She should have wakened by now.
There was no sign of physical trauma causing this condition anywhere. Allen had ordered another round of blood tests, but the lab had been partially destroyed, and half the technicians had been injured.
That seriously hindered the hospital’s effectiveness. FCGH’s people were on it. Those that had been off shift had already shown up and were trying to salvage the lab as best they could.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked Izzie.
“I’m holding down this chair, Dr. Jacobson.” Izzie had a snark that he hadn’t missed before in their few interactions. But now, it was far more concentrated—and aimed in his direction. “What does it look like I’m doing, yoga?”
She looked at Annie, and the worry was written right there for him to see. Then she turned toward the other woman’s bed. She had put the chair right between the two, where she could be next to them. The two beds that were normally in the room had been moved closer together by orderlies in order to fit a third bed in. The same had been done on every floor they could.
Rafe ran a well-oiled machine. People had known what they were supposed to do.
Most of them had done it.
What she needed to be doing was resting in the bed the orderlies had put in there by the rear wall. Annie and Nikkie Jean weren’t exactly going anywhere.
“Staring. Worrying. Making yourself sick, imagining the what-ifs. They are going to be ok. Annie has no signs of infection, and the damage will heal. Nikkie Jean is most likely finally napping.” He knew it had to be more than that, but he couldn’t stand the fear in big brown eyes. “We all know that she’s like a kid on sugar. Go, go, go. Crash!”
“Annie will wake worried. About her kids and her house. Nikkie Jean will wake unable to see much and afraid.” Nikkie Jean, who suffered from low-vision challenges, had been brought in without her glasses. They’d been lost in the wind.
“And you? Where do you live?” He didn’t know much about her at all. For the first time, he wondered why.
How had he missed knowing who she was? Their paths had crossed before. He even vaguely recalled discussing her with Logan once or twice. Allen wondered about who she was and what she saw the world as.
Usually when he saw her, she was working at a breakneck speed, mostly on shifts opposite his. Or with Nikkie Jean, doing things together. Maybe that was it—their paths hadn’t crossed that often during the course of a day. They rarely even worked the same shift. That was the only explanation.
Otherwise, Allen would have noticed her long before.
“I share an apartment with my uncle near here. I called a neighbor. We had some broken glass, but the building is fine. No injuries to my neighbors, either.”
“Good.” He stepped up to her and took the hand that was holding Annie’s in his own. He checked her pulse quickly, clipped the pulse oximeter onto her finger, and waited. Her knuckles were scraped. “You’re up to 91 percent, at least. That’s two points since last time. Your body’s good at compensating.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve always been an overachiever. I’m a straight 95 percent kind of girl.”
“You’re very snarky, Nurse Izzie. Doesn’t that ever annoy people?” He’d always appreciated a snarky sense of humor. This woman had it in spades. Apparently, his initial impressions of her being a bit quiet had been wrong. She was strong, kind, compassionate, and fierce—and dependable in a crisis.
“It does. Why do you think I do it?” She ruined the effect with a yawn. She’d changed into a hospital gown. Pale, skinny legs peeked out from the bottom of it. Thick socks covered her small feet. He wondered where they’d come from. There were matching socks on Annie and Nikkie Jean as well. One of the shift supervisors’ doing. FCGH people did have a habit of taking care of their own. “Thanks for the free bed for the night, though. Really appreciate it.”
The bed she wasn’t using. He resisted shooting a glare at it. He motioned for her to lean forward. He listened to her lungs for a moment. “You are still not where I want you to be. Who knows what was in that plaster you breathed in tonight.”
“Hey, I’m doing good for me, Doc. All things considered. I have an appointment with Dr. Kassower in two weeks, anyway. I go every six months like clockwork and get the same results.”
He frowned. That allergist had a reputation for being a bit outdated, and was affiliated with County. Allen didn’t know much more than that. “So this is normal?”
“The dust and debris didn’t help. I’ve had better days, I’ll admit. I’ve also had worse.” She shot him a look from large dark eyes. A look full of secrets. Memories. A look that had him wanting to know so much more. “This is the first time a colleague has held me captive at the hospital because of it after an F4—or 5—tornado, though.”
“Hey, anytime. I always aim for originality. Breathe in for me, one more time.” He pressed the stethoscope against her back and listened. When that was finished, he ran a few more quick tests before he was satisfied. She was a professional; she’d know when to seek help, if needed. “Do what you’re told tonight, and I’ll let you out of here in the morning. After you rest. In the actual bed. You aren’t helping either of them sitting there.”
“Can I work? I’m needed here, Jacobson. You can’t miss that. Cherise needs every hand on deck, especially until Wanda makes it back from Arizona.”
“I know. Modified duty, or I send you out on medical leave until after that appointment with your allergist. Understood?”
She stared at him. He pointed at the bed. The staring continued. As did the pointing.
