by Susan Stoker
“I think you’ve done enough, Dr. Sweeney,” he said with a sneer.
Tess didn’t respond. Even if there were anything she could say or do to comfort him or his wife, he’d never accept it from her.
Their affair had been a flash fire, burning red-hot and leaving nothing behind when it was over, except distrust and hurt feelings. She’d been so young and naïve back then. Believed everything Preston had told her. Separated. Divorce filed. He couldn’t live without her. Stupid to not have seen through his slick promises.
And tonight, nothing she could ever say would convince him she hadn’t killed his child…not the one tonight or the one five years ago.
“I’m sorry,” she said again and walked from the room into the hall. Her own grief ate at her gut like acid. Her heart ached for the parents and for herself. She stood for a minute trying to collect her emotions.
“Tess.”
Her name was soft on Kyle’s voice. She looked up and into his dove-colored eyes and found some of the strength she needed.
“Hey. I heard. I’m sorry, baby,” he said.
A hand clasped down hard on her shoulder and wheeled her around. Preston Lloyd had followed her from the room and now glared at her, his jaw flexing and relaxing. “Excuse us, Sheriff. Tess and I need to have a private conversation,” he said and jerked Tess off to one side.
“I want to know why you killed my son. Did you think it would be the perfect revenge? The perfect way to get back at me? Did you? Did you? It was just a car accident. There’s no way my son could have died from it.” His voice vibrated with rage. His hands were rolled into tight fists at his side.
“That’s enough, Lloyd.” Kyle said, stepping between them.
“You bitch.” He leaned toward Tess, pointing his finger in her face. “I’ll have your license, Tess. I’ll personally see to it that you never kill another person.”
“Preston, I—” Her heart thumped painfully against her chest. Diamond Lakes was a small town with a tight medical community. Preston had enough political clout to ruin her career if he so chose.
“I said that’s enough.” Kyle pressed his hand on Lloyd’s chest to hold him away from Tess. All he was missing was the suit of armor.
She shouldn’t be relieved to have Kyle protecting her. She should be strong enough to stand up for herself. But she was so tired, so heartbroken, so fragile right now. A single word could reduce her to tears. When she laid her hand on Kyle’s back, the muscles were tense and strained.
Preston shoved Kyle’s shoulder to dislodge his restraining hand. “You stay out of this, Monroe—if you want to keep your job as sheriff. I can make your reelection campaign fizzle before it starts.” He glared at Tess over Kyle’s shoulder. “This is between me and this lying, vindictive murderer. She killed my son.”
Kyle placed his hand on Preston’s shoulder and squeezed. Preston flinched. “That’s more than enough. Dr. Sweeney isn’t to blame. I’m sorry for your loss, Preston. You need to go see to your wife.”
Preston jerked his shoulder out of Kyle’s grasp. “This isn’t over, Tess. Not by a long shot. I’ll be contacting the head of hospital, the chairman of the board, and the president of the Texas Medical Society and filing a complaint about you with each of them. I promise you, I will find a way to ruin your life like you ruined mine tonight.” He stormed away, slamming the surgery waiting room door against the wall.
*
Preston walked away from the conniving bitch, his hands in tight fists to keep from wrapping them around her skinny, murderous neck. There was no reason for her to have taken the position of chief of surgery at St. Michael’s except to be near him. She’d been a clingy girlfriend and he’d dumped her like the trash she was.
He still could hardly believe that she’d had the nerve to become pregnant with his child and lie to him about it. To him! He could recognize perjury when he heard it. That was one of his talents that made him such a good lawyer.
And that this bitch thought she could feed him a story about an abortion just so she could keep a part of him with her the rest of her life. Disgusting. God was on his side, as He should be. Even He had known she would be a horrible mother and He’d taken that fetus from her. The insane thing was that she blamed him, not God, where the blame should have been laid.
However, if this lying woman had had the gall to carry his baby to term after she’d told him she’d had an abortion, he’d have taken the kid away and put it with adoptive parents. Bringing a bastard child into his home would have been an insult to the sanctity of his marriage.
