Leigh pulled in a slow breath, then another. Then she began a self-assessment. Her head, neck, and right arm moved fine and with minimal discomfort. Nothing more than what she would expect to feel after her crash. She could move her torso and right leg. Everything ached, but as she concentrated on her body, she became aware of a creeping numbness in her left foot and leg.
She tried to run her hand along the part of her leg she could reach.
Uh-oh.
She couldn’t see the painful lump on the inside of her thigh, but she didn’t need to. She’d seen something like this before while doing a clinical in the vascular lab. The pain and the location made it highly unlikely that it was anything else.
The impact must have caused an injury to her femoral artery. Intense blunt force trauma could cause the femoral artery to almost shut down. Or she could have broken her leg and the fractured bone could have punctured the artery, but if that had happened, she would have expected the pain to be sharp.
Either way, she was in trouble. If she lost blood flow through the artery, she could lose her leg.
If it was punctured, she could bleed to death before paramedics could get her out of here.
4
Stay calm.
Leigh tried to think of any other explanation for her symptoms, but everything she came up with led her back to the same conclusion. She forced herself to take a slow breath in through her nose and then out through her mouth.
It didn’t help. This wasn’t good. At all.
She really didn’t want to die. Not today.
Her heart pounded in her ears. Great. She was going to bleed to death even faster because she was afraid she was going to bleed to death. Good grief.
What would she tell a panicking patient? Take a deep breath.
She’d already tried that without any success.
What else?
Close your eyes. Concentrate on my voice.
Well, that wouldn’t work either.
What other tricks did she have? She sang to children. Again, not helpful. She told funny stories about her coworkers to teenagers. She reassured mothers that their babies were okay and fathers that they would live to take their kids fishing. None of those coping mechanisms could help her now.
Leigh was alone.
And quite possibly dying.
Her mom had experienced such peace as she’d died. She’d welcomed it. Saw it as more of a transition than an ending. Her mom’s final words had been a prayer.
But would God bother with Leigh now after she’d ignored him for much too long?
She kept as much pressure as she could on the lump on her leg.
At this point, what did she have to lose?
Um, Father? I, um, so we haven’t talked much lately. I’m Leigh. I guess you know that already. But, um—
“Hey there! In the car. Can you hear me?”
Somehow she hadn’t expected God to have a southern accent.
“I’m coming,” the voice said.
So the voice wasn’t God. Well, not God yelling at her. But maybe he was with her after all?
“I’m stuck,” she said.
“That’s okay,” the man said. “I’m good at getting people unstuck. What’s your name, hon?”
“Leigh. Leigh Weston. I’m a nurse at Carrington Memorial.”
“Leigh Weston? Not Judge Weston’s baby girl?”
“That would be me,” she said.
“Aw, kiddo. I’m sorry. Your dad was a friend of mine. Miss him a ton. You probably don’t remember me. Name’s Floyd Cook.”
An image appeared in her mind. A man her father’s age, old jeans and a flannel shirt, sitting on the bleachers beside her dad. Her dad still had on a tie. He’d come straight from court to watch Kirk’s basketball game.
“Your grandson played ball with Kirk,” she said. Part of her brain recognized that Mr. Cook was using her own tactics on her. He was trying to develop a rapport and keep her mind off the seriousness of the situation she was in.
“He did,” he said. She could hear him moving around her car. “How’d you wind up in this ditch?”
She told him. Or tried to. The words kept getting jumbled.
“No brakes, huh? Sounds like you made the best decision you could make at the time. Good girl.”
She tried to answer. It was important that she tell him about her leg. He needed to know how serious this was.
“My leg,” she said. “I think I have a pseudoaneurysm of the femoral artery.”
“Those are some big words. Care to give me the nonmedical version?”
“I think my femoral artery is bleeding internally.”
“Okay, hon. I’ve got a whole team headed our way. We’re gonna get you out of there. Don’t you worry. Stay with me.”
She tried.
She really tried.
Ryan hit snooze three times before he dragged himself to the kitchen for coffee. He had forty minutes to get ready for church if he wanted to be on time for the early service. He’d already told the dive team he’d be on Leigh’s dock at eleven with coffees for everyone, and if they wanted to start before he got there they should feel free. He’d missed the last three weeks of Sunday services and didn’t want to let Rebecca down.
Normally he’d be working every angle of their John Doe homicide. Most homicides left him several days of work to do before he ran out of options. Not this one. He would be interviewing residents all along the lakeshore this morning but would wait until after church since the sheriff tended to frown on knocking on the doors of his constituents before 10 a.m. on Sunday.
He’d be out of church by 9:30, and this investigation wasn’t going to go anywhere before then anyway. Working homicide could make a man bitter and cynical. His mentor in the department had stressed to him the importance of making the time to worship. To refocus on the One who was beautiful and true in a world of darkness and lies.
And he wanted to see his niece and nephew. Zoe was eleven months old, and her smiles could take away almost every worry he had. Caleb wouldn’t have much to say, but he would know Ryan was there.
