Critical Condition Page 8

  “I’ll be another twenty minutes,” she said. “Why don’t I meet you in the cafeteria?”

  “Right.” He forced his feet to move, but sideswiped by a sudden wave of guilt, it took a few seconds longer to get his thoughts back in gear. Apparently he wasn’t any more ready to move on than he had been a year ago.

  With too little time to start in on the next computer and his fellow consultant nowhere in sight, Zach decided to pay the beleaguered young couple he’d met a few days ago another visit. When he’d stopped by yesterday, Melanie had been much more optimistic about her prognosis, and surprisingly reticent about discussing the alternative-treatment options she’d been exploring. He hoped that meant she didn’t intend to push Jeff away.

  As Zach approached Melanie’s room, the sound of heated voices drifted through the partially closed door.

  “Her temp is a hundred and five, doctor. We need to give her something.”

  “No,” Melanie protested weakly.

  Zach edged closer and could see Alice Bradshaw wiping the girl’s perspiring face with a wet cloth.

  McCrae reached for Melanie’s wrist and checked her pulse. “If the temp continues to climb, or doesn’t come down within half an hour, page me.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Nurse Bradshaw grumbled.

  As McCrae exited, Zach turned away from the door and feigned interest in a poster on the wall. He wavered outside the room. In Melanie’s present condition, she wouldn’t want a visitor.

  Her fiancé stepped off the elevator with a lilt in his step.

  Zach’s heart went out to him. He knew all too well the roller-coaster emotions of watching a loved one battle cancer. “Hey, you’re looking cheerier these days. Melanie agree to the wedding?”

  A grin split Jeff’s face. “Yup.”

  “That’s great news.” Zach gave him a congratulatory handshake. “Still planning to head to Mexico?”

  “No. We agreed staying here is better.”

  “Have you decided on a particular clinic?”

  From inside the room, Melanie moaned.

  “Uh...” Jeff threw a worried glance past Zach. “Excuse me. I need to go to her.”

  Nurse Bradshaw brushed past Zach, muttering something about pigheaded patients and spineless doctors.

  His curiosity piqued, Zach caught up with her. “Is it common to let a fever rage without giving a patient something to combat it?”

  She scowled. “Not in my thirty years of practice.”

  “Yeah, didn’t a patient die a couple of weeks ago from seizures brought on by a high fever?”

  Bradshaw stopped walking and looked at him suspiciously. “Are you a relative?”

  “No, just curious.”

  “Well, we’re not allowed to discuss patient care. If you’ll excuse me.” She disappeared into the next patient’s room.

  Very curious.

  Zach headed to the cafeteria, reminding himself to stay focused on the case.

  Tara waved to him from the back corner. A plate of food sat on the table in front of her.

  He glanced at the long line of people waiting for a hot meal and opted for a prepackaged sandwich and juice. Forgoing a tray, he jumped the queue, paid for his lunch and wound through the maze of tables. Between scraping chairs, the clatter of dishes and the hum of voices, he wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard. He took the seat opposite Tara at the small, round table. “You look tired.”

  “Hmm, thanks. Just what a woman likes to hear.” She dug into her liver and onions—today’s special.

  Zach stifled a shudder. Only medical professionals could convince themselves that something so unappetizing was good for them. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay. I am tired.” She glanced at him for only an instant and then seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to her food. “Suzie spiked a fever after you left yesterday. I was up most of the night.”

  “Is she okay?” Zach barely resisted the urge to reach out to her.

  “She’s home with my mom today. But she’s already improving.”

  To keep his hands occupied, he unwrapped his sandwich. “Did you give her something to bring down her fever?”

  “Of course. High fevers can be dangerous.”

  “Then why would a patient refuse medication?”

  Tara’s fork stopped midair. “He wouldn’t.”

  “Melanie just did. Adamantly.”

  Lowering her fork, Tara let out a sigh, and with it, the last of her energy seemed to drain from her body. “Melanie’s terminal. I guess she’s decided to stop fighting.”

  “No, I don’t think so. She’s planning to marry.”

  “Really?” Tara frowned. “Then her refusal is strange.” Her gaze strayed to a nearby table, or rather to Dr. McCrae, who was preoccupied with testing his blood sugar. “The fever might’ve made Melanie delirious,” she speculated, her attention flitting briefly back to Zach, before returning to her food.

  Her unease gnawed at his conscience. He touched her hand. “Are you mad at me?”

  She looked surprised by the question, but he didn’t miss the way she slipped her hand beneath the table. Maybe his quip about hitting on the prettiest nurse had her worried.

  “No, of course I’m not mad. Not at all. I’m just...distracted. I’ll check on Melanie as soon as I’ve finished lunch.” She took another bite of liver.

  Zach pushed aside his sandwich, strangely unsettled by her denial. Something had changed. She was even tenser now than when she’d found her ex-husband on her doorstep. “Has your ex tried to contact you again?”

  Humor sparkled in her eyes. “You mean since you called me at eleven last night to ask the same question?”

  Relieved to hear the teasing note in her voice, he quirked an unapologetic smile. “Do you mind?”

