Dead on Arrival (3 page)

ER then took a long Barney Fife kind of sniff and said, “It's about freaking savin' lives.”

ER Dano then sipped at his black coffee, which still steamed from his mug with an insignia of a red devil on it, and didn't look as if the liquid burned his mouth in the least.

Somehow that didn't surprise me. Intrigued? Yep. Surprised? Nope.

Still no one made a sound. I couldn't help but stare at him.

The guy was tall. About an inch over Jagger. I could tell by the way he lounged in the chair. Hair a bit shorter than Jagger's and a deep brown. More slender than Jagger, but not too thin, and ER Dano definitely worked out. A lot.

“As a nurse, Nightingale, you'll be assigned to patients that need the special care. Mostly on transport,” ER Dano said, and I sat at attention immediately. “For now, you're just a ride-a-long.”

“Fine,” I mumbled. I had to chuckle at his term of endearment for me until I looked at Jagger.

He looked pissed!

My chuckle turned into a grin—a naughty grin that I wanted Jagger to notice. “This is all new to me,” I said, “so riding along for orientation will work fine. I'd also like to get a feel for how the company works.” I watched him to see if there was any indication that he might be involved in any fraud, but so far all I got was attitude. A bad attitude. The longer he talked to Jagger, the more I was convinced that ER Dano was a lifer here—but burned out worse than I'd been from my nursing career.

Clearly Dano had gone up in flames a long time ago.

“You sit here, Nightingale,” ER said to me while pointing to the bench in the
back
of the ambulance.

My first thought was of motion sickness, but when I looked at the cocky paramedic, I refused to let myself even entertain that nauseous thought. I would sit in the back and
not
get sick.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Jagger grinning. He was enjoying this so, again, I had to be “big” about it and not complain—even though I'd kill to sit up front.

And believe me, between the cockiness of ER Dano and good ol' Jagger, I'd be glad to “off” at least one of them, if not both.

I sat on the bench directly across from the empty stretcher, said a silent prayer to St. Theresa for the power of anti-nausea, and strapped myself in.

Suddenly the ambulance zoomed out of the parking lot, and all I could think of was the ones you watched in a cartoon—balanced on two wheels!

ER Dano was some character.

This case might be fun…if I lived through this first aspect of it today!

I leaned over the sink in the staff's washroom of TLC Ambulance and splashed cold water over my face. Had to in order to settle my stomach, which ER Dano's driving had managed to slosh up into my throat.

“Ugh,” I muttered.

“Hello,
chérie
?” Lilla said, coming in the door.

I looked to the side to make sure no one followed her in. “That ER guy is a pip.”

She grinned, winked, and said, “That he is.”

Oh boy. Maybe Lilla could be useful in getting info from him since he was the longest-term employee around here. Dano was pretty hot, and it seemed as if Lilla thought so too. Then again, so did I, and Lilla'd had four husbands already! I mean, fair is fair.

Maybe I wouldn't suggest Dano to her.

Slowly I lifted my head toward the mirror. “Geez. I look like crap.”

Lilla remained silent. I looked closer at myself. Oh well, she was right.

“Do you have plans for lunch,
chérie
?”

I groaned. Lunch? Who asks a vomiting woman if she wants lunch? Then again, Lilla didn't know about my ride—very similar to a Disney roller coaster where you have to be a certain height, follow cardiac guidelines, and not be pregnant.

“
Chérie
?

I eased myself to turn toward her—to avoid any kind of motion. “Soup sounds comforting.”

She laughed. “
Chérie
, you are too funny. Comforting? I would have said delicious or something similar. Meet me by the employee door in about five minutes. Okay?”

I nodded. Ick. Motion.

I leaned against the sink. Yet another case where I was miserable, back to nursing, but working with Jagger.

Suddenly I felt much better.

“Hurry up, Sherlock, we don't have all day,” Jagger said as I approached the employee's exit to look for Lilla.

“We? Oh no. Don't include me. I'm meeting Lilla for lunch. I'll see you back here,” I said.

Suddenly his hand was on the small of my back, the door pushed open with his other, and out we went.

There in the parking lot sat ambulance #456—with ER Dano at the helm and Lilla riding shotgun.

For a few seconds I tried to comprehend the situation, but before I knew it, Jagger had me…no…us strapped into the back of #456 and Dano hit the gas.

I made a mental note to take Dramamine with my daily vitamins until this case was closed.

