Song of the Blackbird (Albatross Prison #1)

by DB Michaels

  “Too bad for us,” a lazy voice said from somewhere to her right.

  Emma pushed the hair out of her face and blinked. A tall, well-built, blond Adonis stood in front of her. She shielded her eyes against the sun. No, she wasn’t imagining him. He was perfect, from the tip of his shiny blond head to the tilt of his beautiful aquiline nose to the easy grin on his firm, masculine lips. Eyes of the deepest sea-blue sparkled down at her.

  “Hi, there.” She stepped out of the castle, bemused and a bit dazed. The man was drop-dead gorgeous.

  “Hi, yourself.” Mr. Adonis laughed, his beautiful eyes alight with mischief. “Have I died and gone to heaven? What’s your name, Angel?”

  “Behave, Stewart.” Maxim suddenly loomed next to the man and clapped him on the back. “That’s Dr. Edwards, our new doctor.”

  Emma blinked a couple of times. Yes, that was Maxim next to Mr. Adonis. What the heck was he doing at Julien’s son’s birthday party? Wasn’t he supposed to be in Fresno for a meeting? He was dressed in a gray business suit, his silk tie perfectly aligned, his shoes polished and shining, just like every day at work. Didn’t he realize he was at a kid’s birthday party? He was looking at her with the oddest of expressions. Emma glanced down. Yikes! Half of her abdomen was exposed. She yanked her T-shirt down and forced out a smile.

  “Hi, I’m Emma Edwards,” she said, reaching out to shake Mr. Adonis’s hand.

  “Charles Stewart.” The blond god raised her hand to his lips. Emma took a quick step back. Was the guy actually going to kiss it? It seemed gallant in the movies but in real life was kind of creepy, even if it came from an Adonis. Up close, he looked older than she’d first thought. There were fine wrinkles around his eyes, which appeared a bit dissipated and bloodshot on closer inspection.

  “How do you do, Mr. Stewart?”

  “Why so formal?” The man put an arm around her shoulders while his other hand cradled a wine glass. “Call me Charles. And I have to call you Emma. Such an enchanting name. It matches you perfectly.”

  “Thanks.” The man’s breath reeked of alcohol. “Do you work at Albatross?”

  “Yes. He’s one of the psychiatrists,” Maxim said with a faint sneer.

  “Psychiatrist?” Emma’s breath hitched. “Doctor Stewart?”

  “Yes, darling.” He grinned and pulled her closer. “But I thought I already told you. Call me Charles.”

  “Charles.” Emma held her breath. Damn. Why did the man have to be a lush? But no matter. It seemed the perfect opportunity to find out more about her brother. “I was hoping to meet you.”

  “Really, darling?” Charles laughed and tugged her flat against his body. His eyes grinned down at her. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  “I see you’ve met my ex-husband,” a familiar voice said.

  No. It couldn’t be. But it was. Of all the luck. Kaye stood there glowering at her. Yikes. Emma jumped back from Charles by a mile. “Your ex?”

  “Ex. Thank God. Come on, Maxim. Let’s go. There’s so much screaming, I’m getting a headache.” She looped her arm around Maxim and dragged him away.

  “Well, that went well, didn’t it?” Charles twirled his wine glass, watching the red liquid spin, his face shadowed by a trace of sadness. “She’s been in love with him for years. Maybe she’ll finally get him now.”

  “Who? Maxim?”

  “The one and only.” Charles sighed. “The guy is filthy rich. That’s all she’s after. His money.” He tried to grab for another wine cooler, but Emma handed him a bottle of water instead.

  “Sorry.” Charles grimaced, looking a little lost and confused. “I hate seeing the two of them together. And I can never hold my liquor on an empty stomach.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.” Emma filled two plates with pizza and salad, and they made their way to a table where Madison, the nurse from the Urgent Care, was sitting.

  “Mind if we join you?” Emma asked.

  “Not at all.” Madison’s sunny smile wilted as soon as she spotted Charles. “Actually, I forgot I promised to help Mary with something in the kitchen.” She abruptly stood and waved them a hasty good-bye.

  “What was that?” Emma gave the psychiatrist a curious look as they sat.