  “No, it’s nice that you care.” A faint blush colored her cheeks. “And, no, I haven’t heard from him, or seen him, but...my spare key is missing.”

  “What? From where?”

  “I kept it under a rock by my door. As I left this morning, I thought I should grab it. You know, just in case. Only, it wasn’t there.”

  “When’s the last time you saw it?”

  “That’s just it.... I can’t remember. It’s just for emergencies, and I rarely use it. I may have just forgotten to put it back. I didn’t have time to go inside and check around.”

  “That settles it. I’m changing your locks. I’ll pick up the stuff I need after work and then come straight over.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she protested. “I’m sure I can figure out how to change a dead bolt.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but it’s no trouble.”

  For a moment, she looked as though she might argue, but then simply nodded. She had too much determination for her own good. He would’ve liked nothing more than to spirit her out of town until this case was resolved, but the truth was he needed her eyes and ears here.

  “Has anyone behaved suspiciously around you this morning?”

  “I still don’t trust Whittaker,” she admitted.

  Yeah, he was beginning to agree. Zach pulled out his notepad with the list of names he’d found on Whittaker’s desk and slid the pad across the table. “Do these names mean anything to you?”

  Tara scanned the list and put her finger on the third name from the bottom. “Ellen’s the woman who died last week. The others are also cancer patients.” She bit her lip. “I’m not supposed to tell you that. Why do you want to know? Who are they?”

  Unwilling to ask her to breach her patients’ privacy further, Zach tucked the notepad back into his pocket. “I’m not sure, yet.” Unfortunately, accessing the patient records was not only illegal, it could jeopardize a possible prosecution if it came out at tria
l. Not to mention he probably couldn’t decipher them anyway.

  “Where’d you get those names?”

  “That’s not important.” Knowing they came from Whittaker’s office would only fuel her curiosity. “I just wondered if there was a common link between them. Sounds like it’s that they’re all cancer patients.” And with Ellen already dead, one of the others could be next.

  A buzz sounded from Tara’s purse. She dug out her phone and paled the instant she looked at the screen. Her gaze dodged around the room.

  Zach pried the phone from her clenched fingers. The sender’s name and number were blocked, but from Tara’s reaction the text message—Feeling better?—was no friendly inquiry.

  He could almost hear the taunting, saccharine tone.

  Whittaker entered the cafeteria and beelined to their table. “Miss Peterson, there was an urgent call for you at the nurse’s station. Something about your daughter.”

  SEVEN

  Tara jerked to her feet. Please, God, no. Not my daughter. She was halfway out of the cafeteria before Zach’s voice registered.

  He pushed his cell phone into her hand. “I dialed your home number.”

  She clutched the phone to her ear. The machine clicked on. “Mom, pick up. What’s going on? Mom, are you there?”

  Zach took back the phone. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

  Tara spotted Alice heading into the cafeteria and flagged her. “I have to leave. Family emergency.”

  “So you got the message?”

  “What message?”

  “Your sister Susan wanted you to call her.”

  Tara whipped out her phone and clicked Susan’s name. Why would her sister call about Suzie? As the phone rang unanswered, unimaginable possibilities twisted her stomach.

  On the fourth ring, Susan finally picked up.

  “Susan, what’s going on? Where’s Suzie?”

  “With me. Mom didn’t feel well and asked me to take her. I called so you wouldn’t worry.”

  “She’s with you now? She’s okay? No one...?” Tara let the question trail off, not wanting to voice her fears now that she knew her little girl was safe.

  “She’s fine.”

  Tara’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I love having my little namesake for a visit. Why don’t you enjoy a nap after work? I’ll give Suzie supper and bring her by later. I’m sure you didn’t get a wink last night from worrying about her.”

  Tara groaned. Her sister knew her far too well. Whenever Suzie got a fever, Tara feared the worst. Came from caring for the terminally ill, day in and day out, she supposed. “Thanks, I might do that.” She clicked off and turned to Zach. “False alarm.”

  “Not quite.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The text message.” He escorted her onto the elevator and then asked to borrow her phone. “I’ll see if Rick can trace the call.”

  Oh, right. She pressed the button for the fourth floor. She probably would’ve spent the rest of the day fretting about the caller’s motive and next move, except the elevator doors swished opened to the blare of a code-blue alarm.

  Dr. McCrae emerged from the stairwell and blazed past them.

  Tara grabbed a crash cart and dashed after him, only then realizing that the alarm was for Mrs. Wainwright.

  McCrae had started CPR by the time Tara wheeled in the cart.

  “The patient has a Do Not Resuscitate order,” Tara said.

  A candy striper, who must’ve pulled the alarm, stood with her back pressed to the wall. The two staff members rushing in behind Tara ground to a halt. One pulled the curtain around the patient in the neighboring bed.

  Tara turned Mrs. Wainwright’s wristband and pointed to the DNR notation.

  Grimacing, McCrae withdrew his hands and put his stethoscope to the woman’s chest. He glanced at his watch. “Time of death, one thirty-two.”

