Unbind My Heart (22 page)

Lexie rode in the SUV alongside Kyle, who with Jonas gone was once again acting as her shadow.  It was bizarre to think how much her life had changed in a month’s time.  She had a bodyguard, went to a sex club, and had a new boyfriend whom she let tie her up with ropes. Even stranger, she let him spank her—and she liked it.  Sweet holy crap!  She pinched herself often to make sure it wasn’t some weird dream. 

So here she was, riding alongside an armed guard assigned to protect her from some unknown threat.  They were headed to the clinic downtown.  Although it was Saturday and the clinic was usually closed, they had a free health screening scheduled from 12-6 p.m.  Blood pressure checks, cholesterol screenings, blood sugar tests, and a variety of other tests were being offered free to the low income and uninsured residents of San Antonio.  Twenty physicians and nurse practitioners were scheduled as well as nurses and medical technicians to handle the huge turnout they expected.

Hours later, Lexie found herself elbow deep in patients. As predicted, they had a full house and had already screened several hundred patients in need, giving them an appointment or a referral when necessary.  It was almost six o’clock, time for the screenings to end, when Lexie looked out at the fifty some people still waiting in the lobby as well as in the long line outside on the walkway. 

She was doing an official headcount before talking to Kellie about a plan to get everyone seen, when a careening car crashed through the front wall, rocking the building off its foundation. The front windows and doors imploded, sending shattered glass in all directions. Screams of alarm and cries of pain filled the air as thick dust from the shattered sheet rock and other debris clouded the air. Horrified, Lexie stood momentarily frozen at the sight of the mangled car sitting in the middle of what once was their lobby. The next instant her emergency instincts kicked in, and she rushed to assist the victims who had been waiting in the lobby. She began triaging the critically injured first. 

“Someone call 911!”  She yelled as she came across a woman with a sucking chest wound where a shard of glass had penetrated the right side of her chest.  “Bring the crash cart and get every available clinician up here,” Lexie screamed.

Trying to assure the bleeding, frightened woman, she pulled off her lab coat to stabilize the projectile.  What she needed was some Vaseline gauze to seal around the glass and re-inflate the lung until she could get her to a hospital for surgery.

“Where’s the damn crash cart?” she yelled toward the back, at someone, anyone.  She couldn’t leave her patient. When she turned around to see if help was coming, she came face-to-face with a haggard-looking Latino man aiming a weapon directly at her forehead.  Stunned, she stared at him as he yelled at her in rapid Spanish.

Shaking her head, she stammered, “No hablo Espanol.”  That was the extent of her foreign language skills, unless he knew Latin.  He evidently didn’t hear, or chose not to listen because he spouted off another string of frenetic speech.  She shook her head again.  He was not receptive to her saying no and slapped her viciously across the cheek.  As Lexie reeled from the painful blow, she considered herself lucky he’d used his open hand instead of the gun. 

“
Ven conmigo, Perra
!” the angry man demanded and grabbed her arm painfully, pulling her away.

“I don’t understand.  Please.  If I leave her, she’ll die. 
Uh… damn. 
El Muerte
?”

“You come now.” 
Dragging her away, Lexie looked back helplessly as the blood once again started spurting from the woman’s chest.  “Please. She’ll die.”

He ignored her and pulled her toward the vehicle.  “
Ayudar a mi nino
!”  Pointing into the car with one hand, the other aimed the gun threateningly at Lexie, and he screamed in broken English, “You help him or I shoot.”

At that moment, Kyle appeared behind him, pointing his gun at the screaming man’s head.  “Put the gun down.”

An explosion of unintelligible speech ripped through the air.

Kyle looked at her expectantly.  “You speak Spanish, Lex?”

Sadly, she shook her head.  Lexie peered through the smashed rear window and saw a boy in the back seat.  He was about eight years old and covered in blood.  Instinctively, she moved toward him. 

“Stop, Lexie!”

