Rescue Team (21 page)

Wes had heard something else. A grid search for evidence in the Sunni Sprague case was indeed being organized. The area would include the greenbelt trail not far from Zilker Park—after the rains let up and they could get volunteer teams in. There was already some covert discussion between crews eager to clear the park and law enforcement intent on preserving evidence. But bottom line: jogging and searching were both on hold for now.

“I’ll be doing Pilates,” Kate said with a sigh. “DVD in my living room with no risk of flash flooding or—” She stopped short, peering toward a buzzing crowd of people near the doors to the emergency department waiting room. “What’s happening?”

“Nurse!” a man shouted, waving frantically at Kate. “Some
guy’s passed out on the floor in the bathroom and the volunteer lady needs help—hurry!”

-  +  -

Oh, please . . . help . . .

Judith told herself not to panic, to keep on until help came. It would, wouldn’t it?

A crowd had gathered. Knees, feet—she couldn’t see more from down on the lavatory floor. Couldn’t take the time to try. Voices, shouts. Her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

“What’s happening?” someone shouted.

“That lady’s doing CPR—tell somebody. Get some nurses over here!”

Press down on his chest; count.
Judith rocked forward on her knees again, lowering her full weight onto her palms. Flat against the center of Mr. Beck’s breastbone. She counted each compression out loud, a fearful quaver making it sound like a foreign language. “One and two and three and four and—”

Her gaze darted toward the man’s face, too much like a death mask already: gray skin, blue lips, eyes glazed and unseeing. It had been terrifying to find him like that and a miracle he hadn’t taken time to lock the bathroom door behind him. She’d yanked the emergency call cord, shouted for help, then dropped to the floor to check his breathing and pulse. It had only been a minute or two since then, but it felt like forever. “Fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen . . .”

Nervous sweat dripped from her chin, splashed onto the trucker’s shirt now stained and sour with vomit. He wasn’t breathing. There was a froth of mucus on his lips. She couldn’t have done mouth-to-mouth without gagging. But rescue breathing wasn’t
necessary in cardiocerebral resuscitation, just the chest compressions, so—

“Judith . . .” A deep voice, someone crouching beside her.

She looked up, her hands still trembling on the man’s chest. There was a commotion at the lavatory doorway. Nurses, a security officer, a technician . . . gurney wheels, a squeak as it lowered to the floor. Was that Kate Callison?

A hand tugged her gently. “Judith, it’s okay. Help’s here. Come away now. Let them in.”

She rose, legs weak, and staggered backward as the staff converged in a rush.

“Lift him. One, two, three—okay, let’s go!”

“Stand back, folks. Everyone back!”

Judith watched as Mr. Beck disappeared through the door to the emergency department corridor in a surreal blur. So horrible. The whole thing—fighting to get him reexamined, discovering him missing, finding him collapsed. Judith felt her legs losing strength, her vision dimming.
Don’t faint . . .

“Here, lean on me.” An arm slid around her waist. Strong, solid. “Let’s get you sitting down, Judith.”

She blinked up, recognized him. That rescuer. The man who’d found the lost woman with Alzheimer’s and helped with Baby Doe. He’d been here again when his friend was shot and needed surgery. She couldn’t recall the man’s name right now, but she’d never forgotten that look in his blue eyes, each of those times. It was there now, for her. Compassion.

“Your first time doing CPR?” he asked gently as he guided her toward the lounge a merciful distance from the still-buzzing waiting room.

She nodded, already feeling an arthritic twinge from kneeling
on the cold floor. “I tried to get him help. His wife dropped him off and then went to check on her elderly mother. Mr. Beck was waiting by himself. All alone.” She shivered and the rescuer’s arm drew her closer to his side. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

-  +  -

Kate added more warm water to the tile-topped tub and then stretched out, letting the frothy bubbles swoosh over her like meringue. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent. Sweet pea, her favorite fragrance—favorite flower. Blossoms in ballerina-skirt colors, smelling like still-warm angel food cake. The way her mother made it, drizzled with pink glaze and topped by maraschino cherries.

