Trish nodded, her eyes only widening slightly at his acknowledgement of who the man was. He didn’t have time to answer her questions right now.
“Dr. Sutherland.” Ginger stepped forward, determination mixed with equal doses of pissed off and confused. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m sure you do, but it will have to wait. I want to find out what happened and why my father is here.”
“That’s what I want to talk about.” She placed a hand on his arm, she didn’t need to tug to get him to stop. He wasn’t interested in causing a scene. The less people had to gossip about the better. “I thought you told me your father was dead.”
“Dead. Prison. Same difference.”
She didn’t even flicker an eyelash at that bit of news. It was Ginger’s gift, looking like nothing impacted her.
“Not really.” Her voice was icy again, and he knew that this incident hadn’t convinced her to change her vote.
He sighed, recognizing that she wasn’t going to let this go. “To me it was exactly the same. You call it a lie. I call it a liberal interpretation of my life.”
“You’re good at being liberal with your interpretations.”
And there is was again. The past. Big as a goddam elephant and not content to sit in the corner. Oh no, that fucker had to follow him around, insert itself into every conversation, and ruin his chance at the job he’d worked his ass off to get. If Ginger’s expression was any indication, this situation had just guaranteed that she was never going to vote for him.
“Ginger. I get it. You’re pissed, and I’m an asshole. Nothing’s changed except for the fact that my father just brought a gunshot victim into my ER, and I need to talk to him before he decides to disappear.”
“Fine. But I’m going with you.”
“Fuck.” Beck didn’t even bother to argue, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He turned on his heel and made his way to the waiting room, prepared to see it empty. His father was a flight risk in every sense of the word. He was shocked when he saw him standing there, talking in a low voice on his phone. When he saw Beck approaching he ended the call.
Sandy looked just about the same. Prison hadn’t aged him, just sharpened the edges, deepened the grooves and the harsh lines on his face. Still a big man, he cut an imposing figure and most of the other patrons in the room were situated well away from him. People knew by instinct that Sandy Sutherland was a dangerous man to know. Beck knew it flourished in their gene pool, and he’d worked most of his life to cover that side of him with charm and tricks of illusion.
“Beck,” his father said, looking him up and down with the same cold eyes that had judged Beck his entire life. The only difference was that Beck didn’t give a shit anymore about what his father thought.
“When did you get out of prison?”
Sandy flicked a glance over his shoulder, zeroing in on Ginger. “You think you might want to move along sweet cheeks? I don’t need an audience.”
“That’s Ms. Sweet Cheeks to you,” Ginger deadpanned, and Beck bit back a grin. She was a fighter—anytime, anywhere, anyone. “I’m Ms. Crawford, Director of Operations, and I’m staying.”
Sandy huffed out a sharp laugh, turning his attention back to Beck. “Maybe you or Ms. Ballbuster here can tell me how Ali is doing?”
“Unless you’re a relative, I can’t give you that information,” Beck said, reaching into his pocket for a pad and pen. “You can give us the name of her family, and we’ll contact them.”
“I’m your relative.”
“Unfortunately.”
“I’m outta here,” his father said, moving toward the door but Beck stepped in front of him. He was bigger now, had height and weight on his side and his father wasn’t going anywhere until he answered some questions.
“When did you get out of prison?”
“Three months ago. I was real disappointed that you didn’t have a welcome home party for me.”
“Why did you come back here?”
“Because the last time I checked this was still goddam America, and I can live wherever I want.” His father took a step forward and pointed at Beck, the smell of stale cigarettes and whiskey rolling off him in a wave of nausea-inducing scent. “I know those asshole Elliots, Cantrells, and Landons think they own this place but I don’t give a shit what they think.”
Beck ignored the jab. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. “What are you doing?”
“I hooked up with some old friends.”
“So you’re back to drugs and roughing up people who don’t pay? Eddie Wilkes is dead—whose ass are you kissing now?”
