by Radclyffe
Laughing, Jude explained, “I didn’t have much luck the last time I tried, but maybe she’ll be a little more receptive now that we’ve met.”
“I’m sure she’ll make every effort,” the secretary said smoothly, “but her schedule is always full.”
“I understand. I’ll check back with you.” There was no point in making a fuss about it at this point. A two-front attack might gain better results anyhow. She’d speak to Sinclair, who would undoubtedly refer her back to her secretary, about an interview later. But at least then she could tell Naomi Riley that she and Sinclair had discussed it, and that might get her one step closer.
Despite the fact that she saw the surgeon frequently during the day, it was hard to pin her down long enough for questions and answers. She needed to have the formality of a scheduled appointment so she could discuss both Deb’s training as well as Sinclair’s own background. Jude still knew almost nothing about the trauma chief, and, considering what she had observed, the irony of that fact did not escape her.
“Okay. Thanks again,” she said absently as she walked away, already skimming the first pages of the extensive curriculum vitae.
On the surface, it was pretty much what she had expected. Sinclair had been educated at a liberal arts college in the Northeast and had gone on to an Ivy League medical school. Her general surgical training had been at yet another top-ranked hospital, and she had completed her trauma fellowship right here in Manhattan at Bellevue, where apparently she’d then joined the staff.
Jude stopped suddenly, causing the person behind her to nearly collide with her. “Sorry,” she mumbled, moving over to the wall out of the stream of foot traffic. She reread the words—Trauma Attending, Bellevue Hospital—and the dates. Abruptly, she stuffed the document into her briefcase and resumed walking.
Jude took a chance that nothing would happen for the next few hours. She stopped at a street vendor’s cart, bought a cold soda and a bag of hot nuts, then walked until she found a patch of shade in a postage stamp—sized park. She didn’t think about much of anything at all for a while but occupied her mind with the always-entertaining street parade of passersby that was New York City. When she’d finished her nuts and settled her mind, she got up and walked back to the hospital, determined that the past would not rule her present, or her future.
July 4, 3:22 p.m.
She found Aaron Townsend alone in the trauma admitting area, doing what he usually did when no patients were there—moving outdated drugs and instrument packs onto carts to be disposed of or recycled and taking inventory of what he needed to order or replenish. He glanced over with a welcoming smile when she walked in.
“Hi. Have you seen Melissa?” Jude asked, smiling back.
“About an hour ago. She said something about taking a nap. Actually, I think she referred to it as stockpiling zees. She’s probably in your on-call room.”
“How about Deb?” This seemed like a good time to get some more background.
“I think she’s up on the roof with Sinclair.”
Damn. I never should’ve left. Anxiously, she asked, “At the helipad? Is there a trauma alert?”
“If there is, nobody told me. They’re just up there passing the time until we get some action. I’m sure they won’t mind if you join them.”
Jude hesitated for a moment, and then thought, Why not? She grabbed a small DVCam from the equipment locker left by her crew and waved goodbye to Aaron. This would be a good opportunity to get the footage she’d wanted of Deb during the downtime—the inevitable periods of inactivity between trauma alerts.
After nearly a week, she was getting used to the routine. The morning was usually taken up with rounds in the trauma unit followed in the afternoon by the completion of any work that needed to be done for the patients—changing intravenous lines, replacing or inserting chest tubes, minor bedside surgeries, review of X-rays, and other aspects of daily care. Unlike most specialists, however, trauma surgeons were not free to leave once the work was done. State law required that every level one trauma unit have qualified surgeons on site in the hospital twenty-four hours a day, as well as stipulating which specialists needed to be available for immediate backup call. All of which meant that there were sometimes lengthy periods during a twenty-four-hour shift when the entire team was just waiting.
Jude exited the elevator on the roof and walked up the ramp toward the helipad. Before she even turned the corner onto the flat rectangular landing section, she heard raised voices and an odd, repetitive pounding. She stopped abruptly when she got her first view of Sinclair and Stein. Then she leaned against the upright support of the elevated parking ramp and raised her video camera.
