Thin Ice (2 page)

First he needed to get out of here. There would be plenty of time to straighten things out later. When his mind wasn't so damn fuzzy.

When he wasn't feeling like he'd been run over by a locomotive. He was heading for the door, flanked by two uniforms, when he spotted McNaly and the skinny bartender standing side by side, arms crossed over their chests, wearing almost identical pleased expressions.

Brothers, he realized.

Gotcha.

Eric stopped in his tracks. “Wait.” Ignoring his police escort, he turned slowly, taking a long, bleary look around the destroyed bar.

turned slowly, taking a long, bleary look around the destroyed bar.

Hoping he was wrong. Knowing he wasn't.

The sassy little waitress in the Saints jersey was gone.

And so were his jacket and walet.

Sonofabitch

He'd been set up.

Again.

Midnight found Emily Jordan up to her elbows in split lips, broken noses, black eyes and bruised ribs. She patched, taped, splinted and stitched until her shoulders ached, her fingers cramped, and her feet felt cemented to the floor. Damn it. The world was too violent as it was. Didn't these imbeciles have anything better to do than get drunk and beat each other up?

"Hey there, Missy. Ease up a little. That hurt."

Emily looked up at her twelfth brawler in a row, her fourth with bruised ribs, and realized she'd jerked the adhesive tape holding the dressing over a gash on his chest a little harder than necessary. She started to apologize, then changed her mind. She had no sympathy for bear-size men who pummeled each other for kicks, then whined if she caught a few too many chest hairs under the tape. “More than if she caught a few too many chest hairs under the tape. “More than it hurt when you were roling on the floor with whoever cold-cocked you tonight?” she asked.

He glared and muttered something about uppity women doctors.

Emily gritted her teeth and turned her attention to a blood-soaked swath of plaid flannel wrapped around his forearm. Finding an even nastier gash beneath his filthy makeshift bandage, she reeled off the items she'd need to Susan, the ER nurse assisting her. This one would need stitches. While Emily cleaned the wound, Susan gamely struck up a conversation with the man to distract him from Emily's stitching.

Apparently someone named Cameron had started the fight. It didn't explain why everyone else had felt compeled to get in on the act, but by the time Emily had patched up her fifteenth brawler, she'd gleaned this Cameron character had a reputation as a fighter, and the police had taken him into custody.

Good, she thought. May he stay there where he belongs. The man was clearly a menace to society.

She turned number fifteen over to Susan to dress his superficial wounds, and went to see who was next. The treatment rooms were empty, as was the waiting room, except for Augustus Caldwel, her boss and mentor, and a young woman who looked as frazzled as Emily felt. The woman held a sleeping infant in her arms and was apparently the mother of the toddler who sat behind her, his right arm in a sling.

arm in a sling.

Emily had to smile. She guessed they were waiting for a taxi.

Augustus had a soft spot for single mothers with no sign of support.

The admissions clerk was busy flirting over the counter with two Minneapolis police officers, so Emily decided to prop up her feet until the next wave of activity hit, or until Augustus released her from duty. She headed for the staff lounge.

"Emily!” Her hand on the half-open door to the lounge, Emily turned to see Sarah Ferguson, head ER nurse, emerge from a nearby elevator, a mountain of starched and pressed linens in her arms.

“How's it going with the Brady Bunch?"

The staff had already nicknamed the brawlers, who had come from some bar on Brady Street. Emily nodded wearily down the hal.

“Susan's finishing up the last of them. I'm going to lie down for a while. Let Augustus know where I am if he needs me, okay?"

Sarah dropped the linens onto a cart for an orderly to colect later.

“Sure. You look beat."

"I am. I swear, if I'd had to spend another five minutes breathing alcohol fumes and being insulted by some overgrown idiot who doesn't have the sense God gave a sheep, I would've—"

Just then one of the brawlers exited the men's room, withdrew a flask from inside his jacket and took a hefty swig. He spied Emily and Sarah and smirked, then belched before he tucked the bottle and Sarah and smirked, then belched before he tucked the bottle away and swaggered toward the main exit.

