by Debra Webb
Ryan waited until she was forced to meet his gaze once more. “I imagine that you’d considered that if the child had survived she’d be alone…with no family left to take care of her.”
“That’s what Child Services is for,” she said tightly. “They take care of the children when there’s no one else.” She cast another glance in Mel’s direction. “If there’d been any hope at all we…we would have reacted differently.” There was a plea in her tone this time…one directed at Mel.
“In what way, Nurse Peterson,” Ryan pressed. There was something here…something important.
She jerked her gaze back to Ryan’s. “We…we would have kept her longer…waited for the mother to recover before…”
“Before you took an irreversible step?”
She looked away. “I have to get back to work now.”
Ryan turned to leave. This time his hesitation had nothing to do with the nurse and everything to do with Mel. The look of pain on her face was so stark, so vivid, it sliced right through his chest.
Knowing it would be a mistake but unable to stop himself, he touched her…ushered her from the room, pulled the door closed behind them, more to give them privacy than for Helen Peterson’s benefit.
In the corridor she stalled, whispered harshly, “What’s she hiding?” She looked up at Ryan. “She is hiding something, isn’t she? It’s not my imagination.”
He held her gaze for a few seconds before allowing her the answer, knowing it would shore up the fledgling hope that her child was alive. “Yes. She is hiding something, but it may not be what you need it to be.”
Fury whipped across her face, chasing away some of the devastation that had taken occupancy there. “That’s your damned perspective, Braxton. We’re all entitled to our own conclusions.”
Another of those near irresistible urges to touch her broadsided him. He clenched his fists at his sides and fought the need. “I know what you want to believe, Mel. I’d be remiss in my duty if I didn’t remind you that, in all likelihood, we’re looking at a missing body here, not a missing child. I don’t want you getting your hopes up about finding her alive.”
The devastation clouded her features again, but this time it remained laced with fury. “Thank you for the reminder, Braxton. We all know just how much duty means to you. I would be the last person to consider you remiss.”
She stormed away without looking back.
Ryan let her go ahead of him. They needed the distance. Every moment he spent with her muddied the waters a little more. He couldn’t stop thinking about the past…about her. All she remembered was how he’d let her down. She was right about that. No one could ever accuse him of being remiss in his professional duties.
Ryan Braxton didn’t let go…not until the job was done.
It was in his personal life that he fell apart. He’d let her down in a big way. She’d loved him. He didn’t have to wonder, she’d told him. But he hadn’t been able to give her the child she’d wanted so desperately. So she’d found that completion in another man’s arms.
If he’d just given in…just once. Would the child she’d lost have been his? Would she have stayed in D.C. with him? Then this life-shattering accident would never have happened.
A wave of agony so profound washed over him that he grabbed for the wall.
That was one question he’d never know the answer to.
He’d lost her…lost any chance of a future with her. She’d lost the child she’d longed for, had brushed so close to death herself…and, somehow, it all felt like it was entirely his fault.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Just when Mel thought her tension could escalate no further, they passed through the intersection.
She gripped the car’s armrests. Held her breath. Memories of the sound of brakes squealing…the crunch of metal all zoomed into her awareness. Desperate emotions grabbed her by the throat. She remembered her baby crying…horns blowing. Someone screaming.
Mel jerked from the trance. Released the air in her lungs in one long puff. She’d never remembered that last part before. She must have heard those sounds as she slipped into unconsciousness.
The cry had been of fear…not pain.
A mother knew the sound of her child’s cries. Katlin had been afraid. How could it be possible that she’d appeared fine and, yet, had sustained such massive internal injuries? It didn’t make sense. But then she wasn’t a doctor…but she knew what she sensed on the most basic levels.
Katlin was alive. No matter what anyone said—she glared at Ryan—or thought.
“Is that it?”
