by C. J. Miller
Gemma wasn’t happy to learn that she might be right about Dr. Rand not being the magnificent doctor he claimed to be, but she was relieved that someone had taken her concerns seriously. Most especially that the someone was Rafe.
Rafe pointed to the computer on his desk. “I have more questions about these cases. But my biggest question is why he would hurt his patients. He’s a good doctor. I’ve seen him in action.”
“Maybe it wasn’t his intent. Maybe he makes mistakes and then tries to cover them up.”
Gemma circled around to look at what Rafe had open on his computer. “Thank you for doing this, Rafe.”
“For doing what?” he asked.
“For believing me. For taking this seriously. We could be wrong about him. I don’t know how often a patient dies in a clinic and if those numbers are higher for Dr. Rand, but it warrants another look.”
“If we open an investigation, every clinician who works here will be put under a microscope,” Rafe said.
She didn’t relish the idea of being questioned by lawyers and the inevitable lawsuit that would result, but she couldn’t allow anyone to harm the patients at the clinic. “Even if we report him to the medical board, they can’t examine his cases now. An investigator can’t do anything until the quarantine is lifted.”
“That means we need to watch our patients and be sure that Dr. Rand doesn’t have a chance to be careless with anyone else.”
* * *
The house was too quiet when they arrived home. Rafe had left on the front porch and living room lights, but without Danny, the house felt empty. Danny wasn’t always home when Rafe was, but signs of him usually were. Rafe missed him.
He wouldn’t have expected that. Their arrangement was temporary and Rafe had tried to keep it that way in his mind. But he’d gotten accustomed to having Danny around.
Gemma entered behind him. “You doing okay?” she asked.
She could pick up on his moods as no one else could. It was the peacemaker in her. She was adept at reading people and interpreting situations. It was a good skill to have as a nurse, and as his friend. “I miss Danny.”
Why lie about it? She likely had already known.
“I’m sorry, Rafe.”
“Let’s go to bed. We have a million things to do tomorrow and I can’t think if I’m tired.” He sounded cranky and he knew it.
“How about a back rub? You seem tense.”
Rafe trod carefully. A back rub sounded great. But from a woman he had slept with, it could turn heated and as good as Gemma was at reading people, he was equally dense at misinterpreting them. “Only if I can return the favor. You’ve had a hard time, too. Let me grab a shower and I’ll meet you in my bedroom.”
He shaved and showered and when he got out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, Gemma was seated on the brown leather wing chair next to his bed, where he occasionally read or worked before going to sleep.
“You take a long shower for a man,” Gemma said. She had changed into his T-shirt, her legs bare. It would be cold in the room except she had turned on the electric fireplace across from his bed.
This had the makings of a promising situation. He shifted, hiding his body’s reaction. “Let me grab some pants.”
“You don’t need them,” she said.
Every nerve in his body anticipated sex and lust consumed him.
She beckoned to him and he knelt at her feet. She kissed his forehead. “Why don’t you lie down on the bed and I’ll take care of you?”
He couldn’t have denied her if he’d wanted to. He was so keyed into her and what she was doing, he was ready and wanting. He flopped stomach down on the bed and waited.
Gemma hung his towel in the bathroom and returned.
“Why don’t you take off that shirt?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said. “I want to talk first.”
He groaned. “Was this a trick?”
She playfully dug her nails into his back. “Not a trick. I need to make sure you’re doing okay.”
“I would be doing better if you were naked.”
Gemma laughed. “If I were naked, then you’d forget about talking. How are you feeling?”
Rafe wasn’t feeling any better than the night before. “I think Flint made the wrong call in taking Danny. Why does it matter if Danny stays here or at the youth center?”
“Flint is doing his job. Dr. Rand had been complaining about the lack of progress in the investigation into who attacked him.”
Bitterness and anger streamed through Rafe. “He imagined the whole thing. Maybe he fell on the ice and dreamed up a scenario to explain his klutziness.”
Gemma’s hands were working the tension out of his shoulders, but the more they spoke of Dr. Rand, the more amped up Rafe felt.
“The video cameras will help. Whoever is trying to spoil our progress will try again, and when they do, we’ll have them on video,” Gemma said.
Rafe turned to his side, pulling Gemma in front of him. “Now, tell me how you’re feeling.” She had been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours as well.
“I’m scared. Worried. But mostly scared.”
Rafe wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down next to him on the bed. “You don’t believe I’ll find a cure.” It felt like a failure to let her down.
Gemma’s green eyes grew wide. “I believe you will. But what will happen if you’re too late? This virus is harder on the elderly and children. Now Annabelle is sick.”
“I will do everything I can to keep her well until we have a cure.”
Gemma kissed him and tickled her fingers down his arm. “We should try yoga to manage our stress.”
“I liked to run.” If he wasn’t working so much and if the sidewalks weren’t in a constant state of half-ice slicked, he would make it a higher priority.
“Yoga is good for relaxation,” Gemma said.