“You’re slipping, Stein. You’re out of shape,” Sax taunted, dropping her right shoulder and driving past the blond. She pulled up twelve feet from the basket and sank the jump shot easily.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and the sun beat down furiously on the concrete surface of the roof. Sax was in scrubs and her shirt was plastered to her back with sweat. Rivulets of moisture ran down her face, and she had to continuously wipe her eyes with her bare forearm. Surprisingly, she was four points ahead. “Yeah, looks like I’m gonna whip your butt.”
“You know, I was trying to be nice,” Deb remarked conversationally as she caught the ball on its way through the basket. “Considering your age and the fact you’re my boss and all.”
“Yeah, sure, right,” Sax grunted, unsuccessfully attempting to strip the ball from her fellow’s hands as Deb dribbled hand to hand, a cocky grin on her face. “What a load of—”
“But now, I’m done being charitable.”
Deb blew by her so quickly and so effortlessly that Sax was left standing with her mouth open. By the time she got her wits together, she managed to get her hands on the ball only to have Deb immediately steal it away. For the next five minutes, Sax was treated to a display of athletic prowess that was infinitely more satisfying than anything she had ever seen in competition, because there was nothing behind it now except joy.
Deb wasn’t trying to beat anyone, not even her. She was just having fun. Sax made a valiant effort to get back in the game, but it soon became apparent that would only happen if Deb were feeling kindhearted.
Finally, she called, “That’s it, Stein. Gimme my ball. I don’t wanna play with you anymore.”
Deb looked over and saw her chief smiling, although she was pretty sure she detected some frustration in her eyes as well. Surgeons were competitive about everything; it was just the nature of the beast. Ignoring caution and diplomacy, Deb didn’t even try to hide her triumphant grin. She tossed Sinclair’s ball back to her, and replied, “Thanks for the game, Chief.”
“Yeah, sure, right.” Sax turned, ball under her arm, and noticed Jude, fifteen feet away and still taping. “Turn that damn thing off unless you want me to toss it off the roof.”
Jude stopped the video camera and actually held it protectively behind her back for a second before she saw the smile pulling at the corner of Sinclair’s mouth. “What’s the matter? Afraid to have a permanent record of you getting your ass kicked?”
“It’s her first week,” Sax said, coming to stand by Jude’s side. “I was going easy on her.”
“Yes, I noticed.” Jude looked from one to the other. The two of them were flushed and sweating, but neither was breathing hard. Both were damned attractive women, but only one of them made her heart skip a beat. Looking away from Sinclair’s dazzling smile, she added, “I especially noticed how you let her have a few shots there at the end.”
Deb snorted disdainfully. “Tell you what. Next time, I’ll take on both of you.”
“Oh, no,” Jude quickly countered. “Not me.”
Deb muttered something that sounded like “chicken,” then waved goodbye as she headed toward the elevators. Alone with Sinclair, Jude fell silent, not sure what to say. They were standing three feet apart, Sax with the basketball still under her arm, Jude with her camera tucked
under hers. They stared intently at one another while a faint breeze lifted the hair at the backs of their necks but did little to cool the shimmering heat reflected from the cement surface.
“We should get out of the sun,” Jude said softly.
“You’re right,” Sax agreed. She was hot and she wanted a drink, but mostly she wanted to touch her fingertips to the fine mist of sweat on Jude Castle’s cheek. Not a good idea. The last time you had thoughts like this you ended up with your back against the wall and a stranger’s hand in your pants. Time to get a grip here. “Do you play?”
For a second, Jude couldn’t make sense of the question. “Basketball?” she asked, cringing when she realized how inane she must sound.
What else? Grinning, Sax nodded. “Yes.”
“Not well enough to put myself up against the two of you. I’d like to keep my body parts intact for a while longer.”
“It’s all in fun,” Sax said as she took a few steps closer to the waist-high concrete wall that edged the rooftop parking lot and helipad.