She snapped her attention to the deli half a block ahead. The EMTs had agreed to meet with them on their lunch break. Ryan wanted to hear their account of what they’d found at the scene. Mel wanted to hear it, too. Though she had to admit that she’d almost lost it this morning. Refrigerated kept echoing inside her head. Dr. Wilcox had seemed so nice when she’d first left the hospital almost a week ago. He’d felt so sorry for her. Had told her over and over how he wished things had turned out differently. Even the nurse had been kind the one time Mel had seen her the day she was to be released from the hospital. It had been obvious that she’d felt immensely sympathetic.
“Mel?”
Forcing her attention back to the present, she muttered, “Yeah. That’s the place.” She didn’t look at Ryan. She knew what he was thinking, she didn’t need to see it in his eyes. And he was looking at her. She could feel his gaze on her.
Instead of dwelling on his assessment, she considered the concept that things were very different now. Dr. Wilcox and Nurse Peterson were no longer sympathetic to her plight. Due, in part, to the investigation. No one liked being suspected of wrongdoing whether they were guilty or not. But deep down she knew it was more than that. Both of them were hiding something. She’d felt it so strongly it had almost overwhelmed all other emotion.
As soon as Ryan had parked she unfastened her seat belt and scrambled out of the car. She didn’t intend to give him the opportunity to go through the “Are you all right?” ritual again. She wasn’t all right, but that wouldn’t stop her.
Inside the neighborhood deli most of the tables were already taken this close to noon. Smack in the middle of the throng, the blue uniforms of the EMTs stood out amid the Monday lunch crowd. Ryan went directly to their table.
He showed his I.D. “Ryan Braxton. One of you is Lonnie Keller?”
The older of the two waved a hand. “That’s me. This is my partner, Reg Carson.”
“Melany Jackson,” she offered when Ryan didn’t. She extended her hand, first in Keller’s direction, then toward Carson.
“Ms. Jackson,” he said, pushing to his feet. “Glad to see you’re doing all right.” He clasped her hand and shook it enthusiastically. His partner did the same.
“We sure thought you were a goner,” Carson added.
Keller elbowed him. “I hated to hear the news about your little girl.”
Mel saw the sympathy flash in both men’s eyes. She hated this part. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Have a seat,” Keller put in, suddenly realizing they were all standing. “How can we help you?”
When they’d settled at the small table for four, Ryan wasted no time getting to the point of the visit.
“According to your report you arrived at the scene six minutes after the initial 911 call.”
“That’s about right. It wasn’t that far from our post. We’d just rolled in from another MVA. We jumped back in the truck and headed out.”
“Is that typical protocol?” Ryan wanted to know. “There wasn’t another unit standing by?”
Carson shook his head. “Most times that’s the way it works, the units rotate calls, but that day we were a little busier than usual.”
Ryan nodded. Mel simply watched the proceedings waiting for the more crucial questions. She wanted—no, she needed to hear about that morning. To know what they’d found at the scene.
“I’d like yo
u to tell me what you saw when you arrived on the scene.”
Keller exhaled a considering breath and thought about the answer for a moment. Mel imagined he was gathering his thoughts from that hectic morning.
“Memphis P.D. was there. One cop was directing traffic and the other was checking out the victims. As we unloaded he said the guy in the delivery truck was okay, just shaken. He was still sitting behind the wheel of his truck, his head down.”
Ice slid through Mel’s veins. She remembered that split second when she’d known that he was going to hit her. She couldn’t recall what he looked like, maybe there hadn’t been enough time for her eyes to analyze the details. But she remembered vividly knowing what was going to happen…reaching for her child.
Keller angled his head toward his partner. “Reg checked him out just to be sure while I went to the car.” His gaze flitted to Mel for a half a second. “The baby was crying at the top of her lungs. No blood. She looked okay, vitals were good, so I went for the driver.” He swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat constricting with the effort. “She was still restrained by a seat belt but she was slumped forward. There was no visible blood. A large, mushy mass on the left side of her head. Her respiration was weak, her blood pressure thready.”
