain.
He explored the experience of a pain-free existence. It had become a novelty. He kept very still in case any movement destroyed the peace.
Later, sounds grew a little clearer. Soft, remote sounds. And there was a smell, very faint, that he recognized. It was almost the absence of smell that gave it away.
Hospital. I’m in a hospital.
He examined this thought for a while, trying to link up with the thoughts that went before. It took a while but he was content to let it come as it wanted. Slowly, his recall returned. Along with it came a growing sense of wonder. Sophie. She saved me. Somehow, she pulled it off.
“Hello, Jack.” The throaty purr came from beside him.
He tried blinking open his eyes again. This time, the focus kicked in, for which he was eternally grateful. The nimbus of white hair drew his eye. “Isobel.”
She smiled a little. She was dressed for the office but the suit looked a little rumpled.
“They dragged you here?” he asked her.
“Like they could have kept me away.”
He sighed. “They found me, Isobel. God knows how but they did.”
“I know.”
“How the hell am I going to get to Chicago, now?”
For the first time in his life Isobel looked awkward. “Well, that’s yet to be decided,” she began slowly. “Besides, the trial started yesterday—no, two days ago now.”
“What? Then you have to stop it. They have to wait.” He repressed the impulse to sit up, not willing to test himself yet.
“Jack, you can’t just rock up and tell a judge to halt his trial. It’s not that simple…”
He could feel a dull ache behind his temple now. Knew it wouldn’t last. “What’s complicated? Izzy, the whole reason you get paid so much is because you know what form goes where. There has to be a brief, a procedure, goddamn it. A piece of paper somewhere that you can sign and seal and get the damn trial stopped!” The ache became a throb and he grabbed at his temple, feeling the expected bandages under his fingertips. “We’re talking about…what?…three or four days? Have you spoken to Dempsey? What does he say?”
Isobel was wearing an awkward, slightly pursed-lip expression he’d never seen before.
“What is it I’m not getting?” he demanded.
The door opened with perfect timing. Jack was tempted to curse but something even more interesting happened. Isobel saw the newcomer and his white coat and relief wrote itself on her face.
Relief.
Jack eased himself back onto the pillow, suddenly aware that he had been trying to lift his head up, after all. The doctor was looking from him to Isobel and frowning.
“You shouldn’t be here yet,” he told Isobel.
“I’m sorry, Doc. I just didn’t want to wait any longer.” Her voice was cool again. Jack always enjoyed watching her tell someone to take a hike while mouthing the most polite platitudes. It was something in the voice, a timbre that most men were incapable of replicating and many women wouldn’t dream of using. Isobel used it at full power. Often.
The doctor, though, was immune. He’d already turned his attention to his main priority, Jack.
Jack looked him in the eye. “There’s something you have to tell me, isn’t there?”
The doctor glanced at Isobel, who held up both hands, palms out. “Not me.”
He jerked his head toward the door. “Out.”
“Let her stay,” Jack said. “I have a feeling I’m going to need to give someone my power of attorney and right now, she’s it. She should hear it.”
The doctor considered for only a moment. “I don’t have time to argue,” he said, pulling a small pencil light out of his pocket and stepping around the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Thrilled to be here,” Jack said truthfully.
“Your head will start to ache again soon—”
“Already has.”
“So?” The doctor leaned over to shade Jack’s eye and flash the light into it several times.
Jack took a slow breath.
“That hurts a little too, hmm?”
“Yes.”
The doctor’s name was stitched above his pocket in flowing script. Dr. P. Radchuk. Jack traced the letters with his eyes as Radchuk lifted the edges of the bandaging around his head, peering beneath.
Then he put the pencil light back in his pocket and stepped back. He looked at Jack. His hands spread themselves out across the pink cotton blanket, smoothing it.
“I’m afraid it’s not over quite yet,” he said at last.
It was as bad as he’d guessed. Jack nodded a little. “I’m not going to make it.”
Radchuk lifted a brow. “Oh, we’re all dying in one way or another, Mr. Laubreaux. With an enormous amount of good luck, prayer, or whatever spirits you want to call upon you, too, will get to die at an indecently old age in your bed after an excellent meal, with all your debts paid.”
Jack felt a grin tug at his mouth. “No last frolic to set it off?”