Ignoring Kyle’s warning, she pulled on the door.  It made a grinding metallic sound before the thin mangled hinge broke and the whole door snapped off, falling onto the tile floor with a loud crash. Stepping over the debris, Lexie climbed into the car and knelt in the floorboard beside the boy, ignoring the broken glass that covered the mats.  When she didn’t see the rise and fall of his chest, she immediately checked for a pulse.  It was rapid and thready. He was in respiratory arrest; she had to act now.  Giving him two quick rescue breaths, she gathered him into her arms and slid out of the car.  When the man with the gun moved to block her, she channeled Jonas’ most authoritative voice and bellowed in his face.  “Move!  Or he dies!”

Minutes seemed to drag by as she found an empty stretcher and finally flagged down a nurse.  It vaguely registered that she knew her.  It was Mara, one of the RN’s from the hospital. She was an emergency nurse, thank God. She knew how to work a trauma. Mara was pushing a crash cart toward the lobby.  After quickly assessing the situation, she grabbed the pediatric ambu bag and handed it to Lexie, who went to work.  She soon had an airway in him while Mara hooked up the portable oxygen.  It was all they had and wouldn’t last long.  Once she’d oxygenated him, she let Mara take over bagging the boy while she assessed his wound—a gunshot wound to the abdomen, near the spleen, she guessed by its location.  She looked at the man who hovered nearby with his gun still aimed at her head, and Kyle, in the same stance behind him except his target was the man’s head.  She realized that her actions would determine the outcome of their standoff. 

She spoke slowly to the man in hopes he would understand some of her words.  “He needs surgery.  He’ll have to go to the hospital.” 

The man stared blankly at her, motioning with his gun after a moment as he chattered furiously.  Lexie stared back in frustration, thinking it may as well have been Klingon, for cripe’s sake.

“He said for you to fix him here, Lexie.  No police or hospitals.”  Mara’s voice was flat, unemotional as if she were slipping into shock by the events unfolding around her.  Lexie looked at her and saw she was staring at the gunman, an odd expression on her pale face, not fear or shock as one would expect.  It was almost detached, unemotional, or possibly resigned.

Lexie spoke with a sliver of hope to communicate with the mad gunman.  Making sure she had her attention, she spoke authoritatively.  “Mara!  You speak Spanish?”

“Some, but not fluently, just enough to get by.”

“Mara O’Brien?”  Kyle’s voice sounded incredulous.  “What are you doing here?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Lexie insisted. “Mara, tell him I’m a nurse practitioner, not a surgeon.  I can’t fix him.”

They exchanged a furious back-and-forth in Spanish, Lexie applying pressure to the boy’s wound. “What are you saying?”

Before Mara could respond, the man strode across the room and pressed the gun against Mara’s temple.  “Fix or she dies,” he threatened in broken, heavily accented English.

It was at that point that Lexie knew she would have to do her best, but odds were that her best wouldn’t be good enough.  He’d lost so much blood and still wasn’t breathing without help.  In the end, she was afraid the boy would die despite her efforts and she wondered what the man, whoever he was—his father maybe?—would shoot both her and Mara as payback.

“Stop bagging.”  Lexie listened and was relieved to hear him breathing, although the irregular harsh rhythm was that of a shocky patient.  “Bag supportively, twelve breaths per minute, Mara.  I need more hands. Where the hell is everyone?”

“Scared of the big bad man with the gun I’d imagine, Lexie.”  Face ashen and hands trembling with fear, Mara was doing her best to keep her cool with a gun to her temple. 

“Kyle, come here.  Put on gloves and hold pressure right here while I get some supplies.” 

Kyle shook his head, his gun still on his target.  “I don’t think that’s smart, Lex.”

“Now Kyle, or this little boy dies and most likely so do we.”

Convinced, Kyle had Lexie glove one of his hands while he kept his gun aimed with the other. He applied pressure as Lexie rushed around gathering supplies, an IV kit and a bag of lactated ringers, the volume-expanding fluids would have to do in lieu of a blood transfusion.  It was the first time since leaving the hospital that she wished she was back in the ER.  She found a sterile surgical tray, saline and some bulky dressings. When she returned, she slipped a BP cuff on his small arm and then attached the cardiac monitor.  A half hour later, she had the IV started, administered a touch of morphine, and had removed the bullet and packed the wound. 

“Damn, Lex.  You should have been a trauma surgeon,” Kyle said, impressed. 

“Mara, tell him I’ve done everything that I can.  He’s had morphine for pain, but he’ll need antibiotics, a blood transfusion, and a real surgeon.  He’ll have to go to the hospital for that.”

