The truck door slammed, followed quickly by pounding steps as Jeremy took the three wooden stairs up onto the porch. The door yanked open, and there he was, standing in the threshold, his hair tousled, wearing his turnout pants and boots, suspenders pulled over a tight-fitting, smudged, and torn T-shirt. His expression gave her pause, but the anger she thought she saw wasn’t anger at all, but fear and worry. They stepped forward at the same time, and seconds later she felt his arms crush around her, offering her everything he had to give.
She clung to him for several moments, relishing the security she felt when wrapped in his arms. In his arms, nothing bad could happen to her. In his arms, she was safe from tornadoes, from fear, from everything.
“I just came from the hospital. Another nurse told me what happened.”
He lifted his head, and hands on her shoulders, pushed her back slightly so he could examine her from top to toe, his gaze lingering on her bruised face, the bump growing on her forehead.
“Rachel, what the hell happened? They told me you were in an accident.”
She allowed Jeremy to grab her hand and tug her toward the sofa, where they sat down so close she couldn’t have squeezed a piece of paper between them. She leaned into him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, her head resting in the crook of his neck.
“Are you all right? Seriously?”
“I’m all right, just a little shaken up. But it was no accident.” He stiffened, and she kept talking, leaving nothing out. “The police came, I gave a report, gave as good a description of the truck as I could, but I didn’t see the driver. I don’t know if he had something pulled over his head, but he wore a baseball cap, pulled low. I couldn’t see any features, nothing.”
Jeremy’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t understand. Why would someone deliberately try to run you off the road?”
“Or shoot at me?” she asked, looking up at him. His jaw tight, his gaze concerned, he watched her, examining her face. “Jeremy, I have a horrible feeling that it has to do with what’s going on at the hospital. I just—”
“You’re still thinking that Doctor Moeller is involved?”
“I don’t know what to think,” she replied. God, she was so confused. “But the deaths of the first responders are not accidents. They can’t be. It’s just too coincidental.” She shook her head and straightened, leaning slightly away from him as she tried to convince him, if he wasn’t convinced already. “Each of them came in with injuries, and yes, some of those injuries were very serious. But they had been stabilized.” She saw the look on his face, knew what he was going to say, and lifted a hand. “I know things can change in seconds. I know a patient can be stable one minute and go into cardiac arrest, have a stroke, or throw a clot the next. I know that, Jeremy. But put together, don’t you think it’s just too coincidental? First Brian, then George McPherson. And David! How can we explain any of this?”
“We can’t,” he said firmly. “You can’t. Did you tell the police about any of this?”
She shook her head. “How can I? I don’t have any proof. I’d sound like a crazy woman. I suppose I could do some snooping, but—”
“No,” he said, almost snapping. “I don’t want you to do that,” he grumbled, a frown tugging at his brow. “You’re in a tenuous position here. As soon as this emergency is taken care of and the patients settled, there’s going to be an investigation on the medication issue. You know that. If you start poking into medical records and asking questions, you might not only be risking your job but your license.”
“I know, but I just can’t . . . I can’t shake the feeling that something’s seriously wrong. Something’s going on. How can I just put my head under the rug and pretend I don’t notice it? How can I—”
“Rachel, wait until the autopsies are completed. Their deaths . . . much as I hate to say it, may have been a natural progression of their injuries. As far as Doctor Moeller’s accusation that you made a medication mistake, well, I don’t believe it for a second, and the truth will be borne out with David’s autopsy as well.”
She looked at Jeremy, her heart racing, hands trembling as she clasped them in her lap, frustration surging. A persistent chill settled in her core, the chill of fear that no amount of warming would disperse. “But what if someone did give him a medication that he wasn’t supposed to have? What if it does come back that one of his medications was too much or too little, and it ultimately killed him? How do I prove that it wasn’t me? How can I prove my innocence? I’m scared, Jeremy. I can’t just . . . I can’t just sit back and do nothing! I need to defend myself, and keep everyone else safe.”
Once again, he wrapped her in his arms. “You will, Rachel. I’m sure of it. You’ll have a chance to explain your side—”
Frustration prompted her to rear back and shake her head. “You don’t understand, Jeremy. It would be a top-notch and very popular neurosurgeon’s word against mine, not to mention any proof that comes up in the blood work. I’m already screwed. A nurse from the Physical Therapy department doing the med pass in an emergency? I can just hear it now. ‘She didn’t know what she was doing. She hasn’t passed meds in months, doesn’t know the patients, was under stress because of the number of patients to deal with, the tornado, the shock . . . ’ and it would go on. Believe me.”
Jeremy sighed. “Rachel, I’m taking your fears seriously. But here’s a question. What would be the motive?”
“I don’t know, but I’m convinced that someone at the hospital is killing first responders, or at least worsening their conditions. I just don’t know how I can prove it. It’s like something out of a novel or a movie. Things like this don’t happen in Monroe.”
He gave her a hug. “No, they don’t,” he said softly. “Look, why don’t you let me make you something to eat and then we both get some sleep. There’s another storm front coming in from the west, and we’re all going to be on call. You, me, the station houses, the hospital staff. We’d all better rest while we can, just in case.”