I looked at Jagger, thinking if we talked about anything, I'd forget that the front of the ambulance seemed to sway one way while the back the other. “So, any progress?”

He glared at me. “You all right?”

Geez. The guy was so astute. “Fine. Just hungry. My blood sugar is probably low. The case? Anything on it?”

“Seems the billing in this place is way out of whack. Dano showed me the daily run sheets and how the paramedics chart.”

“You didn't know that? I mean how to chart?”

He looked at me. I thought he'd accuse me of something, but he merely said, “I worked paramedic at a different company. They're similar but different.”

“Apples and oranges?”

Jagger bent his head and looked at me. Had to want to shake his head, but he held steady. Well as steady as one could riding with ER Dano.

Just then several packages of gauze sailed off the shelves as Dano made a right. I'd hate to think of what it'd be like if we were going to a 911 call.

“Anyway, we need to get into billing to check things out,” I heard Jagger say. “Lilla can't do that for us. We need her to run interference.”

Suddenly I noticed a slight grin on Jagger's face and knew, just knew, he was picturing Lilla running…and getting hot.

“I'm starved. You?” I lied to change his visual.

He didn't look up but nodded. “I can eat.” Then he leaned back and shut his eyes, I'm sure falling asleep with the life-threatening motion.

I watched him for a few seconds and told myself that surely Jagger would have enlightened me more if he knew anything else I should know. Surely.

Dano bit into his roast beef sandwich while a drop of horseradish dripped out the other end. He didn't even flinch. Not only was this guy hardened about his job, maybe even life in general. He was a fun study though, I had to admit.

“So,” I said to him even though he didn't look up. “Are either of the Sterling twins married?”

ER Dano kept eating.

Lilla gave me a shrug.

And Jagger took a sip of his black coffee and looked at me over his mug with a “what the hell difference look” on his face.

“Dano, are they?” I persisted, not even sure why I cared.

Dano took another bitem looked at me, and shrugged too. Only his shrug looked like he knew, didn't give a shit, and wasn't about to tell me anything.

Lilla started to ask him about how long he'd worked at TLC, and when he perked up and answered “years,” I decided I was spinning my wheels at this meal. I excused myself to leave for the ladies' room.

No one said a word.

When I got near the front door, I looked at our waitress who was now sitting at the diner's counter, eating a hamburger.

“Excuse me. Please tell my friends I have to leave.” I started to dig into my purse for money for my bill.

She motioned her head toward our table. “You with those two hunks. Man, if I were twenty years younger.” She cackled. “That one drinking his coffee. Yum. Course the other one ain't bad. He could put his shoes under my bed anytime, sweetie!”

I laughed and pulled my empty hand out of my bag. “The hunk drinking coffee will pay my tab.”

With that I was out the door and hailing a cab, which was not an easy feat in Hope Valley. However, obviously some divine intervention had a yellow cab zoom around the corner just as I raised my hand.

Thank you very much, St. T!

Except for the dispatchers, who were on call 24/7, the TLC Ambulance place was pretty empty. I took the opportunity to “acquaint” myself with my new employment surroundings.

After making my way through the reception area, into the filing area, and down the corridor toward the twins' offices, I found myself at Payne's door.

His opened door.

“Payne? Mr. Sterling?” I stepped inside and walked to the adjoining office of Pansy. Geez. Pansy. Some name. Shaking my head, I knocked, opened the door after no reply, and ran my gaze around the room.

Empty.

There is a God.

I shut the door as quietly as I could and walked toward Payne's desk. If I got caught, I had already decided I'd say I got lost and since Lilla wasn't there tried to find the employee forms she'd given me this morning—‘cause I thought I'd put down my wrong phone number.

Maybe I was getting better at this lying stuff.

Quickly I looked over his desk. Payne was not the neatest guy in the world but wasn't a Fabio either. I reached into the pocket of my scrubs and took out a pair of gloves.

Jagger had taught me well.

They'd become a staple in my wardrobe now, much like a tissue and clean underwear (à la Stella Sokol).

I pushed the desk chair back and tried to open the top drawer. No luck. The others opened without any problems, so I helped myself to the documents that were inside of them.

Daily run sheets. The ones Jagger had been talking about. Each EMT or Paramedic had to fill them out. I glanced through them with my nursing eye, weeding out any unnecessary information.

Old Payne was pretty organized when it came to his files, which made my job easier.

Several had oxygen listed. Two had charges for ALS, which I knew was more expensive and stood for advanced life support. I sat down and read through the entire pile, glancing at the clock every once and a while.