  The other staff backed out of the room as Tara noted the time. She turned off the monitors and alarm, and set about removing the tubes and wires.

  McCrae stood at the end of the bed, his fingers clenched around the rail. Whether from frustration or irritation, Tara wasn’t sure.

  Death affected each staff member differently. She usually coped by going for a grueling run. After failing to save Mrs. Parker a couple of weeks ago, Tara had found McCrae hunched over in the staff lounge with his head in his hands. “Mrs. Wainwright lived a good, long life.” Tara tucked the blanket under the woman’s chin. “She was ready to go.”

  “Do you really believe that? Because I don’t understand how people can give up fighting.”

  Tara eased the IV from beneath her patient’s papery skin. The scent of rose-milk hand lotion transported her back to her grandmother’s house and childhood tea parties with Gran. She blinked back tears. “They aren’t giving up so much as hoping for something better.”

  “So you believe in life after death?”

  She shrugged. She taught Suzie about God and heaven, but as much as she wanted to, she didn’t quite share her daughter’s childlike faith. Surely if God really cared, He would have stopped Earl from leaving Suzie fatherless. “I’d like to think that there’s a heaven.”

  He let out a heavy sigh and turned toward the door. “I suppose we all do.”

  “Oh, could you check on Melanie Rivers as you go? I’m concerned about her fever.”

  “The girl’s fine. I was just in to see her,” he said, in the abrasive tone residents reserved for nurses who questioned their judgment.

  “Glad to hear it.” Tara straightened her shoulders. “Because after what happened to Mrs. Parker, we can’t be too careful.”

  “The two cases are nothing alike. And as I recall, you didn’t think the fever killed that poor woman.”

  Remembering Zach’s warning not to talk about her suspicions, Tara swallowed her response.

  “What do you suppose the person you saw in her room was doing?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

  “No theories?”

  Her gaze skittered to his hospital-issued lab coat. “No.”

  Dr. McCrae looped his stethoscope around his neck. “Probably some kid trying to pinch a few pills for a cheap thrill. The hospital I interned at had a couple of guys who would pose as visitors and go room to room looking for meds the patients hadn’t taken. I mentioned it to our security, so they’d keep a closer watch on the cameras.”

  “Yes, that would explain it.” Very well. If Mr. Parker had caught a thief in the act, the kid would’ve naturally panicked and knocked him down to try and get away. Except a panicked kid wouldn’t come back and poison her lunch or send her creepy text messages. Although...he might shoot at her from a passing car. She stifled a sudden shiver. No, Zach had said the car shooting wasn’t related.

  Tara finished tending to Mrs. Wainwright, then ushered in the grieving family.

  With a heavy heart, she returned to the nurse’s station, where she pulled out the trays of afternoon meds she’d prepared. She consulted the med list and removed Mrs. Wainwright’s cup from the tray. But when she opened the cabinet to return the pills, the oxycodone bottle was missing. She rearranged the rows. The bottle had to be there.

  But it wasn’t.

  “I heard your patient died,” Zach said from behind her.

  She jerked around, flustered that she hadn’t heard his approach. He could’ve been anyone.

  He steadied her arm. “You okay?”

  She ignored the way her heart fluttered at his gentle question and even gentler touch, and took a step back. “Yes, thank you.” Thank goodness Kim had warned her that his effect on women was utterly unintentional.

  To be honest, she’d been rel
ieved to hear it, and yet sadly disappointed.

  “Is there anything I should know?” he asked.

  Tara blinked, taking a second to realize he was asking if she suspected foul play in Mrs. Wainwright’s death. “No, the patient was in her nineties, wanted to go.”

  “McCrae seemed unusually uptight for that to be the case.”

  “DNRs get to him. He can’t comprehend how people can give up on living.”

  Zach’s head tilted and he searched her eyes. “Do you see them as giving up? That there’s nothing for us after death?”

  “Patients get tired of fighting.” She fiddled with the cup of pills. “I can understand that. Most hope something better is waiting for them.”

  “You sound skeptical—about the something better, I mean.”

  “I suppose I am. A little.”

  The admission made Zach’s eyes dim, and suddenly she wasn’t as troubled by the missing pain meds as much as the notion that she’d disappointed him somehow.

  * * *

  “Mr. Reynolds?”

  Zach glanced at the outpatient clinic’s receptionist, unsure how long she’d been trying to get his attention. He’d been too preoccupied rehashing his conversation with Tara for the use of his alias to register.

  He closed the printer door. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  The printer whirred into action.

  His thoughts returned to Tara. From the Bible picture books he’d noticed in her house, and the fact that she prayed with Suzie before bed, he’d assumed she was a believer. His wife’s hope in an eternity with her Savior had, at times, been the only thing that held him together after her death. He’d drawn closer to God, and naturally assumed that Tara would have done the same after her husband’s abandonment.

  To make matters worse, she stirred feelings in him that he’d thought he would never experience again, feelings he wouldn’t be free to act on if she didn’t share his faith.

  Right. She was his informant. Or at least, that’s how the prosecutor would see her. For that reason alone, he should keep his feelings to himself.

  What was he saying?