Blurred Lines by KD Williamson
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Table of Contents
Other Books from Ylva Publishing
Books in the Series
Cops and Docs
Blurred Lines
Crossing Lines
(Book #2; Coming Spring 2016)
Dedications
To my Michelle—She stuck around all this time, so I must be a pretty okay person…weird but okay.
To my mother and the rest of my family—I’ve always stuck out, but you fostered my idiosyncrasies.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the gang at Ylva Publishing for making my transition back into the world of writing almost seamless. Special thanks to Jove Belle who pushed and pushed…and pushed until I was ready to jump over the cliff and be better. Last, but certainly not least, big thanks to my friend and writing buddy, Maria Bennet. Without you kicking me in the ass, this story would have never been what it turned into.
CHAPTER 1
Kelli McCabe blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to see through the gray haze that filled her vision. There was a coppery taste in her mouth. Kelli swallowed and realized it was her own blood. She beat down panic and clung to consciousness with both hands. Her own special brand of stubbornness kept the darkness at bay. This wasn’t the first time that trait had served her well, and it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be the last. The sound of gunfire echoed in her ears, but the roar of her own heartbeat took precedence, blocking out everything else. It reminded her that those assholes had failed. She had to live. Pure and simple. It was the best sort of
fuck you
to send out to the universe and the gunmen who had shot her.
Gradually, Kelli focused on the medical personnel. They were making too much goddamned noise so she didn’t really have a choice. Two EMTs prodded her at the same time, seemingly everywhere at once. They spoke to her and each other, but Kelli couldn’t understand a word. The one thing she knew for sure was this shit hurt. Pain twisted her insides, and she fought against it. Kelli smacked away the hands that poked at her. “Stop…no fucking touching.” She growled, impressed that she could speak through the crapload of pain.
“She’s coming out of it,” one of the EMTs said.
“What’s she saying?”
“Uh, I think she’s cursing at us.” He paused. “Listen, we’re trying to help you,” he said slowly.
“Then…stop poking…your fingers in me…shit,” Kelli countered even slower.
“I know it hurts. You’ve been shot. We’re almost at the hospital.”
Everything came back to her in a rush of jumbled images. The gray haze turned to blood-red anger, and it left her tired as hell.
“Travis.” Kelli screamed his name, but all that came out was a raspy whisper.
“What?” the EMT asked.
“Travis,” she mumbled, a little louder than before.
“I think she said Travis, but I’m not sure. She’s fading.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re here.”
The doors to the ambulance opened with a loud creak, drowning out Kelli’s next attempt to speak. They moved her abruptly and jostled her, causing a burst of pain to jolt through her chest. She groaned. Bright light and a tangle of voices flooded her senses, and put her in overload. Kelli flinched. Everything already hurt, and all that other shit was just too much.
“What do we have?”
“White female. GSW to the chest and right thigh. Diminished breath sounds. BP is seventy over fifty-five and falling,” a familiar voice answered.
She had to get them to listen. Kelli’s pain and desperation fueled her. “Travis!” She tried to sit up but was pushed back down.
“Weak my ass! There is no way she should be awake. Let’s get her to trauma one.”
An eternity later, Kelli was lifted and moved to a different bed. Pain slapped her in the face. She cried out, “Dammit.”
“Miss? Can you tell me your name?”
It was getting harder to breathe, but Kelli held on. The room began to swim, turning the person looking down at her into a blur. “Shit.”
“Let’s try it again.”
“Fuck…Kel-li.”
“Okay, I’m Dr. Rader, Kelli. You’re at Seattle Memorial. We’re trying to take care of you. Is Travis your husband?”
“Partner.”
“I’m sure he’s being taken care of,” Dr. Rader said dismissively.
It pissed her off all over again. “Fuck you. I need to know. Go check on him.”
“Kelli, I need you to calm down. Let us do our job.”
Kelli wanted to scream. Why wouldn’t these dumbasses listen to her? She was alive. She knew that because she hurt everywhere, but she had no idea what happened to Travis. “Fuck that. He wasn’t moving. Go fix him.”
“Kel? Kelli?”
Kelli turned toward the sound of her name. She blinked, bringing her brother into focus. She couldn’t remember ever feeling that relieved.
“Sean…Travis…he…”
Sean moved closer. She wanted to reach out to him. “Let them take care of you. I’ll find out what’s going on with him.”
“Sir, you can’t be in here. Family—”
“She’s my sister.” Sean cut him off.
