Rescue Team (7 page)

She glanced at the empty corner and let herself imagine for just a moment—like Judith’s camera capturing baby Harley—an image of a happy ten-year-old boy riding a horse alongside his very proud grandfather.

“O
W—HEY!”
Wes jerked upright in the lumpy visitor’s chair and retrieved the hurled Kleenex box. He grinned at Gabe. “You’re obviously feeling better.”

“And you slept here all night?” Gabe shook his head. “Call the nurse. I’m having a fatal flashback to Scout camp.” He lifted a container of green Jell-O. “Except the food was better there. You can’t call it breakfast without bacon.”

Wes chuckled, relief washing over him again. “Don’t complain. Looks like you’re down to one IV, and you’ve traded your oxygen for coffee . . . and a
Statesman
?” He glanced at the newspaper open on the tray table.

“Yeah. And we’re in it.” He lifted the paper. “‘Local Businessman Victim of Shooting.’ Could have been worse: ‘Funeral Director Escapes Coffin.’”

“Did they mention search and rescue? We don’t need that. Hard enough to recruit volunteers already.”

“Nope.” Gabe tapped the paper with his plastic spoon. “Far more interest in details of how our crazy hermit rigged the shotgun.”

“No mention of why we were out there?”

“You mean Nancy Rae?” Gabe peered at him over the paper. “Thank you, by the way, for getting her back to Mrs. Braxton.”

“No problem.” Wes remembered Kate’s smile. “Who told you?”

“Nobody. I read it in the paper.”

“You just told me the article didn’t say any of that.”

“It didn’t. But . . .” Gabe refolded the paper and held it out. “This one did. Complete with pictures.”

“Gimme that.” Wes grabbed the paper, eyes widening at a close-up shot of Lily and Amelia Braxton. Smiling bookends to a doll’s face. The caption below read, “Grateful ladies laud local heroes—Nancy Rae is found.”

Gabe clucked his tongue. “Apparently our newest ‘live find’ offered plenty of human interest.”

“Great.” Wes was quiet; the faint hum of the intermittent compression device on Gabe’s legs filled the short stretch of silence. “Did you hear that the sheriff made a statement about Sunni Sprague? It sounds like you could be right about evidence from an inmate. Though I got the impression his statement was more to stop rumors from spreading at this point. He said he wasn’t prepared to make anything public yet, but that they were ‘hopeful to have some new information soon.’”

“He wouldn’t have come out at all if they didn’t have something.” Gabe pushed his hands against the mattress, grimacing as he slid higher in the hospital bed. “Looks like I won’t be there for the callout when they organize a search.”

“They’ll need help at the command trailer with search management. You’re certified. And we don’t even know that this so-called information will point to anything local.”

Gabe pinned Wes with a look. “I know. You know.” He glanced toward the doorway. “Every staffer at this hospital knows it. Sunni disappeared after leaving a shift right here. Her car was abandoned in Barton Springs, only a few miles away. If there’s something to find, it’s close by.” He raised his brows. “Hey . . . you’re doing that debriefing today.”

“Right.” Wes frowned, remembering what Kate Callison had said the last time he saw her.
“I suppose I’ll see you at the debriefing tomorrow.
”
There had been no smile on her face that time. “I’ll tell you the truth: it’s the last thing I feel like doing.”

-  +  -

Kate peeked into the conference room. The chaplain and social worker were already seated. She turned back to Lauren. “I see you’re providing Kleenex.”

“Tissues, water, an opportunity to feel heard and supported.”

“Even if we have nothing to say.” Kate stopped herself from crossing her arms.

“Even then. I never thought to ask—have you ever attended a critical stress debriefing?”

“No.” Now Kate’s arms crossed of their own volition. “Or had teeth pulled without anesthetic or set myself on fire.” She dredged up a smile, reminding herself of her upcoming performance review. She needed staff morale to improve. Or else she’d be scheduling a plan B interview with that Dallas recruiter. “First time for everything.”

Lauren squeezed her arm. “No worries. No one’s going to put you on the spot. I’ll be there with you. And so will Wes.”