She let her hands fall to her side, all the fight leaching out of her. “You’re right,” she said. Only now did she feel the extreme fatigue caused by post-adrenaline stress. She felt worn out, inside and out, every muscle in her body sore, her mind twisted with fear, worries, and the uncertainties of her future. Maybe a good night’s sleep would help put things in perspective.
But sleep didn’t come right away. Not with Jeremy lying next to her. She’d snuggled under the sheet, naked, the chill gone with the anticipation of the warmth from his large body lying next to her. She stared up at the ceiling as he took a quick shower. Seemingly moments later, he emerged, toweling himself dry. Through the half-closed door of the bathroom, she admired his physique as he dried himself, the towel skimming over his chest, his hips, his legs . . . between his thighs . . . she pulled her gaze away from his groin and found him looking at her from the doorway. His cock wiggled, then began to grow, half-arced, seeking her attention.
“You feeling up to it?” he grinned, gesturing toward his cock. “I am.”
She couldn’t help but smile and reached out an arm toward him. “You make me feel so . . . so calm, as if nothing can touch me.”
“Oh, I want to touch you, Rachel,” he said, stepping to the bed, leaving the towel on the floor near the bathroom door.
He sat down on the bed, not at all self-conscious that his cock was standing at half-mast. Fascinated, she watched it grow as a dampness appeared between her legs. She tried not to stare but couldn’t help it. His dick thickened with desire, the head glistening, the veins pumping blood engorging his shaft, lengthening it still more. Her body trembled with need, with anticipation, as he pulled the sheet from her body and gave her a thorough viewing. More warmth surged through her body as he eyed her breasts, lingering on first one, then the other. Her nipples tingled and hardened, standing at attention now, just like his cock, begging for his touch, his lips, his tongue . . .
She lay on the bed naked as the day she was born, and ju
st the look of him had her arching her back, thrusting her breasts upward, aching for his touch. To her surprise, he motioned for her to roll over. Rachel wasn’t sure—
“Turn around, on your hands and knees,” he urged softly.
Oh . . . she did as he requested, his hand on her ass to gentle her as if she’d been a skittish horse. He maneuvered his way beneath her, and she nearly groaned when she felt his hot breath on her pussy.
“Straddle me,” he directed.
She started to climb up the bed from the base, her knees on either side of his, but he stopped her.
“The other way around,” he said.
Oh my God. Her ass, her pussy, all exposed to his view now. She looked down and saw his cock bouncing with desire just inches from her face. His large, warm hands grasped each hip and guided her into position. Rachel adjusted her knees, her weight on her hands and knees and then, with her pussy positioned over his mouth and her mouth over his erect and silky cock, she indulged. His tongue stroked her slit, followed by a finger, gently stroking and tugging at her lips. Her hips responded, rocking slightly, welcoming the warmth of his tongue, the sensations he invoked in her. She dipped her head closer to his dick, took him into her mouth, and felt him tense beneath her. Sensation following sensation flooded through her, pushing any other thoughts from her brain. She reveled in the texture of his warm tongue stroking her throbbing lips, her pussy contracting internally with desire with every stroke. She tightened her lips on his cock and sucked harder and deeper, groaning when his tongue circled her clitoris, alternately nibbling and then suckling her.
She took him deeper into her mouth, pleased when he groaned, too, the sound rippling through her core from the position of his lips on her nub. She had never done this, but didn’t feel the least embarrassed. She felt so comfortable with Jeremy, so . . . so sure of herself. She had to concentrate on her ministrations to him while enjoying what he was doing to her body, alternating between stroking with his tongue and suckling with his mouth. She nearly lost it when his tongue surged deep inside her, leaving a trail of heat with every exploration.
She stroked her tongue along his shaft, then lathed his head, suckling, nibbling, teasing as he was doing to her. He groaned again, which only made her hotter and more determined to give the best she could. She shivered with pleasure and rocked her hips. His lifted, and she balanced herself on one hand and wrapped her palm around his cock, stroking slowly while swirling her tongue around his head. She could only focus on what his tongue was doing and finally released him from her mouth, rocking back on her knees, providing him even greater access. Of their own accord, her hips rocked faster, and then his fingers slid between their sweating bodies and starting in on her breasts; cupping, squeezing, finding her nipples, tweaking and gently tugging . . . she shuddered and lost herself in the feelings, the sensations, the electricity that seemed to be dancing in every cell of her body.
She fought the urge to collapse on top of him, her arms straining to hold herself up, to keep one hand wrapped around his shaft, but not too hard . . . she wanted to . . . she couldn’t take him into her mouth again, not now for fear of hurting him with her own passion, so instead she stroked, harder and slower, and along with every stroke, caressed the tip of his glistening wet head with her thumb.
When she felt the orgasm building, she took his head into her mouth again and suckled, licked, and then suckled again while he focused his attention on her slit, and his hands brushed against her nipples, her breasts bouncing on his abdomen. He tweaked, rolled, and plucked, and then repeated the motions as the sensations electrified her, sent her over the edge, her core spasming and contracting as she came, offering him a low, long, pleasured groan as she finally allowed herself relief.
