The Nurse's Bodyguard

by Melanie Mitchell

  But she’d answered his questions about her work without pause—he was certain that part of her account was true. Plus, her roommate had seemed honest—although he would check her story after the women left.

  Liars came in all sizes, and gorgeous, arresting eyes aside, the details of the attack didn’t make sense. It was conceivable that she’d harmed herself, in some kind of attention-grabbing situation, or maybe she was involved in something sordid or illegal that went wrong. If there was surveillance video, though, he could get a few answers fairly quickly.

  “While we’re waiting, can I offer you something to drink? We have coffee or all kinds of soft drinks... Water?” His drawl became more pronounced.

  Luke’s change in manner and engaging grin worked with Jessica. She smiled. “A Diet Coke would be wonderful, if you have one.”

  “Can do. Ms. Olsen?”

  “Just water, please.” Her response was flat, and Luke realized the only expressions she’d exhibited so far were frustration, irritation and anger, with maybe a hint of fear or timidity.

  “Coming right up.” He left the office and quickly proceeded down the hall to the break room. He grabbed a small bottle of water and can of Diet Coke from the refrigerator and quietly jogged back, pausing outside the room hoping to eavesdrop on the women. He was disappointed however, as their voices were pitched softly and he was unable to discern their conversation. He sighed and walked into the room.

  “Here, ladies.” He gave the can to Dr. Tyson who took it gratefully and popped the top. He handed the water to Claire, who took it from him, carefully avoiding touching his hand. Luke surreptitiously watched as she unscrewed the top and took a quick sip.

  “You’re right-handed?” It was both a question and observation.

  “Yes.” Her answer seemed a little hesitant.

  “Where is your injury?”

  She set her water on the desk and held up her right arm. She pulled back the sleeve of her tan jacket almost to her elbow, revealing a bulky dressing of white gauze encircling her arm. “Do you want me to take off the dressing so you can actually see it?” Her tone was blatantly sarcastic, and her eyes steadily held his.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. Can you point to where the wound is?”

  She indicated the underside of her forearm, from a few inches under her wrist, nearly to her elbow. Luke felt an odd sense of relief. The placement of the wound supported her story. It suggested a defensive injury, as if she’d held up her arm to ward off the attack. Further, if the cut had been self-inflicted, it was a pretty sure bet her left arm would have been injured. He jotted a note and was about to continue his questions when there was a brief knock at the open door.

  “Lieutenant,” Tony Mancini didn’t enter the room. He caught Luke’s eyes and gave a quick nod to his superior officer.

  “Excuse me a minute. This shouldn’t take long.” Luke closed the file, nodded briefly and left the room.

  During the short walk to the security office, Tony succinctly filled Luke in. “Getting that footage was a piece of cake. Our translator was able to find a detective—a Mr. Park—who speaks English. While I was still talking to him, that dude emailed me a video link to footage they had already excerpted from the surveillance cameras in the medical center parking lot.” He pushed open the door to the security office where two other marines were monitoring the three dozen remote camera screens. They started to rise in deference to Luke’s rank, but he nodded to them and they continued working. Tony pointed to a computer at the end of the row. He shook his head and gave Luke a meaningful look. “Wait’ll you see this.” Both men remained standing while Tony reached down and started the video.

  Fortunately the hospital parking lot had been fairly well lit, and the video was of good quality. Luke and Tony were silent as they watched a white-coated Mary Claire Olsen come into view, walking at a brisk pace. She was almost out of the camera’s range when a man approached her from behind. At first she jumped out of his way when he tried to grab her, then as he swung his fist, obviously intending to strike her, she seemed to whirl and lean away, barely missing a serious blow. They saw her use her purse as a shield to deflect the arching knife, and then watched as she kicked out and struggled to fend off the two men. Luke swore quietly as she managed to stumble away from the assailants. Although the video was not in color, they could easily discern blood rapidly staining the white sleeve of her lab coat.

  There was no audio, but he could tell that she screamed for help and then screamed again. He caught the surprised reaction of the two men as they heard the guards responding to the altercation. Both started to run off, but one paused briefly then ran back to pick up the purse the nurse had dropped. As the men ran out of the camera view, two guards approached from the far side and led the bleeding young woman back to the hospital. According to the time stamps, the entire incident took a little more than ninety seconds.

  Luke re-played the video, swore again, and then ran it a third time. He leaned over the keyboard, pulled up his secure email account, and in a few keystrokes quickly saved the link so he could view it again. Finally, he turned to Tony. He looked grim.

  “So, what do you think?” the sergeant asked.

  Luke stared at the now blank computer screen. “I think I’ve got to go apologize to our customer,” he responded. “Some groveling may be necessary.” He paused a breath before adding, “I don’t know, but something about that attack still bugs me...” He sighed then and glanced at the sergeant. “What do you think?”

  Tony looked at the computer and then back at Luke. He nodded, “Yeah, I think groveling would be appropriate.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I’M SURE THEY’RE nearly done.” Jessica’s tone was hopeful as she tried to encourage Claire. “I can’t imagine that he’ll have many other questions.” She glanced at her watch and grimaced.