Kate decided Lauren didn’t need to know that having Wes Tanner anywhere close created critical stress of its own. She was still kicking herself for telling him about riding horses with her father. How had she let that happen? Never again.

She checked her watch. “This will take an hour?”

“Approximately.” Lauren smiled to acknowledge the arrival of Albert the janitor and one of the registration clerks. Neither of whom made eye contact with Kate. “Well, I think I’ll find a seat since folks are starting to arrive. Are you—?” Lauren’s brows pinched together. “Heads up; Lyon on the prowl.” She escaped into the conference room.

“Kate, glad I caught you.”

Kate turned to see Barrett Lyon’s ingratiating smile. “I only have a minute. Meeting.” She pointed at the conference room, suddenly eager to join the group. There were worse things.

“Yes. The debriefing. About the Baby Doe incident.” Barrett’s smile stretched wider, gray eyes almost glittering. “I just heard about it. It’s why I wanted to catch you.” He glanced toward the doorway, then took hold of her elbow and guided her a few steps away.

“What?” Kate slid her arm from his grasp.

“It could help,” he said, lowering his voice, “if you let me know if any staff member mentions feeling personally responsible.”

“Are you serious?” Kate felt blood rush to her face as Barrett signaled for her to keep her voice down. Several employees filed by. She backed toward the doorway and Barrett followed.

“I’m completely serious,” he told her, stepping close enough that she could smell his citrusy cologne. “I believe I told you that
our preference would be the prosecution of that teenage mother. But so far there have been no leads on her identity. And if the hospital incurs—”

“No. This is a confidential meeting. For mutual support,” Kate emphasized, surprised to hear herself parroting Lauren. “If you think I’m going to be some sort of spy—”

“Kate, Kate . . .” Barrett grasped her shoulder, flashed his smile. “I’m—”

“Excuse me.” Wes Tanner’s deep voice interrupted. “I just need to get through.” His gaze swept past Kate to Lyon, eyes narrowing a fraction.

Barrett stepped away from Kate.

“Best not to be late,” Wes said tersely, moving into the doorway.

“Right,” Kate agreed, grateful for the reprieve.

Wes stepped aside for Kate, followed her in, and took the last seat at the table. Directly across from her. She reached for her bottled water, wishing it were coffee. Then started to consider which was the worse fate: being asked to be legal’s snitch or finding herself trapped in a room with a mountain of Kleenex.

Someone closed the door and the chaplain rose from his chair. “Let’s get started.”

-  +  -

Wes studied Kate covertly, deciding that though the smile in the chapel had almost changed his mind,
prickly
was still the perfect adjective for her. Even her hair seemed at odds with the world. Like right now, with the short, dark tufts sticking up. If she were a cat, her ears would flatten and she’d hiss. Apparently no one had explained to her that crossed arms sent a distinct message—after
nearly half an hour, her muscles had to be cramping. Wes looked down as she glanced his way.

“And now we begin the third phase of our debriefing.” Cynthia McConnell’s expression was warm, compassionate, as she glanced around the table at the gathered staff: the janitor, the registration clerk, a NICU nurse, a respiratory therapist, Lauren, and Kate. “I remind you once again that we’ve gathered together for mutual support. That no one has any rank here, and everything we say will remain completely confidential.”

Kate’s lips pressed together in a tight line.

“As we go around the table this time,” the chaplain explained, joining in, “we’ll ask you to share your first thought after you stopped functioning on autopilot.”

Wes knew the question well; it would be a tough one for the staff. Their first thought when they stopped doing and started
feeling
.

Kate fidgeted, swallowed, and reached for her water bottle.

“I’m not sure it really hit me how tragic it was,” Lauren began, pressing her palms together, “until after I’d done what I could to help Albert.” She turned to meet the man’s gaze, empathy in her eyes. “And saw—really saw—the blood on your hands.”

“I . . .” The janitor cleared his throat. “I surely did appreciate your helping me. And . . .” He glanced at the chaplain. “I remember handing that babe to Mr. Tanner, thinkin’—right before I passed out—that I shoulda been checking that bathroom an hour earlier. I always do the cleaning in emergency about 4:30 a.m., you see.” He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. “I changed up my routine that night. For no good reason changed it.”

