by R L Dunn
"She’s under heavy sedation. No pain. Any dead intestine isn't good. Surgery on a baby like Lola is a huge strain—she'll be in the ICU for a while. This is a marathon, not a sprint. There are going to be ups and a lot of downs before this is over. All you can do is be patient and love her."
"The easy part is loving her. She won't be in the isolette all the time?"
Joyce's hand covered a weary yawn. "No, you should be able to hold her soon. Let me bring her to the PICU. I need some sleep. Kat Archer is on call tonight. I told her to call me for anything. Pat went to check on Austin and Elizabeth again, then he’ll take me back to the hotel."
Janice and Trask, dressed in the casual uniform of black shirts and khaki slacks, joined them. Both shook Martin's hand. "Janice and I will treat her like our own."
Josh Stone sat reading in the corner of Austin's room, while Tess and Seth remained vigilant. Austin's eyes flew open the minute Martin walked in. "Shaun was here. He told me they’re going to arrest Elizabeth. She wouldn't kill anyone. Marty…the crutches."
"I'm fine. Just humoring the doctors."
"Marty." As Austin sat up without using the bed to help, pain wracked his features.
Seth vaulted across the room. "Hey, Austin, lie back."
Austin shoved Seth hard, desperate to convey information. "Stop. Marty, please just answer me. Did you find anything about the man in the ditch? The one I spotted the day I was shot?"
"I'm working on it." Martin tried to placate him.
"I swear, Marty." Austin grew more frantic.
"I believe you. Josh is here to answer your questions. Listen to him and the PAs." He held Austin's hand until he fell back asleep. Josh reported Austin was more agitated and confused tonight. “How many times did he ask about the man in the ditch?"
"Often. This behavior is expected with the loss of oxygen and emotional trauma. The ICU and some of the meds can worsen the confusion, in particular after sundown. Josh is terrific at keeping Austin oriented. Give him time." Seth's eyes settled on his now peaceful patient.
Jamie covered Martin with a blanket and dimmed the room's lights. "We sent out more samples. The Flecainide levels will come back in the morning." Jamie took his blood pressure, and Eric placed a thermometer under his tongue. Martin rolled his eyes but didn't fight.
At 0400, while Martin slept, Jamie repeated his assessment of Elizabeth. Her pupils constricted briskly. "We've got a reaction." On the battlefield, and in private practice, Eric and he both learned that at times it was a matter of faith. Patients predicted to survive died, and others given no hope lived.
Tighe walked into Elizabeth's room and frowned, hating to wake Martin up. "Boss?" His whisper was enough. Martin's gray eyes focused. "I have something."
"What?"
“You need to listen to this. I interviewed Tonette Torres.” Tighe handed him the small recorder.
Martin plugged in a set of earbuds and played the recording.
"Tonette, my name is Tighe. Can I ask you a few questions?"
"Are you a doctor?"
"I'm from Chase Security. I'm not here to lay on more charges. Are you able to answer some questions? I might be able to help you." A chair scraped the floor.
"Why would you want to do anything for me?"
"Do you remember the lady doctor who treated you when you came in?"
Sheets rustled. "Yeah, she was kind. No one will tell me where she went. She cared."
"Someone tried to kill her. She's sick."
"Wait, they told me Jasper didn't hurt her too bad."
"He didn't. Someone else did. We think it involves what you told her. She thinks guards from Silverton Jail are hurting prisoners. She told us they hurt you too." Monitors alarmed. "Shh, I don't want to upset you."
"The second I go back to Silverton, I'll be dead." Her breaths were fast and loud.
"Shh, breathe nice and easy. I can promise you one thing: you'll never go back there. The officers on your door are from Des Moines Women’s Corrections."
"I want to talk to my lawyer, not that he'll help." Her voice quivered.
“Here you go.”
“Yes. Okay? Really?” The beep from the end call sounded. “For me? He said you paid for him to represent me.”
“We did. Will you help us?”
"Guards use prisoners to move drugs. The drugs come from the cops, who steal from the dealers. It's not hard to recruit. Detox is hard. We either move stuff, or we do…"
"Tonette, you didn't deserve that. Who gave you the meth balloons?"