Suddenly I heard footsteps outside the door. Gulp. I started to stick the files back, remembering the exact order they'd been in. That I was very good at as if I'd had a photogenic mind.

The hallway quieted. I swallowed and decided there was no need to rush off. I had to find his billing information to cross check it against the run forms.

Behind his desk, and below the Mona Lisa, who suddenly gave me the creeps as if she were watching me, was another file cabinet.

Locked.

Hm.

Piqued my interest. So I dug around his desk, the one behind Mona, until I found a set of keys. Two didn't work, but the third had me whisper “Bingo!” as the lock clicked open.

Copies of bills for the last three years. Could life get any better? I found the matching bills to the files, and indeed, TLC had charged the patients for oxygen—when it wasn't even used (not to mention the fact that the law didn't allow for individual charges like that), and the ALS was really a BLS—basic life support, which was a much cheaper ride.

The eighty-year-old guy had fallen while mowing his lawn. His wife called 911, but since he'd fallen in the grass, there wasn't a scratch on him according to the paramedic's run sheet—of one ER Dano.

If nothing else, I just knew in my gut that Dano was a fantastic, Cracker Jack paramedic.

I leaned back after checking out several more bills.

“So, you are bilking the insurance company out of millions, Mr. Sterling. Aren't you?”

“Yes. For a new employee, Ms. Sokol, you
are
perceptive.”

I dropped the files and swung around to see Payne Sterling with a knife aimed at me.

A knife!

I had this real phobia of knives and always said I'd rather be shot than stabbed.

However, right now, I was going for neither.

Payne Sterling eased closer to me with the knife blade mocking me with its sparkle.

“Oh, hey, Payne. I mean, Mr. S. Somehow I got lost and was looking for the forms Lilla had given me this morning.” I mumbled and rambled so that suddenly Payne even looked confused. This after he'd heard me accuse him of insurance fraud—and he'd admitted it.

So I took that opportunity to cut and run (forgive the pun again!). I kicked at his groin, stayed around only seconds to hear him groan, then grabbed the stack of files from the desk, and threw them in his face, buying me only nanoseconds!

By the time I got to the door, his hand was on mine. I started to scream like a girl—hey, we're talking life and death here—but he had his hand on my mouth faster than I could take a breath.

“Shut up or you'll end up needing 911 called for you.” Wow. His voice had grown eerily
threatening
in a few hours.

Gone was the “exploded Laugh In” guy. Replaced by a threatening maniac, who now had a knife at my throat.

Payne knew his anatomy. I'd give him that as he pressed the blade into the area of my carotid artery.

Big time bleeder when cut that ol' artery was. I was talking pumping out the entire ten pints of blood that the average human being has in their circulatory system in a
very
short time.

“Payne,” I mumbled. “Please. Let me go, and we can make a deal.”

He'd slowly managed to ease his hold so I could talk. Or make that money talks. When he let go and started to ask what I meant, I kneed him again, used a few self-defense moves Jagger had taught me, and before I knew it, I was running like hell down the corridor, through the empty reception area and out the door.

In my haste, I wasn't sure, but it didn't sound as if Payne was fast on my heels, and I wasn't stupid enough to turn to look.

I pushed at the front door so hard, it swung out with a thud—and I banged smack dab into Jagger and Lilla.

I screamed.

Jagger shook his head.

Lilla pulled back as if she was afraid of me, and I started to chatter on and on.

Jagger grabbed my shoulders. “Calm down, Pauline. What the hell are you talking about?” He'd grown serious and with the use of my name, yanked me out of my hysteria long enough to tell him what I found out and how Payne tried to kill me.

Jagger pushed me to the side so hard that I stumbled into Lilla, knocking her to the floor.

“
Chérie
!” she shouted.

“Sorry!” I yelled as I pulled us both up, and we ran after Jagger—although my first instinct was to run in the other direction.

But I couldn't let him face a knife-wielding Payne all by himself.

I know Jagger would smirk at that, but, still, I meant well.

Although he was ahead of us, we made good time and got to the office door just as Jagger stood there.

Stood there?

I figured Payne had hightailed it out the back door—until I got side-by-side with Jagger.

Lilla screamed and slithered very sexy-like down to the floor with one hand running along the wall, I'm sure in a faint.

I grabbed Jagger's arm and my first words were, “Damn, there goes our suspect.”

The two of us stood staring down at Payne Sterling with the aforementioned knife sticking out of his chest. Heart level.

