by Judi Lind
Gil explained that she’d been the physician of record for three of the four births.
Valerie sat back in her chair, her face bland as she processed the information. “So I’m a suspect?”
He blew out a breath. He’d opted for the truth, so he might as well give her all of it. “Yeah, I think so. At least according to the reports I filed with Washington. But you weren’t the only one,” he hastened to add.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Her tone was icy again.
In a last-ditch effort to gain her cooperation, Gil reached across the table and grasped her hand. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away. “Look, Val, I’m a pretty dedicated investigator, but I’m not completely unscrupulous. If we were...lovers, then I must have cleared you. I must have.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Both.”
Her tense expression softened perceptibly. “That actually had the ring of truth, Agent Branton. You’d better watch yourself or it could become a habit.”
“That’s Special Agent Branton,” he quipped, and was rewarded with a smile.
While she seemed receptive, he plunged on with the background facts he’d accumulated. “I’m convinced of your innocence, Val, but the evidence is still open to interpretation. Only someone with access to medical records could have pulled this thing off. How else could the kidnapper have ascertained the dates of birth, babies’ health and coloration? Not to mention the mothers’ home addresses. If it wasn’t you, the physician of record in three of the four cases, then the answer is pretty obvious.”
She nodded. “Someone on the staff of the WomanCare clinic.”
“Precisely.”
They were both quiet as they pondered the implication of his words. Finally Valerie broke the silence. “What do you want me to do?”
“You have a portable computer? With a modem?”
“Yes, of course. I often make notes to my patients’ charts from home. Why?”
“Because the answer is in those records. When are you due back at the hospital?”
“Not until Tuesday. This is my four-off rotation.”
“Good! That’s perfect. If you’ll trust me with your computer and access code, I can spend the weekend poring over the charts of the four mothers.”
“What about me? What can I do to help?”
“Take these few days off and go to a hotel. Get some rest. You deserve it.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait a minute. I’m supposed to be the helpless little woman who lounges by the pool while the big bad special agent rides in on his white charger and saves my professional reputation?”
“This is no time to carry the banner for your equality, Val. Two attempts have already been made on my life.”
“So maybe you should hide out by the pool.”
“Ha-ha. Val, if you get in the way, this vicious criminal won’t hesitate to kill you to save his own skin.”
Valerie closed her eyes and considered her options. Gil was right—this was dangerous. And she had her baby’s welfare to look out for, not just her own.
She should just give him her identification code and pack a suitcase. Head out for a fancy resort like The Buttes and work on her tan. But she couldn’t do that. No matter what was at stake, she had to be involved. Had to be a part of uncovering the culprit.
Valerie thought about the description of the mothers Gil had given her. Blond, fair-skinned single women. She herself fit that profile. If they didn’t stop these kidnappers, would her baby also “disappear”? She couldn’t take the chance.
Besides, she needed to know if Gil was finally telling her the truth. All of it. She had to know how far she could trust him. Only then could she make the decision whether to tell him about the child she carried. The one she’d conceived during that last night of wild unbridled passion.
Her decision made, she spoke firmly. “No. I need to know for myself that we’ve done everything right. You’re accusing one of my co-workers of a vile crime, Gil. Someone I trust. I have to be involved.”
“I can’t put you in danger, don’t you understand?”
“You don’t have any choice. You need me far more than I need you.”
Her heart cringed the moment she said the words. If only that were true. If only Gil needed her half as much as she needed him.
If she was going to work with him, though, she had to keep her feelings under control. Maintain the professional armor she donned whenever she walked into the hospital. Striving for a dispassionate tone, she asked, “Now, what exactly do you hope to uncover in the hospital records?”
“I want to see if I can find a pattern of treatment. A lab tech who drew blood from each of those women, or something like that.”
“I don’t know what that would tell you. A phlebotomist probably draws blood from a hundred patients a day. And blood is drawn from expectant mothers on almost every visit. It wouldn’t be a big coincidence for a particular tech to draw blood from each of the four in question.”
“Whew. That makes it harder.”
“A perfect example of why you need my involvement. I know hospital routine, as well as every person employed in the WomanCare clinic. Besides, it’s my computer and my access code.”
Realizing he was defeated, Gil gave a half grin. “If we don’t play by your rules, you’re going to take your football and go home, is that it?”
“You got it. There’s just one minor glitch, though.”
“What’s that?”
“My laptop computer is in the shop. I’ll have to use the one at the hospital.” She glanced at the coyote clock. “It’s too late tonight—I only had a few hours’ sleep. I’m bushed.”
She filled a tall glass with ice water and shook some pills from a container into her palm. After swallowing them, she licked her lips. “I’ll be right back.”
He wandered around the kitchen, examining a shelf of cookbooks, most devoted to healthy—cardboard, in his opinion—food. A moment later Valerie strode back into the room, a stack of neatly folded bed linen in her arms.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, “on the couch.”
He took the sheets and pillow. Sleeping alone on a lumpy sofa didn’t sound all that inviting. Still, he guessed he should consider himself lucky that she hadn’t ejected him completely, leaving him to slumber on the porch among her many pots of cacti.
