Code of Ethics

by Lynette Eason

  © 2018 by Lynette Eason

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2019

  Previously published as part of a collection titled The Cost of Betrayal Collection

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1541-0

  Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Studio Gearbox

  Lynette Eason is represented by The Steve Laube Agency

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books by Lynette Eason

  Back Ad

  Back Cover

  “On my honor, I will never betray my badge, my integrity, my character, or the public trust. I will always have the courage to hold myself and others accountable for our actions. I will always uphold the constitution, my community, and the agency I serve.”

  —Law Enforcement Oath of Honor

  one

  “GET HIM TO SURGERY, ASAP! OR NUMBER FOUR.”

  Dr. Ruthie St. John followed the gurney down the hall to the elevator that would take them to the second floor. As a trauma surgeon in a busy city, she wasn’t often bored. This shift proved to be no different. “Go, go! How’s his blood pressure?”

  “Low, but he’s stable right this second. Bleeding is slowing.”

  Another team hurried past them with Dr. Hugh Stancil working on the woman in the gurney next to her patient. He glanced at her. “I’ve got room four.”

  The elevator doors opened and she raised a brow. “Not if I get there first.”

  The doors shut on his scowling features. Ruthie wasn’t worried. She knew room three was open and he would be directed there. Everyone just seemed to like room four. For her, it was because it was where she’d performed her first surgery. For Hugh, it was a matter of putting her in her place. Something she did her best not to let him get away with.

  They continued to monitor the patient on the ride up. He blinked up at her. “What happened?”

  “You were shot.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Dr. Ruthie St. John. I’m going to take that bullet out of your shoulder.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She patted his arm. “You will be.”

  “No, seriously,” he slurred. “I can’t . . . have to . . . people trying to kill . . .”

  Then the medicine took over and his eyes closed, shutting off whatever protest he was trying to form.

  When the doors slid open, the surgical team met them and whisked him off to the operating room. Ruthie ripped off her gloves and tossed them in the biohazard bin. She nudged the faucet on and began to scrub in. Working quickly, she followed all procedures before entering the room where she’d do her best to repair his shoulder so he wouldn’t have any lingering aftereffects. Granted, he wasn’t knocking at death’s door, but bullet wounds were sneaky. “What’s his story?”

  “Police officer,” she heard over the speaker. “Isaac Martinez. A detective, actually. He responded to a domestic disturbance and caught a bullet for his trouble.”

  Ruthie wondered if her law enforcement family knew him. “Did someone call the chief?” she asked as she entered the OR, sterile hands held in front of her.

  “Don’t know.” Her attending snapped the gloves over her hands.

  Tabitha St. John, Ruthie’s mother and the Chief of Police for the city of Columbia, South Carolina. Any time there was an officer-involved shooting, the chief was informed. She’d probably show up at the hospital before they were out of surgery.

  No matter. It wasn’t her problem. His wound was, and it was time to do her stuff. “Is he under?”

  The anesthesiologist nodded.

  “Vitals?”

  Meg, the nurse on duty, called them out to her.

  Ruthie inhaled the cleansing deep breath she always took and let it out slowly behind the mask. Then she picked up the small forceps tool that would allow her to extract the bullet. “Let’s get this done.” Working quickly, she established that the bullet was lodged in the space between the clavicle and the first rib.

  Amazing.

  She looked up at the nurse. “I guess if you have to get shot in the shoulder, that’s the place to do it.”

  “No messy bone fragments,” Meg said.

  “Doesn’t appear to be.” She removed the bullet and dropped it in the pan Meg offered to her. It would be turned over as evidence. Ruthie checked the surrounding tissues for any bone fragments or bleeding, then nodded to her resident. “You can sew him up.”

  Isaac heard the voices, but for some reason he couldn’t force himself to respond. His eyes wouldn’t open, his limbs refused to move. And who’d set his shoulder on fire?

  He had to focus, had to wake up. Or was he already awake? Or dreaming? But the voices sounded so real. And became clearer with each passing moment.

  “. . . very fortunate. The bullet didn’t hit any bones. I simply had to remove it, repair some damaged tissue as best I could, and stitch him up. He’s also on antibiotics to ward off infection. Fortunately, there’s no serious damage, but he’ll definitely need to take it easy while he heals.”

  Isaac liked her voice. It was soothing and warm. Smooth like silk, low but feminine. Professional, yet filled with compassion. He wished she’d keep talking.

  “Thank you.”

  Isaac stilled. He knew that second voice. It didn’t soothe him at all. His sister, Carol. Who’d called her? Why was she here? Well, okay, she was probably here because she’d heard he’d been shot, and she was on his emergency contact list. Right. But the fact that she’d bothered to come surprised him. No, the fact that her husband, Officer Brent Olsen, had let her come surprised him. Maybe Carol had grown a spine in the last few months since he’d seen her.

