“Not yet.” She frowned and twisted open the vertical blinds. The light striped her face like prison bars. “For all we know, the coroner could be in cahoots with whomever’s behind this.”
The anger fueling her comment didn’t mask the wobble in her voice. An aching vulnerability that awakened every protective instinct in him. Taking a moment to reel in his emotions, he powered up the computer. “I’ll check him out. You said the patient asked for you before she died. Anyone inquire about that?”
“Actually, Dr. Whittaker commended me for having such a positive impact on our patients that they’d ask for me by name. Not that his comment surprised me. He’s always upbeat and encouraging.”
“Hmm, a regular Dr. Wonderful,” Zach said, repeating the moniker he’d overheard one of the nurses use for the man.
Tara shrugged. “He’s nice.”
As Zach waited for the computer to boot, he motioned Tara to shut the door and peeked inside McCrae’s desk.
Suddenly, he heard loud footsteps in the hallway. The door banged off the wall, and a doctor stormed in, lab coat flapping in his wake, his face as red as his hair. “What are you doing in my office?”
“This is Zach Reynolds,” Tara answered for him. “He’s the IT specialist who’s upgrading our computer systems. I showed him in.”
McCrae’s gaze flashed to Zach and then down to where his hand hovered over an open drawer.
Zach snagged a pen from inside. “You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you? Mine’s run out.” Without waiting for a response, Zach slid the security pass card into the new hub that would connect McCrae’s monitor to the main network. “I could be a couple of hours getting this set up. Were you needing access before I start?”
McCrae plunged his balled hands into the pockets of his lab coat. “No, that’s fine. I have patients to see.” He strode past Tara and scooped his stethoscope off the desktop. “Next time, however, I’d appreciate being informed before you barge into my office.” McCrae gave the room a sweeping glance and then left as quickly as he’d appeared.
“Whew, quick temper on that one.” Zach tossed the borrowed pen back into the drawer.
“It’s the sleep deprivation. Makes the residents edgy. He’s quite tenderhearted once you get to know him.”
“How will I ever come up with possible suspects if you have such high opinions of everyone on staff?”
Tara snorted. “Wait until you meet Alice Bradshaw.”
“Who’s she?”
“A nurse who... Well, let’s just say that when it comes to Alice, I follow my dear departed grandma’s advice. ‘If you can’t say something nice about a person, don’t say—’”
Zach flashed Tara a silencing glance as a gray-haired nurse stepped into the doorway.
* * *
Tara spun toward the door. At the sight of her least favorite person in the world, she swallowed the last of her words. Okay, maybe Alice Bradshaw wasn’t her least favorite person.
Her rat-fink ex-husband, who’d split on her and their then eight-week-old daughter, held that distinction.
But what was Alice doing here? Spying on her?
It was high time the woman figured out that twenty years’ seniority didn’t give her license to mind everyone else’s business. Tara took a deep breath.
Okay, Alice had caught Tara talking about her. Not good. But if she let on that she was the least bit rattled, Alice would pounce. Ever since Tara’s promotion, Alice had snatched every possible opportunity to undermine her authority.
Zach’s gaze ping-ponged from Alice to her, and the twinkle in his eye tugged a smile to her lips. She turned the smile to Alice. “Was there something you needed?”
Alice blinked, clearly surprised that her ability to unnerve Tara had lost its effect, but she recovered quickly. “Yes, actually.” Her ultraprim voice enunciated each syllable with precision. “The patients are waiting for their meds.”
Tara glanced at her watch and inwardly cringed at how late it was. “Okay, thank you. I’ll be right there.”
When Tara returned her attention to Zach, a dimple dented his cheek. “I see what you mean,” he said. Then, all hint of humor faded as he added, “Stay alert. We’ll talk later.”
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Every bed on the ward was full, and every other patient had some urgent crisis demanding her attention. She was grateful for the distraction, but still found herself struggling to focus on her work, because busy as she was, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had her looking over her shoulder every few minutes.
She was three bites into her lunch when the front office paged her. On her way there, she passed through the lobby, where Dr. Whittaker was showing a group of well-heeled prospects the inscribed marble donor wall on which their generosity would be forever immortalized.
Tara had to chuckle. He went on and on about the groundbreaking research they’d be supporting, but everyone knew it was his irresistible charisma that pulled in the donations.
A newly inscribed block at the end of the wall caught Tara’s attention, and she skidded to a stop. Mr. and Mrs. Parker, platinum donors?
They hadn’t had that kind of money. Mr. Parker had often lamented about the extra jobs he had to take to afford his wife’s natural supplements, and how he hated that work kept him from being with her more.
A hand clamped her upper arm, jolting her from her thoughts.
“Miss Peterson?” Dr. Whittaker smiled down at her with his perfect white teeth. “For a moment, you looked like you might faint.”
His gaze strayed to the Parker inscription, his forehead creasing.
Zach’s words—stay alert—pulsed in her ears as Whittaker shifted, blocking her from the view of the potential donors he was courting. “No, I’m fine. I...” She peeked around him at their audience and raised her voice for their benefit. “I was admiring how generous people have been.”