Jude came up beside her and looked down to the street, twenty stories below. “I could see that. It’s a great segment.”
Sax laughed. “Do you look at everything through your camera first?”
“I wasn’t looking through my camera last night,” Jude said before she could stop herself.
“Ah, that’s true,” Sax responded evenly. She was momentarily surprised that Jude had brought it up, but realized she probably shouldn’t be. From their first encounter, Jude had been direct and straightforward in her dealings. Resting the ball by her feet, Sax leaned both hands on top of the wall. Still looking out over the city, she asked, “Is there something I should apologize for? I didn’t mean for what happened to happen.” I didn’t mean for you to see. And I sure didn’t mean to go off just from knowing you were watching. Frustrated at not being able to explain it to herself, let alone to Jude, she shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry...”
“No, I’m sorry,” Jude acknowledged, belatedly aware that Sinclair had not meant anything critical by the camera remark. It wasn’t the first time someone had accused her of using her lens to put a barrier between herself and the world, and she had reacted defensively. The best defense being a good offense, she had attacked. “Absolutely nothing happened last night for which you need to apologize. My remark was way out of line.”
“No harm, no foul,” Sax said, looking at her now. “Shall we simply chalk it up to unusual circumstances, then?”
“I think that would be wise.” Jude smiled slightly. Because otherwise, we’ll have to blame it on some kind of mutual insanity, and I’m not quite ready for that.
“Agreed.”
Reluctantly, Jude started to turn away. “I should probably find my photographer and review this morning’s tape while things are quiet. If we get a first look now, it will save us time in the long run.”
“You might want to catch some rest while you can. You never know what the night will bring.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?” Jude asked, and then thought perhaps she was getting too personal.
“No, I think I’m going to find Aaron and play a little chess. Unless you’d like a game?”
“No, thanks,” Jude said hastily.
“Are you afraid I won’t be able to tolerate getting blown out of the water twice in one day?” Her delivery was light, but her expression was probing.
Jude averted her gaze and backed up several steps. “I have no doubt you could hold your own.”
“Not against you I couldn’t,” Sax said matter-of-factly. “But I don’t mind trying. I’m curious, though, as to why you don’t want anyone to know.”
“Probably because I spent ten years having people watch me play,” Jude said with a tired sigh. “How in hell did you know? I doubt there’s another person in this entire city who could even tell you that there’s such a thing as a world chess team.”
Sax shrugged. “Once upon a time, chess was about the only thing I enjoyed. I’m just a good amateur, but whenever I’m interested in something, I read everything I can get my hands on about it. When I first started playing, you were still touring the world circuit. Who could forget a champion chess player named Castle?”
“Believe me, I got ribbed a lot about that.” Jude smiled for real this time.
“Why did you quit?”
“I was seventeen years old, and I’d been playing since I was five. I was tired of all the attention, I was tired of traveling, and I was tired of not being a normal kid.” Jude was surprised at how easily she could talk about it. She had never talked about it with anyone. Melissa was probably her closest friend at the moment, and even she didn’t know. Jude had never discussed it with Lori. Her family was still too stunned, and on some level, still too angry at her for turning away from what was so clearly an enormous talent to even talk about it. “In the end, on one of the tours, I got to know some of the people who were doing a documentary about...unusual kids, and I became enchanted with the idea of filmmaking. I quit the circuit and started studying film.”
From in front of the camera to behind it, Sax thought. “So, if I promise to keep your secret, will you play me?”
Jude laughed, suddenly feeling much more carefree than she could remember being in a long time. “Is everything a game to you?”
“Not everything.” Sax smiled as she said it, although her eyes held something serious in their depths. “But almost. Are you going to answer my question?”
“All right, Dr. Sinclair. Let’s play.”
Chapter Thirteen
July 4, 4:48 p.m.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Aaron whispered, pausing in his paperwork.