Radchuk smiled a little too. “You may embellish it as you wish. But first, Jack, we’re going to have to go back into your hea
d.” He paused, giving him a moment to absorb the news. “We only dared take enough time to relieve the pressure from the swelling and stop the worst of the bleeding. I judged you weren’t in the condition for more. And I very much wanted to see you conscious and speak to you so I could measure your…stamina…for what comes next.”
“It’s that bad?”
“There was more bleeding than I expected. There’s at least two points of origin, both fairly strong concussions. You hit your head twice?”
“I don’t remember the first one. But, yeah, I figure it was twice.”
“You managed to crack your skull while you were at it. Add to that, a lack of water and inadequate sustenance for…five days?”
“I lost count. Things got confused toward the end.”
“I’m quite sure they did.” Radchuk’s hands were swiping at the blanket, smoothing it. “Then there was mild exposure. And all of it began with a psychological trauma that most people would find more than enough to cope with. They certainly wouldn’t consider themselves in a fit state to take on the care of another immobile person.”
“You’ve been talking to Sophie.” Jack licked his lips. “Is she…all right?”
“I have, indeed, been talking to Miss Sophie. A very strong lady. She should be fine.”
“Should be? Haven’t they treated her yet?” Jack tried to sit up. “How long have I been in here? And they haven’t done anything? Christ, her leg—”
“Mr. Laubreaux, please!” Radchuk interrupted, his hands ceasing their motion.
Jack willed himself to stop and waited for Radchuk to go on. His head was really hurting now.
“Sophie has been given emergency treatment, just as you have been. Any further medical attention she receives will be at a hospital of her choice.” He sighed. “I won’t apologize for the medical system in this country for I’m as much a victim of it as you, or Ms. Kingston. You’re probably as familiar with its failings too. You hear about it every night at eleven.”
This time, Radchuk’s voice was as dry as the dessert and Jack understood why.
“I watch it but you live it, right?” He stared at Radchuk. “They’re withholding further treatment because of her insurance?”
Radchuk had the grace to look him in the eye. “I don’t know the details but I was told it was a matter of insurance, yes.”
“Did you treat her?”
“No.”
“But you discussed it with the ER doctor?”
Radchuk grimaced. “Briefly. Jack, there’s not a lot I can tell you, either legally or professionally, because you’re not a member of Sophie’s family—”
“She doesn’t have any family left.”
“Regardless, you’re not in a position to discuss her medical condition even with the treating doctor, and I won’t talk about it because that sort of thing is out of my sphere of expertise. Your injuries, on the other hand, I can do something about.”
Jack didn’t have the strength to argue any more. He sighed. “Yeah, you gave me high hopes there, Doc. What was it? ‘An enormous amount of luck’, right?”
“I’d like to think that skill has something to do with it,” Radchuk added. He moved around the end of the bed past where Isobel stood, forgotten, then up the other side, heading for the cartload of electronics parked next to Jack’s bed.
Isobel stepped away so that she could watch both of them. She had a fist on her hip, pushing aside the open black jacket. Lawyer mode. The cocky stance kept everyone on their toes while she marshalled her arguments. But the meaningless, withering smile she habitually wore was missing.
Radchuk was tapping at a keyboard, watching a monitor. Satisfied, he turned and crossed his arms, studying Jack again. “You’ll need luck, Jack. I won’t deny it. Your health isn’t the most ideal for undergoing this sort of procedure, especially so close behind a quick and dirty lifesaving operation. The mental and physical shock is considerable.”
This was more frankness than Jack was ready for. “Odds, Doc. What are the odds I’ll come out of it?” His voice was—unsurprisingly—hoarse.
“I can tell you that if you don’t have the operation then death is…inevitable.”
Jack stared at him, weighing up the answer. Absorbing it. He’d seen this lateral lead-up countless times before—he’d used it plenty of times himself as a way of coaxing reluctant subjects into cooperating. The implications behind Radchuk’s indirect answer were perfectly obvious to him. “Less than even. That’s what you’re about to tell me, right? I’m dead if I don’t and probably dead if I do.”
Radchuk’s hand rested on his shoulder briefly. “It’s a long shot,” he said gently. He glanced at Isobel, then added, “The universe has seen fit to give you this little pocket of time. Against expectations you’re conscious, aware, alert and of sound mind, despite considerable pain. Use it well, consider your options.” Again, the quick glance at Isobel. “Set your affairs to order.”
