A Killing Frost

by Hannah Alexander

  Residency had given her the mental and emotional resources to deal with day-to-day life-and-death issues with multiple patients, but nothing had prepared her for what she’d just endured.

  She worried about how Doriann would handle everything that had happened to her. She’d been talkative and had interacted well with everyone after those first few moments on the island. When would the effects of the day hit her? Would she be scarred by this for the rest of her life?

  Jama sank onto the chair and stared at the meds and instruments on the stainless steel tray table beside her. Tyrell…

  She felt like crying. But Jama Keith never cried. Even when she’d been forced to make a life-or-death decision about a loved one. Even when she had a life-and-death struggle with a killer to save another loved one. Even when she was finally forced to confess her guilt about Amy’s death.

  But after all that time spent with Tyrell, his promise that she could trust him no matter what, and now his response to the confession he had wrested out of her-who wouldn’t lose a tear or two?

  Or fifteen or twenty…

  Tissues. There were no tissues in this whole stupid office. Jama sniffed and her nose ran, and she rushed into the bathroom at the end of the hall, belatedly remembering why she didn’t cry. It was a messy business, and it wasted paper.

  She was walking back from the bathroom, trying to blow her nose on a paper towel, making a mental note to purchase facial tissues, when she heard a soft thump. A whisper of movement behind one of the closed doors.

  Silence. She waited. The accomplice?

  She reached for her cell phone and was about to dial for help when there was another quiet movement, and she isolated the direction of the sound. It was behind Ruth’s office door.

  Oh, why call for help now? After everything else she’d done in the past few hours, was there anything she couldn’t handle herself? She reached into the right pocket of her jacket and pulled out her pistol. She’d lugged the weapon around all night and hadn’t used it yet.

  She released the safety and reached for the doorknob. It was locked.

  “Who’s in there?” she demanded.

  Another thump, and a grunt.

  “I’m calling the police,” Jama warned.

  The knob clicked, twisted, and the door opened. Ruth Lawrence stood there barefoot, hair in her face, wearing her scrubs. Behind her lay a pallet on the floor.

  “Don’t shoot,” Ruth said dryly, her voice filled with fatigue.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Doriann was asleep in Tyrell’s arms when the helicopter landed on the hospital helipad. He carried her inside without waking her. His mother stood just inside the entrance, and when she saw them, she burst into tears and ran to meet them.

  “I knew you and Jama would do it,” she whispered as she turned to walk with Tyrell and the two agents to an exam room. “Is she injured?”

  “Not that we can tell. Jama checked her over at the site, and then I did a second check on the way here. How’s Dad?”

  “He’s sleeping peacefully, doing great.”

  “Did he find out about Doriann?”

  “Not a thing. Heather, Mark and Renee are on their way here.” She looked into her granddaughter’s sleeping face, then up at Tyrell. “Do you realize Jama had a hand in saving two of our beloved in less than twenty-four hours?”

  He nodded. Yes, he knew. And then he thought of Amy, and he felt weary to the bone.

  “Worked late?” Jama clicked her safety back in position and shoved the weapon into her pocket.

  “I decided to save on gasoline.” Ruth watched the gun enter the pocket, swallowed, looked back up at Jama.

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing our private facilities have a shower,” Jama said. “Eric told me you’re staying in Hermann.”

  “You carry that thing with you all the time?”

  Jama patted her pocket. “I keep it locked in my car. I’ve been in places where one of these might have come in handy.” Like tonight, if she’d had a chance to get it out of her pocket. There’d been no time.

  Ruth glanced down at Jama’s clothing. “You look awful.”

  “It’s been a long day. Doriann is safe, one of the kidnappers is in the custody of the FBI, and-”

  “And you were involved in the apprehension?” Ruth asked, nodding toward the bloody sleeve of Jama’s jacket.

  “I had backup. Tyrell arrived in time to keep me alive, and then the FBI came to haul away everyone but me.”

  “How did you rate a stay here?”

  “I have a patient at Zelda’s. Her granddaughter will need some attention first thing in the morning.”

  “I heard the activity, especially the chopper.” Ruth reached out and tugged on Jama’s sleeve. “Let’s take a look at you.”

  Jama pulled off her jacket and allowed herself to be led back to the first treatment room. She sat down, leaned back and felt some of the adrenaline that had kept her going begin to drain from her. Someone else could take care of her arm. Someone else was taking care of Doriann, of Monty.

  But Debra and her worried grandmother?

  Nothing could be done for a patient who declined treatment. For the past couple of hours, a nagging suspicion had grown in Jama. She didn’t want to think it through now.

  “Any particular reason for the tears?” Ruth asked. “Or are you doing as I do, using them as a pressure valve release?”

  Jama looked up at her director, surprised by this bit of personal sharing. She winced as Ruth probed the wound.

  “An incident in my past has caught up with me,” Jama said.

  “Just one?” Ruth’s voice held the same gentle kindness it had when she’d spoken of Doriann’s abduction earlier today, and when she’d spoken with Ted. “I’m sorry that some of your troubles today came from me. I didn’t stop to consider a few things.” She probed the puncture deeply again.