Sandy glared at him, anger lowering his voice to a level that signaled danger to Beck as a kid growing up. “Daniel Vega is taking over. He offered me a job right away due to my years of loyal service.”
Daniel Vega. Back when they were kids running the streets, he’d been Danny, but they’d had a serious falling out when Beck had left that life behind. The dangerous kid had grown into a vicious man who was a gold medal winning level grudge holder and he didn’t like Beck. Not even a little.
“So if Vega is taking over why am I seeing so much activity in my ER lately? People like your friend Alison.”
His father shrugged, unconcerned that the fatality and injuries due to fights between the local guns and knives clubs were escalating. “Some other guys want the job.”
“So, last man standing?”
“Sure. And Vega is cleaning house. My money’s on Daniel Vega.”
Danny Vega. Colombian in descent. Stayed in the game after Beck got out and ran drugs and sex trade up and down the I-81 corridor. Not a guy who would easily give up this territory. And if Dannyruthless and without any moral compass was aiming for the top jobthat meant that lots of business would be coming his way in the trauma center for the foreseeable future.
“You dying to go back to jail?” Beck gestured behind him toward the treatment room where he’d left Alison heavily sedated. “Because I’m assuming that she was shot while you were working, and I’m sure it’s a parole violation for you to associate with people who carry weapons.”
“It was an accident while she was cleaning her gun. I was nice enough to bring her in.” His father said it so easily, the lie just flowing like snowmelt down the mountain in the spring.
“Dr. Sutherland.” Beck turned toward the voice of a nurse, noticing that Ginger was still hard on his heels when he bumped into her. She stiffened next to him and stepped away, every inch of her screaming just how pissed she was at him. If he squinted, he could see the team leader position drifting off into the sunset of his career. Great.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Chase was taken to MRI.”
“Excellent. Let me know when she gets to surgery. Thanks.”
“You really don’t need to keep tabs on her now. She’s been transferred to surgery and isn’t your patient any longer,” Ginger said.
“No. That’s where you’re wrong,” Beck countered, leaning in closer and locking eyes with her. “She’s my patient until she goes home. I’m invested in her recovery until she’s better.”
“The hospital protocol is very clear on the transfer of patient care. It ensures a clear line of responsibility in cases where the outcome isn’t favorable.”
“Outcome isn’t what? What the hell are you talking about?” He never understood this detached side of her when he’d seen what she could be when she put away the rule book. Oil and Water. Heart versus Head. They couldn’t have been more different. Then why did he want her so much? “These are people. Patients. Not outcomes.”
“You have to see this from my point of view.”
“No. No, I don’t.” Beck twisted away from her in frustration. He couldn’t do this now. The shock of seeing his father after so many years had thrown him off kilter. He could only deal with one mind-fuck situation at a time, and Ginger had to get to the back of line while he dealt with Sandy Sutherland and his criminal colleagues. “Where is he?”
/>
“Who?” Ginger asked.
“My father. Where did he go?” Beck sprinted forward, scanning the hallway and the waiting room and not finding him anywhere. He knew he wouldn’t find him still in the hospital. Sandy wasn’t going to wait around for the cops to show up. Beck knew this and he’d let him out of his sight anyway. “Damn it!”
He scooted by people coming into the building through the big sliding doors and onto the sidewalk just outside the ER entrance. He quickly skimmed the parking lot, seeing no one that resembled his father. He was gone.
“Fuck.” He placed his hands on hips, resisting the urge to shove a fist into the wall just behind him. “He’s gone. I knew it.”
“How did you know he would leave?” Ginger asked from beside him.
He looked down at her, weighing his words and realizing that nothing was going to make his current situation with her any worse. Might as well tell all.
“Because when I used to run drugs for him, that’s what he taught me to do.”
Chapter Six
It was as shitty as he remembered.