“I left the truck driver—” Carson picked up the conversation from there “—since he was conscious and checked out okay. Vitals were strong, a little elevated from the trauma, but fine other than that. I took charge of the kid—the little girl. She checked out fine, too.” He shrugged. “I just can’t believe I missed anything. She was mobile, flailing her arms and legs, trying to get to her mom. Her cries were strong, angry and scared, not pained. I just don’t get it.”
Mel grasped the edges of her chair to keep herself seated. She wanted to move…to do something. His words evoked heart-wrenching pictures in her head. The idea that her little girl had been so hysterical and she hadn’t been able to help her.
“On the way to the E.R. your vitals dropped really low,” Keller commented as he stared at the uneaten sandwich on his plate. “I was sure we were going to lose you.”
Ryan shifted in his seat, drawing Keller’s attention back to him. “Does this happen often? This complete reversal of situations? Mel recovered completely and the child, apparently, didn’t.”
Keller shook his head. “Not often, no. But it’s not unheard of. Ms. Jackson,” he said to Mel, “that car you were driving took a hell of a beating from that truck. An E.R. doc explained to me once that sometimes the body is so shocked—so traumatized by the impact of an accident—that it tries to shut down. Respiration and BP drop, all functions go into survival mode in an attempt to allow the body to recover from the shock. It’s not uncommon for a coma to result, even flat-lining. You were pretty banged up.”
The soreness was pretty much gone now, but he was right about that. Those first few days after she’d awakened she’d wondered if her body would ever feel the same again. She’d felt a little like one big bruise, throbbing and aching.
“The kid’s situation is a lot less typical,” Carson spoke up. “It’s still hard for me to believe that she was hurt that badly.”
“Did you mention this to Dr. Wilcox?” Ryan wanted to know.
Carson nodded. “I was so shocked when one of the nurses told me what happened the next day that I tracked Wilcox down and asked him what the hell—pardon my French, ma’am—happened.”
“And how did he explain the sudden turn of events?”
“He didn’t, not really. He said we’d screwed up, missed the obvious. ’Course, he admitted that he’d missed it, as well. By the time Dr. Letson noted problems it was too late.”
“He didn’t describe the internal injuries to you?” Ryan asked. Carson shook his head.
This was the part that bothered Ryan the most. What kind of internal injuries? He hadn’t wanted to bring up the matter with Wilcox since ultimately it had been Letson’s call and he sure as hell didn’t want Letson to get any warning. When Ryan asked that question he wanted the man off guard, not prepared with a pat answer from a classic textbook case. In the state of Tennessee, autopsies were only required when the manner of death appeared to be questionable. To Ryan’s way of thinking, this was certainly one of those situations. When a patient came into a hospital in stable condition and got carried out in a body bag, questions needed to be asked. The reports claimed that everything had happened too fast to even attempt emergency surgery, but it was all a little too pat.
Ryan kept a close eye on Melany as they exited the deli. However strong she wanted to appear, he could see the utter exhaustion in her every move, every breath.
He suddenly wondered when she’d eaten last. He’d been so absorbed in the details of the case he hadn’t thought to ask if she wanted to order something for lunch. It was almost 1:00 p.m. now. She had to be hungry. Then again, he hadn’t had the first hunger pain until they’d started to leave. Only then had the rich, pungent aromas gotten past his preoccupation with the answers he’d gotten from the EMTs.
“We should take time to eat,” he commented when they reached the car. He opened Mel’s door and looked to her for some sort of response.
“You go ahead. I’ll wait in the car.”
“Look.” He detained her when she would have gotten in. Instantly the feel of her arm in his hand sent his every sensory perception on high alert. “I know this is difficult, but you’re not going to be of any help to anyone if you don’t take care of the essentials. You have to eat. Maybe not here, but somewhere. We can go back to your place if you’d be more comfortable there. I need to touch base with Bill anyway and analyze what we have so far.”
