In Graywolf's Hands. Marie Ferrarella
man looked winded as he vainly attempted to catch up to the woman. Carrying a little too much weight for his age and height, Lukas judged. He wondered when the man had last had a treadmill test.
But there was little time for extraneous thoughts. The noise level and tension rose with each passing second. Nurses and attendants began to converge around the incoming gurney. From where he stood, Lukas had a clear view. He could see all the blood the man had lost. And the handcuffs that tethered him to the gurney.
One of the attendants was rattling off vital signs to the nearest nurse while the blonde interrupted with orders of her own. The screaming man on the gurney was a gunshot victim.
And then suddenly the patient fell eerily silent, pale in his stillness. He sank back against the gurney.
Lukas lost no time cutting the distance between himself and the injured man, pushing his way into the center of what looked as if it could easily become a mob scene.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blonde frown at him. Placing his fingers on the artery in the man’s neck, he found no pulse.
The blonde grabbed his arm. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Lukas saw no reason to waste time answering her. There was a life at stake.
“Crash cart,” he ordered the closest nurse to him. “Now!” The dark-haired woman quickly disappeared into the crowd.
“Is he dead?” The blonde wanted to know. When Lukas didn’t say anything, she moved so that he was forced to look at her. Her hand gripped his wrist, her intent clear. She was going to hold it still until she got her answer. The strength he felt there didn’t surprise him. “Is he dead?” she repeated.
“Not yet,” Lukas snapped, jerking his wrist away.
The nurse he’d sent for the crash cart returned, hurrying to position it next to the gurney. There was no time to get the man to a room. What had to be done was going to be done in the corridor, with everyone looking on.
“Someone get his shirt open!” Lukas ordered.
He was surprised when the blonde was the first to comply, ripping the man’s shirt down the center. He saw the blood on her hands and arm then. Lukas pushed the questions back as he held the paddles up to have the lubricant applied. Directing the amount of voltage to be used, he held the paddles ready as he announced the customary, “Clear.” At the last second he jerked back the paddles when he saw that the blonde had one hand on the victim.
What was she doing, playing games? “Clear!” Lukas shouted at her angrily. “That means get your hands away from the patient unless you want to feel the roots of your hair stand on end.”
Glaring at him, the blonde elaborately raised both her hands up and away from the man on the gurney.
The monitor continued to display a flat line as Lukas tried once and then again to bring the man around. Raising the voltage, Lukas tried a third time and was rewarded with a faint blip on the screen.
He held his breath as he watched the monitor. The blip grew stronger. Lukas began to breathe again. He replaced the paddles on the cart.
“Get him to Room Twelve,” he instructed Pierce, who had been hovering at his elbow the entire time.
“Right away.”
Lukas took another deep breath as his adrenaline began to level off. From the looks of it, his night had just gotten a whole lot longer. By the time they could get another heart specialist down to the hospital, it might be too late for the man they’d just brought in. Casting no aspersions on the doctor on duty, Lukas knew he was better at this sort of thing than Carlucci was.
As with every patient he came in contact with, he felt responsible. He blamed it in part on his grandmother’s stories about the endless circle of life, how each person touched another. Was responsible for another. Between his grandmother and the Hippocratic oath, there wasn’t much margin for indifference.
He paused only long enough to wash his hands and slip on the disposable yellow gown the nurse—who seemed to materialize from out of nowhere—was holding up for him. The surgical gloves slid on like a second skin. They very nearly were.
Entering Room Twelve, Lukas nodded at Harrison MacKenzie, surprised to see the man there. He must have been in the area when he heard about the gunshot victim. Following the light in Harrison’s eyes, Lukas became aware of the woman again. She was shadowing his every move. Or rather, the man on the gurney’s every move.
Lukas spared her a glare as the paramedics and attendings transferred the patient onto the examination table. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
The blonde didn’t budge a fraction of an inch. Even as the gurney was being removed. They went around her. “He’s here, I’m here.”
Lukas assessed the damage quickly. There was a bullet lodged dangerously close to the man’s heart. “I take it that it’s not filial loyalty that’s keeping you in my way.”
The term almost made her choke. Her eyes glinted with loathing, the kind displayed for a creature that was many levels beneath human and dangerous.
“He and his friends just tried to blow up most of the Crossways Mall,” the blonde informed him grimly. “His friends got away. I’m not letting this one out of my sight.”
“The windows aren’t made of lead.” His hands full, Lukas nodded toward the swinging doors. “You can keep him in your sight from the hallway.” The fact that she remained standing where she was threatened to unravel the temper he usually kept securely under wraps. “The man’s losing blood at a rate that could shortly kill him, he’s shackled to a bed and he’s unconscious. Take it from me, he’s not going anywhere in the next hour. Maybe two. Now I’m not going to tell you again. Get outside.”
Frustrated, Special Agent Lydia Wakefield spun on her heel. The flat of her hand slapped against the swinging door as she pushed it open and stormed out of the room. The older man who had come in with her followed silently in her shadow.
“I’d say someone needs to work on their people skills,” Harrison observed.
Lukas looked up at the man who had befriended him in medical school, the man he felt closer to than anyone, other than his uncle Henry. There was a mask covering his face, but Lukas could feel the other man’s grin. “You talking about me, or her?”
The smile reached Harrison’s blue eyes, crinkling them. “A little of both.” He looked down at the patient. “I heard the commotion all the way to the elevator. I thought I’d offer you an extra set of hands, but it doesn’t look like you’ll be needing me.”
Harrison’s field of expertise was plastic surgery. He specialized in trauma victims.
If he knew Harry, the man probably had a hot date stashed somewhere. There was no need to keep him from her. Lukas shook his head. “Not unless he intends to wear his heart on his sleeve.”
Harrison remained a few minutes longer, just in case. “Did I hear her right?” He nodded at the man on the table. “You operating on a bomber?”
“I’m operating on a man,” Lukas corrected. “Whatever else he is is between him and his god. I’m not here to play judge and jury. I just patch up bodies.”
Harrison stepped back, undoing his mask. Drooping, it hung around his neck. “Well, I see that, as usual, you’re keeping things light.” He looked at his watch. If he bent a few speeding rules, he could still make his date on time. “I’ve got cold champagne and a hot woman waiting for me, so I’ll just leave you to your jigsaw puzzle.” Shedding the yellow paper gown, he tossed it into the bin in the corner.
Walking out, Harrison stopped to talk to the blonde, who was standing inches away from the swinging door. He had a weakness for determined women.
“Don’t worry, he’s as good as they make ’em,” he assured her.
She frowned.