She tried to pull away from him then, but he held her still and brought her hips down even closer to his mouth. His tongue dove inside her slit again, diving as deep as he could, and he held his tongue there while her internal contractions locked around it. All the while, she had kept stroking him, and now gentled her touch but increased the pace, licking his head at the top of every stroke. She ran her tongue down the length of his shaft, touching the tip of her tongue to his balls before moving on to the smooth skin on the inside of his thighs, knees bent, allowing her access. As her internal contractions gradually ebbed, she felt his own orgasm rising, the cum making its way upward along his shaft in deep pulses. Hot liquid surged upward and filled her hand as he groaned deep in his throat.
Moments later, the only sound in the room was their breathing and the buzzing in her ears. She grabbed her discarded T-shirt and cleaned off her hand, then twisted around and collapsed beside him on the bed. Neither of them said anything but just stared into each other’s eyes. Then, quite to her surprise, she fell instantly asleep.
Rachel woke, rolled over in bed, and reached for Jeremy, only to find his side of the bed empty. Startled, she quickly looked around the room but didn’t see him and didn’t hear him moving around in any other part of the house. The first thing she noticed was the semidark atmosphere of the room. At first she thought it was predawn, but looking at the digital clock on his side of the bed, she saw that it was nearly six fifteen. She jolted upright, regretting the movement instantly as her body protested, bumps and bruises letting her know that she’d moved too quickly. She threw the covers back anyway. She had to hurry and get to work.
“Jeremy?” she called.
Silence. Had he gone back out there? Why would he not wake her before he left? She huffed as she rose from the bed and walked naked through the house. Nope. He was gone and so was his truck outside. She found a note on the kitchen counter in front of the coffee machine letting her know that he would pick her up from the hospital this afternoon after his shift. He’d left without waking her. Why? Then again, would she have woken him if the tables were turned? No. They were both tired, frustrated, and stressed out. She had slept so deeply she hadn’t heard him get up, dress, or start that monster truck of his out in the front yard. Now her only question was how to get to work. The police had dropped her off here yesterday afternoon after the accident . . . the accident that wasn’t really an accident.
The light of day evaporated some of her suspicions. Had someone run into the hospital van by mistake—someone drunk or stoned beyond reason? She quickly brushed that thought away. The van was plainly marked with the hospital logo. It hadn’t just been a fender bender, either. Someone had definitely tried, several times, to run her off the road and cause an accident. When that failed, the person had fired several shots at the van. Likely only the fact that the convenience store was located a short distance away had saved her. So no, her suspicions returned and then some.
Despite Jeremy’s disapproval, she would do a little snooping around today, see what she could find out, if anything. Of course, she’d be careful about it, but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. If she found something suspicious in Dr. Moeller’s patient charts, she would definitely bring it up with the administrator, even if it risked her job. Something was happening, of that she was sure. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Not like this.
She called a taxi service and within the hour arrived at the hospital, telling herself better late than never. Road crews were still out on the roads, cleaning up downed pieces of trees, branches, roofing shingles, and furniture. The same bustle of activity was present at the hospital when the taxi pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the entrance. More windows in the three-story structure had been boarded up. The parking lot looked much better, and this morning, two large dumpsters sat behind the hospital, nearly filled to the brim with debris. She quickly paid the driver, leaving a generous tip, then stepped outside, glancing up at the sky. Overhead, angry, rolling clouds and dull rumbles of thunder in the distance prompted her to hunch her shoulders and she hurried into the hospital lobby. She had a bad feeling, not just about what was going on inside the hospital but was going on outside of it. Would there be another tornado?
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nbsp; It got worse. While things appeared a bit calmer in the lobby, the Emergency Room and the hallways were still busy as ever. The crowd of family and friends had only grown larger, with the last of the injured finally able to have been reached and brought in for treatment. Mostly, they were left standing around waiting for news of their loved ones, lots of questions, and few answers for many of them.
Wanting to avoid the crowd for just a few minutes to acclimate herself back to the hustle and bustle, Rachel quickly headed to her glassed-in office in the rear corner of the Physical Therapy Department. The room was soothing, familiar. The exercise equipment lined the walls, the balance and parallel bars in the center of the room, the weights, the machines, the Pilates balls and mats as well as tables stood empty and cleaned.
She sat down at her desk, gazing around not only her office, but the room beyond. She had no idea what she’d do if she was suspended or fired. She loved this place, loved working here with the patients and the nice staff, but it had been tainted with the accusation against her. Even if she were cleared, the accusation would stand in her files, putting a blemish on her record. Forever. She knew that Dr. Moeller wouldn’t make the accusation lightly, but it still stung.
She sat quietly for several moments staring at her computer screen. She’d just lifted a hand to turn on the computer when she heard the rush of movement from the department doorway. She glanced up and saw Dalisay enter, heading straight for her office.
Fuel the Fire (Southern Heat Book 8) Page 14