Beck looked around the crappy, run-down street where he’d spent a good portion of his dysfunctional childhood. Litter piled on the streets, swirling around the feet of the junkies, hookers, and unfortunate residents of the street he’d nicknamed “No Hope Avenue.”
The usual discarded paper and food refuse mainly occupied the sidewalks of the street, but he knew that if he detoured down one of the side streets and alleys, he’d have to navigate the addition of used condoms and drug paraphernalia on the ground. As he exited his car a chorus of verbal calls and signals jumped from group to group alerting each other to the presence of a stranger and likely a cop.
Home sweet home.
What would Ginger think if she saw this place? If she knew what his life had been like before he’d been taken in by the Landons? She’d done a great job of hiding her reaction at the hospital, slipping behind the mask of professional calm that banished the brief moment of connection they had at the nurses’ station. He hadn’t planned to move in so close, but when she’d responded unconsciously, he’d gone for the chance to show her he wasn’t the asshole he’d proven himself to be.
Pushing those thoughts behind him, Beck headed for the group of boys closest to him, recognizing the shirt colors and visible tattoos as gang symbols and wondering how many of them he’d seen in the ER or would see there in the future. The boys shifted as he approached, visibly agitated by his arrival but he was able to catch the eye of the one who was determined to be the tough guy.
“I’m looking for Sandy Sutherland. He works for Daniel Vega.”
“Don’t know who you talking ’bout,” Tough Guy answered, his voice as rough and cold as he could make it when it hadn’t quite changed yet. “You just need to fuck off.”
“Listen, I used to run this corner way before you shot out of your dad’s dick, so don’t tell me to fuck off.” Beck stepped a little closer, keeping an eye out for the weapons he knew they carried concealed. With drugs and money as their responsibility, they would be armed.
The kid laughed in Beck’s face and signaled for the rest of the crew to disperse. “Man, you need to head on back to whatever white bread neighborhood you came from before you get your ass shot.”
“I’m looking for Sandy Sutherland.”
“Yo. I’m not deaf, asshole.” The guy backed up even farther as his buddies slunk off down the street in opposite directions. “Now move the fuck on before I make you.”
“Fuck! Here comes Ace!” One of the other kids yelled out and the boy he was talking to froze in his spot as a black SUV pulled up alongside the curb and rolled down the window. Beck braced for a gun to appear but was relieved to only see a man’s face emerge from the shadows of the interior.
“Deonte move on.” The guy barked out the order to the kid standing by Beck and he didn’t have to repeat himself. Mr. Tough Guy took off like his ass was on fire, disappearing around the corner. Beck took a look around the street and noticed that most people had retreated indoors or anywhere but here, only the stoned or the stupid sticking around to see what was going to happen. “Beck, you don’t belong here.”
Shocked to hear his name, Beck stepped closer to the open window to get a look at the driver. He locked gazes with the stranger and almost twenty years melted away like ice cream left in the sun.
“Ace? Adam Rodriguez?” Beck stepped closer when the grin on the man’s face got a little bigger. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I think I should be asking you that question. This isn’t your neighborhood anymore. I heard you move in better circles.”
“I thought you’d put this all behind you, too. You working for Vega now?”
“Yeah, man, you know how it is.” Ace shrugged, not offering any other explanation before he gestured to his passenger. “I presume you’re here looking for your father.”
Beck peered into the car and saw Sandy sitting in the passenger side of the car. His expression was stubborn and angry and Beck would bet anything that he reeked of booze and cigarettes.
“What do you want?” Sandy asked, barely disguising the disgust in his voice. Beck had always been a disappointment to him, and he’d taken every opportunity to prove it with his fists as well as his words.
“I’m here to tell you to get the fuck away from here. I don’t care where you go, but you can’t stay here.”
“Worried that I’ll mess up your cred as some big, rich doctor? Afraid that the more-perfect-than-God friends you have will remember where you came from?”
“I’m telling you to go as far away from here as possible.”
