Pure Dynamite (8 page)

Her fingers went for the alarm button on the pager and found it missing. Her cell phone was gone too. He'd taken both while kissing her.

What a fool.

She took another step backwards and quickly reassessed his appearance, zeroing in on details. His cheeks were shadowed with stubble but what she had thought was grunge was grubby. His face and neck were sunburned.

He didn't look like a junkie. His hands were steady; his eyes clear. Which didn't rule out drugs. He could be a dealer. Certain prescription drugs had tremendous black market value.

Her mind stumbled as she fought to remain calm.
Keep him talking.

"If you're after narcotics," she began, "there are none here. A guard picks them up after hours."

"I know. I watched him leave."

Too late she realized her mistake. "He'll be back."

The man shrugged. "I won't be here long."

Renata shook her head, struggling against a rising panic. If he wasn't after drugs or money ... She pivoted and ran down the hall. If she could reach an exam room, barricade herself in, and call for help—

The man caught her before she made it ten feet. Hooking her shoulder, he spun her back, forcing her up against his chest as he twisted her arm behind her. But where she expected pain there was instead brute strength—a physical reminder that he could break her in half with ease. That he could do anything he wanted. Rape. Assault. Murder.

She started to struggle, but stopped when he raised his gun. "Don't. Please."

He didn't respond. His eyes drifted slowly over her, the same way hers had done earlier, his gaze fastening to the exact spot where her breasts were smashed against his chest.

She stiffened, tried to pull away. He tightened his grip, holding her in place.

"You have my word,
Renata.
You won't be harmed," he said. "I need your medical skills."

Relief that he'd merely read her name embroidered on her jacket overwhelmed her. "My medical skills? Are you hurt?"

He stepped away, releasing her, but keeping the gun trained forward. "A friend of mine is. He's just outside."

She hung back, afraid. Disbelieving. "How do I know this isn't another trick?"

"You don't. But when I bring you back inside—unharmed—you'll know you can believe me. Let's go."

Go? That the man's intentions included kidnapping hadn't dawned on her until now. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Want to bet?" He grabbed her elbow and tugged, leaving no doubt he'd simply drag her.

Play along,
she thought.
Watch for a chance to escape.

Outside, the rain had lessened to a mist, the air a damp shroud. Eerie. Evil. He walked fast, his stride much longer, but slowed after she tripped trying to keep up.

He rounded the building. When she saw they were headed into a dark, isolated niche, she tried to jerk free, terrified. "No!"

"Renata!" He swung her around in a sharp semi-circle, catching her by the waist and pinning her against his frame. She kicked, but he tightened his hold crushing her. Pain lanced up her spine, stealing her breath.

She stopped struggling.

He eased his grip and dropped his head to hers in a move that was almost intimate. Frightening.

"Shhhh," he soothed. "Just ahead to the left, is my car. Do you see it?"

Reluctant, she turned, narrowed her eyes. She saw the car, the open door.

"There's a man inside," he continued. "And he's hurt."

"I don't believe it. And I'm not leaving with you."

He sighed, tugged her forward again. "Suit yourself."

As they drew close, she saw a man in the back, head reclined. He jerked upright when they approached.

"Damn it, Adam! Make some noise."

Adam.
Renata tucked the name into memory. It probably wasn't his real name but—

"Who's she?" the man asked.

"A doctor."

"Good." The man grimaced groaning as he tried to climb out of the car.

"Don't move," Adam warned.

Unsteady, the man pitched forward. Adam caught him with one arm, while keeping the gun on her.

"Help me," he ordered. "Let's get him inside."

Renata bent to lend support, instinctively trying to see the injured man better. "What happened?"

"Gunshot," Adam said. "Left groin."

She straightened her outrage overcoming her trepidation. "I can't treat this kind of injury here. This man needs a hospital and—"

"No hospitals!" The injured man cut her off. "It's you or nothing. Go!"

In the clinic's lobby, Renata got a clear look at the injured man. In spite of the pain contorting his face, she could tell he was younger than Adam. Early twenties perhaps. Not very tall; maybe five-seven, with a slight build. He had a small nose, uneven from being broken long ago, and pale, thin, lips.

His shirt was gone, dried blood smeared on his abdomen and arms. Blood had drenched the front of his jeans, down the legs, to his shoes.

"How long ago did this happen?" she asked.

"Maybe twenty minutes," Adam said.

She tried to gauge how much blood he'd lost.
Too much.
She touched the injured man's shoulder. "Let me call an ambulance. You need—"

"No! I will not—" The man passed out before finishing his sentence.