  Claire looked at her own watch for what seemed like the tenth time in the past hour and sighed. “What time is your date?”

  “He’s supposed to pick me up at six. I can call him and change it to seven...”

  Claire shook her head. “No, that’s not necessary, Jessica. You’ve been terrific through this whole thing. Why don’t you go ahead and head home. I can handle it from here, and I won’t have a problem finding my way back to the apartment.”

  Even though they’d known each other for only a few weeks, Jessica had been a stalwart friend. In addition to sharing her home, she had instructed Claire on how to navigate Seoul and she’d taken her to dinner and church on several occasions. Jessica had immediately come to the hospital and supported Claire while she was being stitched up. Then she’d helped translate while Claire had given her statement to the police. Today Jessica had offered to accompany her to the embassy to apply for the replacement passport and report the incident. Claire had quickly accepted her offer because she was still trying to find her way around the huge city.

  Initially, the process had been simple. The guards were respectful, allowing them to enter and showing them where to go. The Consular Assistant had filed the paperwork for the replacement passport before directing the women to Sergeant Mancini, who’d been sympathetic and helpful. He’d repeatedly tried to assure both women that Seoul was one of the safest places in the world for single women. He seemed genuinely baffled and angry—ready to beat the daylights out of the perpetrators. After he’d assisted with the intake forms, he described the remaining step in the process—a brief meeting with Security’s duty officer. That meeting, he’d assured them, was just perfunctory. They had both been stunned when the alarmingly big officer, with his disarmingly mild drawl, had bombarded Claire with questions and stared at her with distrust.

  Claire had not completely recovered her composure following last night’s attack. Although trying to seem calm, she was nervous, hesitant and uncharacteristically fretful of strange me
n. The embassy was large and imposing, but at least she’d been spared the ordeal of being among a crowd of people.

  The sergeant had been friendly, but when he returned with his superior officer, she was immediately overwhelmed into a state bordering on panic. Her reaction to the lieutenant was totally out of place—he bore absolutely no resemblance to her attackers, who’d been Korean..

  But the lieutenant had alienated her from the outset when he mistook Jessica for her. Since she’d arrived in Seoul, there’d been too many occasions to count in which people assumed she was Korean, but Claire had never been annoyed before. Luke’s stereotypical attraction to the pretty, curvy blonde, along with his equally obvious choice to ignore her, bothered her in a way that was unexpected. When he was finally forced to acknowledge her, he was ruthless as he grilled her, and she immediately got the impression that he doubted her account of the attack. She couldn’t conceive why he thought she could—or would—make something like that up. Being particularly vulnerable, it bothered her to be questioned and to have someone stare at her as he had, practically accusing her of lying.

  “This whole situation is just so weird.” Jessica took a sip of her soda. “In all my years here, I’ve never known anyone who was robbed. And I’ve certainly never known someone who was attacked—well at least not a woman. I’ve heard of quite a few bar fights and such...”

  She was interrupted when the two uniformed men returned. Claire couldn’t tell anything from the sergeant, who was expressionless, but the lieutenant looked vaguely uncomfortable. The big man sat behind the desk while the sergeant remained standing at the door.

  Luke leaned forward, placing his forearms on the desk and clasping his hands. Claire once again felt intimidated by his size, but she sensed that his response to her had softened. For the first time she really looked at the man, noting his strong features, high cheekbones and full lips. His close cropped hair was dark blond, contrasting somewhat with dark eyebrows shading hazel eyes. Laugh lines were prominent in their corners, hinting that he smiled a lot.

  “Ms. Olsen,” he began, his gaze holding hers. She was briefly distracted when she noted the amber striations in his otherwise greenish-brown eyes. “Sergeant Mancini was able to obtain the surveillance footage from last night and we’ve reviewed it several times.” He paused for emphasis. “It confirmed your account of the attack.”

  “Well, of course—”

  Holding up his hand, he interrupted. “But I still have some questions...”

  Claire suddenly felt very vulnerable. Her eyes burned and she blinked several times, trying to keep from falling apart.

  Luke abandoned professionalism and reached across the desk to gently pat her hand, surprising them both. Quickly, he pulled back his hand and actually shuffled in his chair.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Olsen. Please don’t be alarmed.” He sounded as if he wasn’t used to apologizing. “I need to explain. I’m an analyst. I spend pretty much all day every day trying to understand and interpret information. We’re trained to not take anything at face value, and I transferred my ingrained skepticism to your situation. At any rate, my initial mistrust was unwarranted. Please, I sincerely apologize for doubting your account.” He glanced at Tony, who responded with a tiny approving nod.

  Returning his gaze to Claire he continued, “I needed to get the facts, but I still don’t think I have them all.” He held up his hand again. “No, not about you, but I’m still trying to put everything together...to get it straight. It simply doesn’t make sense.”

  Claire frowned, but she was willing to accept his explanation and maybe his apology. She swallowed and asked, “What...What else can I tell you?”

