Nothing Personal (34 page)

But Jules wasn’t laughing. “About quitting.”

Kate shook her head, drank some more. “It’s an LOA, remember? Approved by the estimable Mr. Fellows himself.”

The same Mr. Fellows who had surprised the community at large by turning down the offer of corporate CEO in favor of staying at the hospital he swore he still loved. Fellows who had personally paid for the defense counsel for Sister Ann Francis, who would be spending a lot of time at her dear little institution in Texas.

Jules was not appeased. “But you’re not coming back.”

Kate finally had no choice but to face her friend. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “B.J. wants to show me Philadelphia, and Mary wants to show us Albuquerque. Personally, I just want to meet Junior. He’s going to teach me how to rope calves.” Taking a long, cold pull of her drink, she gave in to the rest. “I also have an appointment to keep in Minnesota.”

Time, finally, to put all her ghosts to rest. She’d already called Mamie and told her to take that other five thousand dollars and stuff it up her ass. Then she’d spent an hour with Steve, who’d accepted Carver and the keys to the rest of Tim’s possessions, and who had delivered her in return the news that after hearing the truth about what had happened the night of the accident, the Rashad family had dropped their suit against Kate. The hospital and all others involved would settle, and the matter would be over.

She was free and clear, for the first time in her life. She had opportunities and a slightly used forensic pathologist who seemed to want to see the world with her, and a sudden taste for it.

She would be leaving her dearest friends. She would be running just as she had the chance finally to convince Martin Weiss to get in and get treatment, just when the position of head nurse was coming up, since Phyl was being bumped up into the slot Edna had vacated by being too senior.

But Kate had had her own epiphany during her latest stint in the hospital. Maybe she wouldn’t ever have a near-death experience to sort things out, but she’d twice come too close to ignore what it meant. It left her with the understanding that the rest of the world could get along fine without her interference. Martin was a big boy. The hospital would go on. Her friends would find some other loudmouth to fill the vacuum she left. She had to find out if she was really as brave as B.J. insisted.

“Hey, pogue!” he yelled as the jigs gave way
to reels. “What about taking six months in Ireland while I really learn to play this thing?”

“Up the rebels!” Kate intoned.

“Up the rebels!” the rest of the room answered.

“Hey, Kate!” Sticks yelled, bare inches from her left ear. “You never told us. What does pogue mean?”

Kate grinned. “Not what we thought it did when we first started using it.”

“Well, what does it mean?”

“It means ‘kiss,’” she said.

“Aw,” Jules cooed. “Isn’t that sweet?”

“What did you think it meant?” somebody asked.

Kate and B.J. exchanged glances. Kate laughed. “Asshole,” she said.

The floor was never completely dark. Even at three in the morning, there were lights on out in the hallway that bled into the room; there was the spectral green and red glow from the bank of monitors that kept track of the patient in bed.

Kate never really slept in the hospital, and this time wasn’t any different. Even though she was pleasantly buzzed from the evening she’d stolen down at McGurk’s, she couldn’t quite relax. She listened to the way the monitor still stuttered as it recorded the rhythm of her heart and wondered at everything that had happened.

Outside the hall was empty. It was somebody’s birthday and everybody was in the lounge
dishing up cake, the monitor alarms turned up so they could be heard. Kate didn’t mind so much. She was kind of enjoying the unusual quiet in the place for once.

Then she heard the soft pad of footsteps. The hiss of a door being opened by a stealthy hand. She opened her eyes and saw a shadow detach itself from the surrounding darkness and realized that it was making its way for her.

Her heart reacted first, slamming uncertainly against her chest wall. Her lungs seemed to collapse with instinctive terror. She was alone, tied down to monitors and IVs. She was half drunk, which effectively took care of any balance she might have had left after the overdose of cardiac medication got through with her.

She was completely vulnerable.

She’d felt it before, that trepidation about people who had control over her when she couldn’t control herself. But before she’d only been frustrated and angry. She hadn’t been afraid.

Tonight she was afraid. Because the truth was, it wasn’t just that any person could touch you or expose you. They could harm you.

It must feel like this to every patient in this hospital, she thought. Each anxious, uncomfortable soul who saw strangers walk with impunity through their doorway. Each disabled, controlled, constricted person who depended so completely on the hope that others who approached did so only with goodwill.

Hospitals, Kate realized with dreadful understanding, were terrifying, dangerous places to be.

She turned a little in the bed so she could better see who was coming her way. She heard the rasp of anxious breathing and smelled Aramis cologne. She saw a wide, boxy hand reach out toward the side of her blankets, where both she and he knew he’d find exposed skin, and she recognized him.

Arnstein.

Arnstein the asshole. Arnstein the pig, who had ridden to the OR suite atop her chest with his hand in her aorta. Arnstein, who would have thought nothing of taking advantage of her. Who had, Kate was suddenly sure, taken advantage of other people made totally dependent by disease and therapy. Other women, who might not have been able to fight.

Arnstein, who was about to do the same thing to her.

Well, she thought with a certain amount of fatalism. There is one last thing I can do for this hospital before I go.

She waited for him to get close enough. Steeled herself against the first contact of those seeking fingers. Saw the flicker of color as he bent and his tie fell clear of his lab coat.

And then, without a sound, she simply reached for it.

And yanked. Hard.

She pulled his face right down to hers, close enough that she could see the whites of his eyes reflect the green from her own monitors. She heard the high-pitched little squeal of surprise he gave off as he froze. And then she smiled.

“I killed once,” she warned. “I can do it again.”

He didn’t drop dead. He just ran like hell, which made Kate smile. A much better way to end things, she decided, and finally fell off to sleep.

To the usual list of culprits, as ever, my thanks. You put up with a lot this year. My special thanks to everyone at the St. Louis County Medical Examiner’s office, with special thanks to Dr. Mary Case and to Mary Fran Ernst, investigator extraordinaire, for teaching more than I ever wanted to know about death investigation. I hope you can excuse the dramatic license. Thanks to the lovely folks at McGurk’s, where the research was always fun; and of course, to Paddy, Martin, and Pat for letting me share their music. If I could play like you guys, I wouldn’t waste my time writing books. And finally, to the real Pig Nurses from Hell. All the Pig Nurses. You know who you are.

One more thing. In response to everyone who will inevitably ask, no, St. Simon’s is not a real hospital. It is not based on a real hospital in St. Louis or any place else. I swear I made it all up. The other landmarks, however, are real.