"I see what you mean,” Sarah murmured, then strode after the man as it became clear he planned to leave without checking out.

Feeling drained, Emily entered the lounge. She crossed to the sink, turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on her face. Toweling her face dry, she caught her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

First a twelve-hour shift, then being caled back in to work barely four hours later ... this had to stop. She was operating on two hours sleep and looked it. Her lab coat was covered with stains and smeled, her eyes bloodshot, her hair a disaster—

"Excuse me, Miss."

Emily stiled, wondering if she'd imagined the hoarse male voice. It almost sounded like...

But that was impossible. The owner of that raspy voice was seven hundred miles away and hadn't terrorized her for years. No. She was exhausted, her mind playing tricks on her. She turned, fuly expecting to find herself alone.

Instead she found the most dangerous-looking man she'd seen in quite a while. He sat on the couch behind the door, his back propped against the wal, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His blue oxford shirt was torn and bloodstained, his faded jeans filthy. His black eye was at least three days old, his dark hair a matted mess, his face and hands dirty, days old, his dark hair a matted mess, his face and hands dirty, swolen and seriously scraped.

"Mind if I have a refil?"

Emily noticed the paper cup in his hand and smeled alcohol at the same time. She looked up and met eyes as bleary and bloodshot as her own.

Another drunk. For Pete's sake, hadn't she dealt with enough of them for one night?

"What do you think you're doing in here?"

His eyes not leaving hers, the man slowly, almost deliberately, set his paper cup aside. A long-suppressed memory flared in Emily and she felt a flash of remembered fear. She reminded herself those days were over. He was the fish out of water here, not she.

"Waiting for the doctor,” he said. “Apparently someone forgot to tel him he has another overgrown idiot to examine."

So he'd overheard her conversation with Sarah. Too bad. “Her,” she said.

"Her?"

"Her. Somebody apparently forgot to tel her."

Surprise skittered across his battered features. Awareness seeped Surprise skittered across his battered features. Awareness seeped into his dark brown eyes, as he slowly looked her up, then down, then lowered his head and shook it, chuckling softly.

Enough was enough. “Listen, if you have a problem with women doctors, I suggest you pick yourself up and stumble down to the waiting room, where you'l find—"

"Whoa. Whoa.” He held up a puffy hand. “I didn't say I had anything against women doctors. I just wasn't expecting to meet one tonight, okay? I'm not exactly, uh, looking my best."

Emily crossed her arms and eyed him again. He had that right. He looked awful. He must have wandered in when no one was looking and decided to make himself at home instead of waiting in the lobby with the rest of the brawlers. Yet he acted as if he had every right to lounge on the sofa she'd intended to occupy.

"Why are you in here? This is the staff lounge."

"Guess they figured this was the best place to put me."

"They?"

"The man with the white hair and that chirpy nurse out front."

Emily relaxed a shade. Augustus had sent him here. Probably taken pity on him and—

"How long ago was that?"

"Couple of hours, maybe more. Hard to tel. I ah, fel asleep after we got here. Just woke up a few minutes ago."

A couple of hours, maybe more? Emily stared. Given the extent of his bruises, the man either had the patience of a saint or was in too much pain to move. The healer in her wanted to get right to work.

The skeptic in her prevailed. “I assume our chief of staff had a reason for separating you from the others?"

"I think that was my escort's idea."

"Escort?"

"The boys in blue. They insisted we stop by on our way downtown.

I told them not to bother, that I'd have my own doc—now what?"

"What's your name?” Emily asked, fearing she already knew. This had to be the infamous Cameron, whose thirst for a good fight had puled her out of bed in the middle the night.

"Does it matter?” he asked.

"If I'm to examine you, I'l need to have someone bring me your chart. For that, I'l need your name. You did fil out an admissions form, didn't you? Or did your post-brawl nap take precedence?"