  “When can he go home?” Carol asked.

  “We’ll observe him tonight, but I would say as long as he doesn’t start running a fever, he can go home tomorrow.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll pass this on to my family.”

  “Is there anyone who can stay with him? You?”

  “Ah . . . no, probably not me. I doubt he would want me here. But our mother might come stay. She works the night shift at a twenty-four-hour pharmacy and was trying to get someone to cover for her. As of twenty minutes ago, she hadn’t left the pharmacy.”

  Isaac didn’t want his mother here. As much as he loved her, she would hover. He couldn’t take
that right now. Just the thought of it sent dread shooting through him. Yeah, that wasn’t happening. He could take care of himself. Would insist on it. If he could get the words from his brain to his lips.

  Footsteps faded, and the darkness pulled at him once more. He fought it. If he slept, he couldn’t fight back. He drifted anyway.

  Ruthie dragged the pair of gloves from her hands and tossed them into the trash. She needed a vacation. Yesterday. She was supposed to be gone already.

  Headed to her little cabin in the woods that was off the grid. No cell service, no internet, no . . . nothing. Just her and nature and a good book. She hadn’t decided if she was in the mood for a romance or a mystery, so she had packed both in the bag sitting in the back of her car. All ready and waiting. But the waiting was almost over.

  She made her way to the private family room, where she found her mother with the detective’s sister. “Hi, Chief St. John. Did you need a word with me?”

  “Yes, please. Excuse me.”

  Carol nodded, and the chief followed Ruthie into the hall. “How’s Detective Martinez doing?”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Good. Good. I’ll see him when he wakes. How are you? Ready for your vacation?”

  “Trying to be.”

  Her mother hugged her. “I’m so proud of you. You know that, right?”

  “Even though I’m just a lowly surgeon and not on the streets fighting crime?”

  A laugh slipped from her mother. “Even though, darling.” She turned serious. “You’re here to patch up the ones hurt by crime.”

  “True.”

  “All right. I’ll see you later. Have someone let me know when he wakes.”

  “I will.”

  “And enjoy that vacation. You’d better get out of this place while you can.”

  “As soon as you say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye. See you when you get back.”

  Ruthie watched her mother leave, then sighed as she snagged her wayward dark hair into a neater ponytail. She walked to the nearest nurses’ station and opened her laptop to enter her notes. Hospital life continued around her. Time passed.

  “Hey, Ruthie, how you doing?”

  Startled, she looked up to find her brother Derek leaning against the wall, arms crossed, lips twisted into what he probably thought passed for a smile. “Hey, I’m fine. Just finishing up some notes. What are you up to?”

  “Thought I’d just come by to see you. Say hi.” He held up a green-and-white bag. “Bring you some donuts.”

  Her mouth watered, but she wasn’t falling for it. “Uh-huh. Spill it. What’s on your mind?”

  “I can’t just come see my favorite sister?”

  A laugh burst from her before she could stop it. She snagged the bag and pulled out her favorite. Chocolate-covered with cream filling. “Thanks for some post-op humor.”

  He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Oh, all right. You know how you have that little cabin in the woods reserved?”

  She shot him a wary glance even as she relished the sweetness on her tongue. “The one you told me about? The one I’ve been talking about for the past eight weeks, four days”—she glanced at the clock—“six hours, ten minutes, and forty-two seconds? The one I’m getting ready to spend the next week in all by myself?”

  “Yeah. That one. Are you going to use it?”

  “Are you blind, deaf, and certifiable? Yes, I’m going to use it.” She frowned. “This must be horn-in-on-Ruthie’s-vacation week.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Chloe wanted to use it for a day, too.” Their sister Chloe also worked with the police department with her K-9 partner, Hank.

  “No, she beat me to you?”

  “I told her no way.”

  “Just listen to why I want it and if you still want to say no, I understand.”

  “Ugh. . . . Okay, why?” She took another bite of the donut. A big one.

  He sighed. “I’m going to ask Elaine to marry me. She saw the brochure and went nuts over it. Said that’s where we needed to have our honeymoon. I thought it would be a nice romantic touch to ask her to marry me there, then go back for the honeymoon. That is, if you’re not going to be present. That might kinda kill the mood.”

  Ruthie swallowed, gaped at him, then snapped her jaw shut when his expression didn’t change. “Boy, you’ve got some nerve, don’t you? I thought y’all were broken up.”

  “We were. Now we’re not.”

  “And you’re not going to share that story?”

  A slight smile tilted his lips. “It’s not a big deal. We just had to come to an understanding on a few things.”

  “Like what it really means to be married to a cop. Especially one who goes undercover a lot?”

