Code Blue

by Walters, Janet Lane;

  Susan sipped. "Interesting. Is it always served hot?"

  "No, but this is my preference."

  During dinner, their conversation touched on many subjects. Patrick's gaze followed Susan's movements-- the way she held the wineglass, her attempts to eat with chopsticks, the changes in her expression as she tasted each new food.

  As they walked home, he held her hand. He didn't want to leave her tonight the way he had so many other times. Their lips met. She responded by stepping into his embrace. In that moment, he knew he would spend the night.

  Susan took the key from her purse and opened the front door. She turned to smile at Patrick. His hands rested on her shoulders. He smiled and she knew she wanted him to stay tonight. The bells on the wreath jingled. She remembered the warmth and the feeling of being loved that his gift had brought. As she turned to thank him, she caught a glimpse of gold tucked behind a red bow. She stepped closer and froze. Leila's watch. A chill rode her spine and jolted her heart into rapid action. Not Patrick. The secret gift-giver had left the wreath. As a warning? As a way of gloating?

  "Is something wrong?"

  She heard a sharp note in Patrick's voice and forced herself to smile. "Just a little nervous." And a lot afraid, but if she told him he would react. She would solve this puzzle on her own. She unbuttoned her coat and draped it over the arm of a chair. Patrick's coat covered hers. She turned. His eyes held and invitation and she needed the warmth he offered. She stepped into his arms. Her fears were swept away with the rush of emotions raised by his kiss.

  "I love you," he said.

  She raised her head and met his gaze. In that instant, she laid the past to rest and opened herself to the future. Her lips met his. He caressed her gently. His fingers moved in circles on her back. Myriad sensations swept along her skin.

  Her fingers stroked his nape and brushed over his hair. She wanted to rush to completion where pleasure conquered and all sense of reality disappeared.

  Slowly, he released her lips. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

  The hesitancy in his voice charmed her. She caught his hand and led him to the stairs. "Oh, yes."

  He laughed and put his arm around her waist. "You're all I've dreamed of for years." He shook his head. "I would never... I didn't want..."

  She put her fingers on his lips. "I know, but I want you tonight."

  "And every night?"

  She swallowed. "Nothing is forever, and until that moment arrives, yes."

  They reached the bedroom. Susan slipped out of his embrace and began to unbutton her dress. Patrick leaned against the doorframe. His eyes watched her every move. The desire she saw fanned her need for him. Her dress fell to the floor. Her underclothes followed. For several seconds, she felt self-conscious about her nudity, until she saw his expression.

  Patrick loosened his tie, removed his jacket and shirt. His hands went to his belt. Susan watched as he took off the rest of his clothes. Lean, muscular and fully aroused. She stepped toward him. He met her in the middle of the room.

  His hands caressed her skin. She massaged the muscles of his back. Their mouths fused and their tongues thrust with questing movements. Patrick groaned and freed her lips. He edged her toward the bed.

  He laved her nipples. Sharp, almost painful sparks sizzled along her nerves and gathered in her lower abdomen. She felt her memories fading until all she knew was the touch, the taste, the scent of him. Long dormant responses awoke. For the first time in months, she felt alive.

  "Now," she said. With a cry of joy, she welcomed his penetration.

  Though Patrick felt sated, he couldn't sleep. He shifted position. Susan stirred in his arms. Her curls tickled his chest. He controlled the desire to laugh aloud for fear he'd wake her.

  His gaze swept the room. Jim's picture was missing from the bedside stand. As Patrick pondered the absence, he smiled. Hope became a soporific lulling him to sleep.

  At sunrise, he woke to find Susan leaning on one elbow. Her lips brushed his chest and moved to his mouth. He groaned and pulled her on top of him. The kiss deepened. The day began with love and whispered confidences.

  He yawned and curled around her softness. When he woke, she was gone. He sat up. The aroma of coffee told him where she was. A man's robe was draped over the end of the bed. Jim's? Her father? Not wanting to appear in either man's clothing, he pulled on his trousers and went downstairs.

