Urgent Care (7 page)

“Hey guys,” Jerry said by way of greeting. He had that wide-eyed flushed look he always got in the early stages of a case—before the exhaustion of working nonstop ground it out of him. “Trey, I need a favor—”

Gina tried to edge behind the side of the ambulance, but it was too late. Jerry turned to her, his head cocked to one side in worry and confusion. “Where’s your vest?”

“Don’t worry,” Gecko said. “She’s riding with the A-team.”

“Don’t tell me when to worry.” Jerry’s voice snapped like an elastic band stretched too far. “Riding with you didn’t stop her from being shot last summer.”

“Jerry, calm down,” Gina said.

But he ignored her, aiming his glare at Trey. “I asked you to look after her.”

Gina stomped a booted foot to get their attention. She’d have loved to aim it a bit higher at a certain someone’s ass.
Jerry
was the reason why Trey kept hovering? She’d been blaming Lydia for assigning her the district chief as watchdog.

“Hey,” she said, stepping between Trey and Jerry. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

Jerry didn’t even have the good grace to look chagrined. “You promised you’d wear your vest.”

“I forgot it. Sue me. I’m only human. But I’m not a child, I don’t need looking after.”

“But Gina, I only—”

“Forget it, Jerry. We’re not having this discussion again. Call off your babysitters and get back to work.” She climbed into the ambulance and slammed the door shut.

Through the door, she heard Jerry ask Trey to spread the word among the medics to let him know if they’d seen anything in the cemetery that morning. And then, fueling her anger further, Jerry apologized to Trey for Gina’s surliness.

She added a fresh piece of nicotine gum to the wad she was already chewing, chomping down hard, wishing she had a cigarette. Why was Jerry always trying to protect her? She knew he loved her, but sometimes . . .

Her ear popped as her jaws worked the gum harder. But she couldn’t avoid the truth. That sometimes Jerry reminded her of her father.

And that was never a compliment.

 

 

NORA STOOD OUTSIDE THE OR DOORS, WATCHING in silence as the crime-scene investigators searched and cata loged every scrap of cloth and paper surrounding Karen’s body. Still no sign of the rape kit.

Behind her, less than forty feet down the hall, the noise from the ER sounded small and tinny as if it came from a mistuned television. She was supposed to be in charge, but it sounded like they were doing just fine without her.

Jerry Boyle’s partner, Janet Kwon, had taken her statement, treating Nora as if she were a suspect herself. Nora had showered and changed into scrubs, but she still felt unclean. Maybe because she hadn’t yet been able to find the words—or the strength—to tell anyone about what happened to her two years ago.

She’d gone over every step of her walk from the parking garage, showing Janet where she’d found Karen and explaining about the rape kit. Without ever mentioning that she knew this rapist’s work, up close and personal. Of course, Janet’s resentment over the lost evidence, implying that Nora was at best incompetent and at worst an accomplice to murder, hadn’t helped.

She’d wait and talk to Jerry, Nora promised herself. A few hours wouldn’t make a difference. Wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t like she had any concrete evidence to offer—she hadn’t seen her attacker and his voice had been disguised.

All the same excuses she’d been using for two years, trying to rationalize her silence.

The medical examiner’s team had taken a sterile sheet and used it to wrap the body before bundling Karen into a body bag and onto their stretcher. Nora stood silent as they wheeled the body past her. It seemed as if the entire ER quieted to a hush.

A hand touched her arm, and the noise rushed back. Nora shook her head against the barrage. She glanced up, expecting the hand to belong to Seth. Instead it was Jim Lazarov, the snotty intern was the last person she was in the mood to see.

“What?”

“I need a nurse to observe while I examine a teenager, and you’re the only one not doing anything.” Without waiting for her answer, he strode off in the direction of the OB-GYN room.

Nora rolled her eyes but followed. Unfortunately, Jim was probably right. With the police pulling her away from her duties, the other nurses had been busy picking up the slack. Jim pushed open the door without knocking. The clash of metal against metal sounded just as Nora arrived.

“I told you to get the hell out of here!” the girl shouted. She was maybe seventeen, dressed all in black with multiple facial piercings marring her otherwise flawless porcelain complexion. “I changed my mind!”