Plus, the voters would never have forgiven him.
The vindictive woman had probably dreamed of a night like this…a night when she could extract her revenge on him. He’d expected it, but he’d never imagined she was sick enough to kill his son…the only son he’d ever have.
As he made his way back to his wailing, stupid wife, he promised that Tess Sweeney would regret ever meeting him.
Chapter Three
‡
Kyle turned and placed both hands on Tess’s shoulders. With a gentle tug, he eased her up to him. “Tess. I’m sorry. Preston didn’t mean any of that. People say shit like that when they’re upset. He had to lash out at someone. I’m just sorry it was you.”
He massaged her neck and shoulders. Instead of his touch producing comfort, her muscles stiffened to the elasticity of concrete slabs.
“Don’t,” she said, and moved a couple of steps away. With a surreptitious glance she checked the area and was fairly certain their actions hadn’t been observed. “I appreciate your concern, Kyle, but Preston reminds me of an injured wild animal. In pain and ready to strike out at someone. I’m pretty sure that will be me. I’d hate to see you go down as collateral damage.”
She blew out a long breath in frustration. Everything medically possible had been done for Preston’s son. She had no doubt that the OR staff would back her up. However, if Preston went ahead with his threats—and sadly, she knew him well enough to believe he would—her life would be a living hell. Negative publicity could kill her career, even if she were later found to be in the right. Patients wouldn’t want to take a chance that she’d messed up in surgery and killed her patient.
And voters wouldn’t reelect a sheriff who was known to be at odds with a popular prosecuting attorney, even if the sheriff’s department wasn’t responsible for the accident investigation.
Damn. She liked it here in Diamond Lakes. Great house. Great practice. A budding romance. And the worst mistake of her life—Preston Lloyd—had the potential power to take it all away.
The overhead call system clicked on. There was a second of brief static before the operator said, “Dr. Sweeney. Call extension four-six-seven. Dr. Sweeney. Call four-six-seven.”
“Wonder why they didn’t just call your cell,” Kyle said.
“I don’t know.” She pulled her phone from her pocket. There were seven missed calls. “Damn, I forgot I put in on silent when I went in to talk with the Lloyds.” She lifted the receiver off the house phone and dialed.
“Four West.”
“Hi, this is Dr. Sweeney. I was paged to this extension.”
“Hold on a sec, Dr. Sweeney.” Tess heard clacking as the phone was passed to another person. “Dr. Sweeney. This is Becca Adams. I’ve got Freddy Worthington up here on four.”
“Okay. What’s the problem?”
“We have him up here just for overnight observation, but he’s having trouble breathing and he’s complaining of a sharp chest pain that wasn’t there a while ago. The veins in his neck have become much more pronounced and he’s a little cyanotic around his mouth. His heart rate is up to one-twenty. I’m wondering if maybe he’s developed a pneumothorax.”
“Good thought, Becca. Could also be pulmonary contusion. I’m headed your way.” She looked at Kyle as she replaced the receiver. “Gotta go. Thanks for running interference for me.”
“Sure. What’s the problem?” he asked with a nod to the
phone.
“Worthington kid is having problems.”
She hurried down the hall to the stairwell instead of using the hospital elevators that were notoriously slow. Taking the stairs two at a time, she raced up the four flights quickly. She jerked the door to Four West open and dashed to the nurses’ station. Becca Adams was waiting for her.
“I swear, Dr. Sweeney, his condition has gotten worse in the couple of minutes since we talked,” Becca said as the two women headed down the hall to room forty-one-fourteen.
“Has he had a chest film yet?”
Becca shook her head. “There wasn’t a reason to.”
“You guys have a portable ultrasound on the floor?”
“No, but I can get one from labor and delivery pretty quick.”
“Do that. Order a portable chest X-ray too. What about blood work?”
“Did the usual CBC with diff in the ER and a type and cross, but that’s about it. I should mention Worthington is slurring his words. Seems kind of out of it. Confused. You know?”
“Did anyone draw a blood alcohol?”