The man's dark eyes narrowed. Emily's irritation segued into dread.

Damn it, what was she thinking? She knew better than to bait a sleeping bear. It had to be the lack of sleep.

sleeping bear. It had to be the lack of sleep.

"I filed it out. In triplicate."

"Then I'd appreciate it if you'd cooperate with me. Name?"

He hesitated. She wondered why. From what she'd heard, this Cameron felow threw his name around as indiscriminately as his punches. Thought he was some kind of hot shot.

"Cameron. Eric Cameron,” he said quietly.

She closed her eyes and prayed for patience.

"Something tels me you've heard the name before."

"Several times in the past few hours."

Oddly, he seemed to relax. “Ah, yes. From your patients. The ones who haven't got the sense God gave a sheep.” He smiled grimly. “I couldn't agree with you more. So, where are they now?” he asked.

She puled her focus away from his battered features. Nothing appeared to be broken, but Emily Jordan knew better than most how looks could be deceiving. “Who?"

"The lost sheep."

She thought of the belcher. “Who knows? The last of them left several minutes ago. You're the only one left."

"You mean they walked? All of them?"

"You didn't expect them to?” Was the man a lunatic?

"Hel no!” Eric erupted, losing his temper at last. “Not after I—” He swore and closed his eyes. How was he supposed to get to the bottom of what had happened in that bar without witnesses? After he'd explained his side of the story, he'd expected the police to hold at least a few of them for questioning. “Forget it,” he muttered in disgust. It wasn't her problem. “Just do whatever you have to, to get me out of here."

The little redheaded doctor edged toward the door, her sudden nervousness surprising him. “Of course. If you'l excuse me, I'l check on your chart and be right back."

She was lying, her body language a dead give-away. After twenty-two years of playing hockey, Eric Cameron knew a deke when he saw one. “Yeah, right. Thanks."

Stepping into the corridor, Emily wasn't surprised to find her knees shaky. She hated the sound of voices raised in anger. Particularly when alcohol was involved. Usualy she was able to deal with it, to move past her fear, but for some reason this time it wasn't happening.

"That was quick.” Emily looked up to see Sarah coming out of the testing lab next door. “Your nap. Must have taken al of five minutes. What happened? Did we get a new hit?"

minutes. What happened? Did we get a new hit?"

Emily shook her head. “Sarah, there's a man named Eric Cameron in there, who—"

"Realy? Eric Cameron? In our lounge? What's he doing—"

"Shh ... he's with the Brady Bun—” She noticed Sarah trying to peer past her into the lounge, her eyes bright with interest. Emily glanced over her shoulder, then puled the door shut. “He's with the group of men who came in earlier."

"You're kidding! He was in the brawl?"

Emily didn't understand Sarah's excitement. In comparison, it made her fear and unease in his presence seem trite and unprofessional.

“What difference does it make?” she snapped. “He's here and he's hurt. Augustus separated him from the others hours ago and no one's paid any attention to him since. If I hadn't wandered into the lounge he might have spent the night in there, untreated."

Sarah drew back in hurt surprise. Emily remembered Sarah was ultimately responsible for admissions. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Sarah spoke first. “I'm sorry, Doctor, I'l look into it and see that whoever's responsible is reprimanded."

Emily sighed and shook her head. She didn't have the energy for this tonight. “Just get me his chart and I'l be happy. We'l be in room five."

"Of course, Doctor. Right away."

Knowing she'd handled that badly, Emily re-entered the lounge.

She found her newest patient where she'd left him, propped up against the wal with his eyes closed. He didn't look so dangerous now, just resigned and battle weary.

His black eye drifted open. “Wel, what do you know? The way you scooted out of here, I didn't expect to see you again."

The man was much too perceptive for a common drunk. “How do you feel?"

His second eye opened. He studied her for a long, unsmiling moment. “Like you'd expect any man in my situation to feel."

So his anger wasn't snuffed, just banked. Her heart thumped in dread. “I meant physicaly."