“We have nothing,” she said bluntly.
He took a moment to come up with a plausible explanation that wouldn’t depress her further. “We’re hardly twenty-four hours into the investigation, it would be unlikely that we’d have anything just yet. Or have you forgotten how this goes?”
She wouldn’t look at him, kept her gaze glued to some place beyond his shoulder. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”
He wondered at that but didn’t push it. “Let me take you home. You can eat and get some rest. We’ll let you know when we’ve reached any significant conclusions.”
“All right, Braxton,” she relented, finally allowing her eyes to meet his. He knew she used his last name for distance. And that was good.
“We’ll eat,” she went on, “but some place neutral.”
There it was. She didn’t want him in her home. The home she’d made after leaving him. She’d probably slept with the other guy in that house…in the bed she slept in even now. She’d nurtured her child—the other man’s child—there.
He looked away before muttering, “Whatever you want.” He released her and skirted the hood. Ryan had never been a glutton for punishment. Why the hell was he putting himself through the punches now?
“Where are we going?” He slid behind the wheel and turned the ignition.
Mel closed her eyes and exhaled the anger that had mushroomed only moments ago. Why did they have to do this?
“There’s a diner by the river. The food’s good and it’s quiet.”
When she’d given him the directions he eased out onto the street. For the next fifteen minutes they didn’t speak. Not a word. Mel appreciated the silence. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the images and voices. She’d been fighting it all day, but no longer had the strength.
Maybe Ryan was right. Maybe she did need to eat something, anything, and get some rest. She couldn’t help Katlin if she didn’t keep her energy level up. She was no green recruit fresh off the Farm. This was old hat to her, it was past time she started acting like it. Katlin needed her to be strong.
The rain had started again, just a drizzle. Opening her eyes wasn’t necessary, a slow back and forth swish told her Ryan had turned on the wipers. She could hear Katlin crying out for her…one of those frantic screams for mommy, full of fear, full of desperation for the onl
y thing she knew was safe with a complete certainty at seventeen months old—her mother.
The EMTs had said she’d been wailing at the top of her lungs. It took strength to do that. She’s stable…wait…the woman’s going to crash….
A frown creased her forehead as the voices faded. Did she remember that or was she simply creating the memory based on the EMT’s story? But it sounded so real. Was it possible to recall things during an unconscious state? Her body had been shutting down…that was the overall consensus. Too much trauma…too many things going haywire, overreacting. Closing down her body, her senses, had been a survival instinct. Shut down the unnecessary and focus on the essential. Made sense. But could things slip through? Sounds, voices, slices of time? That was the question to which she desperately needed an answer.
The car slowed and Mel opened her eyes. The rain had let up again. The wipers slid down one last time. Ryan parked at the curb only a couple of car lengths from the diner’s entrance. It looked overflowing with the lunch crowd but she’d been here a couple of times and had noticed that the tables in the back were scattered far enough apart to give some amount of privacy even with a full house. On the other hand she hadn’t been here enough to be readily recognized. She didn’t want anyone to ask—anything. She didn’t want to hear or see their offerings of sympathy.
By the time she’d unbuckled, Ryan was already at her door. He waited patiently as she climbed out. Quiet and fully prepared for her to fall apart. Well, she wasn’t going to do that. Finding her daughter was too important.
Keeping up the silent vigil, he followed her inside. Mel surveyed the tables in the front, a couple were empty but she asked the waitress to give them something in the back.
“It’s smoking, do you mind?” she asked, retrieving her pencil from behind her ear.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Clad in a freshly starched beige uniform and matching baseball-style cap, the waitress led the way. Only one table was occupied in the farthest reaches of the diner. She now knew the reason for the distance from the rest of the tables. Smoking section. Apparently smoking had grown even less popular of late. Or maybe it was just the first time Mel had noticed. She always asked for non-smoking when she went into a restaurant. For Katlin.