“Don’t think so. If they did, I haven’t see it.”
“Get a blood alcohol STAT. If we have to do surgery, we’ll need to know that.”
“Got it.”
“On second thought, what about a blood glucose?”
The nurse shook her head. “Haven’t seen one.”
“I’m wondering… Lloyd said the kid was drunk, slurring his words, stumbling around, things like that. I’m surprised no one drew an alcohol level.” Before Becca could respond, Tess added, “Of course his daddy is a judge so that might have played into that decision.” Living in a small Southern community had opened her eyes to the political sway that elected officials had. She didn’t like it, but then reality wasn’t always how it was portrayed on television and movies.
“Probably,” Becca agreed.
Tess pushed open the hospital room door. A large teenage boy lay on the bed, his eyes wide, the blue tinge to his skin pronounced. Someone had had the forethought to start him on oxygen. She checked the flow…six liters per minute. Fine for now.
On the far side of the bed, a heavy-set man—Judge Worthington, she assumed—and matching heavy-set women—Mrs. Worthington—stood. Parental concern etched worry lines on both their faces.
“I’m Dr. Sweeney,” Tess said. “I hear our boy is having a little trouble.”
“Frederick Worthington,” the man said. “My wife, Helena. Freddy was doing pretty good until about half an hour ago. Said his chest and shoulders were hurting. I just thought it was from hitting the steering wheel.”
“No air bag?”
“No. It was an old truck.”
Tess pulled her stethoscope from her pocket while Becca entered the lab and radiology orders into the bedside computer. Tess placed the stethoscope bell on Freddy’s chest. She moved it from one side to the other and then back again. There were no breath sounds on the left side of his chest. His heart was racing. The blue around his mouth was getting darker. She opened her mouth to tell Becca to get that chest study STAT when the door slammed open and the portable machine rolled into the room.
“Great. I need that X-ray STAT. Judge. Mrs. Worthington. Would you please step out in to the hall while we do this?”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Worthington moaned. “I don’t know.” She wrung her hands.
“Come on, Mrs. W., Judge. I’ll show you where you can wait,” Becca said as she gently, but forcibly, lead them from the room.
Nice work, Tess thought.
“What’s going on?” Freddy gasped from the bed. “I…I…can’t breathe.”
“Hang on, pal,” Tess cooed. “Let’s take a quick look.”
The X-ray technician positioned the film cartridge behind Freddy’s back and the machine’s cone over his chest. Everyone stepped into the hall for the brief second it took to shoot the X-ray. Then the room was full again with the technician, the nurse, Tess and now the lab technician, who went quickly to the patient’s side to get his blood sample.
“Ready,” the X-ray tech said.
Tess studied the results on the X-ray monitor. What an advantage to be able to see the digital X-rays on the computer immediately rather than waiting for the slow film-developing process of the old days. As she studied the image, her heart rate ramped up. Damn. Worse than she’d thought. Looked like a pneumothorax-hemothorax combo. Kid couldn’t get a break.
She grabbed the lab tech as he passed. “Add a CBC with diff to those orders. I need the results STAT and I mean STAT like in five minutes, not fifteen. Call the results to the OR. Got it?”
The young male technician—probably a recent graduate given his crummy shift schedule—nodded. “Yes, ma’am, er, doctor.”
“Becca, call the OR. I need a room now. Tell them I’ve got blood and air in the chest. I’ll have to do a chest tube but I want to do it in an OR.”
“On it,” Becca said, moving rapidly to the room phone.
“You done with me?” the X-ray tech asked.
“Done. Thanks for being fast.”
He nodded and rolled the machine into the hall.
“Got you a room,” Becca announced as she hung up the phone.
“Grab the parents and a consent form.”
Becca nodded and headed from the room.
The room cleared. In the quiet, Freddy’s labored breathing sounded loud and harsh. His face reflected his anxiety and fear.
“Okay, Freddy. It’s just me and you for a minute. I need to know something. Did you drink any beer, or wine, or anything tonight? Take any drugs? This is important. I have to know the truth.”