  He paused to stare at his hands for a moment, evidently contemplating his next question. Finally he met her eyes and asked, “Do you have any martial arts training?”

  “Martial arts?” She shook her head. “No. None.”

  “Are you sure?” His drawl was back.

  She gave him a scathing look and huffed, “I thought you’d decided to believe me!”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “It’s just that the moves you made... On the video... It looked like some sort of kung fu or tae kwon do.”

  She pressed her lips together and actually smiled for a tiny second. “Uh, no. That was—well—it was from ice skating.” Her voice was quiet, nearly a whisper.

  “I’m sorry?” It was his turn to look confused. “What about ice skating?”

  “The moves.”

  He still seemed baffled.

  “I am—well I used to be—a figure skater. I guess that last night during the—uh—encounter, the moves just kind of happened.” Her voice quieted even more when she said the word “encounter.” She paused a breath before continuing. “It wasn’t anything I thought about or planned, I just reacted.”

  Luke sat back in his chair and looked at her with something approaching shock. “Ice skating?” He seemed to reflect on what she’d said, as if replaying the video in his mind. Understanding seemed to dawn. “So that’s why you kept going, even after you’d been cut?” It was both a comment and a question.

  “Yes, I suppose.” She shrugged. “You get used to ignoring pain during training. You fall so frequently that bruises, sprains and even cuts are common, so if you quit every time something hurts, you’d never progress...”

  “Well, okay...” He leaned forward in his chair again, staring at his clasped hands. Finally his eyes rose to hold hers. “Miss Olsen. In my experience, I’ve known a lot of football players and combat soldiers who were easily more than twice your size, who didn’t have the fortitude you showed last night.” He stood and held his hand as a peace offering. “One of my redeeming qualities is I can admit when I’ve been wrong. I truly apologize for my harsh questioning and for doubting your veracity. Please let me shake your hand.”

  Claire was stunned. His eyes pinned hers and she blinked. Nodding slightly, she rose and allowed his huge hand to swallow hers a second time. Marveling at the size difference, she murmured, “It’s okay. I understand. You were just doing your job.”

  * * *

  LUKE CONTINUED TO STARE at her oddly colored eyes. And then she smiled. The smile was shy and incredibly sweet. The flush that Luke felt was concurrent with an odd tightening in his chest. He recognized the sensation immediately. He had just lost his heart.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CLAIRE CRADLED THE little girl in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. She mumbled some words in poorly accented, broken Korean. The child probably couldn’t comprehend, but Claire hoped the words would comfort her nonetheless. Hyo-joo was small for her age, having battled leukemia for the past six months. Despite her outward appearance, Hyo-joo was one of the fortunate ones. There were still many hurdles to overcome, not the least of which were opportunistic infections and reoccurrence, but thanks to powerful drugs, radiation and a bone marrow transplant from her father, the child was winning the battle.

  They were sitting in the brightly colored playroom of the children’s wing. The room was a place of respite—a spot to distract both patients and their families from the pain and uncertainty inherent with cancer—as well as a laboratory. Several years before, a forward-thinking doctor, schooled in both Eastern and Western medicine, had set up the playroom/laboratory to institute a more holistic approach to the management of children with cancer. He’d started with a half-dozen electronic play stations with computer games for children from ages one to twenty-one. Those had grown in number, been updated several times, and were perpetually busy from early in the morning until after what should have been the children’s bedtime. The computers were a diversion for the very ill children as well as a resource for the doctors and nurses to assess the cognitive and psychomotor function of the young patients. They could also be used as educational tools, as many of the children lost significant time in sch
ool when they were hospitalized for weeks and even months.

  Claire clucked her tongue and whistled quietly, gaining the attention of the Scottish terrier who’d been resting on a bed in a corner of the large room. “Come, Kai-ji.” The dog jumped up from her perch and happily trotted over to nuzzle the sick girl.

  During the second year of the playroom’s existence, pet therapy was instituted. The program was started with one small dog; now there were four. In addition to the little Scottie, there was a West Highland white terrier, a cocker spaniel and a standard poodle. The therapy dogs loved children, were patient and well trained, and—very important—they did not shed. Each was remarkably intuitive, somehow knowing which children were ill and limiting rambunctious play with them. Oftentimes the dogs would respond even more appropriately to a child’s condition than the nurses and doctors, amazing Claire.

  The most recent additions to the holistic therapy program were keyboards and flutes. The hospital had employed a full-time music therapist who taught the children music theory and how to play the instruments. The idea was to help re-direct the young patients from focusing on their illnesses to thinking about their recovery. Claire had been skeptical at first, but after working with the therapist and seeing his results, she’d quickly recognized the value of using music to express feelings, particularly for the older children.

  * * *

  WHEN LUKE ENTERED the playroom late Tuesday afternoon, he saw Claire sitting cross-legged on the floor. She was cradling a tiny, bald child who was petting and being licked by a small black dog. He studied the large, brightly lit room filled with computer stations, toys, pianos and keyboards, as well as people whose happy expressions seemed out-of-place for a children’s cancer ward.