  This time Jama didn’t wince. She knew the routine. A wound like hers had to be thoroughly irrigated and checked for foreign particles.

  “What didn’t you consider?” she asked Ruth.

  “That the tales I heard about your youthful escapades might have little connection to the strong, capable and self-assured woman you’ve become.”

  Jama looked up into Ruth’s golden-brown eyes. She wasn’t being sarcastic. Wow. What kind of metamorphosis was this?

  “You weren’t the one who caused the trouble,” Jama said, then thought about that. “Okay, some of my trouble might have come from wondering if I was going to be in conflict with you for the next two years.”

  “Which is still a possibility,” Ruth assured her. “Three opinionated women working together may strike some sparks, but iron sharpens iron. I realize you’ve had a rough first day, but I called St. Mary’s earlier, and your foster father is still doing very well. Is Doriann going to be okay?”

  “You called?”

  “Of course. I knew you’d be worried, and I noticed that you didn’t receive a lot of updates this afternoon.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  Ruth gave a wry smile. “I can be that way on occasion. How’s Doriann?”

  “Physically, she looked good. There was no evidence that she was violated.” For some reason, Jama couldn’t stop thinking about Debra’s injuries.

  “So…back to you, then.” Ruth examined an injury on Jama’s forehead that Jama hadn’t known was there. Ruth cleansed it and put ointment on it. “The tears?”

  Jama hesitated, eyeing Ruth’s wrinkled scrubs and bare feet again. “Do you really have a place to stay in Hermann?”

  “Obviously not tonight.”

  “All the lodging full? That surprises me. This is so early in the tourist season. I’d think you could find some good deals.”

  “Not the kind of deal I’m going to need.” Ruth’s voice changed. She wouldn’t meet Jama’s gaze.

  “Where’s your car?” Jama asked. “It isn’t in the parking lot.”

  “I pulled it behind the bui
lding so I wouldn’t get any midnight drop-ins. Since your car’s still out there, however, my efforts weren’t much use.”

  “Where will you stay?” Jama asked.

  “I’ll stay in River Dance as soon as I find a place to rent.”

  “And until then?”

  Ruth’s eyebrows went up. “You’re pretty good at changing the subject, aren’t you?”

  “So are you.” Jama flexed her arm and stood up from the treatment chair. “If you need a place to stay-”

  “I have a place to stay,” Ruth said, finally meeting Jama’s gaze. “It’s right here until the city council coughs up my signing bonus.”

  “Missionaries don’t make a lot of money,” Jama said.

  “No, and their accommodations are sometimes less comfortable than a pallet on the floor and a hot shower in a building that is warm when it’s cold outside, and cool when the weather heats up.”

  “I know of fifty people here in River Dance who would gladly offer free room and board to a wandering missionary.”

  Ruth sighed and sank into the wheeled treatment stool; she gestured for Jama to take the other chair. This time Jama didn’t hesitate. She was tired. All she wanted was to lie down and sleep. Even Ruth’s pallet had looked good to her.

  “Last night I slept in my car,” Ruth said. “I showered at a campground with facilities. I’d have stayed in the car again tonight, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to stretch out. I spent nearly all the money I had just to get here, and the car is the one my husband and I had in storage when we left for Africa.” She sighed, as if that admission had taken great effort.

  It also took Jama some effort not to show her astonishment. Why would Ruth be so desperate to leave her husband that she would place herself in this predicament?

  But what surprised Jama the most was that Ruth had actually revealed so much. “Your personality sure changes after midnight,” Jama told her.

  Ruth smiled again, but it was a sad smile. And she looked tired, too. “You and I are both off duty and out of uniform. And you caught me with my guard down. Now, your turn.”

  Jama grimaced.

  Ruth sat watching her. “Be glad you have a life to cry about. I’m in the process of rebuilding mine. And before you ask, don’t.”

  Her words reminded Jama of Eric’s allusion to some tragedy in Ruth’s life.

  Jama realized she’d been practicing Tyrell’s habit of distraction because he was the last thing she wanted to think about right now.

  Ruth sat back in her chair with a sigh. “I’m a doctor, Jama. I’m good at keeping confidences. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but you know as well as I do that it does help to talk. Even to a stranger.”

  “It’s funny, but when you aren’t snapping at me, you remind me of someone I once knew.”

  “That wouldn’t be Amy, would it?”

  Jama narrowed her eyes. “Who’s been talking?”

  “Everybody in town, Jama.” Ruth leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’ve pieced together quite a story from the things I’ve heard about you. It’s taken a few hours to sift through them, but I’ve finally managed to draw my own conclusions by watching you in action.”

  “And that conclusion would be?”

  “You’re loyal, you take bedside manner seriously, you do excellent suture repair, no matter what grade you got in sewing class in high school. And you have a tender heart.” Ruth grinned. “And you’re argumentative, speak your mind and have a chip on your shoulder.”

  Jama thought it ironic that she had thought Ruth was the one with the chip. Maybe they both had one.

  “Would you like me to tell you what I’ve heard?” Ruth asked.

  “Were you told these things in confidence?”