But it wasn’t only the flowers’ scent that amazed Kate. It was also that sweet peas started out so humbly. Rock-hard, unlovely seeds—nicked with a knife to encourage sprouting and then submerged in water overnight. She sighed, remembering them in a jelly jar on their Happy Hollow Lane kitchen sink. Wounded seeds poked unceremoniously into cold, inhospitable, and barren soil. As if they were some sad sacrifice to the loneliness of winter. Gone. Forgotten. And then suddenly, in spring . . . Kate smiled, remembering. There they would be: pale green and arching from the ground, reaching for support. Then climbing, twining, turning toward the sun. Fairy-tale flowers that smelled of birthday cake. And hope? Was that what felt so good about them?

Kate slid lower in the tub, letting the bubbles beard her chin. Even after all that had happened at the hospital today, there did seem to be room for hope. Carly Udall, the near-drowning victim, showed improvement and hadn’t required the ventilator. She was in the ICU, receiving antibiotics and vigorous respiratory
treatments. While awaiting the arrival of her family, divorced parents united in the relief of finding their daughter. Her pregnancy test, mercifully, had been negative. Kate had held her breath reading the lab results.

Mr. Beck’s lethal heart rhythm resisted the first two jolts from the defibrillator, converted successfully on a third try, and was maintained via drug infusion. By the time Mrs. Beck returned to the hospital, he was in the capable care of the cardiac cath team. And reportedly able to squeeze his wife’s hand. With tears sliding down his face.

Kate had reviewed his chart with some anxiety. But Mr. Beck had no known history of heart disease. Vital signs were normal on arrival to the ER and he’d rated his abdominal discomfort low on the pain scale, insisting it was food related. He’d been adamant in his denial of chest pain. The triage nurse’s first inkling that the stoic trucker felt worse was a message via the clerk; she’d been on her way to check him when . . . Kate sighed. Things had been done according to policy, fully documented. Bad things couldn’t always be predicted. Thanks to Judith Doyle, the man was found right away.

Kate’s cell phone buzzed on the edge of the tub: Lauren.

“Catch you at a bad time?” her friend asked.

“Up to my neck in a bubble bath—definitely good.”

“I thought maybe you’d be out with Wes.”

Kate smiled, remembering the discreet hug they’d shared before he left the hospital. “He had plans with Dylan. Brothers’ movie night. We’re doing something on Sunday.”

“Good. I wanted to let you know that I called Judith at home, checked on her again.”

“How did she seem?”

“Quiet. But okay, I think. Considering. She said again how appreciative she was of Wes’s help. And she was glad I could give her at least a general update on Mr. Beck’s condition. I’m going to talk to the Ladies Auxiliary about nominating her for volunteer of the year.”

“That’s a great idea. Judith is such a hard worker, but this went far beyond the call of duty. It had to have been awful for her.”

“For everyone in that waiting room too. I vote for a lot less drama out there. Which reminds me—did you see that piece on the news? After the service for Baby Doe?”

“No.” Kate reached for her terry robe with one hand. The water was getting cold.

“It was really short. Just a few words from the pastor and from a representative of a women’s clinic regarding Safe Haven.”

Kate stood, slipped an arm into her robe. “Could you tell if there were many people there?”

“Quite a few apparently.” There was sadness in Lauren’s voice. “The camera caught people leaving the service. I’d wager a few of those were detectives. I saw Dana. And . . . this was sort of strange . . .”

“What?” Kate asked, moving the phone from hand to hand to tie her robe. She was shivering now. Enough to make her teeth chatter.

“Barrett Lyon was there too.”