“Fine. I’m not stupid. I don’t see the point in all of this. I could have gone home and taken my meds myself. I do appreciate being put in here with Annie and Nik, though. So thanks for that.” She climbed in the bed and grabbed the blankets. Glaring at him the entire time. Despite everything that had happened, Allen had to fight a smile.
It was the socks that did it. Ruined the entire effect she was after.
“Don’t thank me. I’d say Cherise had a hand in that.”
“No doubt.” She yawned again. He straightened the blankets over her. After one last look at Annie’s and Nikkie Jean’s stats, he started for the door. He had another woman to track down and make certain she was recovering and home where she was supposed to be. His sister was a quiet woman, but no less determined than the one watching him now.
“Hey, Jacobson?” Izzie said his name quietly as he made notes in her chart.
He turned to look at her. A curly lock of dark-brown hair was sticking straight up on top of her head. He fought a smile. That hair told him everything he needed to know about the woman. She defied everything apparently. Just like that hair. “Yes?”
“Thanks, by the way. For keeping me company during that little storm we had. Nice not to go through all of that alone.”
No kidding. “Yeah. You, too.”
He was about ready to say something else when someone walked in the door, pulling his attention away from her.
11
Her baby.
Jennifer Ray stood next to the closed casket and listened as the minister intoned words over one of her babies. She was burying one of her babies. Nine days after the storm had taken him from them.
Burying one of her babies—again.
It shouldn’t be this way. Ray had his entire life ahead of him. He shouldn’t have been crushed to death in the storm.
He shouldn’t have been lost like this.
Any more than her baby girl Elizabeth had been lost twenty-six years ago.
Her son wrapped his hand around hers, so strong and stoic next to her.
He and his cousin hadn’t gotten along. Ray’s fault, mostly. He’d so enjoyed pushing Reggie’s buttons.
Jockeying, Wallace had said. It had been boys jockeying for position in the pecking order of their family. Jennifer clung, though she refused to break down now. Not in front of all these people.
These people hadn’t known her n
ephew. Not really. Jennifer had made certain of it, afraid of what Ray would do to embarrass her.
The others were there because they felt guilty for how they had treated him.
Wallace was on her left side. She turned to him, glad for the dark glasses that hid her eyes from her husband. She was used to hiding how she felt from him. She’d had plenty of practice.
She always had been the more stoic one in their relationship. Wallace was all heart. It had always infuriated her.
Passion drove her husband. Ruthless logic drove her.
Cold logic was the only reason she hadn’t left him two decades ago.
The first time she learned of the affairs.
Jennifer pushed those thoughts aside.
Now, Ray’s special day, wasn’t the time to even think about that.
Wallace looked horrible. Tortured. He hurt so deeply. She shifted closer.
He had loved Ray so much. Wallace had always been an excellent father. Ray had been her nephew, not his by blood, but that hadn’t mattered. He’d loved him like a son from the moment they had taken him in.
He was hurting now, as he had hurt for Elizabeth all those years ago.
He’d been an excellent father for both of the boys.
Reggie reached around her and put his hand on his father’s shoulder.
He was taller, stronger, and far more handsome than Wallace.
Reggie had the soft heart like his father.
What she was going to tell Wallace today would break his heart.
She hated to do this to Reggie. Losing Ray had made one thing clear. She couldn’t keep living a lie.
Life was too damned short for that. Jennifer deserved far better than what Wallace had given her.
It was time she went after what she deserved.
12
Izzie worked every day of the nine days following the storm, taking whatever shift she was needed on, including the day she was released from Dr. Jacobson’s hold.
Just like she’d suspected, she’d been back to normal within a few hours. Her oxygen stats were back to ninety-five and steady.
She was good with that.
Hospitalization had been entirely unnecessary. She could have slept in the chair between the two beds in 403 as easily as she had the bed that had been pushed in there. That bed could have gone to someone who had needed it far more.
Heaven save her from doctors with dictator complexes. Even if, technically, he had saved her life.
Some of the doofiest first-shift nurses had had to point that out to her.
As if hiding out under a metal desk during a natural disaster all wrapped up together was romantic.
Um, no.
It had been one of the most terrifying moments—and it hadn’t been more than a few minutes total—of her life.
The hospital was getting back to normal. The ER was already being cleared of debris, and she’d heard Rafe talking about what needed to be done to rebuild it. They were going to completely remove the shell of the Boethe Street parking garage—thank goodness, too many bad things had happened back there—and actually expand the ER annex to add fourteen more exam bays, and a better lab.
More exam bays and more ER nurses. Maybe even an extra physician or two so that trauma surgeons no longer had to cover shifts in the ER unless they wanted to.
So…she’d see even less of the more annoying ones than usual.
Like Dr. Allen Jacobson who had been in her head far more than he probably should have. Or would have wanted to be.
Good things should happen now. Or Izzie hoped they would.
It was time good things happened around the city.
She and Nikkie Jean—now fully recovered, thankfully—got settled in for their four-hour shift at W4HAV, complete with posterboard and markers, after a quick chat with the governor’s wife as she crossed the parking lot toward the hospital. Ariella Avery—Rafe’s sister—had founded the charity.