Nora entered and closed the door behind her. The girl had backed herself into the corner near the instrument cart, her eyes wide, the skin around them dark—and not just from the Goth makeup she wore.

“You need to let me examine you,” Jim said, yanking on a pair of gloves.

“No, I don’t! Leave me alone!”

“You came here for help, Glory. Now let me help you.”

“Jim, why don’t you let me talk to her?” Nora asked, edging toward the girl.

“I can handle it.” Jim threw her a glare. Then he turned his focus back onto Glory. “The guy beat you up. Why are you protecting him?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. He
loves
me. Why won’t you leave me alone?” The girl was crying now, tears streaking black and blue down her cheeks.

“Sorry, no can do,” Jim said, gesturing imperatively at the exam table. “Now sit down and let me examine you.”

Glory had other ideas. She grabbed a pair of surgical scissors from the instrument tray. They weren’t blunted like bandage scissors, but sharp and deadly. She brandished them at Jim, then turned them on herself, holding them to her neck right over her carotid artery.

“Stay away or I’ll kill myself,” she warned.

Thursday, 11:02 A.M.

“OH SHIT,” JIM SAID. HE BACKPEDALED AS IF HE were the one in danger.

Not trusting Jim to do anything but aggravate the situation, Nora centered her attention on Glory. Grabbing a box of tissues from the counter, she stepped forward to hand it to the girl. The door slammed open and shut again as Jim plowed through it.

Glory started at the movement, gesturing with the scissors, but Nora simply held the tissues out, her hand remarkably steady.

“Looks painful,” she said, nodding at an ugly burn on Glory’s wrist about the size of a cigarette.

Glory grabbed a handful of tissues and rubbed them across her nose and cheeks. “Yeah. That’s why I came. Until he”—she jerked her head at the door Jim had escaped through—“got all up in my face, asking questions.”

“How old is it?” Nora kept her voice level. “I’m worried it might be infected.”

The teen still held the scissors but hesitated, her gaze going to the burn. “Couple of days. He didn’t mean anything by it, honest. It was all my fault. I was in the toilet, didn’t answer his text fast enough.”

“He texts you a lot, I’ll bet. Likes to keep tabs on you—even in the middle of the night, right?”

Glory looked surprised. “Yeah, how’d you know? That way my folks don’t know. But”—her voice betrayed her fatigue—“sometimes I wish . . .” She trailed off. “I don’t want to get him in trouble. He loves me.”

Nora had heard it all too often. Women mistaking manipulation and coercion for love. It was a common pattern—especially in this era of instant communication when it was impossible to hide from an obsessed partner.

“Do you love him?” she asked softly.

“Of course I do.” Glory looked wistful. “Sometimes he can be so sweet. Treats me like a princess.”

“Have you ever hurt him?” Glory shook her head. “Ever give him a black eye? Burned him with a cigarette?”

“Never! How could I? I love him—” She broke off, looking confused. The hand with the scissors drifted downward.

Before Nora could reach out and take them from Glory, the door crashed open and the head of security, Glen Bakker, ran inside. In one swift movement, he shoved Nora aside and rammed Glory, smashing her wrist against the wall. The scissors fell to the floor with a clatter.

“I got her,” he shouted triumphantly.

Glory struggled futilely, cursing, but then slumped down to the floor, weeping in surrender.

“Nora, are you okay?” Glen asked in a breathless voice.

“I’m fine. She’s harmless, a victim. Get off her.” Nora yanked on Glen’s shoulder with all her weight. He resisted her for a moment, then stood, leaving Glory crumpled on the floor.

Nora sat down on the floor beside the teen and grabbed a handful of tissues to mop Glory’s face clean.

“It will be okay,” she told the dazed teen. “I promise, it will be okay.”

Footsteps sounded behind her. Nora turned, expecting to see Jim. Instead, it was Tommy Zwyczaje from social services hovering by her side. He’d brought reinforcements—a nurse and the psychiatric social worker. Nora helped Glory to her feet.

“They’re going to take good care of you, Glory. Okay?”

