Critical Condition (7 page)

Harris frowned at her. Slowly, he unfolded himself from Mark’s desk chair, making it clear that Gina’s interruption was a mere inconvenience. “No need. I’ll find her.” He sauntered past her to the door. “I always do.”

He left. Gina pushed the door shut, leaning against it as she caught her breath. God, she needed that cigarette. She rushed to the desk, trying to figure out what Harris had been going through. Mark’s computer was turned off, but his Rolodex was open to the
F
s. And where Lydia’s card should be, with her address and phone numbers, there was an empty space.

Damn Mark. He refused to get with the twenty-first century and abandon his paper-and-pen record keeping. Gina sat at his desk and tried to call Lydia’s home and cell phones. No answer at either. She had no idea what message to leave, so settled for, “It’s Gina. Call me right away.”

She hung up and called Janet Kwon, Jerry’s partner. Janet’s cell rang several times, and just before it went to voice mail the detective answered. “Kwon.”

“It’s Gina.”

“What’s wrong? Is Jerry okay?”

“Jerry’s fine. But there’s a guy here who says he’s from the DEA, a Nathaniel Harris. He’s looking for Lydia. Wants to talk with Jerry as well.”

Static-burred silence. Gina could imagine Janet’s scowl. The detective wasn’t one for smiles, even in the best of circumstances, and the last few weeks had hardly been those.

“What the hell would the DEA want with Lydia?” Janet finally said. “It makes no sense.”

“That’s what I thought. And why would a DEA agent come all the way from L.A. to investigate?”

“He’s from L.A.?” In the background Gina could hear the sounds of men talking, something about the National Guard and the Fort Pitt Tunnel being closed, and she realized the detective was at work. Good, maybe Janet could access one of their police databases to see who this Harris guy was and what he wanted.

“That’s what his ID said.”

“Remember anything else from it? A middle initial, date of birth, anything that will help me track him down?”

Or maybe it wasn’t so easy. Gina concentrated. It was difficult; her mind felt fuzzy after so many days filled with worry and no sleep. “His middle initial was T. He’s Caucasian, about six feet tall, brown hair and eyes. Sorry, I can’t think of anything else. But Nora said he was asking about Jerry and the shooting.”

“I’m going to call L.A., see what I can find out. Until then, try to keep Jerry away from him. At least until we know for certain what he’s looking for.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

A man in the background called Janet’s name, and she snapped at him to give her a moment. “Depends on the guys in L.A. It
is
New Year’s Eve—everyone has less staff working. And feds tend to take their time when it comes to us locals asking about their business anytime, holiday or not. Plus, we’re in a bit of a crisis here—this storm blindsided us when it grew so fast. But as soon as I hang up, I’m calling L.A.”

Finally the crackling nerve endings making Gina’s hair stand on end relaxed. Janet was on the case. She’d take care of it. “I have a bad feeling about him. Something just doesn’t feel right—and Nora felt the same way.”

The sound of several phones ringing interrupted her. “Listen, Gina. I’m going to try to get out there as soon as I can, but the entire city is shut down with this storm. Nothing’s moving. So, until I get some answers, just be careful, okay?”

It was so unlike Janet to offer any concern that Gina pulled the receiver from her ear in surprise.

“I won’t let anything happen to Jerry,” Gina promised, realizing who Janet was really worried about.

BY THE TIME JERRY FINISHED THE PUDDING, HE was getting the spoon to his mouth mostly on the first try. All he needed was practice and patience.

Last week, a few times when Jerry was left alone with his food, Amanda had found him using it as pigment and the window as a canvas. Given that his fifth-floor room faced the patient parking garage, as uninspiring a view as you could get, she thought this actually revealed how resilient and creative he was. The nurses saw it otherwise, though, and had confined him to his bed.

