Contents
Also by Melynda Price
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Note to Reader
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Melynda Price
Against the Cage Series
Win by Submission
Passing His Guard
Fighting for Control
Grappling for Position
In for the Win
Stand Alones
Beneath the Surface
One and Done
The Nanny Rules
Vow of Silence
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The Good Samaritan
Melynda Price
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Any duplication, sale of, or distribution to the public is a violation of the law.
Melynda Price
Contact: [email protected]
www.melyndaprice.com
Copyright © 2020 by Melynda Price
All rights reserved. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Edited by Mikayla Morris-Beyond Ink Editing
Cover Design and formatting for publication by IndieSage PR
Prologue
Please don’t hurt me. The words echoed in Hannah’s mind, her lips unable to form a plea for mercy. The pungent vapor of gasoline filled her nostrils, sending a rush of adrenaline through her veins. Panic burned away her drug-induced haze, but her limbs felt numb and heavy as she tried to grasp the door handle.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
He whistled as he made a slow trek around the car, splashing gasoline onto the vehicle. It wasn’t a tune he carried, but the high-low call of a chickadee. The sound triggered her memory and a strangled sob broke from her throat. The parking ramp—her car, it wouldn’t start. Yet here she was in the driver’s seat of her sedan, slumped against the door with her cheek pressed against the bitter-cold window.
Tears streamed down her face and she blinked a few times trying to clear her vision, but the toxic fumes burned her eyes, making it impossible to see more than a blur of the man outside the car.
This can’t be happening.
But even as her mind emitted the denial, she knew she was going to die. Her heart hammered inside her chest as she choked on the panic lodged in her throat. What had he done to her? Why couldn’t she move or speak? If she could just open the car door, maybe her legs would work and she could run into the woods. She concentrated again on making her hand reach for the door, but it repeatedly slipped off the handle. A sob of frustration burst from her lungs that burned with every breath, extinguishing the oxygen her body craved.
“P—please.” She forced the single word past her lips. At first, she didn’t think he could hear her. But then the blurred image of his face appeared in the crack of the passenger window.
“Any last words?” he asked, tossing the gas can behind him and reaching into his pocket to pull out a match.
She didn’t want to die and the certainty of her demise crushed her soul. Choking on despair, she uttered one word, not that it would matter, but she needed to know. “Why?”
He studied her for a moment, as if considering the question, and then struck the match. The tip whooshed to life and he took a step back before answering. “Because—I’m saving you.”
He tossed the match and her scream was engulfed in flames.
Chapter 1
“North Ambulance 301 to Ramsey Hospital.”
Dr. Emma Rhodes glanced at the charge nurse’s desk, not surprised to find it empty. Her shift started with a guy who’d tried to commit suicide by jumping into a wood chipper, and the night had gone to shit from there.
“North Ambulance 301, we’re ten minutes out on a code three transport to your facility. Do you copy?”
Fuck…
Emma slipped behind the desk and answered the radio. “This is Dr. Rhodes. Go ahead.” She grabbed a pen from her pocket and searched for something to write on.
“We’re coming in code three with two police officers shot in the line of duty. First officer, a thirty-six-year-old male, GSW to the left leg, bleeding is uncontrolled, suspect femoral artery damage. Tourniquet applied in the field at 2215, vital signs, 82/50, heart rate 130, respirations 26, saturation 100% on non-rebreather.”
She grabbed a piece of scratch paper across the desk and short-handed the report, then pressed the button before speaking into the receiver. “He’s in hypovolemic shock. IV and fluids?”
“Two16’s bilateral in the AC’s with two liters normal saline wide-open. Second patient coming in is a K-9 officer with a gunshot wound to the left shoulder—”
“Wait,” she cut in to the medic’s report. “Did you say K-9? As in dog?”
“Yes, ma’am. As in German Shepherd.”
As if on cue a low growl emitted through the radio. A deep masculine voice said something she didn’t quite catch, and the growling stopped. Emma had heard of this happening, police dogs shot in the line of duty being taken to an emergency department for treatment, but in her four years of residency at Ramsey Hospital, she’d never encountered it.
“Be advised the officer is insisting they both be treated in the same stabe room.”
Normally she would have objected, but there was only one trauma room open, so they didn’t have much choice. “Any interventions on the K-9?”