"Shit!" Adam caught him before he hit the ground. "Where can I put him?"

"First room on the left. Get him up on the table." Renata snatched a pair of latex gloves from the open box atop the cabinet, pulled them on. "Get his pants off. Scissors are on the cart."

She slid a nasal cannula over the man's face and adjusted the oxygen flow. Grabbing a blood pressure cuff, she secured it around his arm, clipped an oxygen sensor to his finger, and quickly collected vital signs.

"His pressure's low, pulse is elevated and weak." She checked his pupils, noted he was panting. "He's going into shock. He needs fluids. Fast."

She glanced at the saturated cloth covering his wound. "We have to get this bleeding stopped, too." She picked up a thick stack of gauze squares and placed them over the wound, then motioned to Adam. "Come here and press down on these, firmly."

Moving to the opposite side of the table, Renata straightened the injured man's right arm. His loss of blood would make it hard maybe impossible, to find a vein.

She ripped open an IV kit, tied a tourniquet around his upper arm. There was a sharp smell of alcohol as she prepped the skin on his arm.

The man flailed when she stuck him, dislodging the IV needle. It fell to the floor, rolled beneath the table.

"Hold him!" She grabbed another IV kit, then flicked his hand, searching for another vein. Adam leaned across the younger man, holding him in place as she took another stab at his wrist.

"Got it. But don't let go of him until I get it taped down." Working quickly she connected the clear tubing to a bag of normal saline and adjusted the flow. She glanced up, saw the question on Adam's face. "I need to increase his volume of fluids, make up for what he's lost. He could probably use a couple units of blood, which we don't have here."

She moved to where Adam stood waved him aside. "Let me take a look."

He backed away as she lifted the gauze. For now the bleeding had stopped. It would restart when the wound was cleaned though.

Turning to the cabinet beside her, she opened a drawer. Adam raised his gun.

She glared at him. "I need supplies."

Unapologetic, he leaned forward, inspecting the contents of the open drawer before nodding.

Taking a pair of scissors, she quickly cut away the rest of the makeshift bandages, noticing the extra layers of cloth.

"Were you trying to make a pressure dressing?"

"Trying."

She wondered briefly at Adam's background. The steps he'd taken had prevented the other man from bleeding to death. It was obvious he'd had experience with gunshot wounds before, but how? Military? Paramedic? Career criminal?

She examined the wound, grateful it wasn't a shotgun blast. They were the worst, especially at close range, blowing away whole sections of flesh and vital organs. Some bullets could be equally damaging, though, shattering on impact and sending deadly fragments to ricochet through organs.

"Any idea what he was shot with?" Knowing the caliber and type of ammunition would help her assess the potential damage.

"Handgun. I'm guessing three-fifty-seven," Adam said.

She started to ask how it happened, but stopped. Given the way they'd shown up here tonight, it was unlikely they'd tell her the truth.

During her rotations in the ER, she'd seen people shot for a lot of different reasons. Intentional or accidental, there was nothing good about a gunshot. Knowing how or why it happened didn't change the treatment. Or the chances for survival.

And in this case, perhaps the less she knew the better. Too much knowledge could make them think twice about leaving her alive.

"I need to check for an exit wound. Can you turn him?"

The man's left buttock was bloody, making the exit wound easy to locate. More slit shaped than round it wasn't bleeding as badly. She pressed on it, then irrigated it with saline to clean it before grabbing another thick stack of gauze to cover the wound so Adam could ease the man back down.

She checked his blood pressure again, keenly aware that being on her own in a critical situation reduced her effectiveness. If they had come in when the clinic was
fully staffed, there would be two or three others assisting. A nurse would monitor his vitals, get a medical history. Someone else would draw blood, start an IV, while the front desk called for an ambulance. They would take whatever life-saving steps they could, but mainly they'd stabilize the patient for transport to the closest hospital.

Perhaps while the man was unconscious she could talk Adam into letting her call for help. But before she could speak, the injured man's eyelids fluttered open.

His complexion looked ashen. Unhealthy. He moaned back to consciousness, his voice hoarse and tinged with fear. "How long was I out?"

Renata glanced at the clock. "Seven minutes."

"God ... I feel like shit."

"You should. You've been shot."

"Did
it...
go straight through?"

"That's hard to verify without X-rays, but it appears so."

The injured man seemed relieved. "That's good, right, Doc?"

"There's nothing good about a gunshot."

"But it could have been worse," the man pressed. "If
it...
had hit my heart or lungs ... I'd be a goner."