“Sorry. If you can calm her down…”
Ignoring the others around her, Kelli concentrated on her brother. “They got him in the back, Sean. He…wasn’t moving. Please—”
“I’ve got this. Mom’s on her way. I’m sure Bruce will be here soon too.”
His voice was soft. It soothed her.
“Just do what they say. I got this,” he repeated.
Kelli wanted to believe him. A crushing pain fluttered through her chest, making it even harder to breathe. Kelli gasped as everything went dim.
* * *
“What do we have?” Dr. Nora Whitmore asked as she entered.
Dr. Rader stiffened visibly. “Dr. Whitmore, there was no need—”
“What do we have?” Nora stared at Rader, demanding his cooperation. He remained still and silent as the rest of his team worked diligently. Nora lost her patience. “You can urinate all over your territory later if that’s what you need to do, Dr. Rader. For now, though, I don’t communicate telepathically so…” She paused for a few seconds to give herself a moment to calm down and assess the patient for herself. “GSW to the leg and chest.” She glanced at a nurse. “Breath sounds?”
“Some, but they are wet and decreasing.”
“Get her to surgery before she bleeds out,” Dr. Whitmore ordered. “I’m going to go check on our other gunshot victim.”
Rader nodded as he helped to wheel Kelli from the room.
Nora glanced at the remaining occupant as she made her exit.
He followed her. “I’m Kelli’s brother, Sean. I think you were talking about her partner, Gerald Travis Jr. Is he okay?”
She walked briskly toward the next patient’s room. “I’m not sure who it is, but I’ll know more about his prognosis momentarily.”
Sean nodded and stepped away as she entered another trauma room. She looked over her shoulder. Sean was still there, looking through the window. This was obviously his friend.
The heart monitor beeped loudly in concert with the IV pump. The sounds centered Nora and brought her patient’s needs into focus. The cervical collar around his neck inhibited movement to prevent any additional injury. She had taught her residents well.
“Dr. Simmons should be here momentarily. I’m here to help. Talk to me,” Nora said. The staff looked her way.
“GSW, probably trauma to the spine, plus significant blood loss. Abdomen is rigid indicating an internal bleed. His extremities aren’t responding to stimulation, and his blood pressure is dropping.” Dr. Fuller, a third-year resident, responded immediately, and Nora was surprised that she was the resident to take lead. Dr. Fuller’s performance had been subpar recently, but Nora approved of her initiative.
The electrocardiograph whined. The patient’s blood pressure bottomed out, and he went into ventricular fibrillation.
“He’s coding.”
“You know what to do.” Nora disliked giving unnecessary direction.
Dr. Fuller placed the defibrillator pads on his chest.
The door to the trauma room banged against the wall and the young police officer entered. “Gerry!”
“Someone escort him out.” Nora maintained her focus. “Twenty joules.”
“Charging.”
The defibrillator bleeped in readiness.
“Clear,” Nora said.
Infused with electrical current, Gerald Travis arched upward.
Nora stared at the monitor, mentally ordering it to respond. When it didn’t, she changed tactics. He was her patient. She refused to give up easily and was confident she could stabilize his vitals. “Push an amp of epi and bump it to forty joules.”
Nora waited patiently for the defibrillator.
“Clear.”
The patient was shocked again, and seconds later, his heart returned to a normal sinus rhythm.
Perfect.
Now, she could focus on the other challenges his battered body faced.
Nora peeled the defibrillator pads from the patient’s chest.
“Vitals are stabilizing.” Dr. Fuller stated the obvious.
The door burst open as Dr. Simmons entered. He bent over slightly as he tried to catch his breath. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
Instead of responding to his apologies, Nora relayed information on Gerald Travis Jr.
Dr. Simmons stood, nodded, and asked for forgiveness once more.
“Get him to an OR.” Nora removed her gloves and stepped to the side.
Last to leave, Nora walked out behind the gurney. Sean McCabe met her at the door. His police uniform was wrinkled, and he held his hat in a white knuckled grip. He watched as they wheeled his friend down the hall.
“This is so messed up. It’s hard to see him like this. He’s usually smirking or saying something stupid.” Sean turned toward Nora. “Thank you for what you did in there.”
Uncomfortable with being praised for doing her job, Nora nodded and chose her words carefully, intent on ending the interaction as soon as possible. “He’s sta—”
“I know. I get it.” Sean nodded, looking dejected.
“I’m sorry, officer. I know this is difficult.” Platitudes were easy. She had plenty of them on standby. Nora used them so she would appear to care while still remaining detached. She did her best to comfort the young man, but it was time to move on. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to a previously scheduled surgery. Another surgeon will be operating on your friend. They’ll contact you as soon as they know more.”