“Just direct pressure on the GSW to control bleeding.”
“All right, we’ll see you in a few minutes. Trauma three.”
Emma handed the report to the unit coordinator as she rushed by. “I have a Trauma Team Activation, room three, eight-minutes. Page it out.”
She headed to the bay to meet the team as the chime sounded over the intercom. “TTA room three, eight-minutes.” Within seconds, a team was filing in and pulling on their PPE.
“What’s coming in?” Blake Weston, the lead MD and head of Trauma Services asked, shoving his ar
ms through the sleeves of a gown.
Emma recapped the report and when she finished, Blake said, “I’ll take the police officer with the GSW to the leg.” Of course he would. And since he outranked her, that left Emma with the German Shepherd. She’d have a tech to assist her, but the majority of the trauma team’s resources would be dedicated to the police officer that was bleeding out.
She grabbed a box of emergency drugs and put it on the stand with her IV supplies. Emma was priming a bag of fluids when Blake called across the room, “Hey, Rhodes, didn’t you go to veterinary school?”
She cut a quick glance to the doctor, who was setting up for intubation. “Yeah, for like one semester.”
“Well, that’s one more than the rest of us.”
If Blake was going for encouragement, it was a big swing and a miss. Not that she had anything against dogs. She loved animals, particularly her little Chihuahua Paco, but her knowledge of veterinary medicine was limited at best. This was out of her comfort zone, and Blake knew it.
A low growl echoed in the hall and she exchanged a brief glance of uncertainty with the tech.
“Stand down, Sam.”
The command carried a surprising amount of authority for a guy whose vital signs were tanking. The two patients arrived in the trauma bay a few seconds later, and she waved over the gurney carrying the K-9. “What do we have?” She stepped up to the side of the cot and the dog lifted his head, trying to see the officer behind her. The intensity and intelligence reflecting in his eyes gave her a momentary pause. She took a step to the right, unblocking the view of his handler, and the dog laid his head down on the cot.
“This is K-9 Officer Samson with the St. Paul Police Department.” The medic spoke softly as to not compete with his partner’s report. “He was shot in the line of duty tonight while pursuing an armed suspect. There is an entrance wound in the left shoulder.” The medic lifted the bloody bandage to show her. A steady stream of crimson flowed from the GSW. “And no exit wound. Bleeding is controlled with direct pressure.”
“Is this the first bandage?” she asked, trying to gauge the amount of blood loss.
“Third.”
“Keep pressure on the wound while I start an IV and get some fluids going.”
The medic nodded. As Emma worked, she listened to the report and activity going on behind her, staying mindful not to block the dog’s view of the officer. She could hear the cutting of clothes as Blake asked the officer questions and assessed his injuries. Though his voice held the tension of pain and strain of fatigue, he answered them all quickly and clearly—a good sign he was mentating despite the monitor alarming above her head.
As she fastened the elastic band around the dog’s leg, Emma glanced at the screen—blood pressure 74/45, heart rate 148, oxygen saturation 92%. Not good. They needed to get that cop to the OR—fast.
Blake called for two units of O neg and was applying a second tourniquet as he told the officer he needed to go to surgery and have the bullet removed from his leg. They were concerned about damage to his femoral artery and the length of time the tourniquet had already been on.
The dog didn’t flinch when Emma stuck the IV needle in its leg and advanced the catheter.
“How’s Sam?” the officer asked.
“We’re doing everything we can,” she answered over her shoulder as she connected the IV tubing and opened the clamp to run in the normal saline. “I’ve started an IV and I’m giving him fluids to help stabilize him. But he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“We’re ready to go,” the surgeon said, popping his head inside the room. “I’m heading down to scrub up.”
The clunk of the brakes releasing on the officer’s bed had the dog’s head snapping up. When the gurney started to move, chaos erupted. Sam struggled to get up, a flash of sharp teeth snapping in the air near Emma’s shoulder as he fought to get to his handler.
Everyone froze.
“He won’t let you separate us,” the officer said, weakness infiltrating his voice.
This guy is going to crash.