"Jasper. I was supposed to ask to see a prisoner. Leave the drugs by the toilet in the visitor's area. I kept one. Bad decision, huh?"
"Who raped you?"
"Sergeant McAllister, the bastard didn't use a condom. At least the others did. Sometimes they make male inmates do stuff to us, and they film it. They threaten our families if we don’t cooperate. With me, they locked me in segregation until the withdrawal got bad. Then you'll do anything for a hit."
"What about the medical staff?"
"They’re part of it. The night shift is the worst."
"I'm sorry, Tonette. I'll be back soon."
"Wait, there's more… Some girls disappeared. It’s hard to stay pretty enough or well enough inside."
“What do you mean?”
“The guards get us to do stuff, but if you’re hooked, you get old quick or sick. If you aren’t pretty enough for the films, you disappear. None of us gets to go home. That’s why I can’t go back. Even if your sentence is short, you don’t go home.”
"Try to rest."
Martin turned off the recorder. "Damn it. Find McAllister—I don't want him to take a pee without us knowing." He blew out a breath. "Tighe, find out if Tonette is able to be moved. I want her in protective custody—anywhere but here. Ask her if she'll agree to a paternity test and find out at what stage we can do one."
Chapter Twenty-One
Shaun and Martin sat with Austin, who crowed about his son, "He's changing every minute." Janey Skyped with him earlier, and he glowed at the memory.
Martin was pleased Austin seemed clearer. "You'll be home with him soon. Keep doing what you're doing."
Tate Webster knocked. "Can I join you?"
"I'll leave if you need me to." Shaun started to stand.
Martin pressed his lips together. "Shaun, stay."
"Got the background back on the Reverend. He's clean. Hates women doctors. He’s just a bit off, has a history of words with women in general, in particular, women in authority. Personal history, mommy issues.
"Silverton Jail contracts with Horizon for medical care. Their recordkeeping is piss poor. Residents sign up in the ER to earn some cash moonlighting. We’re trying other angles to track down who worked and when," Tate said, focused on his boss.
Martin moved to sit beside his brother and placed his hand on his. "Aus, I promised you answers. After you were shot, a CO committed suicide. We searched his house and recovered a receipt from Wal-Mart for a burner phone and a loaded M-16. Ballistics on the weapon made a partial match to the fragments found inside you."
Shaun unfurled his friend's clenched fist. "I'm sorry, Austin." They sat in silence for a bit, letting Austin digest the news. "Brother, how about some TV? Maybe we can find cartoons."
The TV screen filled with a shot of Talbot Reed standing at a lectern. "When your child is charged with a heinous crime, you go through all the emotions, from wondering where you failed as a parent to making the acceptance that you did nothing wrong. Elizabeth was loved from the second she was born. Her mother and I gave her the best in life. Six months ago, I lost my beloved wife, Alma, and Elizabeth lost her mother. Despite numerous attempts to help her, Elizabeth never recovered from the tragic loss. My deepest condolences go out to the families of the dead and those injured in these senseless crimes. I request privacy for Elizabeth and our family. I plan on supporting my daughter through the mental health and legal system."
Martin's throat felt tig
ht. "Aus, I... I…" He fled the room.
Kenny, Bravo team's medic, was sitting beside Lola's isolette in the pediatric intensive care unit. Dana Williamson, a Chase nurse from DC, sat nearby. Kenny stood when Martin walked in. "She's doing well."
"Thanks, Kenny. Hi, Dana. Hey, Daddy’s angel." The suction on the porthole hatch released to let him touch Lola. Even through the glove, the warmth of her body dissipated the tension tightening across his shoulders.
"Mr. Bailey, I'm Dr. Choudhury. She is a strong little one. She's making urine, and her blood counts are rising. Would you like to see the surgery site?"
"Yes. I need to learn how to care for her." He took a deep breath. Lola remained under heavy sedation, her eyes taped closed and her breathing set to the rhythm of the ventilator.
Indira exposed the wound. "Dr. Bey disconnected her small intestine from the dead piece. She brought the healthy tip through the skin. As you can see, it is a small red fleshy circle. Her diaper rash is also resolving. We will continue Dr. Bey's prescribed course. Can I answer any questions?"