Which was the last thing Jerry needed. Lying there brooding. He needed to be moving, having his mind stimulated by smells and sights and textures. But even though he’d turned from food to his markers and pens as his artistic outlet, he still tended to wander off and get lost, so the nurses tried to keep him in his room as much as possible, sedating or restraining him when he got too agitated.

Amanda hid her own frustrations from him as best she could, but it was infuriating to know what a patient needed, yet be unable to provide it because of budget and staffing shortages. Maybe by the time she was a full-fledged attending, after she did her pediatric residency, she could work on changing that.

“Let me get changed out of this fancy dress and I’ll take these dirty dishes to the kitchen,” she told him.

“Don’t change,” he said. “I like the dress.”

“You do?” She felt a blush heat her cheeks. “Do you think Lucas will?”

“He will.” Jerry smiled and for a moment, looked just like normal. Except for the shaved head, the surgical scar, and the dab of pudding clinging to his cheek. “Keep it on.”

Why not? Now that he was done eating there was no danger of getting Gina’s dress stained. Amanda wiped the pudding from his cheek, then replaced it with a kiss. “Thanks. When I come back, we’ll take a walk.”

He nodded eagerly, eyes drifting as he fell asleep. He’d nap for a few minutes at a time, didn’t seem able to sleep except in snatches before the nightmares woke him.

Amanda headed to the nurses’ station after depositing the dishes on the cafeteria cart in the dirty utility room. There was already a large stack waiting to be returned to the kitchen—the nurses weren’t the only ones short-staffed during this long holiday weekend.

“Whoa, Amanda, did you come to sweep me off my feet? Take me away from all this drudgery?” the clerk asked with a wink.

She laughed, unaccustomed to flattery. Who knew a party dress could make a person feel so good?

“When’s Jerry due for his next therapy session?” she asked. “I’m going to take him for a walk and I don’t want him to miss it.”

“No therapy today because of the holiday. And he’s scheduled for discharge tomorrow, so none then either.”

What?
That was the first she’d heard of it—and she was pretty sure Gina didn’t know either. “You’re sending him home
tomorrow
?” she asked incredulously.

“Not me. Dr. Stone.” The clerk jerked his chin, pointing to the dictation room behind him. “He just wrote the orders.”

Amanda immediately marched into the dictation room, where her fiancé, Lucas Stone, was thumbing through Jerry’s chart as he dictated a discharge summary. “You can’t send Jerry home tomorrow!”

Lucas snapped his head up at the interruption but didn’t look angry, just frustrated as he paused his dictation. Then he blinked twice, in slow motion. “Wow.” The word emerged as an exhalation of amazement. “Amanda. You look fantastic.”

“Don’t I?” She twirled, almost falling off the high heels, her anger forgotten for a moment. It was worth it to see his rapt expression; he’d totally forgotten his dictation or medicine or the hospital. For hyperfocused Lucas Stone, that was a minor miracle.

Gina was right. Glamour could be powerful. And useful. Amanda leaned forward, kissing Lucas firmly while giving him a glimpse of her décolletage. “Tell me you’re not going to send Jerry home.”

“I don’t have any choice.”

She pulled away, the layers of silk flouncing. “Lucas, he can’t even feed himself. He needs inpatient rehab.”

Technically they shouldn’t be discussing a patient who wasn’t under both of their care, but she’d convinced him early on that HIPAA rules didn’t apply to Jerry. He was almost family, and fiancée privilege applied. Besides, if she didn’t hear it from him, she’d just ask Gina, anyway.

“His insurance won’t cover it. They’re arranging outpatient therapy.”

“Who’s going to take care of him? Surely they don’t expect Gina to quit her job.” As always, the paradoxes and illogic of the insurance system perplexed her. They wouldn’t pay for inpatient services or home care, but if the family took care of the patient full time, then they’d lose their jobs and with it the insurance . . . it was a lose-lose proposition for everyone except the bean counters.

“I persuaded them to provide four hours a day of respite care. Besides, Gina’s got money; she can pay for a private service.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it. It’s about doing what’s best for Jerry.”