Dr. Whittaker beamed and shifted again, no doubt hoping her accolades would inspire further generosity.
She tapped her finger on the Parkers’ name to gauge his reaction. “This couple, for example. They must’ve bequeathed their entire estate to this project.”
“Yes, the late Mr. and Mrs. Parker were extremely charitable.” His lips jitterbugged from a smile to a frown before finally settling into a grim line. Although obviously pleased by the coup, he knew enough not to show his pleasure, considering the couple had to die for the hospital to get the money.
Tara stiffened. Motive.
He certainly had means and opportunity. Who would ever suspect Dr. Wonderful of being the grim reaper?
Tara’s gaze shot to his. He still held her by the arm. And his grip was tightening.
Zach strode toward them like a gleaming knight. He tapped the doctor’s shoulder. “Excuse me, Dr. Whittaker?”
Whittaker’s grip loosened. “Yes?”
Zach thrust out his hand, leaving Whittaker no choice but to release her and extend his own hand.
Tara mouthed a thank-you and then scurried away without a backward glance. What was she thinking, goading Whittaker like that?
That’s the trouble—she didn’t think. Mom always warned her she was too impulsive. Had Whittaker read her suspicions in her expression? Or was he just trying to stop her babbling before someone made the connection between the names on the wall and the recent deaths?
Either way, if Dr. Wonderful sensed she didn’t buy into the persona he was peddling, she was in trouble.
Her stomach roiled at the thought. She dealt quickly with the front office’s questions, and then returned to the lunchroom. But she was so rattled that her stomach grew queasier by the second. She covered the macaroni salad she’d barely touched and returned the container to the staff fridge.
She tried to focus on paperwork to take her mi
nd off her suspicions of Whittaker. Surely Zach would come by to ask about the run-in. She’d never had such a bad case of nerves. The detective’s warnings must’ve spooked her more than she’d realized. The mix of concern and determination she’d seen in his eyes as he’d drawn up behind Whittaker flittered through her thoughts. That...and how Zach’s shirt had strained across his broad chest when he’d reached up and tapped Whittaker’s shoulder.
Maybe suspicions weren’t the only things leaving her a little rattled.
Unable to attend to the paperwork, Tara waited for Alice to go on her break. Then she slipped into the back room where the medicines were kept. For days she’d been meaning to inventory the medicine locker to see if she could figure out what drug might’ve been used to kill the Parkers. Trouble was, Mr. and Mrs. Parker’s divergent symptoms suggested two different drugs, and none of the standard culprits had shown up in the coroner’s tox screen. Motive alone wouldn’t be enough reason for Zach to arrest Whittaker. They had to figure out how he did it. If, in fact, he had done it.
“Peterson.”
Tara jumped at Whittaker’s gruff summons and fumbled the bottle of oxycodone she was holding.
He snagged the bottle before it hit the floor, squinted at the label, then at her. “Your wrist still bothering you?”
“No,” she huffed, appalled by the insinuation that she’d sneak a pain pill. She hadn’t even filled the Tylenol 3 prescription the E.R. doc had given her the night of the incident. “I’m inventorying the medicine locker.”
His foot kicked the doorstop. The door closed with a thud.
Suddenly the room felt far too small, and she wished Alice were still here.
“Alice tells me you were late dispensing meds this morning.”
Scratch Alice. Tara wished Zach were here. She backed up a step only to have the handle of a spare bedside table press into her back. “Yes, sir.”
Whittaker raised an eyebrow. “No excuse?”
“It wouldn’t change the fact.”
“Hmm.” His stern expression relaxed. “Yes, some things are better kept to ourselves.” He rolled the narcotics bottle between his fingers. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Um, I suppose.”
“Good.” He plopped the bottle back on the shelf. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice pitched higher. But the instant the question escaped her lips, she bit her tongue. Would she never learn?
He’d probably been seconds away from walking out of the room and now...he was standing there gritting his teeth. The table handle dug deeper into her back.
“The Parkers’ deaths were an unfortunate occurrence that Memorial happened to benefit from.” Whittaker’s slow, measured words sucked the air from her lungs, one agonizing molecule at a time. “The less attention drawn to that fact, the better. We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong ideas. Would we?” He yanked open the door and stalked out.
This time Tara couldn’t ignore her upset stomach. She grabbed a bedpan and heaved.
Alice’s head poked in the door. “I thought I heard someone in here. Oh, you don’t look so good.” She helped Tara to a chair in the nurses’ station. “What is it? The flu?”
“I don’t know. It—” Cramps seized Tara’s stomach. She doubled over, moaning.
“I’ll get you something to calm the nausea.” Alice exchanged the bedpan with a clean one and rushed off. A few minutes later, she returned with a syringe. “Dr. Whittaker said I could give you an injection so it’ll work faster.”
“No, I don’t think—” Another wave hit, and this time Tara ran for the sink.
“Trust me. It’ll help.” Alice swabbed Tara’s arm and administered the injection before Tara could object again. “Now, why don’t you lie down in the locker room to give the medicine time to work? I’ll cover for you.”