"I'm a little overwhelmed. My priority is she doesn’t feel any pain." His eyes crinkled.
"We will do our best to stay on top of that. Mr. Bailey, I understand you are single and her adoptive father. Is that true?"
"Yes. But I don't intend to be single for long. Is that a problem?"
"Problem? It can be one. Fragile babies require diligent care. The learning curve is quite steep."
"Doctor, I can assure you: Lola will not want for love and care. Kenny, go grab a bite. Dana and I'll be here." He sent a quick text to his mom.
Fay Bailey stepped inside the small room. She took a nervous breath at the sight of the tiny baby. As she got closer, the cardboard nameplate reading “Lola Bailey” came into view. "Mom, I want you to meet your newest granddaughter."
Fay refused to sit in the rocker. "She's the baby from the fire? You stay seated. Rest that leg."
"I couldn't let her go. I hope you and Dad aren't angry that I didn't tell you."
Fay bent over and pulled Martin against her body. "How can I be angry? What you’re doing is a blessing. Tell me what's going on with Lola, and what can I do?"
Martin explained Lola's surgery. "Don't go nuts buying things, Mom. Dr. Bey warned me she is still critical." His mother was going to disregard everything he asked.
"Marty, you spend your life making decisions. This is no different than any of the others. Your brain and gut serve you well." Fay's eyes roamed from Lola to her son. "Most of the time, I stay quiet, but I need to ask you. You didn't adopt her as a replacement for Grace?"
“I thought about that myself. I’m a second chance for her. I hope Elizabeth will think so too."
Martin left Lola in Dana and Kenny's care. After a discussion, even after the emotional blow, Patrick elected to move Austin to a private room on the surgical floor. The quiet of the corner room would allow him to rest. The place was also defendable. Shaun promised he wouldn't leave his sleeping friend's side.
Comfortable Austin was safe, Martin returned to the ICU. With every crutched step, a foreboding twisted his gut. Patrick was sitting at the nurse's station, pointing to a computer monitor with Mike leaning over his shoulder.
“CODE BLUE ICU ROOM 2!” the loudspeakers roared.
Patrick rushed into Elizabeth's room, followed by a dash of medical staff. Mike reached Martin in time to protect him from the throng of arriving personnel. Through the glass, he saw Elizabeth seizing. Pete and Tuck bobbed and weaved through the group, injecting two rounds of medication.
Frustrated, Virginia cursed, "Damn it, Beth."
"What's going on?" Martin shook Patrick by the shoulders.
Patrick stepped out of Martin's anguished grasp. "I wish I could give you an answer. Page Hoyt, stat. We need a scan of her brain."
Martin refused to leave Elizabeth. He stood out of the way, watching.
After the CT scan, Sterling Hoyt returned to the room and shook his head. "Her brain is healing well. Did she ingest something again? It doesn't make sense."
"If the seizure is not coming from trauma to the brain, it’s something in her system." Patrick's phone went off. "This is Dr. Hedges." He leaned a pad against the wall. "Give me those numbers again. You’re sure? No, I'm not suggesting you made a mistake. It just doesn't make sense. Another sample is coming to you in a few minutes." Red bloomed up his neck. "I am aware other patients are in this hospital. I still want that level STAT.”
Patrick frowned. “I don't understand; the lab tested all the previous samples for Flecainide levels. After admission, her blood level rose, but eight hours after admission the number fell again. Yesterday morning the level was elevated again. It fell throughout the day. The level at midnight was higher. It fell once more. At 18:00, it rose again. Pete, we need another level now."
"You are telling me the amount of the drug rose four times in the hospital. What did you give her?" Martin snapped.
Neither Pete nor Tucker took offense at Martin's accusation. "Flecainide is not an IV medication. Everything we administer is IV," Tucker explained.
Patrick rubbed his chin. "The only way to introduce it into her body is through the feeding tube. Replace everything, send that new level, continue the high dose sodium bicarbonate and the lipid emulsion."
"Forgive me. None of you did this. Who had access to Elizabeth?" Martin inhaled through gritted teeth and sat beside her, raising his throbbing leg.
Pete’s brows crunched as he faced the wall. "To start, her primary medical team."