  “Yeah. Something like that. It’s a miracle, but our schedules wound up exactly the same for the next two days. I requested the third day off and so did she. And I don’t need it for the whole week or anything. Just the first few days so we can have a romantic dinner by the fire, go hiking in the woods, play Phase Ten, and just hang out together. So, please?” He drew the word out, clasping his hands together in a gesture that made him look like a teenager begging for his dad’s car.

  Ruthie groaned and sighed. The things she did for her siblings. “Does she know you cheat at that game?”

  “What? I do not!”

  “Liar.”

  He huffed a laugh. “If I confess, will you say yes?”

  She scoffed. “No, you can’t confess under duress. It wouldn’t be admissible in court.”

  “Are you a lawyer or a doctor?”

  Ruthie laughed—a tired laugh, but at least she managed it. “I’m a pushover.”

  “You are?” Hope flickered.

  “Argh!” When he stayed silent and just looked at her with those pleading, sad eyes, she shook her head. “I would probably be bored out of my skull anyway, with nothing to do but sit on the dock by the lake reading a book for seven straight days.”

  Derek’s eyes lit up. “Seriously?”

  He’d missed the sarcasm. Or ignored it. She rolled her eyes. “Yes, seriously.”

  “Yes! Thank y—”

  She held up a finger and he snapped his lips shut. “But,” she said, “I get the latter part of the week, so don’t even think about trying to extend your time.”

  “Of course!”

  “And if you tell Chloe, I’ll hurt you. Big time.”

  “I won’t tell her, short of having a gun to my head.”

  “That’s not funny.” Derek was often undercover with some of the most dangerous lowlifes in the city. Having a gun held to his head wasn’t unheard of.

  He bounded over and wrapped her in a hug that squeezed the air from her lungs. “You’re definitely my favorite sister.”

  “Then let your favorite sister breathe, please,” she squeaked.

  Derek let go and grinned. “We don’t actually need it until tomorrow afternoon. You could go for the night.”

  She might just do that. “Call me before you head out, in case I decide not to go, and I’ll give you the code to the box that holds the key.”

  “Thanks, Ruthie. If you ever need anything, just let me know.”

  “Of course. And if you don’t come through, I’ll just tell Izzy you said I was your favorite.” Izzy and Derek were twins, and it was a well-known family fact that nothing and no one came before the other.

  His glee turned to horror. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Not today.”

  Derek hugged her again. “Thank you, thank you! I won’t even threaten to tell Chloe you gave me the cabin instead of her.”

  “Derek!”

  He kissed her cheek and took off, his jaunty steps echoing in the tile hallway. Ruthie pursed her lips. “You’re welcome,” she muttered.

  “Hey, I thought you were supposed to be taking a vacation.”

  She turned to see Meg Worth, her favorite OR nurse. Meg had been in the operating room while Ruthie ha
d worked on Detective Martinez. “I am.”

  “Well, what are you doing still hanging around this place? Get your behind in gear and get out of here. You’ve got a whole week off, remember?”

  The pretty African American woman had spunk that made her patients smile. And while she was a complete professional around the patients, she knew she could speak her mind to Ruthie—oftentimes without a filter.

  “Trust me, I remember,” Ruthie said, “but plans change.”

  “Not unless someone changes them. Changed to what?”

  “To me not telling anyone else that my plans changed and turning part of my vacation into a bit of a staycation.”

  “You’re going to stay at home?”

  “Just for the first part of the week.”

  “No cabin in the woods?”

  “Eventually.” She told the woman Derek’s plans.

  “Girl, you are too much. Who gives away their vacation cabin? Even to a brother? You’re crazy.” She planted her hands on her trim hips. “You have totally lost all sense the good Lord gave you. Honey, you need this vacation.”

  Ruthie grimaced. Leave it to Meg to tell it exactly like it was. “I agree. But the cabin’s not happening for me until a little later in the week.” Or later that evening. It was only a two-hour drive. She smiled. Truly, she was thrilled Derek and Elaine had worked things out. She pointed a finger at the woman in front of her and scowled. “But not a word to anyone, understand?”

  Meg held up a hand in surrender. “You know you don’t have to worry about me saying anything. You go rest so you can bring those magic fingers back, ready to save more lives.”

  Ruthie smiled then frowned, regret slugging her. “Couldn’t save that car accident victim yesterday,” she said softly.

  “No one could have saved him, hon. He was gone before he got on your table. He just didn’t know it yet.”

  True, but . . . “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “No, I guess it doesn’t.” Meg hugged her. “Take it easy, doc.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You too.”

  Meg left, and Ruthie sat on the bench to tie her tennis shoes. She wouldn’t need scrubs for a whole week. The thought exhilarated her—and slightly depressed her. She loved her job. But Meg was right. She really did need this vacation. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder.