Nick tipped his mug against hers. “To more evenings like this,” he said, his eyes flashing seductively. Or maybe she was just reading that into this moment.
“So, tell me,” he said, “what’s going on? You seem so jumpy.”
“You’re sure you want to hear this?”
He nodded. She leaned into her seat back. “It started the night of the shooting.”
“The Harts?” He seemed to stiffen as he leaned forward.
“Yes. That whole thing is just so strange, but there’s more, stuff that affects me directly.” She told him about the feeling that someone was watching her, the intermittent trouble with her unreliable lock, the odd disappearance of her schedule, the news report that supposedly came from a nurse.
“That was you?”
“No. It wasn’t me, or anyone else, but I was blamed because I knew the reporter.”
“Who is this guy?”
Over steak tips and mashed potatoes, she told him about Bert, and his penchant for lying, this time about her. “I’ve been banished to working days in the ICU, which is why I wasn’t in the ER when you were looking for me. Tonight, there’s another AP story in the news. I can’t seem to win.”
Nick’s eyes shimmered in the dim light. “That reporter again?”
“Probably. I haven’t seen the newspaper yet, but I’d bet it’s him.” She shrugged. And as she considered the events of the last few days, she wondered if maybe they were connected—if Bert was watching her, if he’d gotten into her apartment somehow. She shivered at the thought and quickly dismissed it. He was a creep, but not that kind of creep. “Not much I can do about it except hope my manager doesn’t see it.”
“She’s still there?” Nick had met her once when he’d run into Jessie in the ER when he’d escorted a prisoner who’d needed stitches. As they’d stood in the hallway chatting, Sheila approached. “Socialize on your own time,” she’d warned Jessie, who’d rolled her eyes and told Nick she’d see him later.
“Why can’t they get rid of her?” he asked.
“She comes to work, our numbers are good, and they’re too lazy to look for someone else. She and Bert have combined to make my life miserable. I just wish I could make them both go away.”
“Really?” he asked, his forehead crinkling.
She shook her head. “No, just wishful thinking.”
Nick laughed, his eyes suddenly twinkling. “So, on to other things. How is the ICU?”
“As if being there on days isn’t bad enough, I’ve been assigned to Hart. The final nail in my coffin.”
“That’s why you’re spending time with that detective?”
“Huh?” Jessie asked, a forkful of potatoes halfway to her mouth. How would he know that? “I…” She swallowed her food, wondering what to say.
“I saw you speaking with him at the hospital, that’s all,” Nick said hurriedly as if to answer the question that hung in the air between them. “I figured he was asking about the Harts.”
“You should have stopped to say hello.”
“I know you’re busy. I was, too. Next time I’ll be sure to stop, as long as that manager isn’t around. But while we’re on the subject, did he say if there’s anything new with the Hart investigation?”
“No. Nothing that hasn’t been on the news.”
“Hmm,” he muttered, taking a long draw of his beer.
They chatted about the weather, the upcoming holidays, her runs by Castle Island.
“I should start jogging again myself,” Nick said, running his fingers through his thick brown hair. “I haven’t been working out much lately. Maybe I can run with you sometime.”
“I’d like that. I’m hoping that I’m back in the ER on evenings this week. I’ll have more time to run in the morning. I just hate working days.” She glanced at her watch. “And since I’m on tomorrow, I’ll have to be home soon.”
Nick pulled his chair closer and leaned in. “Let’s do this again then. Soon. And I want you to know I’ve been transferred to South Boston, so I’m nearby all the time. If you’re nervous, just call me. Don’t even bother with nine-one-one. Just call me. I think you know I like you, Jess. A lot. I’ll always look out for you.” He kissed her then, a gentle graze along her lips, the softness of his lips rich with the promise of more. Much more.
And for the first time since the shootings, Jessie felt every muscle in her body relax. Nick had a calming effect on her. She smiled and kissed him back, this one deeper, more intense. Finally, she pulled away. “Walk me home?”
At her door, Nick checked the lock, which seemed secure, and kissed her goodnight. “Want me to come in?” he asked. “Have a look around?”
She smiled. “If I let you in, I’ll never let you out.”
He waited until she stepped inside and locked her door before he bounded down the stairs, his footfalls echoing in the hall. From the other side of the door, Jessie listened as the entryway door banged shut, and then there was only silence. She leaned against the door and sighed. He was exactly the type of guy she needed. Much as she liked Sam, he was older, still single and seemed happy that way. Nick was young, eager and definitely into her. She smiled to herself. It was Nick she needed. It was Nick she wanted. Which was probably why it would never work out.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday mornings offered an easy commute. It always seemed that everyone was off on Sunday, and that made finding a parking spot outside the hospital easy, too. Jessie slid into a spot by the ER and cut through the ambulance bay into the Trauma hallway. The back elevators were her destination but she lingered for a moment by the trauma rooms, one of which had clearly just emptied, the floor littered with the debris of one more life in the balance.
“Hey, Jess,” Elena called, her arms laden with IV bags. “Are you back?”
“Not yet. I’m still in the ICU. Just taking a short-cut to the back elevators.”
Elena shrugged. “Well, we need you. We’re so short-staffed, Sheila’s forcing us to do mandatory overtime. We’re pretty fed up.”
“You know I’d be here if I could be. You have no idea how much I miss this place.”
“This place misses you.” She nodded towards the mess in the trauma room. “Gotta get this mess cleaned up and restocked,” she said, disappearing into the room.
“See you,” Jessie muttered to the air. In the ICU, she was assigned to Hart again, but luck was with her. She was also assigned to the trauma victim who’d just left the ER—a fifty-four-year-old man who’d been assaulted. He’d been beaten with a bat, and had bruising around his skull, abdomen and back. The charge nurse gave her report. “Head CT’s negative but he was confused in the ER. Belly CT showed a retroperitoneal bleed, but he’s clotted it off; his hemoglobin is stable at ten so we’re waiting for Merrick to come in. He’s intubated, typed and crossed, and sedated with a Propofol drip. He’s stable. For now.” She handed a stack of paperwork to Jessie. “And Hart is fine. Maybe you can ask Merrick to move him out of here.”
“Yeah, right. Like I might ever.”
Jessie read the notes on her new patient, checked his IVs, vital signs and ventilator settings before poking her head into Hart’s room. “Morning,” she said. “Listen, I have…” She was about to say he’d see very little of her today, but he interrupted her before she could continue.
“Jess, good morning.” He sat up straighter in bed, fluffing his own pillow behind him. “I’m so glad you’re here. I need your help.” He held up a pen and notebook. “I want to write something for the service tomorrow. Can you help?”
“Not today,” Jessie said. “I have another patient. He’s critical, so I’ll be poking in only every now and then.”
Hart’s face crumpled. “I was hoping… Never mind then. It sounds selfish.”
Yeah, not to mention creepy, Jessie thought as she flashed an insincere smile. “Maybe later.” She ducked back out and spent the next three hours with her trauma patient.
At ten-thirty, Merrick and his band o
f residents appeared. A resident recited the patient’s vital signs and results of the CT. Merrick pulled the sheet away and examined the patient’s abdomen. “Any thoughts?” he said to the group, who remained silent, feet shuffling in place.
Jessie stepped to the bedside. “Your residents don’t have the latest information, so I’ll just tell you his hemoglobin’s dropping, and his abdominal girth has increased. You can see for yourself how tense it is.”
Merrick’s eyes swung from Jessie to the small group of residents. “Next time, I’d like one of you to have that information.” They seemed to shrink away from him. “Thanks, Jessie. Think you want to stay here in the ICU?”
She shook her head. “Hell, no. I want to get back to the ER where I belong.”
“Well, we’ll see what we can do about that. In the meantime, is he typed and crossed? I want to get him to the OR within the hour.”
“He’s typed and crossed for five. I’ll call the blood bank and ask them to make sure they’re available.”
Merrick turned and headed for the door, his band of not-so-merry men right on his heels.
Jessie checked her patient’s vital signs again, called the blood bank and asked that the first three units of packed cells be sent to the OR, and then rechecked his hemoglobin with a simple pinprick. It was still dropping. She drew blood from his IV directly into a small blood tube, bagged it and sent it to the lab to confirm the numbers.
Twenty minutes later, the resident reappeared. “I’m going to take him to the OR.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his pasty brow and began to transfer the patient’s wires and tubes to portable equipment for the trip to the OR.
“Tough day?” she asked, stepping in to help.
He nodded.
“You’ll get used to him. He just wants you to prove yourself. When you get to the OR, tell him you just rechecked his hemoglobin and it’s six-point-five. Tell him the blood bank is sending the first three units to the OR. Got it?”
A little color seemed to return to his face. “Thanks.” He peered at her nametag. “Jessie Novak. Thanks, Jessie. I owe you.”
She helped him guide the gurney to the elevator, and then they were gone. She stretched, trying to work the kink from her back. Unless she was assigned a new patient, she’d have to go back to check on Hart. She heaved a sigh and strode into the ICU. There seemed no way to avoid him. His room was still across from the nursing station.
“Hey, Jess,” he called as she tried to slide by. “Got a minute?”
“Oh, please God,” she mumbled, “get me back to the ER where no one knows my name.” She paused just outside his door. “I just need to get ready to get another patient,” she lied. “And then I’ll be back.”
He sank back into his pillows and smiled.
Jessie went through her trauma patient’s room. He likely wouldn’t be back until she was off duty. She’d just have to suck it up and go in to see Hart. “Sorry that I haven’t been able to see you today,” she said. “Let’s check your vital signs and see how you’re doing.” She already knew how he was but she had to play this game.
“Have a seat,” he directed her once she’d recorded his numbers. “Like I said before, I want to write something for the service. Can you help?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have any idea what you should write.”
“I don’t either, but I’d like to say something.”
“So, you’re going to the funeral?”
“No. I’m going to see if the mayor will read it for me.”
“No close friends or relatives who could do it? I mean, having a politician read it makes it… I don’t know… strange?”
“I don’t have any really close friends, just work friends and acquaintances, and the mayor has been so good to me. Ann always liked him. I think she’d be happy about that.”