“L
OOKS LIKE YOU’RE PREPARING
for a callout, buddy.” Wes straddled a chair in Gabe’s kitchen, a safe distance from the oak table piled high enough to risk avalanche: twenty-four-hour pack, three GPS units, open laptop, maps, helmet, Gabe’s extra-large rescue vest, and Hershey’s little orange one. Plus a Costco-size bag of dog biscuits, a case of Dr Pepper, and what appeared to be a half-eaten breakfast burrito. “Or maybe you’re auditioning for an episode of
Hoarders
.”

Gabe snagged a balled pair of socks and hurled it at him. “I’ll be ready and I’ll be there.” He frowned at his injured leg, propped dutifully on a chair. “In the command trailer. I can do that much.” He nodded decisively. “Zilker Park, as soon as they give us the green light weather-wise. It’s probably going to be delayed for several days. I heard they aren’t allowing any cleanup past the trailhead until after the search. They blocked off the sinkhole and left
the dozer sitting there. Everything at a standstill until law enforcement gives the go-ahead.” He sighed. “Weather’s really playing havoc with our chances here.”

“But the rain’s easing up.” Wes scratched Hershey’s chin. “And sometimes weather works for us—stirs up things we missed last search.” He retrieved the sock ball and tossed it back and forth between his hands. “Sounds reliable, that tip from the inmate. Everything he heard from the man he thumbed a ride with outside Waco.”

Gabe’s expression was solemn. “If our inmate hadn’t been in an Oklahoma lockup the week Sunni disappeared, he’d be a prime suspect himself. A nickname and a description were all he gave about the driver, but it was enough of a lead for law enforcement and the FBI to beef up their manhunt.” He nodded. “This was a solid tip. No police reports mentioned that turquoise cross she wore. One of a kind, and the inmate described it to a tee.”

“I remember Dylan looking at it, that time Sunni stayed overtime to sit with him in the ER. Sunni said her grandfather made it from a stone he found when he was doing missionary work in Colorado.”

Gabe was quiet for a while. “Jenna’s going to handle Hershey on the search.”

And Hershey is human-remains certified. . . .
Wes reminded himself that finding nothing, not ever knowing, was far more painful.

A slow grin spread across Gabe’s round face. “The Nancy Rae hotline says you’ve been seen around town—and in a certain Jeep—with Kate Callison.”

“Nancy has always been the jealous kind.”

Gabe dangled a biscuit for Hershey, peered sideways at Wes. “The Jeep ride, then a dinner date? Sounds serious.”

“Uh . . . not sure.” Wes wondered what Gabe would think if he knew Wes had also stood like a fool in the pouring rain because he didn’t want to stop kissing Kate. And today he’d felt an irresistible urge to send flowers. Did that mean “serious”?

“Maybe,” he admitted finally. “I’m glad Kate’s in line for a full-time management position. I want her to stay. So I can get to know her better.” He smiled at Gabe. “Don’t tell Nancy Rae.”

Gabe traced a finger over his heart.

-  +  -

“Praise for our efforts with Mr. Beck?” Kate set her coffee on Evelyn’s desk before the giddy whoosh of relief made her spill it. She’d been certain the summons to the CNO’s office spelled doom.

“High praise. From his wife, along with a visitor who stopped me outside the ICU and then a phone call I received only half an hour ago.” Evelyn played with her purple reading glasses, beaming at Kate. “He’s a newspaper reporter who was here to cover the near drowning case.” Her smile found a hidden dimple. “He was impressed with the department’s ‘immediate and skilled response’ to a critical situation, like a ‘well-oiled team.’ This could lead to some good press.”

“I hope.” Kate smiled.
Hope.
The word slipped out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You were commended personally,” the director continued, “for your skill in directing your staff and for the way you handled things with the people in the waiting area. ‘Efficient, calm, and caring.’”

Thanks to Lauren and Wes.

“It was a tough situation,” Kate agreed.

“That you handled well.” The director leaned forward in her chair. “And apparently you’ve made some other good impressions. Dub Tarrant stopped by to say hello early this morning. I’m sure you’re aware that he’s chair of the hospital board of directors. He mentioned the hiring committee’s meeting next month. Said he’d heard good things about you.”