“Shit. You sound like them. The Elliotts, Cantrells, and Landons.” If his father could have spit inside the pristine interior of the expensive SUV he would have. “They don’t own this place and never did. I’m staying right where I am.”
“You want to go back to prison? Or end up dead?” Beck gripped the edges of the open window to lean farther into the car, his fingers digging into the metal hard enough he expected to look down and see dents. “That’s where you’re headed if you work for Vega and you know it.”
“Oh? Do you actually give a shit?”
“No. Not really.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave now.” Beck pushed away from the SUV, his voice loud in the nearly empty street but he had no doubt that there were a million ears listening. “I’m not going to sit by and let you and your loser friends fill my ER with kids who don’t know to get away from you or can’t. You know it. Make sure your boss knows it.”
“Shut the fuck up, Beck,” Ace hissed between his clenched lips, his face hard with anger and warning as he launched himself out of the vehicle. “I don’t know what kind of crusade you’re on, but you need to just go back to your side of the tracks and stay out of this. I’m only gonna tell you this once because we used to be friends but that’s all you’re getting. You know Daniel Vega—a warning is a luxury he doesn’t often give.”
He did know. He knew firsthand what this life did to those inside the organization and those it fed—and it was his constant shame that he’d willingly played along and planned a future like Vega’s.
“I can’t sit by and do nothing,” he answered.
“Beck, seriously, back off.” Ace’s face twisted from fierce to anger to pleading desperation for just a second just before he looked around, as if checking to who was looking or watching. Whatever Ace was going to say or do was lost in the sound of three gunshots, yelling, and then the sounds of several people beating feet out of the alley just behind him.
Beck turned back to Ace just in time to see him getting back into the SUV.
“Get the fuck back to where you belong, Beck,” Ace said before he roared down the street and around the corner.
Beck took two steps toward his car when he heard it, the unmistakable sound of someone gasping in pai
n nearby and the muted sounds of police or ambulance sirens in the far distance.
Sprinting back to alley opening, he peered around the corner scanning for anyone hiding in the opening before heading down himself, careful to look for anyone above him. When he reached the end where it opened onto an empty area between row houses, he heard the groaning before he saw the injured man lying on the ground. With a quick look around he ran to him, kneeling beside the writhing man to get a look at him.
He was just a kid—sixteen or seventeen—but he was covered with blood, which poured out of a wound in his leg. The kid clutched the area very near the femoral artery and Beck prayed to God that it hadn’t been hit because there wouldn’t be much he could for him on the filthy slab of concrete.
“Buddy.” Beck reached out to the kid, pulling back when the guy tried to scoot away, fear shadowing his features. That’s what growing up in this neighborhood would do to you, makes you suspicious of any kindness. It was one reason why he did everything he could to gives kids a shot off these streets. “I’m a doctor. ER doc. I’m going to see if I can help you.”
The guy stared him down, panting out harsh breaths in between gritted teeth. He gave the briefest nod before laying his head back down on the ground with a loud groan.
“I need to touch your leg. Don’t freak out.” Beck grabbed the kid’s clenched hand where it covered the wound, pulling it out of the way so he could see how bad it was.
It was bad. Blood poured out of the wound but not at the level that told him them the artery was damaged, and that was a damn miracle. The kid had been hit by all three bullets, two tearing through his jeans and his flesh and leaving behind ragged holes. The third bullet was still inside, embedded in muscle or bone—only a surgeon would know for sure.
“Okay, I hear the ambulance coming so I’m going to put some pressure on this until they get here.” Beck reached over his head and rucked off his T-shirt, smearing the kid’s blood all over his skin in the process. He snagged the shirt, ripping a long strip off before lifting the kid’s leg and tying it off just above the main wound. The rest of the shirt he wadded up and pressed against the wound, only slightly alarmed at how quickly the previously gray material turned muddy and dark with blood.
Southerin Nights and Secrets (Boys are Back in Town) Page 5