  “Beats me.” Charles shrugged. “Maddy’s kind of unpredictable.”

  “Maddy? You know her from before?”

  “Yes. I’ve known her for years. Her brother is a good friend of mine.” Charles twisted off the cap of his water bottle. “Anyway, let’s dig in, okay? I’m starving.”

  “Sure.” Emma bit down on the pizza, wondering what the nurse had against Charles. He didn’t seem that bad. Come to think of it, most of the people she’d met today had been friendly.

  Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Julien was blowing balloons for a pack of kids in one corner of the backyard while his wife Mary chased their youngest son, a toddler in the midst of a major tantrum. Dr. Churchill or Bryce as he told her to call him today was teaching Julien’s five-year-old how to ride a bicycle. Little boys and girls ran around the backyard, blowing soap bubbles and waving pretend swords. The Star Wars theme was a clear hit.

  Maybe someday she could have a fraction of her surroundings. Maybe a kid or two and a husband as devoted as Julien to share her life with. And of course, Sam would be there, roughhousing with one of her kids, drawing pictures of birds for them. He’d be free again and hopefully happy, too. She turned toward the psychiatrist.

  “Dr. Stewart. I mean Charles,” she began. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

  “Sure, Angel.” She noticed how the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “As long as it’s not about my ex.”

  “Promise. It won’t be about her.” Emma swallowed. “Do you know a patient named Morris? Sam Morris?” Goose bumps spread on her arms. She took a sip of water.

  “Maybe.” He bit down on a slice of pizza. “I see so many patients, they kind of blend in to one another. Why do you ask?”

  The psychiatrist didn’t appear as drunk as before. She wondered how much of it had been an act for his ex. She had to jog his memory somehow. “He’s our porter in the Urgent Care. You know, about twenty-something with dark skin, five feet ten or so. He has a little limp when he walks. Really tall and lanky.”

  “Oh. That Morris.” Charles snapped his two fingers together. “He’s one of my nicest patients. Always polite and respectful.”

  “You think so?” Emma’s heart swelled with pride.

  “Yes. Are you his medical doctor? ’Cause you know, the whole patient privacy thing.”

  “Yeah. I’m his doctor.” Emma bit her lip, hating the lie. “He said he couldn’t sleep sometimes.”

  “Yes. Poor guy got the crap kicked out of him.”

  “What?” Emma’s hand gripped the edge of her seat.

  “Yes. It was over a drug deal.” Charles took another bite of pizza. “He was in the hole for a few months. He’s doing a little better but doesn’t want to talk about it much.”

  Her poor brother. No wonder he hadn’t written. How badly had he been hurt? Obviously he looked okay now but he must have suffered a lot. And what was this about a drug deal? Sam had told her he’d stopped using. Was that since he was beaten up or had he been sober since juvenile hall like she’d thought?

  Drat. Could Sam have lied to her? She certainly hoped not. She was going to dig it out of him somehow, and if he was back on drugs, she’d have to intervene immediately. Maybe Charles had some idea. She hated snooping on her brother, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She turned to the psychiatrist. “You think he’s back on drugs?” she asked, her heart thumping hard.

  “No. I don’t think so.” Charles took a sip of water. “No one has said anything. And you know Custody does random checks on their urine.”

  Thank goodness. “Do you think he needs the meds you’re giving him?”

  “Probably. He has mood swings and insomnia, too.” Charles gave her a shrewd look. “Yo
u want me to wean one of his meds?”

  “What? No. Why do you ask?”

  “Just the way you asked. Are you that worried about him?”

  “No.” Emma shook her head and then sighed. Who was she kidding? She might as well speak her mind. Charles appeared like he cared. Perhaps he could help. “I mean, yes. He seemed a little paranoid when he talked to me yesterday. I want to make sure he’s doing okay.”

  “I saw him a few weeks ago. He looked fine but if you’re worried, I’ll call him in and have a little chat. Make sure he’s okay.”

  “You’d do that for me?” Emma felt like hugging the man.

  “I’ve always been a sucker for a beautiful face.” Charles shot her his Adonis smile.

  Emma smiled back. The man was a born flirt. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. But can you keep this between us? For patient confidentiality, you know.” She couldn’t believe she managed that without choking on the words.