She’d be happy, Jessie thought, if her creepy husband just showed up at her funeral. “Well, then, try to write something.”
“You think I should?” A shadow seemed to pass over his eyes.
“I don’t think anything. This is your call. Not mine.” His face was a mask once again. He seemed to have two expressions: flirty smiles and blank, empty stares—the police, she was sure, read those stares as grief, or quiet stoicism. Jessie thought they seemed more like restrained relief. He was trying to hide his real feelings. But no one would believe her wild imaginings, so she might as well forget it. She smiled weakly and nodded before standing and smoothing the creases from her scrubs. A smile draped his lips. He was about to speak, to ask another favor, so she rushed ahead. “Listen, since you’re all set here, I’m going to get myself some coffee, and help the other nurses with their patients.”
His smile faded. Again.
“I’ll be back,” she said cheerily. She found her way to the break room where she poured herself a cup of coffee, grabbed a stale donut and sank into a chair. Today couldn’t be over fast enough.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She pulled it from her pocket and read. Sam was asking if she was off tomorrow and if so, was she interested in going to the funeral. He explained:
Odd request, but sometimes the bad guys show up. Thought it might help you to be there. See things for yourself.
Hell, yes! Call me later.
She might not choose as Sam as a boyfriend, and maybe he wasn’t entirely interested in that either, but she definitely wanted him as a friend even if he was just humoring her with his investigative expertise. She stuffed her phone back into her pocket and headed back to work. Hart seemed subdued when she poked her head back in. “I think Merrick’s going to discharge me the day after Ann’s funeral,” he said, sweat trickling along his forehead.
“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“No. I’m not sure where I’ll go. I don’t want to go home, not yet anyway. A friend called and said he’d clear Ann’s things out for me, but he can’t do that until later in the week.” He looked away, seeming sadder than she’d seen him.
“Can’t you stay at your friend’s?”
“I don’t want to be around people. Maybe I’ll just go to a hotel.”
“That’s a good idea.” Jessie wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say but he was clearly disappointed with the plan to discharge him. She almost told him she’d be off the next two days and wouldn’t see him again, but she didn’t want to invite any more personal or weirdly flirty questions.
The rest of the day flew. She started an IV for another patient, hung a bag of platelets, bagged a patient who was being intubated, and stopped to check on Hart who was curled under his covers sound asleep, and before she knew it, she was giving report on Hart and her patient who was still in the OR.
At the desk, her phone buzzed again. She excused herself and stepped into the lounge expecting another message from Sam. Instead, the text was from Bert.
I need to speak with you. Please call me at this number. It’s IMPORTANT! Bert
She shook her head. He was still at it, trying to create more problems for her. He’d show the call thread to Sheila, and she’d be on the hot seat once more. “Screw you, Bert Gibbons,” she mumbled as she deleted his text and blocked his number.
Chapter Fifteen
Jessie headed home, stopping briefly to stock up on essentials: wine, coffee, eggs, bread, chips, frozen meals, and Diet Coke. By the time she turned onto K Street, the orange glow of dusk had slipped away, replaced by the deepening shadows of night. The streetlamp in front of her apartment was still in darkness. She’d have to remind herself to tell someone about that. She found a spot close by, unloaded her car, and lugged her bags to her building.
At her door, she set her bags down and as she fished for her key, one of her bags fell over, the contents spilling down the stairs. She fumbled with the damn lock, the key jamming, refusing to release the tumbler. She kicked the door and shouted: “Stupid lock.” She might as well just pick up her groceries before they rolled to the basement. She ran down the stairs, collecting apples, a
bag of now broken cookies and—distracted by her mission—she ran right into the elderly man who occupied the first-floor apartment.
“Whoa,” he said, holding out his hands before she could knock him over. “What is it, girl? You look like you’re on fire.”
She stopped to catch her breath and adjust the apples in her hands before they fell again. “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t get into my apartment. My damn lock is stuck, and now my groceries are everywhere.” She caught a rolling orange with her foot. He reached down and picked it up.
“Okay,” he said, opening his own door. “I can have a look at that lock for you if you want.” He reached in and pulled a heavy metal baseball bat from behind the door. Jessie’s eyes widened at the sight. “If you live in the city,” he said, “you’ve got to be ready for anything—a baseball game or a bad guy who’s up to no good.” He ran his hand—the skin loose, the veins full—along the length of the bat as if checking the weight of it.
Jessie’s eyes opened wide. “You’re not thinking of breaking the lock open with that, are you?”
He laughed and reached behind the bat. “No, just getting my tool kit.” He turned for the stairs, an old tackle box in his hand.
Suddenly, Jessie’s frustration evaporated, helped along by her neighbor’s reassuring calm. “Wait for me,” she said, picking up the last orange, “I’m coming too.”
She hurried up the stairs and watched as he squirted a bit of oil into her lock before taking her key and wiggling it to and fro, his hand on the doorknob, a smile on his face as the door swung open. He lifted her last two bags and laid them down inside her apartment.
Dead Girl Walking: Absolutely addictive mystery and suspense (Jessie Novak Book 1) Page 9