On the golf course. From Barrett Lyon.

“He’s eager to see the management of the emergency department stabilized. Under the leadership of a permanent director who makes it a priority to present this hospital in the best possible light.”

And?
Kate held her breath as Evelyn took a sip from a can of Diet Coke.

“Anyway,” she concluded, “I wanted to pass along the compliments. And tell you that I appreciate your efforts.”

Kate knew it was foolish to think the CNO would—or could—say more at this point. But hope was indeed blossoming . . . like a fistful of sweet peas. She’d take it.

“I appreciate your telling me all this.” Kate retrieved her coffee, stood.

“I’m sure you’re as relieved as I am that the media focus on Baby Doe seems to have abated,” Evelyn added, bridging her palms. “I understand that a local church had a service for him yesterday. I have to believe that will help. On all counts.”

“I’d like to believe that too.”

Kate slipped through the doorway, wishing the conversation had stopped a few moments earlier. When unexpected compliments showered down and hope began to float. Before the mention of Baby Doe’s tragedy, which still felt too much like muddy rain.

-  +  -

“It sounds good.” Lauren scooted over to give Kate more room on the bench. The rain had lightened to a drizzle, making ticking sounds on the roof of the hospital gazebo. “The boss giving you an official ‘attagirl’ so close to your performance review.” She could tell Kate thought so too. There was something new and beautifully hopeful on her friend’s face lately. If they could market that, Lauren would be first in line.
Jessica . . .
No, she wasn’t going to dampen Kate’s happy moment with her family concerns. “I’d say it’s a good sign.”

“Hard to know.” Kate shrugged, but the hopeful look remained. “Plenty of balls still in the air. Lyon’s a pro at reminding me of that. I don’t know what to make of his being at the baby’s service.”

“Maybe it was his expression of sympathy for—” Lauren caught the look on Kate’s face. “Okay, I don’t believe that either. He was probably curious to see if the mother really would show up like the detectives speculated. A traumatized teenager lurking in the back of the church. Knowing that her baby . . .” She sighed, feeling for the troubled girl. And her family. “It’s all so sad.”

“Yes.” Kate was quiet for a few moments, then turned to Lauren. “How’s your sister? You said something about having to go home to Houston.”

“She . . .” Lauren was startled by an unexpected sting of tears.

“Lauren?” Kate slid closer. “What is it?”

“I’m probably making too much of it. I hope I am,” Lauren whispered around the ache in her throat.

“You’ve said she’s had trouble with depression.”

“Only one bad episode. But . . .” Lauren made herself say words that frightened her still. “Jess ran away last spring. After an
argument with a friend, Eli; he’s a PA at Houston Grace ER. She didn’t say anything to any of us. Just disappeared. We found out one of the docs at the hospital had given her a prescription for sleeping pills. We were afraid . . .” Lauren met Kate’s gaze through a prism of tears. “Eli found her and brought her home.”

“And now?”

“Some erratic behavior.” Lauren swiped a tear. “Higher than a kite for weeks. Aces her classes, charms the pants off her coworkers at the hospital—Jess is an admitting clerk in the ER. And she gets really irritable sometimes, at least with the family. Then sort of slows down, like she’s knee-deep in bayou mud. Won’t show up for classes, misses work.”

“Drugs?”

“I asked. You don’t want to know how that went over.” Lauren sighed. “She denied it, of course. And I believe her. I know it sounds naive, but I don’t think my sister would do drugs. Mom says Jess is simply high-strung, which ‘runs in her side of the family.’ Dad blames it all on Eli’s influence, says she was fine till she met him.”

“This guy is still in the picture?”

Lauren tensed. There it was again, the miserable snarl of emotions Eli always stirred. Anger and . . . “Off and on, I think. It’s not a romantic relationship; they were both on the hospital softball team, did some group things together.” She shook her head. “Trust me, Jess runs through friends pretty quickly—people get tired of a roller-coaster ride. Eli’s been more patient than most, I guess. He’s older, a single father. And a little too free with helpful advice, if you ask me. He really knows how to push Jess’s buttons. We all wish he was out of the picture completely. Still, if Eli hadn’t found her last spring . . .”