“This is good for relaxation.”
“I won’t be in New York to do this,” Gemma said.
“In New York, I can hire someone to do this anytime I want.”
Gemma inhaled sharply and removed her hands from him.
“What did I say? Why are you mad?” The mention of New York upset her.
She folded her arms over her chest. “You don’t want to see anything good about Dead River. Can’t you find anything you like about this town without comparing it to the high and mighty New York? We don’t have round-the-clock masseurs and big hospitals with prestigious jobs, but we have heart. We care about each other.”
She was taking his leaving as if it was personal. “I like things about this town. I like Danny. I like my patients at the clinic.”
Gemma looked away from him and stared at the fireplace.
“And you. I like you.” Like might not have been the best word. Love was too strong, and saying “I dig you” sounded juvenile. He’d have to show her how he felt about her. He pulled her on top of him and kissed her.
When Gemma was in his arms, he couldn’t think logically and rationalize why what they were doing should or shouldn’t happen. He wanted this and he wanted it now.
He lifted his hips, wishing she was already naked. He’d show her another side of him, the caring, soft side. He wasn’t a rebel in high school with something to prove. He was a grown man making love to a woman he cared about.
That meant more than the act.
When had he started caring about that?
He lifted the hem of her shirt and tossed it away. She was wearing nothing except a pair of pink thong underwear.
“You shouldn’t be allowed to dress like that under your scrubs,” he said.
“I don’t. I changed,” she said.
Then she was thinking about sex with him. That was good because he
couldn’t have derailed his brain’s process to save his life.
“I’m still mad at you,” she said. But the look on her face told him he could convince her otherwise.
“I know. I think you’ll be mad at me and New York for a while,” he said. “Let me see if I can make you a little less mad.” He removed her panties and brought his mouth between her legs.
In moments, he had her gripping the sheets and screaming his name.
* * *
Gemma pushed her coffee cup back and forth between her hands. The Dead River Café was slow, no doubt because the police had traced Mimi Rand, the first known victim of the virus, to the café and suspected she had infected others at this location.
Colleen Goodhue had instructed the Dead River Café on how to sanitize any remaining virus and the café had passed the CDC testing for sanitation. They also now knew the virus couldn’t remain alive without a host for longer than several hours, but the stigma about the place remained. Rumors suggested the café could have been where Mimi became infected, as opposed to where she had spread the virus.
Gemma didn’t know what to believe, but as a nurse, she thought patronizing the café would give the residents some confidence. After all, she was working with the virus. She was in the know more than most about how it worked and how it spread. If she found the café safe, hopefully so would others.
Flint was four minutes late for their meeting. When he arrived, he sat across from her and picked up the coffee she had ordered for him.
“One packet of sugar, just the way you like it,” she said. Both a peace offering and a bribe so that he would hear her out. Her brothers had always listened to her, but they sometimes dismissed her ideas as harebrained. If she pitched her concerns about Dr. Rand, she wanted Flint to keep an open mind.
“Tell me you have good news about the virus. And thank you for this,” he said lifting the cup. He didn’t need to mention that his days were long. Everyone in town was having longer, harder days.
Gemma leaned forward. They were the only two people in the café, except for the sole employee who was sitting behind the counter on a stool reading on her tablet. “It’s not bad news. It’s about what I found while I was working.”
Flint rubbed his face. “A cure?”
Gemma rolled her eyes. “I’d be shouting that from the rooftops if we had a cure. We’re working on it,” she added. Always working on it and trying to keep the faith that they would find it.
“I think Dr. Rand is involved with the strange incidents that have been going on around the clinic,” she said.
“Dr. Rand? The doctor who was attacked? Whose office was trashed?” Flint asked.
Her brother would want facts and evidence and she didn’t have them. She had intuition and a lead, maybe the only one Flint had in finding the saboteur. She didn’t know what he and the other police officers had found at the crime scenes. Flint wouldn’t share details of an open investigation with her. “The other night, a patient went into distress minutes after I had checked on her. Dr. Rand was in the virus wing doing his follow-ups at the time.”
By the look on his face, her brother had doubts, but he was hearing her out.
“I don’t see how a patient could be stable and then in utter distress,” Gemma said. She’d seen it happen in her career, but not with this virus, not in fifteen minutes.
“Is this patient someone you’ve grown attached to?”
Jessica was her best friend, yes. She still had to honor patient confidentiality and telling Flint that Jessica had been the patient would undermine the information she had about Dr. Rand. “It is someone I like. What does that have to do with anything?” She felt her defensiveness rising. Her brothers sometimes still treated her like a little girl who needed to be told what to do.
“I want to know if you’re seeing the situation clearly. Do you have any proof?” Flint asked.
“He went into her room. She went into distress. It’s in her case notes. That’s my proof.”
“I can’t investigate every medically unstable patient who has a rough day,” Flint said.
Gemma curbed her temper. “I have some additional medical cases that are suspicious.” Cases that required more review and more questions asked.