* * *
The panic Zach had seen in Tara’s eyes had gripped his emotions and wouldn’t let go. He yanked the pass card from the computer hub he’d been testing and headed for the nurses’ station. After witnessing the hold Whittaker had had on Tara’s arm, he’d thought the hospital’s Golden Boy might be their man, but after talking with him, Zach wasn’t so sure. He needed to hear Tara’s version of what had gone down in the lobby at lunchtime.
The nurses’ station was vacant. He walked up and down the halls, glancing in patients’ rooms, but found no sign of her. Anxiety mounting, he checked the staff lounge.
Alice Bradshaw glanced up. “Looking for someone?” she asked in that gratingly precise tone of hers.
“Yes, the head nurse.”
“That would be me.”
Alarm bells went off in Zach’s head. “You? I thought Miss Peterson—”
“She went home sick. I’m covering for her. Can I help you with something?”
“It can wait. Thanks.” He went back to the computer he’d been testing, but a niggling uneasiness made concentrating impossible. Only yesterday, Tara had outright refused to take time off. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed her number.
After five rings, voice mail kicked in.
He clicked End without leaving a message. If she felt sick, she’d probably gone straight to bed. He wandered past Whittaker’s office, and at the sight of him frowning at the computer monitor, breathed a relieved sigh.
Zach shook his head. What was he thinking? That Whittaker would hunt her down with some threatening reprimand?
If she felt scared, she would’ve come to him. Even so, the acid burning his stomach showed no sign of abating. He borrowed the phone book from the nurses’ station to look up her address. But there were three columns of Petersons, and not one had a first initial T. He called Rick.
“What’s up?”
“I need Tara’s address. Something weird went down at lunchtime, and she left early. I need to make sure she’s okay.”
Rick rattled off the address. “Do you think she’s in danger?”
“I wouldn’t be asking for the address otherwise, would I?” Zach snapped. “I’ll be in touch.”
He clamped down his riled emotions and hurried out to the hospital parking lot. Lord, please let me be overreacting.
Consulting the map he’d picked up in the hospital gift shop, he wound through three unmarked subdivisions before finding Pine Street. He pinpointed Tara’s house and slowed to a crawl. The driveway was empty.
He double-checked the house number against the one Rick had given him. Same. His pulse spiked. All afternoon, concern had nagged him. Clearly, he should’ve paid more attention.
He tried her cell phone again.
“Hello?”
Zach’s heart leaped at the sound of her voice. “Tara, where are you? Bradshaw said you were sick.”
“Yeah, I am. I brought Suzie to my mom’s for the night.”
“You’re at your mom’s?”
“Just leavin—”
Tara screamed and what sounded like gunfire blasted over the phone.
“Tara? Tara? Talk to me. Tell me where you are.”
THREE
Screams—her own screams—barraged Tara’s eardrums. She dove face-first into the front seat of the car and covered her head with her arms.
The window behind her seat shattered, spraying glass over the seats, her clothes, her hair.
“Tara, talk to me!” Zach’s voice shrilled from the vicinity of the floorboard.
She took one hand from her head and felt for her cell phone. If she hadn’t been reaching into the car to grab the phone, that first shot might’ve gone through her heart instead of through her car and out the passenger window.
Her fingers closed around the phone as another shot ripped through the door. Clinging to the phone, she rolled to the floor. Pebbles of glass ground into her legs an
d arms. “Someone’s shooting at me!”
“Are you okay?”
“Someone’s shooting at me!”
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“In my car.”
“I need an address!”
The sound of screeching tires pierced the air. “I think he’s gone. I hear sirens coming. I’ll just—”
“Tara, stay down.” The urgency in Zach’s voice knocked her back with all the force of a physical push. “Don’t lift your head. Tell me where you are.”
“Sam’s Cove. Thirty-eight Eagle Avenue. It’s ten minutes west of Miller’s Bay.”
“I’m on my way, but stay on the line. Are the sirens getting closer?”
The steady timbre of his voice eased her heart’s frantic pounding. “Yes.”
“Good. Someone must’ve called it in. Stay down until the cops get there.”
She swiped at a tear dripping down her cheek and gasped when her hand came away bloody.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m bleeding.”
“Were you hit?”
“It’s just from the shattered glass, I think. I don’t know....” She felt herself losing control. “Zach, I can’t stay here. What if the shooter comes closer?” Except she couldn’t run for the house and draw gunfire near Suzie.
“Stay calm. Put pressure on the wound. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Just hold on.”
At the sound of feet pounding toward her, she curled deeper into the narrow space beneath the dash.
A hulking figure appeared at the door, blocking the light.
Tara couldn’t help it. She screamed.
“What is it?” Zach asked urgently.
“Tara, it’s me.”
Relief poured through her as she recognized the voice of her mom’s neighbor John Calloway.
The older gentleman gingerly pulled her free of the glass. “Let me get you inside.” He tried to pry the phone from her clenched fist. “The police are on their way. Your daughter is screaming for you, and it’s all your mom can do to hold her.”
Critical Condition Page 3