He straightened his coat, cleared his throat. “If we’re to go ahead, then we need to move quickly. I can stay on tonight and see it through. Isobel will be able to find me when you’ve considered it.” He nodded. “I’ll see you later.”
The door opened briefly, letting in a blip of noise—someone’s shoes squeaking on the linoleum outside and a sound byte that echoed from Jack’s childhood as somewhere out in the ward a television was showing Sesame Street. The door shut.
“I’m sorry,” Isobel said.
Jack studied his hands. Calmness was spreading through him now that he knew. Radchuk had given him the focus he needed—perhaps he’d even deliberately provided it. He confessed to talking to Sophie. She may have revealed enough information for Radchuk to figure out the rest. He’d pinpointed the two positives that Jack would not be able to resist.
“Will you go through with it?” Isobel asked.
Jack had been in this place before, a day or so ago on the ledge. He wasn’t sure how long ago it was. His sense of time had been completely scrambled. He didn’t know what day of the week it was, either. But on the ledge, he’d come to terms with the idea that he was probably about to die.
It had been a lot harder then. This time around, the decision came a lot easier. Radchuk was dead right. He had an opportunity here that he hadn’t been given on the ledge. He had a little time and the chance to put things right before he submitted to the high rollin’ crapshoot he was about to play.
“I have to do it.”
“You do have a choice,” she pointed out.
“Morally, I don’t.”
“Morals!” She laughed. “Jack, don’t go through this just for the sake of a court appearance. They’ve managed to take one good shot at you already. For all we know this shot will give them what they want after all. If it doesn’t, if you pull out of this, then there’s nothing stopping them from having another run at you. Then another and another. How many free shots do they get before it’s enough?”
“As many as it takes for me to reach Chicago,” Jack said.
“Then, don’t do it for them, Jack. Do it for yourself. Do it for Sophie.”
Shocked, he stared at her.
She smiled a little. “It’s my job to read people. Your face when Radchuk was giving his spiel about the medical system was as easy to read as the Tribune. Easier.”
“Then that saves me from explaining the rest of it. I have to see her. You’ve got to arrange it.”
Isobel started to shake her head.
“Don’t lower the boom on me. Please, Izz. If Radchuk wants to saw my head open again tonight, then I don’t have time to work around you. I’m stuck on this bed, plugged into the equipment and can’t move. You’re the only person I know in this whole city with the balls to get this done for me.”
“Thank you,” she said dryly but a tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth.
“I want to see her. Just once.”
Again, the tiny headshake. “You know you can’t. You’ve nearly killed her already. You’ve only a few h
ours to take care of business. If you make her your priority, if I pull the sort of strings I’d have to pull to have her wheeled up here to see you, do you think they’re not going to take notice? Do you think they’re not going to realize her value as leverage if you do live through the operation?”
He hated her because her logic was indisputable.
“Let me guess. You hate me,” she said when he didn’t answer her immediately.
“A little,” he said at last. “You’re not giving me the answers I want.”
“I’m paid to give you the right answers, not the popular ones.”
“And now I really hate you,” he said but softened it by grinning.
She didn’t smile back. “I’m sorry, Jack. Really. Under the circumstances, I’d love to arrange this for you but if the plane crash is to teach us anything, it should be that we can’t assume to know where they are. They see far too much for comfort, hear too much. Know too much. We were forced to make the assumption that they knew everything way back in Chicago last spring and this confirms it.”
The old, dull frustration bloomed in him, for the first time since he’d left Vegas. “Who is it?” he muttered. “Someone high, someone in the know.”
“We’ve been through this, Jack,”
“I know, dammit but it’s personal now. They’re trying to kill me. Who is it? Dempsey?”
“Dempsey’s a cowboy in a white hat. He’s too law-abiding.”
“Cowboy?”
Isobel’s mouth thinned into a small smile. “You mean you’ve never recognized that Montana mumble of his?”
“No.” He frowned. “It can’t be Dempsey. He wouldn’t be taking it this far, not all the way into court. He’s in court, right?”
“As we speak,” she assured him, glancing at her watch. “Jack, this is so pointless. We don’t have the resources to pin down who the Silent Knight is—we can only focus on getting you to court and getting Callahan tucked away. That done, we don’t have to worry about the Silent Knight anymore.”
This made his current priorities even more urgent, for he knew what came after that.
“Izzy, this is it. My one and only chance to see her. You know what’s going to happen after Chicago.”
Dead Again: A Romantic Thriller Page 7