“Hold him down,” she told the medic, who was trying his damnedest not to get bit as he wrestled one-hundred pounds of pissed-off German Shepherd down on the cot. A second tech came over to assist, then a third. Emma broke the zip-tie lock on the drug box and grabbed a bottle of Ketamine. She drew up forty milligrams and had just started to inject it into the IV when a hand shot over from the passing gurney and locked on her wrist.
“What are you doing to him?”
Emma startled and glanced behind her. The cop’s grip was bruising—too strong for a man who was bleeding out. He was pale and diaphoretic, but his piercing blue eyes were sharp and focused.
“I’m sedating him,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s a bullet in his shoulder and he’s going to make the damage worse if we don’t calm him down,” she told him bluntly, the pain in her wrist crushing her bedside manner.
“Do not put him down, do you understand me?”
Cops were supposed to inspire safety and security, but this one was scary as hell. And so was his dog.
With all his moving around, the blankets covering him had shifted to his waist. The MD in her took an assessing glance over his exposed flesh. Strong, muscular body, one old gunshot wound high on the left side of his chest, a one-inch scar over his ribs at the fifth intercostal space—probably from a chest tube. He also had a four-inch scar running through the ridges of muscle down the right side of his abdomen. This man was no stranger to trauma.
Emma’s sweeping gaze shot back to his, and she held it with more bravado than she felt. “Let go of my wrist,” she snapped. “We’re trying to save your life. And his.” She nodded to the dog that was finally surrendering the fight as the Ketamine hit his bloodstream. The K-9 laid his head back down, eyes going soft and unfocused. “I’m transferring him to the University of Minnesota Veterinary Hospital. That’s where he’ll be when you get out of surgery.” Then to the tech at the head of the officer’s bed, she said, “Get this guy down to the OR before I shoot him up with Ketamine next.”
Chapter 2
Emma stepped off the elevator and into the parking ramp, pulling the collar of her coat tight to fend off the gusts of wind. Exhaustion dogged her steps. She’d had her fill of aggressive K-9s for one night. And police officers... At the thought of the cop, Emma gingerly rotated her wrist, testing the range of motion and scowled as pain shot up her arm. Working in a metro hospital, it wasn’t the first time she’d been injured at work, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
She was just glad to get through the whole ordeal without being bitten. Last she’d checked both Sawyer Gerrard and his K-9 partner were still in surgery. Hopefully they’d come through this all right. From what she’d seen, neither of them would deal well with losing the other.
Emma’s cell vibrated inside her pocket. She loosened her grip at her collar to retrieve it, checking her messages as she quickened her pace, her steps echoing crisply off the concrete walls.
We can still make last call :)
Molly. She glanced at the time in the top right corner, and considered her friend’s offer. Physically, she was exhausted, but emotionally, she was still riding that adrenaline high. A drink or two might help her unwind before she crashed for the night, and then returned tomorrow to do it all over again.
Sounds good. Meet you at Mallory’s in five.
Her steps quickened, the change of pace disrupting the clip-clop cadence in the garage. The echo of footsteps sent a chill sweeping through her that had nothing to do with the freezing temperature. Ice crystals of fear formed in her veins, her pulse racing to keep the sludge pumping through her body. The ramp was poorly lit, casting shadows. The acoustics made it impossible to tell which direction they were coming from. Her car was the only one left on this level, so no one should be here. Where the hell was Security?
“Hello?” Emma called out. “Is someone there?”
The steps stopped. The answering s
ilence was almost more frightening than the footsteps. And then it started, the high-low whistle of a Black-Capped Chickadee resonating through the ramp. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it.
Emma pulled the keys from her pocket and broke into a sprint, her feet pounding the concrete. The Honda CRV flashed its lights as she pressed the remote. In one fluid move, she jumped inside and slammed the door, engaging the locks. Her rapid breaths fogged the windshield as Emma fired up the SUV and hit her high beams as she backed out of the spot, panning the ramp.
She couldn’t see anyone, but the fine hairs prickling the back of her neck told her she wasn’t alone.
She would file another incident report with Security when she got to work tomorrow. Resolved on the issue, Emma pulled up to Mallory’s, grateful to get a close parking spot. She entered the bar and glanced around for Molly. It didn’t take long to spot the waving redhead in ceil blue scrubs sitting at a small table in the corner.
“Hey, Em,” Luke called from behind the bar, holding up an Angry Orchard. She gave him a grateful smile and detoured to the bar.
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