That was all he could do these days. Try to be a stable, constant presence in Caleb’s life.
He pulled into the parking lot with ten minutes to spare and parked beside Rebecca’s minivan just in time to help her with the kids. He slid his phone into his jacket pocket and reached for Zoe. She squealed with delight as he spun her around before settling her in his arms. Caleb gave him a grunt and a muffled “Hi” without being prompted. A victory.
They got the kids into their classes and found seats near the back as the music began.
Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed. Rebecca cut her eyes at him as he glanced at the text message. She did not approve of checking text messages during church, but it could be about a case.
It was from Kirk.
Leigh in car wreck. Brakes failed. She’s at the hospital.
He read it once.
Twice.
He leaned over to whisper in Rebecca’s ear. “I have to go.”
She gave him her most disapproving look until he showed her the text.
“Go. I’m praying,” she said. She squeezed his hand as he rose from his seat. He tried to keep his pace normal until he was outside, then he broke into a run.
He called Kirk. Voicemail.
He forced himself to drive with care through the parking lot. As soon as he hit the highway, he turned on his lights and floored it.
The drive to the hospital should have taken fifteen minutes. Ryan made it in eight. The spaces reserved for law enforcement were full, he refused to park in a handicapped space, and the circular drive was packed. Any other day he’d have been able to slide into a space right in front of the entrance, but today it took longer to find a parking space than it had to get there. He had managed to call Anissa and let her know he would be late to the dive. He had also called his buddy in the forensics department, Dante, and had given him a heads-up on the car coming in. Dante was good, a
nd he’d get back to him as soon as he had any sort of news.
Ryan had so many questions. Why hadn’t Kirk called him back? What were the odds of her brakes failing? She drove a decent car, and he’d never heard of anyone’s brakes failing, unless . . . His mind jumped into negative mode. Could someone have done this intentionally? Surely not. She didn’t have enemies. Well, not anymore. Her stalker was dead.
How many more enemies could she have?
Ryan walked into the emergency department and straight into his soon-to-be ex-brother-in-law.
They stared each other down. This must be what it had felt like to be a cowboy in a standoff. Except at the moment he was the only one with a weapon. Not that he would use it on the no-good piece of trash in front of him. He wasn’t worth a bullet.
“You heard about Leigh,” Clay said.
Ryan didn’t want to think about why it bugged him so much that Clay already knew why he was there. “Yes,” he said. “Where is she?”
“Surgery. That’s all I can say.”
“Whatever.” Saying she was in surgery told him nothing other than she needed surgery. It could be a broken bone or massive internal hemorrhaging, but Dr. Self-Righteous couldn’t even give him a clue about what he was walking in to.
Jerk.
Ryan continued to hold his position and stare at Clay. He wanted to say so many things. Every one of them true, but not any one of them kind. Or professional. As much as he despised the man standing in front of him, he wouldn’t be part of a brawl in the middle of the emergency department. Even if the image of his hand flying out and making contact with Clay’s jaw did bring a smile to his face.
Clay stood there another ten seconds before he turned and walked back in the direction he’d come from. He paused for a moment and without turning around said, “If you flash that badge of yours at the front desk, you may get some more information.”
Ryan didn’t acknowledge him. He’d already planned to do that. And he knew something Clay didn’t.
He showed his badge at the front desk and security waved him through. Then he approached the nurses station and waited until the harried woman behind it glanced at him before returning to the stack of files she was digging through. Miss Edna was a fixture in the Carrington ED. She ran a tight ship and didn’t suffer fools. “I’m here about Leigh Weston,” he said.
“Are you next of kin?”
“No, but—”
“I can’t release any information—”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He hated to interrupt her, but he’d heard her give this speech before and it wasn’t a short one. “But I believe if you check her records, you’ll see I’m listed as an emergency contact and as someone with whom you can share medical information.”
Her hands stilled. “Excuse me? Who are you?”
“Miss Edna, you know me. I’m Investigator Ryan Parker.”
She pulled off her glasses and studied him. “Parker. Yes. I’ve seen you before. What are you doing on this girl’s paperwork? I know Leigh. Work with her all the time. Never heard her mention you.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand that, but if you’ll check, you’ll see I’m telling you the truth.”
Miss Edna eyed him with deep suspicion but put the stack of files on the counter and turned to her keyboard. It took thirty seconds of pecking away before her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Well, well, well. So you are,” she said.
She picked up the phone and punched a couple of keys. “I’ve got Investigator Ryan Parker headed to the waiting room,” she said. “He’s listed as Leigh’s emergency contact and you can share medical information with him.”
A long pause was broken by an indelicate snort. “That girl’s been keeping secrets for sure. We’ll get to the bottom of it. Don’t you worry about that.”
Great. Now the hospital gossip mill would be running overtime as people speculated over something that was nothing. Kirk had asked him if Leigh could list him as an emergency contact for exactly this type of situation. He’d agreed, but he hadn’t anticipated this would ever happen.