He shook his head.
“I know you’re scared,” Tess said, taking his clammy hand. “I would be too if I didn’t know what was going on. Your parents are on their way back, and I’ll explain it to all of you, but I have to know about any drugs or alcohol. It’s important. I’m taking you to surgery. You have blood and air in your chest. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“Okay. If you had any booze or drugs tonight, I have to be able to tell the anesthesiologist. I’m not the cops. I’m not your parents. This doesn’t have anything to do with getting into trouble. One more time, did you have anything to drink tonight? Take any drugs at all? Smoke a little pot? Anything?”
He shook his head vigorously.
“Has anyone ever suggested you had diabetes or a problem with your blood sugar?”
He shook his head.
Behind her, the door burst open and his parents rushed in, followed by Becca. In her hand Becca carried a clipboard with the OR consent form. Tess took the form and turned to Freddy’s parents.
“Judge. Mrs. Worthington. I’ve explained this to Freddy. He broke a couple of ribs in the accident. One of those ribs has punctured his lung. He’s got air in his chest, which I could treat easily enough, but I’m worried about the blood around his lungs. The air could be handled with a simple chest tube, as could the blood there. Usually this could be done outside an operating room, but I’d like to do the chest-tube insertion in the OR because of the volume of blood I’m seeing on theX-ray. This OR form gives me permission to do the chest tube and, if I feel it’s necessary, to do exploratory surgery to see where the blood is coming from. I’ll know more once I get him in the OR.”
“Can’t you just put in the tube and then if he’s needs surgery, come ask us?” Mrs. Worthington asked in a trembling voice. Her face was a mask of alarm. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
“Yes, I could, but we would lose a lot of critical time if the bleeding worsens.”
Judge Worthington put his hand on his wife’s arm. “Helena, the doctor knows what she’s doing. Let her do her job.” He looked at Tess, fear and concern pulling his mouth into a taut line. “Do what you need to. Give me the form. I’ll sign.”
Tess handed him the clipboard. “One more thing. I looked through the family history taken in the ER. Has anyone ever mentioned Fred
dy having trouble with his blood sugar?”
The Worthingtons exchanged glances. “No,” Helena Worthington said. “But my mother had the sugar diabetes. Why? Are you telling me Freddy has it too?”
Tess shook her head. “No. I’m just following up on some of his symptoms.” She took the form back and signed her name to the form before passing it to Becca to sign as a witness. “Y’all can wait in here during surgery. I’ll let you know as soon as we know anything.” To Becca, she said, “OR transport here yet?”
Becca nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She opened the door and waved. Three scrub-clad women came into the room with a transport gurney. Grabbing his undersheet, they deftly moved him onto the gurney and out the door.
“I’ll talk to you in a bit,” Tess said and followed her patient to the OR suite.
After tying a mask around her nose and mouth, Tess put her protective glasses back on, and stepped up to the sink to do a scrubbing routine she’d done more times than she could count. As she scrubbed, she watched the staff transfer Freddy to the OR table. Dr. Guy Madison again stood at the head of the table ready to provide the anesthesia support she needed.
As the door to the room opened, she called in, “Hey, Guy. Glad to see you again.”
“Let’s trynot to make these midnight visits a regular thing, okay?” Guy replied with a lift of his eyebrows.
“No kidding. He under yet?”
The anesthesiologist held up one finger. While Tess waited, she called over to the circulating nurse. “Nina. I need this patient’s lab work. Can you check and see if we’ve got it? If not, tell the lab my foot is going to be up someone’s ass. I need those results now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nina replied. She headed back to the nurses’ station. Nina was back with a laboratory printout before Tess had finished scrubbing. “Here ya go.” She held up the paper so Tess could read it.
“Thanks.” Tess rinsed and, holding her hands up, backed into the operating room. After accepting the sterile towel to dry her hands, she said, “Guy. Check these lab results. Look at his blood sugar. Report I had was the kid was drunk at the scene. Speech slurred. Stumbling around. Almost incoherent. But no alcohol in his blood. None at all.”