Lauren put her hand on Albert’s arm as a tear slid down his face.

“I’m a grandpa, nine times. I keep thinking, why didn’t I find that precious baby boy sooner?”

“I thought of my daughter,” the registration clerk, Teresa, offered, barely above a whisper. “I opened the door for Mr. Tanner and Kate so they could rush that baby back to the ER. I did it without thinking. But then, afterward, I saw a trail of blood drops. Little splashes going past my office and all the way down the hall. There was one on my shoe.” She clutched at a small cross on a chain around her neck. “My daughter’s lost three babies. The one she’s carrying now still has four months to go. I’m so afraid she’ll lose this one too—it would kill her.” Her face contorted. “How could a mother leave her baby and walk away?”

Wes thought of his mother, then saw the color drain from Kate’s face.

“Wes?” Cynthia said gently. “Your first thought?”

“I thought,
He’s so small.
I needed him to breathe because—” his throat tightened—“we’d found him. Given him a chance. And it would be so wrong to lose him after that.” He swallowed, glanced across at Kate.
And I noticed how you looked with your hands around that little body. The same way you look right now.

-  +  -

Kate struggled for air.
I need to get out of here.
She closed her eyes, but all she could see was the desert night made garish by neon casino lights. Then the abandoned car wash near the firehouse. A cash machine broken open, obscenities and gang graffiti sprayed across the cement walls. Cigarette butts—and worse—on the cold cement floor. Her pink sweatshirt spread over it all like a picnic blanket. Kate squirmed in the chair, reached for the water bottle . . . remembered the agonizing contractions, uncontrollable trembling. Then her baby’s first cry and her own desperate wail.
“God . . . please, help me. . . .”

“Kate?”

She choked and felt the water run down her chin. “I’m sorry . . . What?”

“Did you want to share your first thought?” the chaplain asked.

“No,” she heard herself say. “No, I . . .” She glanced across the table, seeing Wes Tanner’s blue eyes clouded with concern. She couldn’t look at Lauren; there’d be no fooling her. She had to leave. Now. “I need to run to the restroom for a minute.”

“You’re okay?”

“Fine. Sorry. Too much water. I just have to . . .” She feigned a grimace of personal need.

“Of course.” The chaplain glanced at the clock. “Hurry back. We’re going to be moving on to specific symptoms of stress and offering valuable coping strategies. I don’t want anyone to miss that.”

“No problem.” Kate made it to her feet and across the room that now stretched like an endless Nevada desert. Out the door, down the hall, and past Judith Doyle, who was towing a gigantic blue stork balloon. She finally reached the bathroom across from her office—mere seconds before her stomach heaved.

-  +  -

Wes was surprised that Kate came back, considering how grim she’d looked before she left. But she returned to the debriefing after the sharing phase, in time for the review and presentation of stress-survival strategies. She slipped into the chair across from him again, arms crossed and expression just shy of prickly once more. He had to admit that given a choice, he’d take it over that pale, stricken look.

She glanced at Wes, then turned her attention to the social worker.

“Again, when a critical incident involving a child occurs, approximately 85 percent of affected staff will develop some symptoms of stress. People who try to handle everything alone take longer to process it. On the other hand, people who talk about the incident eat better, sleep better, remain healthier, and have fewer problems at work, home, and in their relationships. Most reactions to stress—the symptoms we discussed and that you’ll find in your packets—are normal. But remember that your employee benefits include counseling services if you feel the need.”

The chaplain pointed to a list on the conference room’s dry-erase board. “This is all in your packets as well, but some tips for dealing with stress include things to avoid, like alcohol and too much caffeine. As well as things we have found to help: eating regular meals, exercise, staying busy, listening to music . . . doing the things that feel good to you.”

What felt good to Kate Callison? Wes thought of what she’d said about riding horses with her father. Then how she’d immediately turned down Wes’s invitation to his search-and-rescue demo tomorrow. “We don’t talk,” she’d said when he asked about her dad. Had to be a story there.