Giving him a brief, and somewhat insincere, smile, she paused on her way out of the kitchen. “First thing in the morning I’ll go to the office and see what my limited computer skills turn up.”
“But I can’t go with you during the day. Too many people milling around. Obviously the kidnapper knows who I am.”
“Then I’ll just have to go alone. No one will be suspicious of me going into the office to do some paperwork. Heaven knows, that’s how I spend most of my free time.”
“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”
Valerie laughed aloud. Gil sounded like a petulant child who’d just learned he couldn’t go shopping with Mommy. “I guess you’ll just have to lie by the pool. Work on your tan.”
Chapter Eight
Leaving a grumpy Gil alone at her house, Valerie backed the Celica out of the driveway. Her mind wouldn’t let go of the remarkable string of incidents that accompanied his sudden appearance in her life. She’d lived quietly prior to Gil Branton, no danger, intrigue or confounding puzzles.
Since Gil had first come into her world, the contrast was bewildering.
Even as a child she’d been pensive and nurturing. She was only eight when she had first patched up a Barbie doll after her little brother Mike popped its leg off. From that moment on, Valerie knew she wanted to be a healer. In high school, when her girlfriends were going ga-ga over boys, Valerie spent her weekends poring through Gray’s Anatomy.
College, and later med school, required total commitment and dedication to her studies. Oh, there had been that first heart-stopping romance with a guy in his third year of vet
erinary medicine. But when he’d graduated and left the state, she’d been too swamped with her own studies to engage in more than the most casual of relationships.
Med school was quickly followed by her residency, then an OB/GYN position had opened at Parker Memorial and she’d been busy building her career. Two years ago she’d enjoyed a brief fling with a surgeon who, it turned out, was too enamored with himself to ever find anyone else as fascinating.
So when Gil had waltzed into her life with his lazy smile, thatch of ink-dark hair and devilish sense of humor, she’d been bowled over. He was the first man she’d ever truly loved. The first man who had broken her heart.
Now he was back. What was she going to do about him? Or about her own perfidious heart?
Although her mind was focused on her problems, she drove in a kind of autopilot mode, scarcely noticing when she approached her exit from the freeway. The new off-ramp was steeply banked, so she stepped on the brake as she entered the curve.
Her shiny red Celica didn’t slow down.
Slightly alarmed at the mushy-feeling pedal, she pressed harder, then pumped the brakes. Still no response.
Don’t panic, she told herself, as she reached for the gearshift. She could slow the car by downshifting. But she had picked up too much speed. The car couldn’t make the sharp turn.
Truly frightened now, she yanked on the emergency brake. The brakes screeched and the acrid scent of burning rubber filled the air. Although the little car tried valiantly to hold on to the asphalt, it spun out of control.
Valerie stared at the crazily spinning scenery. It was like watching a slow-motion sequence in an action film with too many car crashes. Too many rotations to be real. But this was no movie stunt. Helpless, all she could do was watch as the car continued its inexorable spin toward a concrete stanchion.
The baby! she thought, as pure instinct guided her actions. She let go of the wheel, clutched her arms over her stomach to protect her unborn child.
A millisecond later a tremendous crash rattled her teeth. She bit through her lip as her head smacked against the dashboard. The scream of ripping metal filled her ears. The Celica had lost its duel with the concrete pylon.
Then darkness, a compassionate friend, took her from the pain and terror.
THE NEXT HOUR was a blur of flashing lights, intrusive voices and agony as Valerie floated in and out of consciousness. Heavy punishing pain hammered at her head, her face, her chest.
She was dimly aware of men with loud voices and gentle hands loading her into an ambulance. A frantic bumpy ride at breakneck speed. Then, sure professional hands transported her to a cold room with blinding white light overhead. The antiseptic smell of alcohol and the more subtle coppery scent of blood scourged her nostrils.
“My God, it’s Dr. Murphy!”
The voice was muted, ethereal, as if coming from another galaxy.
“You know her?” The male voice was sharp, staccato in its delivery.
“Yes, she’s chief baby catcher.”
“Here? At Parker Memorial?” the masculine voice grilled. “Good. Call up her chart.”
Through the soggy gauze curtain shielding her awareness, Valerie had a faint understanding that they were referring to the computerized medical chart kept on all medical personnel. Although the information it contained was scant, it did list emergency contacts and pharmaceutical allergies.
The frenetic activity softened to a muted hum as she felt herself drifting away again. Then someone bumped the bed and she moaned as a painful spasm shuddered through her body.
Something sharp pricked her arm and Valerie tried to call out, to tell them not to give her drugs for fear of injuring her baby, but someone slapped an oxygen mask over her face and the opportunity was lost.
Sweet semidarkness alternated with hard-edged cognizance as she floated above herself, gliding on a sea of pain. Although at times the agony was unbearable, she fought to stay awake. She had to find her voice, make someone understand about the precious cargo she was carrying.