"A lot of staff care about her. She had a bunch of visitors: Krump, Lois Massey, Keys, Tommy Kline, Pietra Hahn, Warren Chen, ICU nurses, OR nurses, surgical floor nurses, her residents—Hailey Ullman, Byron Hall, Connor Caine, George Keller, Krystal Slater," Tucker said.
"Question everyone." Martin put the heels of his hands against his forehead. "Krystal? While waiting for word on Austin, I heard Knox on the phone with a Krystal."
The nursing station clerk knocked on the door. "Dr. Hedges, the lab called with a critical value."
Patrick rocked on his heels. “Research of the literature shows only one patient with a level as high as 5.3 survived. And they had huge deficits. Elizabeth's level was 5.25. We have the window. The level is at the highest since admission. Who had access to her between 18:00 and the first seizure?"
Tucker rubbed the back of his neck. "After the code, us, two nurses, you and Virginia Harper. The surgical resident team was at a grand rounds lecture. At 19:00, neurosurgery and their residents rounded. Damn. Krystal Slater was with them. Why didn't I notice that? She’s a surgical resident. I could have missed her getting close. Pete, you stepped out to talk to Judd about Austin. Martin, I'm so sorry."
"Tuck, don't. Mike, find her—now!" He sent out an immediate order: any staff entering Austin's, Tonette's, Elizabeth's, Lola's and Victoria's room needed to be searched. Martin laced his fingers with Elizabeth's.
“CODE BLUE. ROOM 5. CODE BLUE. ROOM 5,” the loudspeaker throbbed.
"It's Tonette." Patrick ran from Elizabeth's room. Ford followed.
From his vantage point outside Elizabeth’s door, Martin had a view of the resuscitation attempt.
Virginia led the attempt to revive Tonette, who failed to respond to any intervention. Patrick whispered to Ford, pointing out Krystal Slater. He picked up a pile of rhythm strips accumulating at his feet. "Virginia, I think it’s potassium."
Virginia Harper gave him a confused glance at the improbable reason since her levels were normal at 16:00 but called out the antidote. The team defibrillated her and continued CPR. Two minutes later, Connor Caine called out to the group, "I feel a pulse."
The non-essential residents began leaving the room. Ford wrapped a possessive hand around Krystal's upper arm. "Dr. Slater, I'm Ford Cox from Homeland Security. You need to come with me."
She struggled to break free. "Let go of me, you pig!"
Patrick's long fingers circled her other arm. "Dr. Slate
r, this way please."
"Lab coat." Ford held out his hand.
When she didn't comply, Patrick spun her to face the corridor wall. "Arms up." He pulled the jacket free.
"Is anything in your pockets that will stick me or otherwise harm me?" Ford said.
"Screw you. This is assault."
Tate opened the door to the empty doctor’s lounge. Mike, Tate, and Martin circled her, and Kip blocked the entrance from the outside. "Let's try Agent Cox's question again: anything on you that's gonna hurt me?" Patrick’s hands moved across her body with the gentle touch of a physician and the surety of a special operator. "Take out what's in your bra."
"Fuck you." Her face contorted.
"Easy way or the hard way?" When she didn't respond again, Patrick flipped her shirt over her head, popped her bra clasp and dumped her bra cups.
"You realize you’re committing sexual battery, asshole."
Patrick used a folded glove from his pocket to pick up an empty vial of potassium chloride. "Nope, you’re attempting murder."
Ford shook out the lab coat. A syringe with the residue of a milky fluid tumbled to the floor. "You are in a lot more trouble if this contains Flecainide."
"Sit," Martin's tone cut through the air. Crutches and his bandaged brow did not make him less intimidating.
Krystal thrust out her bottom lip in defiance but sat. "I want a lawyer."
Martin dropped the crutches to the floor and placed each hand on the corners of her chair. "That is your right. Listen, then. I have two theories. First—the jealous lover. The night Randy Knox operated on Viola Dufour, you spoke with him. He rushed the surgery to go home to you. You blamed Elizabeth Reed for keeping him from you again. Wonder Doc with the God complex. You put bits of pills in her coffee or tea. Elizabeth was careless and left her cups around. When she ended up as a patient, you had to finish the job. Every time you got a chance, you put some more into her nutrition. How am I doing so far?"