As she relayed the message, the man shook his head.  They argued back and forth for a few minutes, Mara’s gaze frequently flicking worriedly to Lexie.

“He says no hospital.  He also said for you to gather supplies because he wants you to go with him to take care of his son.” 

“Like hell she is,” Kyle growled.

Pop, pop, pop. The sound of gunfire rang out in the street accompanied by a spray of broken glass. 

“Get down!” Kyle yelled, diving for Lexie and pulling her behind the cart.  “Stay here and keep your head down.”  Gun held up by his shoulder in ready position, Kyle crept low toward the door where the gunman now lay moaning. He’d taken a bullet in his thigh. Kicking away his gun, Kyle froze as the man yelled in Spanish.  Crouching, he carefully peered around the shattered doorway. More gunshots sounded and he returned fire. There was a brief pause before a barrage of rapid gunfire erupted, much faster than before as if from an automatic weapon.  When it ceased endless moments later, the walls were riddled with holes and the remaining glass in the doors and windows fell around them like rain.  

Then came an eerie calm and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Lexie saw Kyle lying crumpled on the floor, blood spurting from a head wound. She cried his name as she saw blood spreading across the right side of his shirt. Taking a step toward him, she was stopped short by an angry shout. “Don’t move!”

A man stepped through the decimated doorway, his gun still aimed at Kyle, although his eyes were on her.  He was tall and lean, with a huge diamond in his left ear, and he bore a striking resemblance to the first man.  His eyes shifted behind her.  A surprised look crossed his face for a split second, before he swung his arm toward Lexie.  Once again, she found herself staring down a menacing black barrel. 

Beside her, Mara whispered, “Please, God no. She saved him.”

At her words, the man smiled sadly and spoke softly to Mara in Spanish, “
Lo siento, mi Corazon.
”  He then took aim. 

Instinctively, Lexie dove to protect the vulnerable little boy with her body.  More shots and a weight landed with a thud across Lexie’s back.  It took her a moment to figure out the weight was Mara, and that she’d taken the bullets meant for her. She now lay in a bloody sprawl on top of her.  Dully, she turned her head and blinked in surprise as an older man of around seventy, dressed nicely in a tailored three-piece suit with a matching fedora and gold tipped cane, stepped in through the demolished lobby doors.  Also Latino, he was tall and lean, resembling the younger two strongly.  The words “kingpin” leapt to mind.

The old man’s gaze swept the room, taking in the destruction with keenly observant eyes.  His survey of the scene stopped at the three of them on the stretcher, and he zoned in on the little boy at the bottom of the pile.  He moved forward, his walking stick tapping ominously against the tile floor.  As he drew near, Lexie was surprised to see he had a tattoo of three teardrops below his left eye.  Standing next to them, he reached out and with one hand pushed Mara’s listless body off her back.  Lexie flinched at the thud on the hard tile floor, the jarring impact tearing cries of agony from Mara’s bullet-riddled body. 

With Mara at her feet, Lexie was left fully exposed, still bent protectively over the injured boy.  She looked over her shoulder to plead with the old man.  Any words she might have spoken froze on her lips when she saw a barely conscious Kyle lying helpless and bleeding a few feet behind him.  Unfazed by their brutality, the two gunmen stood over him, one gesturing wildly with his gun as the other held tight to his hemorrhaging thigh, both arguing loudly in Spanish.  The only word Lexie recognized was
idiota
.

“
Silencio
!” the old man barked impatiently, and they stopped.  He then looked back at Lexie, speaking more quietly. “Senorita, I’m so sorry.” 

Lexie was surprised by two things, first, his unquestioned authority over the volatile younger men, and second, his apology. 

“My son tells me you have saved my grandson.  I am most grateful.”  He took her arm and helped her stand, pulling her gently away from the stretcher.  “Unfortunately, it appears the reward for such kindness will have to come in the afterlife.  Most unfair, for such a beautiful savior, but you’ve seen too much.  Nephew—” He stepped away from her, his eyebrows gathered in as he sighed heavily—was that regret?  The word afterlife penetrated her fear-ravaged brain, before she could put it all together, he gave a quick nod of his head.