  “Of course. You can count on me.”

  “Dr. Emmy.” Robby ran over and grabbed Emma’s hand. “Come on, we’re cutting the cake. I want you to sit right next to me.”

  “Aw. How sweet, Robby. Thanks but don’t you want your mom or dad or brothers to do that?” Emma asked. Julien and Mary beckoned her with their hands. Apparently she’d become their son’s favorite after all those horsie rides. She trudged over to the cake table, holding Robby’s sticky hand.

  Maxim towered near the cake, looking as formidable as ever. He’d taken off his jacket and had loosened his tie. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled back, exposing his hairy forearms. Emma swallowed. Her insides tingled. When had she ever thought a man’s forearms were sexy? And this was the warden, for goodness’ sake. She looked up and caught his full frown. What now? She hadn’t opened her mouth yet and he already radiated disapproval.

  Soon they all started singing the birthday song. Maxim loomed like a mountain, only a yard away. She stole a peek at his forearms and knew she was in trouble. How could she be attracted to the man? He was rude, arrogant, boorish. Opposite of what she desired in a partner. Yet he’d been there for her in the ER the other night. And he’d driven her car back for her. And that body. Must he be built like a Roman conqueror? Emma shook her head. What was she doing? Maxim was Sam’s jailer. The less she thought about him, the better.

  “Smith said you wanted to talk with me?” Maxim suddenly asked when the song was over.

  “What?” Mary was cutting the cake and divvying up the pieces. It was chocolate, her favorite. Emma snatched a piece before it all disappeared.

  “You wanted to talk with me?” His voice rang with impatience.

  “Oh, right.” Somehow she’d totally forgotten about the cigarettes. “I tried to call but you’d already left for your meeting.”

  “Didn’t Smith give you my cell?” Maxim’s eyebrows drew together. “You can always reach me there.”

  “Well, it wasn’t an emergency.” And they were at a party right now. Knowing his temper, it was probably better to wait. “Let’s talk on Monday.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes.” Emma took a big bite of the cake. “Well, I mean, no, not really but it can wait.”

  “Why don’t you tell me now? I don’t like waiting for bad news.”

  “How do you know it’s bad?”

  “Your face says it all. So spit it out. Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

  The corners of his lips curved up a tiny bit. Emma’s breath hitched. Was that a hint of a smile? She shook her head and finished off the cake. First the forearms and now that potential smile. She had to pull herself together.

  “So are you going to tell me?” Maxim prompted.

  “Sorry, not now. Let’s wait until Monday.” Why was he staring? She wet her lips and Maxim’s stare intensified. Suddenly he made an odd sound and grabbed the napkin out of her hand. He wiped her mouth with the cloth in one fell swoop.

  “You had chocolate there.” His tone was grim, almost accusing.

  “You could have just told me.” Heat rushed to her face. “I would’ve done it.”

  “More efficient my way.” Maxim’s gaze shifted. “There’s still a smudge on the left side. You should eat more slowly.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She was sure her face was as red as a lobster.

  Her tormentor grunted and walked away. Emma wiped her mouth and tossed the napkin into the nearest trashcan. The man was rude to the core. She couldn’t believe she’d been mooning over him a few minutes ago.

  Chapter 14

  Phineas. That was what she’d call him. The blackbird flitted from branch to branch, looking strong and brave just as his namesake in Emma’s favorite novel, A Separate Peace. Sam had loved the book and also thought it a fitting him when she told him about it before clinic that Monday morning.

  “I hope I can see him one day,” her brother said as he stacked reams of copy paper into the filing cabinet.

  “You were up the hill that day when I first spotted you, right? Take a look next time. He may be there.” Emma sipped her coffee, wondering how to bring up what Charles had told her.

  “That was a one-time thing. Another crew is delivering supplies up there now.”

  “Maybe he’ll fly down here one day.”

  “Yeah, right. You know how they like staying in their territory. Did you see any nests close by?”

  “Not inside the prison.”

  “They’re probably close by. Wish I could explore with you.” He gave her a crooked smile. “At least I know about him. Thanks for telling me. Hey. Did you hear about the latest comet?”