Kate was silent for a while. “It must have been awful when your sister ran away.”

“Beyond awful. I thought I’d never see her again.”

“I’m surprised you took the Austin Grace position. So far from Houston.”

“Jess wants to prove she can make it on her own. School, her apartment, relationships. Faith, too—on her own terms, whatever that means. She asked the family to give her space. And truthfully, I needed some distance too. I love her with all my heart and I worry. It’s hard either way.”

“She’s lucky to have you.” Kate slid her arm around Lauren’s shoulders. “You’re a good person, Lauren.”

A good person?
Lauren prayed that was true. But more and more she felt like she’d taken the selfish way out. That offering Jessica “space” by moving to Austin was no more noble than blaming her troubles on high-strung genes or the influence of Eli Landry. It felt too much like . . .
I’m looking the other way while my sister gets lost.

-  +  -

Kate parked her car in the driveway, careful not to block the gardeners’ van; they were clearing away branches and debris from the storm. Weather reports said the worst of it had passed. Apparently her landlord believed it. He’d told Kate to expect a team of window washers today or tomorrow. Ladders, hoses, scaffolding, men with overalls and squeegees—better than detectives with questions any day. She guessed the window washers would come tomorrow, since the afternoon was stretching on. Regardless, Kate liked the way it made her feel. Washing away the mud and starting fresh. For some reason it added to that sense of hope she’d started to feel.

She clucked her tongue as she slid from the car; now if only she could get back on that jogging trail. There were barricades across the Barton Creek trail entrances clear to Zilker Park. Kate had seen a giant earthmover making its way into the park. Mud, a sinkhole, and uprooted trees, Wes had said. Fortunately, the Texas sun dried things out fairly quickly.

“Kate!”

Her landlord stepped through the hedge, walking briskly toward her. He was carrying a flower bouquet. A beautiful autumn mix: gerbera daisies, black-eyed Susans, miniature mums, Queen Anne’s lace, and what appeared to be tiny wild roses. All wrapped in tissue, with sticks of cinnamon bark tucked under a sheer lavender ribbon. Simple and woodsy, but elegant, too, and romantic.

He held it out to her.

“For me?”

He nodded and she took it from his hands, eyes wide.

“Who . . . ? How?”

“The florist didn’t want to leave them on your porch, so . . .” His eyes twinkled behind his rimless bifocals. “Lovely flowers for a lovely young lady. As for who, I’ll leave that part to you.”

“Well . . . thank you.”

“My delight, Kate.”

Wes.
Kate knew it even as she closed the door behind her and sank onto the couch. And was even more certain when she slid the little envelope from under the cinnamon sticks. It had to be Wes. She knew it because of the way her heart was behaving. As if it would leap free from her chest and soar around the room in the hands of a silly cupid. Her fingers trembled on the card he’d signed, right below the words . . .

Just because.

Kate was still smiling when her cell phone rang. She didn’t need to check the caller. She could join the circus as a fortune-teller now.

“Hi,” she managed, despite a giggle that could not have been hers a week ago. “‘Just because’ . . . what?” she teased.

His laugh sounded close enough for his lips to tickle her ear. “Just because they reminded me of you. Black-eyed Susans are sort of ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’” He groaned. “Skip all that. I sound like a fool.”

You sound like I feel.
“Thank you,” Kate told him, smelling cinnamon on her fingers. “They’re wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” There were background sounds of voices, a dog barking. “You saw the barricades keeping joggers out of the greenbelt and Zilker, right?”

“Right. And a bulldozer as big as a house. Don’t worry.” She glanced at the grimy windows. “I’ve had my fill of mud. It will take more than the lure of a runner’s high to get me out on that trail.”

“Good.”