  When he entered the kitchen, Susan flashed a smile. "Coffee's ready. Pour me a cup, too. How many pancakes do you want?"

  "Four to start." He kissed her nape. "What would you like to do today?"

  Susan spooned batter onto the griddle. "What I'd like to do is different from what I'm going to do. You have to go to work and I'm going to Leila's to pack her clothes for the Thrift Shop."

  "What about this evening?"

  "I should be home by dinner time."

  "Where do you want to go?"

  "Let's wait and see." She took a deep breath. "Today isn't going to be fun."

  Chapter 10

  Susan dropped a soggy tissue in the nearly full wastebasket and reached for a dry one. Today's tears made up for the ones she'd held back so often since the night Leila had been killed. She took the last article of clothing from the closet. Memories of the day she and Leila had bought the dress surfaced and produced a fresh spate of tears.

  She blew her nose and opened the dresser drawers. Nightgowns, underwear, sweat suits and sweaters were added to the boxes beside the bed. Though the Vernons had suggested she take something for herself, she hadn't, not even a piece of costume jewelry.

  A gasp escaped and she remembered last night's discovery. Patrick's presence and the emotional release of making love had driven tears and questions from her thoughts. Who had left the wreath?

  Candy, books, perfume. The wreath could be considered flowers. This time, there hadn't been a note. Somehow, that was more frightening than the cryptic messages.

  What was the meaning of this bizarre courting ritual? She shivered. For a moment, she felt exposed. She was alone in Leila's house. She shook her head. This wasn't the time to consider the connection between the gifts and the deaths. Later, when she was at home, she could make a list.

  Before leaving the bedroom, she checked the dresser and the closet again. Everything except the clothes in the dryer had been packed.

  Susan tucked the photograph of Joe Barclay and the album that documented the affair under her arm. She planned to take them home. She saw no reason for the Vernons' image of their daughter to be tarnished.

  Papers next, she thought.

  The dryer buzzed and diverted her attention. On her way to the small laundry room, she paused in the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. While she folded the lab coats, slacks and sweaters, she sipped coffee and remembered all the things she and Leila had done together. With a sigh, she wondered if there was any place in the county they hadn't been together. She folded the last item and drained the cup. Would memories of her friend remain vivid as long as those of Jim?

  On her return to the kitchen, she found a paper bag and dropped the evidence of Leila's affair inside. She strode to the living room and sat at the Queen Anne desk. In the drawer, she discovered several packets of letters and cards from Joe Barclay. She added them to the bag and tackled the desk. The pigeonholes were neatly labeled. The bills, the checking and saving account books, the insurance policies and a copy of Leila's will filled a manila envelope.

  Susan looked at the clock. Nearly three thirty. She stretched to ease the kinks in her shoulder muscles. After she closed the desk, she picked up the bag and the manila envelope and returned to the kitchen to wash the cup and clean the coffee-maker.

  Her tears began again and continued until she locked the door and walked to her car. After drying her eyes, she backed out of the driveway. Was Patrick home yet? She needed the comfort of his arms. Last night, she had found that and more. Their lovemaking had filled her with a desire to embrace life rather than live in
the shadows.

  She drove home and parked her car. When she saw Patrick's empty space, she frowned. Then she shook her head. She couldn't use him as an anodyne for her grief. He was the future.

  She lifted the manila envelope from the seat. In her haste to reach the house, she had forgotten to stop at the lawyer's office. She strode up the drive and walked uptown.

  There, she delivered the envelope and relinquished the keys to Leila's house and car. When she left the building, the sky looked as dull as she felt.

  "Mrs. Randall, are you all right?"

  Susan turned and saw Mr. Martin. "I will be."

  "You've been crying."

  She nodded. "Just some sad thoughts."

  "Your friend. Wasn't her funeral yesterday?"

  "Yes." Susan turned to walk away.

  "Wait," he said. "Would you like to go somewhere to eat? I know it's early for dinner, but I bet you didn't eat lunch. Grief ruins the appetite."

  "You're right. I didn't." She hesitated. "I'm not hungry."

  "Then coffee. You might be better for the company."