And we both knew calling 911 was out of the question—because ambulances didn't carry dead bodies.

Ambulances didn't carry dead bodies
, I thought over and over to take my mind off the scene in front of me.

Lieutenant Shatley, Hope Valley homicide and close friend of Jagger's—although I had no idea how they knew each other—gave orders to the police staff while I stood behind the yellow taped off area—trying to think of anything else but…a dead body.

Pansy had been notified, or make that hurried over when she heard the commotion and to this very minute, wailed in grief.

I wondered if losing an identical twin hurt more than a regular sibling then told myself that was crazy. However, I do think it was
different
as they were way too close. And now that I thought about it, her wailing was eerie and strange, and I was ashamed to even think it, but almost…fake.

I looked at her. She stood with one of the other secretaries holding her by the shoulders and glaring down at the body of her brother.

I realized I couldn't do that if it were one of mine. I couldn't just stand there looking. Hm. Maybe it was me, and I shouldn't let my personal feelings get in the way.

Deciding to have a more Christian attitude, I felt a bit better until I watched Pansy wiping her face.

No tears.

Had she cried herself out already? Or,was it something else? Then again, she could have had some condition that dried up her tears. That was a reality for some people. But she acted as if she were crying.

And made me wonder if
acting
was the operative word here.

Once the lieutenant said to clear the scene, we all started to move about, and before I knew it, the undertaker was taking out Payne's body.

And Pansy was nowhere to be seen.

I knew, just knew, I'd be following the stretcher along not ready to let go of a loved one so easily.

Lilla walked past me with a solemn look on her face. “
Chérie
.” She nodded.

For some reason I needed a bit of confirmation on my thoughts, and I touched Lilla's arm. Before I let her startled look stop me, I asked, “If that was your brother, would you just let them—”

“Wheel him away like that?” she finished while shaking her head. “Never. I'd be clutching onto their shirttails to not take him.” She shrugged. “Guess we are all different.”

“That we are,” I said, making a mental note to observe dear Pansy much closer. Hopefully I wasn't shifting suspicion onto her just because my number one suspect was now deceased.

I hated when that happened.

Although a gloomy air now filled the TLC Ambulance Company halls, work resumed. No one joked around, but phones rang, clients came in, and 911 calls never stopped.

Before I knew it, I heard, “Four, five, six, code eighty-three at 114 Buckingham Place.”

ER Dano rushed out of the living room, grabbed me by the arm, and said, “Get going!”

Not able to protest, I remembered why I was here, or make that what my cover was and obediently followed him along. Jagger was nowhere to be seen, and Dano didn't seem to notice or care.

“Where's Jagger?” I asked as Dano nearly shoved me into the
front
seat of #456.

He shrugged and said, “Breathing difficulty. Can't wait.”

With that I clicked on my seatbelt, said a fast prayer to St. T for the patient and myself (the driving, you know), and we were out onto East Main Street, siren blaring and Dano leaning back and driving as if in a kid's bumper car.

I swallowed hard, refusing to let my lunch even near my mouth again.

After several deep breaths, we pulled into the driveway of a dilapidated house on Buckingham Place—not exactly the ritzy section of Hope Valley. Dano grabbed the bag of supplies, muttered something to me, and we ran up the stairs to the front door, which wasn't locked.

For a fleeting second, I thought,
how convenient
until we ran down a long hallway into the kitchen.

There on the floor was a rather attractive women, dressed in tight jeans and a slinky black top, laying on the floor—with the phone chord wrapped tightly around her neck!

Difficulty breathing?

Her coloring was pale, but her eyes were still opened, if not watery, and her lips a bit cyanotic—that horrible grayish-blue of someone in need of oxygen.

Dano was immediately unwrapping the phone chord, while I dug into the bag for the portable oxygen and a mask. We worked for a few minutes until the woman looked a tiny bit better.

“How'd this happen, ma'am?” Dano asked.

She turned toward him and in a raspy voice said, “Er…I tripped. I tripped and got tangled in the chord.”

Dano and I looked at each other, which kept me from shouting out, “Are you kidding us!” But the seriousness of her condition had me only raise an eyebrow to Dano.

“Really?” he said, while taking her blood pressure and adjusting the oxygen mask on her face.

I assisted him with whatever he needed until I felt something. Something behind me.

Gradually I turned around to come face to knees with a pair of jeans.

I heard Dano mutter, “Shit.”

And I looked up into the barrel of a shotgun—aimed at my face.