Lucas closed the door, giving them some privacy, and pulled Amanda down onto his lap, the ball gown billowing around them like floating on a silk cloud. “Sure you’re not more worried about Gina than Jerry?”

“What’s she going to do all day, trapped at home, just her and Jerry? She can’t put her life on hold, or give up her career, give up everything—and he might never . . .” Amanda shook her head, letting her hair fall into a veil between them. “No one should ever have to make these choices.”

He smoothed her hair, tucking it back behind her ear. “Jerry’s made remarkable progress—too good, in fact. That’s why the insurance company denied the inpatient rehab. They don’t think he needs it.”

“Idiots. Don’t they know that the more intensive therapy a traumatic brain injury patient gets early on, the better they do?”

“To them it’s about doing what’s most cost effective.”

“Like I said: Idiots.”

They sat in silence as Lucas wrapped his arms around her and held her for a long moment. “Sorry I can’t do anything about it. Or about tonight.”

“What about tonight?” No way was anyone going to take away her one and only chance to go to a real live society ball! It was New Year’s Eve, and now that she had the dress and shoes on, Amanda wanted the entire Cinderella experience. “You are
not
canceling. Lucas, don’t you dare—”

“Not me. The weather. Have you looked outside recently?”

“No.” And she wasn’t about to if the view would shatter her fantasy for tonight. She caught herself pouting, something she never did. Maybe that also came along with the dress and heels? Funny how a few scraps of silk could change so many things.

“It’s a full-blown blizzard. The state police are asking everyone to stay off the roads, and the governor’s already declared a state of emergency. The city is totally shut down. We’re stuck here.”

Disappointment squeezed at her heart. She knew it was silly—giving up a chance to attend a fancy dress ball was nothing to the people endangered by the weather, but Amanda couldn’t help it. For once, she’d thought it was finally her turn to live a fairy tale.

Before she could say anything, her cell phone rang.

“Amanda, are you still with Jerry?” Gina asked.

“Just down the hall, why?”

“Get him out of there. There’s a DEA agent in the hospital asking questions about Lydia and he wants to talk to Jerry. I don’t trust him. Just hide Jerry until Janet Kwon can find out what’s going on, okay?”

“Sure, no problem.” Before Amanda could ask for more info, Gina hung up.

“What was that all about?” Lucas asked.

“Gina wants me to hide Jerry from some DEA agent who’s asking questions about Lydia.”

“You can’t do that. It’s like harboring a fugitive or obstruction of justice or something.” Just like Lucas, always by the book. At least he had been until he’d met Amanda.

“Sure I can. I’m just going to take him for a walk. Not my fault if a federal agent can’t find him.”

“Amanda—”

“Gina sounded scared. She and Jerry are our friends. We need to protect him and give her time to check this guy out, that’s all.”

Lucas didn’t look convinced.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take him myself.” Amanda slid off his lap and opened the door to return to the nurses’ station.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I’m done here, I’ll come with you.”

She’d hoped he’d say that. “See, now it’s official therapy, doctor’s orders, not obstruction of justice or anything illegal.”

He rolled his eyes. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

 

 

NORA TOOK JIM OUT TO THE ER’S TRIAGE AREA SO that they could relieve Melissa Jendrezejewski, the nurse on duty, and let her get some rest before the storm broke and things picked up again. The waiting room was empty except for a mother chasing after a preschool-aged boy. Melissa, a few years older than Nora and a mother of a toddler herself, smiled knowingly as she watched.

The kid was a bouncy, dark-haired, dark-eyed, olive-skinned handful who was trying to climb on the freestanding video console in the children’s area of the waiting room.

Once Nora wrangled the boy into the triage exam room, his mother had to pull him out from under the stretcher as she explained what had happened. “I was baking vasilopita, for the New Year’s. And before I could stop him, Nicky snatched the St. Nicholas coin. I think he swallowed it.”