  I might, she thought. Though she would have preferred to be with Patrick, he wasn't home. Mr. Martin understood grief and she didn't want to be alone with all the memories of Leila that had been stirred today.

  Mr. Martin opened the door of the coffee shop. "All those deaths. Such a sad thing."

  Susan nodded. She ordered coffee and closed her eyes. Why had she come here with him? She wasn't ready to respond to anyone's curiosity.

  "Have the police any idea who killed Ms. Vernon?"

  His question jolted her. She opened her eyes. "I haven't heard anything other than what's been in the news." She reached for the coffee cup. "Do you mind if we don't talk about the deaths?"

  He shrugged and dug into a piece of pie the waitress brought. "They say talking helps."

  "I'm not ready yet." At least to talk about Leila during a meeting with someone she barely knew. "I'd like to thank you for the hours you spend as a volunteer. I'm afraid we take your help for granted."

  He looked up. "It helps fill the hours."

  She nodded. "That I can understand." She looked at the clock. "I've got to go."

  "Let me drive you home. You look exhausted."

  "Thanks."

  With the movements of a child whose fingers have brushed the hot burners of a stove, Patrick dropped the edge of the living room curtain. Who was this man who had brought Susan home? Where had she been? For a moment, he considered storming from the house and demanding an explanation and an introduction.

  Whoa, he thought. He had no reason for jealousy. He and Susan had made love, but she had spoken no vows of love. She'd accepted his declaration and remained silent. Though she had promised to stay with him, she had also said nothing lasts forever. How could he experience this dreadful fear of losing her when there was no commitment?

  He rose from the couch. At the kitchen counter, he reached for the phone. Had she invited the man inside?

  With a groan, he halted the impulsive action. If he called her, she would know he'd been spying. He paced to the kitchen door and back again. He'd planned to call Greg and ask about the derringer. What better time than now?

  "Pat, what's up?" Greg asked.

  "Have you learned anything about the gun I found?"

  "Nothing. No prints, no registration. The guy I mentioned is checking with other antique dealers. He'll call when he has something."

  Patrick reached for a pen. "I wonder--"

  "What?"

  "Just a notion that's been bugging me."

  "Is this one of your wild theories? Spit it out."

  Patrick doodled on the pad he kept by the phone. "Why not have four murders by the same unknown person? Maybe for some kind of revenge."

  "Have you been drinking?" Greg asked. "We're pretty sure the same weapon was used on the nurses. That's off the record." He paused. "What do you mean four murders?"

  "Barclay and Mendoza."

  "Barclay died upstate. He was shot. And Mendoza that was an accident."

  "Are you sure?"

  "If I'm not, I'm not telling. The squabble over who's responsible for the hospital's parking lot is making me prematurely bald. They want the town to post officers but it's the hospital's property and they're responsible for security."

  "You're right."

  "Got to go. Talk to you soon."

  Patrick hung up. Almost instantly, the phone rang. When he heard Susan's voice, he grinned. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Not really."

  "Are you too tired to go to dinner?"

  "Let's eat in. I'll broil some chops and make a salad."

  "Be right over to help." He hung up and grabbed his jacket.

  The moment Patrick entered the house, Susan stepped into his arms. She pressed her face against his jacket.

  He lifted her chin with his fingers. "Bad day?"

  The concern in his voice warmed her. "The worst. I feel numb."

  "Want to talk?"

  She shook her head. She wanted to feel his head and savor his passion. "Love me."

  "I do. I will." He drew her to the couch.

  The warmth of his hands on her skin removed the chill that had settled there the moment she had entered Leila's empty house. His mouth moved from her lips and left a trail of fire behind. She felt alive and rejoiced in that feeling. When they were joined, she moved in harmony with him until her body exploded and came together again.

  The next afternoon, Susan entered an empty lounge and wondered where her co-workers were. Trish was off, but Susan had expected to find Julie and Kit engaged in one of their sniping sessions. Susan filled a cup with coffee and carried it to the nurses' station. The cluster of women around Kit and Julie caused Susan to wonder what new scandal had erupted.