They were going to start prep for the W4HAV choir benefit tonight. They’d postponed it because of the storm.
Nikkie Jean was one hell of a singer; she, Lacy, and Jillian would carry most of the songs for the concert. Nikkie Jean had finished belting out one of her solos when the door opened again.
Izzie looked up as she disconnected the receptionist’s phone; Ari had forgotten to lock the petty cash box and had been worrying. Ari was a bit anxious at times.
There was a man there. Tall, thin, usually well-groomed, but always, always coming off as oily to her. She had never liked him—or the eyes that followed a woman everywhere.
She hadn’t seen him since the night of the storm, when she’d overheard Rafe telling him that his nephew had died from his injuries. His nephew had had the creepy eyes thing, too.
Dr. Wallace Henedy stared at her. Something in his gaze had her hesitating. His gaze was so…empty. Broken. Fractured.
Every instinct for self-preservation she possessed flared. She took a step back. Then another.
“Dr. Henedy—how can we help—”
Izzie took another step back, putting herself between him and Nikkie Jean, but it was far too late. That’s when she saw it. The gun. Small. Not like the one Jake had made certain she knew how to use when she’d been fourteen.
It was pointed at her. Izzie never had time to move.
He fired.
Twice.
She’d never forget the sounds or Nikkie Jean’s scream.
Or the hellfire that came next.
13
Izzie struggled to stay focused, to breathe, as Henedy continued to rant around her. He was saying something, something about his wife. About Nikkie Jean’s mother. About Izzie looking just like his wife had thirty-five years ago. He’d loved her. He kept saying that he’d loved his wife and never meant to hurt her. Kept saying he hadn’t meant to hurt Izzie, either. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone.
He had called Izzie Elizabeth.
Twice.
“I don’t think it hit the artery.” Nikkie Jean said, kneeling next to Izzie.
Good. That was good. If it had, she was as good as dead, unless they got real help…really fast.
Izzie tried to focus on the other woman’s face, on her words.
Fire. All she could feel was the fire.
She wanted to close her eyes. To fight the fire by closing her eyes.
Henedy grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. Izzie fought to somehow gain her balance as he dragged her across the room. She couldn’t resist, couldn’t fight at all.
All she felt was fire.
He dragged her to the door. Separating her from Nikkie Jean. Why would he do that?
Izzie couldn’t think because of the fire.
She stumbled. Dr. Henedy yanked her closer. It hurt. Never had anything hurt so badly in her entire life. She pulled in a breath. Fire shot through her lungs. She couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t feel like asthma. Not…yet. It was worse. So much worse.
She cried out.
There was another man there. Shock was on his face.
Tall, strong. Light eyes. He had intense, light storm-gray eyes.
She didn’t recognize him at first. Tears in her own eyes kept her from seeing him fully for a moment.
Henedy shoved her at the man. So hard.
Strong, sure hands caught her. Izzie looked up. Into shocked gray eyes.
Beautiful gray eyes, really. He had beautiful gray eyes.
Eyes she’d seen before. She’d always thought he had beautiful gray eyes.
She recognized him then.
Some relief filled her. Dr. Jacobson. He wouldn’t let Henedy hurt Nikkie Jean. He cared a great deal for her friend. Izzie knew that. She knew that.
Dr. Jacobson would get Nikkie Jean away. She said that. Begged him to get Nikkie Jean to safety.
Dr. Jacobson turned her, yanked her to one side. His strong, hard body curled around hers. Like he’d done during the storm. She could smell him, feel the heat of him against her. Just like she had then.
Izzie’s fingers wrapped around his shirt, and she clung.
If she was going to die, she wanted it to be in his arms and not on the cold tile floor. Then she wouldn’t feel so alone.
Fire struck her again. The sound of another shot caught up with the bullet.
Izzie cried out one more time.
Izzie’s eyes met Dr. Jacobson’s. He had beautiful gray eyes. They were focused on her. She felt her lungs struggling to work right. It was a feeling she’d felt so many times before. Worse. So much worse now.
Her chest was on fire. Her arm. Her abdomen. Her back. She couldn’t breathe.
She really only had the one thought now.
She was going to die today.
She barely remembered what had happened now. All she could focus on was Dr. Jacobson’s gray eyes.
Then she couldn’t see anything at all.
14
The photos, they were the hardest. Faces staring back at her, year after year. Jennifer stood at the mantel in the house she and Wallace had shared for more than fifteen years.
She didn’t quite know where to start. It was a far cry from where they had lived in Philadelphia.
They’d started off in a small apartment near the hospital where Wallace had worked. Then they’d moved up. And up.
They’d kept moving up, until they’d come here.
Each time they’d moved, the photos had come down last. Ray, Reggie…Elizabeth. Her precious Elizabeth, born so perfect on the outside.
She’d been such a beautiful baby.
Forever captured in the handful of photos Wallace had taken during the three hours they had with her.
We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek Book 11) Page 4