“Dr. Rand has worked at the clinic for a long time. He’s a good man. A tad arrogant maybe, but I expect that from people who are good at their jobs. Why would he harm a patient? He has his reputation and insurance rates to worry about.”
Flint was making good points, but Gemma knew Dr. Rand was up to no good. “Every doctor and nurse with any experience has had their share of difficult cases that have gone wrong through no fault of their own. But I think Dr. Rand likes the more challenging cases because when he rides to the rescue, he’s the hero.”
“Doctors are heroes, even without difficult cases.”
Gemma gripped her coffee cup and then released it. Her brother was frustrating her. Would he talk to someone else like this? Or was his refusal to believe what she said because she was his sister? “He has helped many patients. But I think he’s not as grand as he pretends to be.”
“If you have evidence, I can work with that,” Flint said. “Anecdotal evidence won’t hold up in court or grant me a search warrant.” Flint took a sip of his coffee. “I will look into it.”
Gemma’s irritation tweaked at her nerves. “Is that a blowoff?”
“It’s not. It’s a promise to my sister that I will do what I can, but I can’t make any guarantees. I am forehead-deep in problems in this town and I don’t have the resources to investigate a suspicion without proof.”
The proof was somewhere, in medical notes, in an autopsy or speaking to patients who had been treated by Dr. Rand. But tracking them down would take time. “Then I’ll look into it myself and call you when I have more substantial evidence.”
His hand reached across the table and covered hers. “Gemma, promise me you will not. Do not go snooping around playing amateur investigator into a dangerous situation. You’ve been attacked twice and I don’t like you working at the clinic with a deadly virus, much less telling me your intention to poke a bear.”
At least he seemed to think she had some validity to her concerns, if not completely believing her accusation. “I will be careful. I need to go. I promised Rafe I’d helped him in the lab tonight.” Rafe had spent the day with Danny at the youth center and planned to meet her at work afterward.
“Stay safe, Gemma,” Flint said and hugged his sister. He walked her to her car and then followed her in his police cruiser to the clinic. He didn’t leave until she was inside.
Gemma pulled on her protective wear and entered the lab through the double door enclosure. Inside the lab, Dr. Goodhue was working on the computer modeling system and had her microphone off.
Gemma took a seat next to Rafe. “How’s it going?”
Rafe was testing swabs from locations where Annabelle visited in the last forty-eight hours, looking for the presence of the virus. They also needed to test new blood samples that Anand had collected from patients who were sick at home. “Tedious. The results are negative for existence of the virus, which I usually prefer, but this time, it’s frustrating.”
If they didn’t know how Annabelle had gotten sick, they didn’t know who else could have been exposed. They were most worried that the virus could have originated from someone in Annabelle’s school, putting children in danger.
“In good news, I have samples from at least two patients who have quarantined themselves in their homes because they suspected they had the Dead River virus, but my tests show one has strep throat and the other has a nasty infection, likely sinus-related. I’ve called them and asked them to come to the fire station on Saturday during drop-in hours for a proper diagnosis. If they can’t make it, I’ll make two house calls.”
Fire Chief Stan B
urrell, paramedic Kit Wheeler, EMT Josh Hadaway and holistic healer Betsy Morris were helping at the fire station running a small clinic for less serious cases. Another retired doctor who lived in Dead River was also lending a hand. The clinic’s three doctors were donating their limited free time to assist during scheduled times to oversee patients.
Though he was focusing on the positive, Gemma heard the defeat in his voice. “We will find the antidote.” She told herself that a hundred times a day and she would tell Rafe and the staff the same until it was true.
Rafe wrote another note on his notepad. “That’s the only end game that doesn’t result in every person in this town falling ill.”
And dying, Gemma added to herself.
Gemma looked over at the files they’d created on each patient. Some files were marked expired. Their families were grieving. Some who had died also had friends and family who were sick. The number of folders grew each day. Tracking the patients infected with the Dead River virus was becoming a full-time job.
“It’s a lot of people,” Rafe said, looking at the stack and then catching her eye.
More were being added every day. “When I studied viruses in school, cases of Ebola and Lassa fever happened in faraway places. I never imagined we’d have a dangerous virus in Dead River.”
“We need one patient to recover. Just one. Then we can use that person’s antibodies to create a cure and distribute it.”
He sounded shredded. Gemma touched his gloved hand with hers. “Someone will get better or we’ll figure this out. I have faith in you. I’ll be here and we’ll do this together. We won’t give up until we get it right.”
* * *
Rafe needed to find one common sequence from his samples, one pattern to use to identify the virus. He and Dr. Goodhue believed they were close and neither was giving up. Gemma had stayed with them, acting as a lab assistant. She was unfailing in her devotion.
They were using a DNA sequencer, which worked well in theory. But they continued to encounter problems. The computers were searching the CDC database for gene commonalities, but little was coming back as similar. They repeated the process many times, each time resulting in different readings and unclear results.