  “No. In fact, I have a feeling the people in this town want you to know how proud they are.”

  “I’ve failed so many.”

  “You don’t know what failure is.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Well, we’re going to have two years to change that,” Ruth said. “I’m willing to listen now, if you’re willing to talk.”

  Jama felt her resistance begin to crumble. It had been a long day, and she felt weary to the bone. And friendless, in spite of this warm gesture from Ruth.

  Sharing with someone was somehow suddenly especially appealing. To her surprise, Jama heard herself telling about the night Amy died. A story she’d never told to anyone, and here she was relating it for the second time in a few hours.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Tyrell watched through the window of the private ICU room, where Mark and Heather hovered at their daughter’s bedside. After giving them a tearful and apologetic greeting, with a promise to never, ever, ever disobey them again, Doriann had begun to tell them about her harrowing experience. She hadn’t shut up since.

  Doriann had been examined to see if she had been sexually violated, and she had not. Tyrell wished the authorities would have just taken her word for it. Why inflict more anxiety on her when she’d been through so much?

  Heather and Mark had been flown to St. Mary’s hospital from Kansas City by the FBI. Tyrell was grateful for this, even though he knew the agents’ reasoning was that a child could not be questioned without a parent present.

  As he watched the Streeter family together, he thought about forgiveness. Doriann’s actions yesterday morning had nearly cost her life, and Mark and Heather had been frantic. Yet when they arrived at the hospital, all was forgiven as soon as the parents saw their cherished child.

  He could forgive Jama for her actions on the night of Amy’s death. He knew he could. Her act was not intentional, and she had punished herself for it ever since.

  What hurt him the most, after he’d had time to consider it, was that she didn’t feel safe enough to tell him.

  But why should she?

  When he’d finally convinced her that she could trust him with anything, he’d responded to the truth with anger.

  He professed to love her so much, and yet he sure hadn’t loved her when she was most vulnerable.

  Someone squeezed his arm. Mom. He looked down at her. Anyone meeting Fran Mercer for the first time was always surprised when her age was revealed. She could pass for a woman in her forties. No one believed she was sixty, but tonight they would.

  “You need to get some rest, Mom.”

  “So does everyone else. Are those people going to keep Doriann up all night? She needs to sleep.”

  “She told me she slept for a while in a cave with Humphrey.”

  Mom looked up at him in surprise, and then a smile lit her eyes. “So it was Humphrey that Jama and I saw on the road. That’s where he was going.”

  “Not possible. Doriann couldn’t have even been there yet.”

  “All things are possible, honey.”

  He simply nodded.

  Her hand tightened on his arm. “You’re brooding.”

  He nodded again.

  “Tyrell, you should be overjoyed. Your father and your niece are both out of danger, the frost didn’t happen. Our family is still intact.”

  He nodded. “It’s a little surreal to me right now.”

  “And you’re thinking about Jama.”

  Of course. With everyone else out of danger, Jama was all he could think about.

  Jama told Ruth everything, and Ruth gave her total attention. When Jama was finished, she sat back. Her hands were shaking.

  “That’s an awful thing for you to endure, Jama.” Ruth’s words were tender, as if she were talking with a child.

  The gentle response soothed something deep inside Jama.

  “It was awful for Amy,” she said.

  “It isn’t awful for her now, from what you’ve told me,” Ruth said. “You’re the one suffering the most over this.”

  “Her family suffered the most.”

  “I know…” Ruth’s voice faltered. “I know.” She swallowed and sighed, looking down at her
hands. “They still live with the grief, and they share it with each other. And you live with the grief plus the guilt. That’s a heavy burden to bear alone all these years.”

  Jama stared at her. She understood.

  “So you think you’re the sole reason she died.”

  “My actions-”

  “You’re not God, Jama. Your actions might impact a lot of people throughout your life, but the consequences are controlled by God, not you. You made a good call with Amy’s father in an emergency situation, and it appears you put your life on the line for Doriann. That’s two lives your actions influenced in twenty-four hours. But God trumps your actions.”

  Jama cast her gaze to the ceiling. “Of course He does.”

  “Have you ever lost a patient under your care?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever made mistakes with patient care?”

  “Yes, every resident does, but-”

  “And you obviously didn’t change professions because you made a mistake. You learned from it so it didn’t happen again. So you’re telling me that big hunk who came to the clinic this morning is the kind of man who will hold one bad decision against you for the rest of your life?”

  “That bad decision killed-”

  “No, your bad decision and her bad decision killed her. She didn’t have to drive anywhere. You could have slept in the car right where you were.” Ruth held her hands out to her sides. “I’m living proof that people can sleep in cars.”

  “I begged her to keep going.”

  “If she thought you were too drunk to drive, what made her think you were sober enough to make that kind of decision? She was a surgery resident. She should have been wise enough to figure that out.”

  “You have to understand the Mercer family Christmas-”

  “I understand that if he doesn’t love you enough to forgive you for what you did, then he doesn’t love you. Period. He loves his own version of you. If he can’t accept the real you, flaws and all, then you don’t want him for a husband, because, sooner or later, you will let him down…”