  “No. Tell me about it.” So he still liked comets. Emma smiled, glad a core part of her brother was still there.

  “I heard on the radio. Holmes is supposed to be coming the twenty-third or twenty-fourth of this month and be really bright, even visible with the naked eye.” Sam’s eyes turned dreamy. “I wish I could see it.”

  “You can’t look up there at night?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Sam scoffed. “My bunk isn’t even close to a window. And you know they don’t let us out at night.”

  “I’m out there. I can take pictures for you, if you like.”

  “Would you?” Sam’s brown eyes lit up. “You’re the best, Em.”

  “Any time.” She touched his arm. “Do you need money or anything? I can deposit some in your inmate account.”

  “No, thanks. Save it for your down payment.”

  “What down payment?”

  “I thought you and Carmichael were going to buy a house.”

  “No. We broke up.”

  “Really? But I thought you said he was the one. You were raving about him and said you’d bring him for a visit.” Sam broke off as understanding dawned in his eyes. “You guys broke up because of me, didn’t you?”

  “He was afraid his parents couldn’t handle it.” Emma cleared her throat. “They’re in politics. It was all about projecting the right image.”

  “Sorry, Em.” Sam’s big eyes were doleful. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be happily married by now.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She squeezed his arm. “If he couldn’t accept you, then he couldn’t accept me. I was sad for a while but I’m over him now.”

  “Good.” Sam looked more upbeat. “I never liked him anyway. He seemed so snobby in your letters.”

  “Speaking of letters,” Emma said, glad she’d found her opening. “Why did you stop writing?”

  Sam was quiet for a few moments before turning to look out the window. “I got in trouble, Em. I can’t tell you more but don’t worry. I’m okay now.”

  “Was it drugs?”

  “How did you—” He whipped his head to the left and right and seeing nobody proceeded. “Yes. It was drugs, but they weren’t mine. I swear it, Em. I haven’t touched the stuff since the day I got arrested.”

  “That’s great.” Emma touched his hand.

  She was about to say more but Madison brought in a patient
with abdominal pain at that moment and clinic started. She did a history and physical and concluded the man likely had gastritis from too much ibuprofen. Emma prescribed him omeprazole and warned him to stop his NSAIDS. She next treated a few “spider bites,” big abscesses that she enjoyed incising and draining. Then came the usual upper respiratory infections and back pain.

  Toward lunchtime, Emma called Maxim’s secretary to confirm his availability for their three o’clock appointment. Unfortunately, one thing led to another and by the time three o’clock rolled around, Emma still had several patients left to see. She rushed through them but as she was wrapping up, a Code 1 was called over the radio system. Ms. Bryant and Madison ran to answer it.

  “Man down, beaten in the bathroom,” a fuzzy voice said over Smith’s radio. “He’s barely breathing. There’s blood all over. 911 already called. On way to Urgent Care now.”

  Oh, my God. Emma yanked at her necklace. Could it be Sam? His shift had ended a couple of hours ago. Someone had beaten him earlier this year—had they done it again? Was it her brother who was barely breathing? Where the heck were they? Emma rushed out of the clinic as the nurses were pushing in a stretcher. An inmate lay on top, his eyes swollen shut, his jaw misshapen. Half his ear was hanging off.

  He was white. It wasn’t her brother. Emma’s heart started thumping again.

  “IV, O2, monitor. Now please,” Emma ordered, appalled at the bad shape the man was in. “What happened? Can you hear me?” The victim mumbled something incoherent. Emma seized her stethoscope, quickly performing the primary survey. “Airway intact. Trachea not deviated. Breath sounds decreased on the left. Pulse present in femoral, none in radial.”

  “Blood pressure eighty-five over forty-five, heart rate one forty,” Madison shouted.

  “What’s the pulse ox?” Emma yelled back.

  “Ninety percent on one hundred percent non-rebreather.”

  “IV in yet?” Emma asked. “I need two large bore ones.”

  “Sixteen gauge in.”

  “Hang a bag of normal saline.” Emma listened to the man’s chest again. “No breath sounds on the left.” She ripped open the man’s shirt. “Trachea deviated! Give me a fourteen gauge catheter!”