Miss Edna hung up the phone and handed him a slip of paper. “Follow these directions. Ask for Carol when you get there. She’ll fill you in.”
“Thank you, Miss Edna.”
Miss Edna’s only reply was to return to her files.
He wound around to the surgical waiting area and found Carol expecting him. Her smile was quite unlike Miss Edna’s. “Investigator Parker. How can I help you?”
“I’m here about Leigh Weston.”
“Right.” She gave him a sly grin. “We had no idea y’all were so close.”
What was he supposed to say? He didn’t mind people assuming they were an item, but Leigh might not appreciate it. “Can you give me an update, please?”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “She came in with a hematoma on the femoral artery. They’ve been in surgery forty-five minutes.”
Femoral artery. His mouth went dry. He wasn’t a medical expert, but femoral arteries weren’t the kinds of things you wanted to mess with. She could have bled to death.
“Thank you,” he said. His phone buzzed. “I’m going to step out into the hall and take this.”
“You may need to go down to the end by the windows,” Carol said. “Reception is terrible in here.”
“Thank you.”
He accepted the call as soon as he stepped into the hall. “Parker.”
Garbled speech cut in and out.
“Hang on.” He jogged to the end of the corridor and found a door to a small garden area. He stepped outside.
“Yo. Parker. You there, man?”
“Sorry, Dante. I’m at the hospital. Couldn’t get a signal. Had to step outside.”
“Oh sure. I got that,” Dante said. “How’s Leigh?”
“In surgery.”
“That stinks. When she wakes up, tell her I said hi. I never would have made it through American Lit without her.”
“Will do. What’s up?”
“We have a problem,” Dante said.
“What do you mean?”
“Her brakes didn’t fail. They were cut.”
“How do you even have the car?”
“Old Mr. Cook is the one who found her. He tried to keep her talking, and she told him what happened before she passed out. The car was lying on its side. He was able to see the cut brake line plain as day. Took a few pictures. Sent them to me and rushed the guys to get me the car.”
Sounded like Mr. Cook. People underestimated him. Saw his flannel and heard his drawl and assumed he was clueless. Nothing could be further from the truth.
“This was intentional and whoever did it didn’t try very hard to cover their tracks. There are other ways to mess with a car that aren’t quite so obvious.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t an accident? Wear and tear? Poor quality brake line? Or maybe she ran over something sharp?”
“No way,” Dante said. He sounded convinced. “The front line is cut, but not all the way. It’s a smallish hole. If they’d sliced it all the way through, she wouldn’t have had brakes from the get-go. A cut like this would have let her get out of the parking lot and onto the road, probably several miles, before all the brake fluid would be gone and she’d lose her brakes completely.”
A knock on the glass grabbed Ryan’s attention. Carol stood on the other side of the wall waving at him. He held up one finger and she motioned for him to come back inside before she walked away.
“Listen, Dante. That’s great work, man. I think Leigh may be coming out of surgery. I gotta go. I want to see this, but it may be a little while before I can get over there.”
“Not a problem. I can send you some pictures in the meantime.”
“Thanks.”
Ryan hung up the phone and walked back into the hospital. He found Carol, who had him take a seat in a small room off the main waiting area. It felt like an hour before the door opened and the doctor walked in.
“Ryan, how are you, son?”
“Dr. Price?” He stood and shook the older man’s hand. He’d grown up with Dr. Price’s kids. “You operated on Leigh? How is she? What happened?”
Dr. Price took a seat in one of the chairs and Ryan followed his lead. “I have a few questions for you, young man, but I’ll answer yours first. Leigh is fine. Her femoral artery did receive a small puncture in the accident, but the combination of the pressure from the entrapment and her own efforts were enough to prevent significant blood loss. We were able to reestablish blood flow in plenty of time, so we’re not worried about her losing the leg.”
“They told me she’d passed out . . .”
“Hmm . . . I’m not sure about that. She was fully alert in the ambulance and when she arrived. No signs of a concussion. I think it’s very possible she dozed off a few times. She’d worked all night and it was her third night on. I think the fatigue combined with the adrenaline spike wearing off knocked her out.”
That was a new one.
“Regardless, the repair wasn’t a problem. She’s going to be stiff for a while, but I expect her to make a full and speedy recovery. I want her to spend the night, but I may be willing to send her home tomorrow.”
Ryan released the breath he’d been holding. “Thank you, God,” he whispered.
“Indeed,” Dr. Price said. “From what I hear, she definitely had some serious protection over her today. Now how about you tell me how your name came to be on her emergency contact list. I didn’t realize you were a couple.”
5
Leigh opened her eyes and took inventory. She could feel her arms and legs. She could move her neck and torso. Her leg was bandaged.
She had an IV in one arm. A pulse oximeter on her finger. She could hear the monitor to her left recording her heartbeat.
The last things she remembered crashed through her mind. The terror. The adrenaline. The disorientation. The stillness.
Then the pain.
Mr. Cook had been there. She’d talked to him. Hadn’t she? Or had she dreamed that? No. He’d definitely been there.
Beneath the Surface Page 4