Glory nodded and released Nora’s hand. Glen shifted his weight, his bulk appearing ludicrous beside the slightly built teenager.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Nora. “Lazarov said—”

“Jim’s an idiot,” Nora snapped. “But thanks anyway, Glen.” She nodded to Tommy, who was gesturing for her to join him in the hallway outside the room.

“Good work. Let’s take a walk,” he said in that rich voice that always reminded her of Christmas Eve midnight mass. She let him lead her down the hall and past her colleagues at the nurses’ station, turning the corner and entering the family room.

“Coffee? Doughnuts?” Tommy offered.

Her stomach rumbled even though she knew she couldn’t possibly face food, not with this knot twisting her gut. She lowered herself into a vinyl chair, placing her hands on both of its arms, and perched on the edge, her back straight, head upright. To her left stood a wastebasket three-quarters filled with used tissues and crumpled foam coffee cups.

Tommy eased into the chair beside her, his posture almost as stiff as hers. His left hand was close enough to brush hers, the overhead light winking from his wedding band. He didn’t try to make eye contact.

She knew the drill. Defuse the situation, encourage talk, mirror the emotional distress, and slowly bring it back to normal. Kind of like dealing with a crackhead or a wailing toddler trapped in a tantrum. She choked back the hysteria bubbling up inside her, fearing that if she let it escape it would leave behind a vacuum she’d never be able to fill up again.

“Tell me about Karen.” Tommy finally broke the silence. “Whatever comes to mind.”

Nora swallowed hard, shaking her head, flashes of neon graffiti sparking through her vision.

“Okay, then.” Tommy eased back in his seat. “We can talk about anything.”

There was a long silence. Nora fidgeted, her fingers worrying a torn piece of vinyl on the chair cushion.

“How’s Seth doing? When I saw you last, it seemed like things were getting serious.”

She pulled her knees up, her entire body embraced by the chair, her focus on the torn cushion. “We broke up a few months ago.”

Another silence. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. You seemed happy.”

“I was.” The words were out before she could stop them. Even worse, tears tumbled out with them. “We were. At least I thought we were.”

Damn, she needed to stop. Tommy didn’t need or want to hear all this. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, blinking hard, but the tears kept on coming. “Until I found him in bed with Karen.”

“Karen Chisholm? The victim?”

Overwhelmed by sobs, Nora could only nod. She reached blindly for the box of tissues on the table beside her, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose.

“Nora.” Tommy’s voice dropped, low and serious. “Have you told the police about Seth and Karen?”

She shook her head. Seth had always denied his affair with Karen, continuously insisting that there was nothing between him and the nurse anesthetist. But she’d seen them together. And Karen had made a point of filling her in on intimate details whenever Nora saw her. Still, she was certain Seth had nothing to do with Karen’s attack. “He was on call, here at the hospital. He couldn’t have had anything to do with this.”

“Don’t you think the police should know?”

Nora shrank away from Tommy, burying her fingers deep in the hole in the cushion, wishing she could crawl in after and hide from the world.

Of course the police should know. Just as they needed to know that there had been a prior victim, that this wasn’t the rapist’s first time.

Somehow she had to find the courage to face her past. The truth was supposed to set you free. But to Nora, it felt as if the truth were a dark labyrinth, a monster’s lair, one that she might lose herself in. Maybe forever.

Slowly she uncurled herself from her fetal position. She pushed out of the chair and stood. “I need to get back to work.”

“But, Nora, we’ve just begun.”

“No. I can’t—” She backed toward the door, edging past the chair, putting it between her and Tommy. “I can’t do this now.”

“We’ll talk later,” he called out as she went through the door. She swiped at her face, sucked in a breath, and strode over to the nurses’ station. There she found Lydia on the phone, her face flushed as she paced in a circle, tethered by the phone’s cord.

“What’s going on?” Nora asked Jason.

“Some attending is trying to steal the last PICU bed from Lydia’s patient.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “First fight I’ve seen her on the losing side of.”

“Have you seen Jerry Boyle? Is he still here?” Nora was almost afraid to ask, but if Jerry was still here, she’d tell him everything. Now, while she still had the courage.

Jason shook his head. “Sorry, they already left. Do you want me to call him?”