A firm masculine voice ordered X rays and Valerie ripped the oxygen mask off her face. “No! No...no X rays.” Her voice was a barely discernible croak and she wondered if anyone had heard. Horror filled her as she realized that she had miraculously survived the accident, but now faced the very grave danger of losing or harming her child due to medical ignorance of her condition. She’d been a fool not to inform the Human Resources Department and put this pregnancy in her record.
She’d been too proud to admit that with all her training and experience, her birth-control methods had failed her. Worse, that the father of her child had abandoned her.
After years of counseling unwed mothers, Valerie feared her co-workers would treat the news of her unplanned pregnancy with snickering and embarrassed pity, so she’d kept the news to herself. If something happened to her baby because of her stupid pride, it would be all her fault.
Then a staunch female figure, clad in the pale blue scrubs of an ER nurse, approached her bed. “Dr. Murphy? Can you hear me? It’s Emily Pierce. The nurse said you refused the C-spine series the doctor ordered. You could have serious internal injuries.”
“No. No X rays,” she gasped between bursts of pain. “First trimester.”
Even through the pain and drug-induced fog, Valerie heard the nurse’s sharp intake of breath. But Fierce Pierce quickly recovered her professional composure. “Dr. Murphy, are you saying you’re pregnant?”
Valerie licked her dry lips and nodded. “Yes. Get Sidney. Dr. Weingold. He...he’s my OB.”
“Right away, Doctor.”
Pierce bustled away and Valerie was left in relative peace.
After a while the pain receded slightly, and she was fairly alert when Pierce returned accompanied by Monica Giesen, the physician’s assistant from the WomanCare clinic. As Pierce started swabbing at a section of Valerie’s scalp behind her left ear, Monica patted her hand. “Oh, Val, are you all right?”
“Other...than a rotten headache...I think I’ll live.”
“I, er, understand you wanted a consult from Dr. Weingold?” Monica’s tone was faintly accusatory.
Valerie realized her assistant’s feelings were hurt because she hadn’t taken the woman into her confidence. Fear of intimacy, on any level, had long been a problem of Valerie’s. Only once had she hurled caution aside and given herself completely to another person, and that had cost her dearly.
“I’m...sorry I didn’t...tell you, Monica,” she said slowly, pausing frequently to draw a tortured breath. She hoped no ribs were broken. She could imagine the pain of Lamaze breathing techniques with cracked or badly bruised ribs. “I...wasn’t...sure yet how I was...going to resolve...the situation.”
Her professional demeanor now firmly back in place, Monica again patted her hand soothingly. Monica Giesen was the glamour queen of the hospital and was always cognizant of the danger of being judged by her looks rather than her skills. Sometimes the result was an over-zealousness, a yearning for perfection that she never quite reached.
“I’m sure you would have talked to me when the time was right. Anyway, Dr. Weingold is in the middle of a difficult delivery and can’t get away just now.”
Valerie was crestfallen. Although she could read the signs herself, she didn’t want to rely on her own judgment. She needed a valued colleague’s reassurance that the fetus had survived the accident unscathed.
“Dr. Weingold suggested we call Carl Bender, so I did. He should be here momentarily.”
“Thanks, Monica. I appreciate it.”
“Anything else I can do?”
“No, nothing. Thanks.”
“Sure I can’t call someone for you?”
Inexplicably the only person she wanted to talk to right now was Gil. And he was stuck at her house without a car.
As if reading her thoughts, Monica leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I heard Gil Branton was back in town. Don’t you want me to call him?”
Valerie hesitated
. She couldn’t deny how badly she yearned to have Gil at her side but...even though she kinda-sorta believed his story, she couldn’t get involved with that man again. Once burned... “No, I—” She broke off as lanky Carl Bender strolled into the treatment room.
“Nurse, perhaps you could give us some privacy,” he snapped at Monica without bothering to look at her. “And have someone set up for a sonagram.”
Monica rolled her eyes at his lack of courtesy and pulled the curtain around Valerie’s bed. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Monica!” Valerie called out to her retreating back. “Maybe you could make that call, after all. To my house. Don’t...don’t ask him to come. Just...just tell him what happened.”
Monica winked over the doctor’s shoulder. “Now you’re talking, girl.”
“Thanks for all—”
“Dr. Murphy,” Carl Bender interrupted. “If you could give me your attention?”
She dutifully turned her gaze to the young physician and answered his questions as he dispassionately took her medical history and grilled her on details of the accident.
Carl Bender had the reputation of being a fine diagnostician, but sorely lacking in social skills. Several patients had complained of his shortage of warmth, and Valerie had been intending to have a private discussion with him regarding his bedside manner.
Now she had the opportunity to observe his methods firsthand.
When she’d answered all his questions, Dr. Bender conducted a thorough, if brusque, examination. Then he turned on the sonagram machine and pressed the wand into her abdomen. She tried to peek at the screen, but he twisted the monitor so the image was hidden from her view.
She knew he was simply trying to protect her in case the prognosis was poor, but she was nonetheless irritated by his failure to recognize her professional standing. Finally he snapped the machine off and turned to face her. After once more checking her heart sounds, he draped his stethoscope around his neck. “I’d say you were pretty lucky, all things considered. The fetus seems to be intact and except for a few contusions, you don’t appear any the worse for wear.”