  "Susan, what's your opinion?" one of the day nurses asked.

  "About what?"

  "Trish," Rhonda said. "Kit believes she knows why Barbara and Leila were killed and she's afraid she'll be next. Doesn't explain what she tried to do, though."

  "What are you talking about?" Susan checked the patient board and reached for the chart rack for her assigned district.

  "Trish was admitted to ICU early this morning." Kit flipped her red hair over her shoulder. "She overdosed on sleepers."

  Guilt assaulted Susan. She had sensed Trish was troubled and had planned to talk to her the next time they worked together. "How is she?"

  "Stable." Kit followed Susan across the station. "I hear she panicked and called for help. Good thing the media hasn't heard. They'd be nosing around for a story."

  Susan placed her coffee on the desk. A thought jolted her. Sleepers. Prescriptions. She had seen De Witt hand Trish papers that looked like prescriptions. Had he suspected what would happen and deliberately given Trish the means? Before the shift ended, Susan hoped she'd have time to visit Trish and demand answers.

  One of the day nurses reached for the care plan book. "Julie's testy this evening. Wonder what's eating her?"

  "Trish and De Witt were seen together on Tuesday." Rhonda leaned against the counter.

  Susan looked up. "I don't have time for gossip."

  "You sure won't have time later." Rhonda cracked her gum. "You and Julie have to split the floor for meds and orders. They're sending a practical but there are no RN's available."

  Susan counted the cluster of nurses at the desk. "Doesn't look like you were short on days. Meg's known for a month we were short this evening. Is it budget time, or was there an inspection today?"

  "Direct your complaints to the Nursing Office. Since Meg's on vacation, they're in charge."

  By the time Susan made rounds and gave out five o'clock meds, she had fielded a dozen complaints and calmed several patients who demanded immediate attention. If she heard one more comment beginning, "During the day, they always come as soon as I ring," she would scream.

  She looked at the stack of charts in her order basket. "Have that many doctors been
in?"

  Kit swiveled in her chair. "Left from days. You know, the more help they have, the less work they do."

  "I believe you." Susan reached for the top chart.

  "Guess what I heard in the cafeteria?" Kit's voice dropped to a whisper.

  "I'm not even going to try."

  "Someone tried to poison Trish's drink at the Oasis."

  "Wrong. Trish never goes out after work."

  "Then how about this? Trish knew the killer and he entered her apartment and doctored her liquor supply."

  "Not even close. Give it up." Susan signed one chart and reached for another. "You'd better be careful. Gossips don't have a long shelf-life around here."

  "I'll think about what you just said." As Kit walked to the end of the desk, she made a face. "Life won't be as much fun, though."

  Julie put a tray on the counter. "Here's your salad." She frowned. "Didn't they do anything on days except gossip?"

  "Doesn't look that way," Susan said.

  Julie picked up half a sandwich. "Guess you heard about Trish and Larry. The vultures on the day shift couldn't wait to tell me."

  "I heard, but I don't think it's what everyone suspects."

  "Doesn't matter. On Tuesday night, I told him it was over."

  Susan frowned. The tightness of the younger nurse's voice made her wonder if Julie meant what she said. "Do you really want to discuss this here?" She directed Julie's attention to Kit.

  "You're right."

  Kit turned. "Hide the tray. Here comes Grace Rodgers and you know how rule-bound she is."

  Julie picked up the tray. "I'll put it in the med room until she leaves."

  Susan put her hand on the tray. "Leave it. Grace should realize it's better for us to eat here than to put in for overtime."

  When the gray-haired supervisor arrived, she looked at the tray. "I'm surprised, Mrs. Randall. You know the rules. No eating in the nurses' station."

  Susan smiled. "I'm writing a complaint. We're short tonight. Meg knew about the problem a month ago. Since she's on vacation, you're responsible for the unit. Kit, how many charts with orders were left from days?"

  "A dozen and they had an extra nurse on duty."

  Grace nodded. "All right. I'll make an exception this time, but no complaints. If you want overtime, just call. Any problems pending?"