“I don’t know.” Melissa eased her feet down off the counter and straightened in her chair, stretching to get a clearer view of the board angled between Jude and Sinclair. “I thought they were playing, at first, but it takes longer than ten minutes to play a game, doesn’t it?”
“Usually, unless you’re not very good, and Sinclair is.”
“Well, they’ve set the board up six times in the last hour, and they both look very...grim,” Melissa noted. “Do you think this could lead to bloodshed?”
Observing the intent expression on the surgeon’s face, Aaron shrugged. “Quite likely. Sinclair takes no prisoners.”
While Melissa tried to decide if she should interrupt them, possibly saving her good friend from psychological trauma, Jude murmured for the sixth time, too softly for anyone else to hear, “Checkmate.”
Sax stared at the board, playing the next half dozen moves in her mind to the inevitable outcome, seeing now where she had left herself open. Finally, she muttered, “Well, that’s an improvement. I actually made seven moves this time before I blew it.”
“We can stop,” Jude offered. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t touched a board in years; there was no way she could not play the way she played. That was one reason she never played for entertainment.
“Why?” Sax raised her eyes to Jude’s, a hint of challenge in her voice. “Afraid I might take you next time?”
For a moment, Jude wasn’t sure how to respond. Deciding that diplomacy was probably best, she began, “Dr. Sinclair—”
“Sax,” Sax interrupted.
“Sax,” Jude said with a smile, “I just thought you might want a break.”
“No, you didn’t. You figured I must be tired of getting thrashed and you don’t think I have a chance in hell of beating you. Right?”
“Uh...”
“But it could happen, right?” Sax persisted. “Maybe not the next game, or the tenth game, or the hundredth game...but it could happen.”
“Possibly.” Laughing, Jude nodded. “Why not? But are you planning on making this your life’s work?”
“Maybe.” Sax liked the way Jude laughed, thinking she hadn’t seen her look so relaxed before and liking that, too. “I know I’m a long way from giving up.”
“Are you always so persist
ent?” Jude asked.
“Only when it matters.”
There was something in Sax’s tone and the way that her gaze played over Jude’s face that made Jude’s heart race. She flushed, then cursed herself for being so damn susceptible to the surgeon’s intense good looks and inescapable charm. She’s probably like this with everyone. And why does everything she says go right to my...damn...I’m the one who needs a break.
“Do you want to stop?” Sax asked quietly, very aware of their thighs touching lightly as they each pressed close over the game board.
“Oh, no,” Jude said just as quietly. “Not if you don’t.”
“Good,” Sax responded as she began to reset her pieces on the board.
Personal Project Log—Castle
July 5, 2:27a.m.
DRM 4507—7010
This is the first break we’ve had since a little after 6:00 p.m. Stein and Sinclair are in the OR now, and we’re not taping because I don’t think Mel can hold the camera anymore. It’s been nonstop downstairs in the trauma admitting area for eight hours. It started with a pileup on the bridge involving three cars, a tractor-trailer, and a row of yellow hazard cones. I don’t know the total number of injured, even now, but I know some came here and some went to Bellevue and some to a couple of the other level one trauma centers.
Sax had to call in the backup team when three people needed immediate surgery for internal injuries and she needed to be available for more incoming. Several got transferred directly from here to the burn unit at NYU. Deb had to stabilize those people before they could be moved, and there’s some incredible footage on that...I never realized before how lucid burn victims are right after their injury and how very little pain they may actually have.
Deb explained that with major burns the nerve endings are destroyed so there isn’t much acute discomfort. I have to say it made it a lot easier knowing that. [Note: Check DRM 5500—there’s a segment of Deb explaining to one of the patients what happened to him and what his injuries were. He asked her if he was going to die. He was very calm. I couldn’t see her eyes, because they never moved from his. She didn’t hesitate when she answered him, and there was something in the tone of her voice...an absolute certainty...that made you trust her when she told him he was going to be all right. I’ve heard that tone before, and I know the strength that was in her eyes. She’s got it, whatever that thing is that makes some people able to connect with you so powerfully...so quickly...that you believe.]