Читать книгу Lethal Lies - Lara Lacombe - Страница 11

Chapter 2

Jillian kept her eyes on the man lying on the bed as she shrugged off her black coat. She’d entertained a brief but vivid fantasy of kicking her kidnapper in the face and bolting from the room, but logic told her she wouldn’t get far. Besides, she couldn’t leave this man alone to die. It wasn’t in her nature to ignore a person in pain, not if she could do something to help.

She dropped the coat in the chair and scooped the bag of medical supplies off the chipped table. Fishing out a pair of gloves, she pulled them on as she walked over to her patient.

He was young, impossibly so. No older than twenty, she guessed. Another kid caught in the crossfire. Moving carefully, she unzipped his hoodie and peeled it away from his chest. Now that she had light, the blood from his wound was obvious. It had soaked into the fabric, making it cling to his skinny frame.

She felt rather than saw her kidnapper enter the room. He didn’t make a sound, but she sensed a change in the air, a charge that told her he was there. She could feel his gaze on her as she bent over his friend, heavy as a touch. It made her uncomfortable to be the focus of his attention, so she decided to distract him.

“Scissors?”

“What?”

“Do you have scissors?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then give me your knife.”

She felt him hesitate and turned to face him. “I need to cut his clothes away so I can access his injury.”

He stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Jillian rolled her eyes, but let him approach. Like she was going to stab him and make a run for it. She wouldn’t get far, not in this weather. And while she didn’t know precisely where they were, she did know they were in the kind of neighborhood where people minded their own business. It was unlikely anyone would offer her assistance, even if she did escape. No, she was stuck here, at least for the next little while.

The man loomed over his friend, blade in hand. He held the knife above his friend’s abdomen for the space of a few heartbeats, and Jillian could have sworn she saw a flash of anger cross his face. But then it was gone and he quickly sliced through the young man’s shirt, taking care not to cut him in the process. He peeled back the ruined cloth, making additional cuts to remove it completely.

He’s so gentle. Shocked at the errant thought, Jillian shook her head. No, he wasn’t gentle. Not at all. He’d attacked her in the parking lot, gripping her arm so tightly she could feel the bruises his fingers had left behind. He’d shoved her into a car, then yanked her out and pushed her into this godforsaken room. Those were not the actions of a gentle man.

But...he hadn’t slapped or hit her when she’d fought him, just used enough force to restrain her. He had kept her from bumping her head as he’d put her in the car. And his touch in the bathroom had been very light, his hand cupping her bound wrists with a softness that surprised her. Now he’d removed the shirt from his injured friend, trying not to jostle the man too much in the process. He didn’t seem like a violent man, but she couldn’t reconcile his behavior with the fact that he had forcibly kidnapped her.

“What’s your name?”

He glanced back at her, his brows lifted in surprise. She could have bitten her tongue off for asking the question—if she knew his name, she’d start seeing him as a person, not the enemy. But it was too late to take the words back, so she held his gaze as he stepped away from his friend, giving her room to stand next to the bed.

He didn’t answer right away and she turned her focus back to the young man, her brain already clicking over into doctor mode. That was what Carla called it anyway, having learned not to attempt a non-patient-related conversation with her when she was engaged. Jillian couldn’t exactly explain it, but it was an almost trance-like state in which her entire consciousness was aimed at the person under her hands.

With his clothing gone, she could see the small bullet hole in Tony’s chest. It was on the right side, more lateral than central, which was likely why he was still alive. It had missed his heart and while it looked a little too high to have affected his liver, she couldn’t be sure. “Help me roll him.”

“You want him on his stomach?”

“No. I want him on his side so I can check for an exit wound and determine the trajectory of the bullet.”

She placed the kidnapper’s hands on the young man’s body, one on his shoulder and the other on his hip. When he was in position, she walked to the other side of the bed, pulling out her penlight as she moved. The lamp on the bedside table didn’t provide as much light as she would like, but it was better than nothing. The man waited for her nod, then pulled in a fluid motion, rolling her patient to his side and triggering a groan from the young man.

Jillian ran the light along his back, noting the hole the bullet left behind when it had exited his body. It was fairly small, indicating he hadn’t been shot by hollowpoint ammunition. It was also almost directly in line with the entrance wound, which meant the bullet hadn’t taken any detours on its way out. Both were good indicators, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

She gave another nod and he lowered Tony to his back. She pulled out her stethoscope and placed it on the man’s chest, listening intently. Breath sounds on the left, none on the right. Given the young man’s labored gasps for breath, she’d suspected a pneumothorax, and this confirmed it.

“I need occlusive dressing. Two of them.” He had air in his chest cavity, which prevented his right lung from expanding normally. The first order of business was to seal the bullet holes to keep more air from getting in. Then she could work on restoring his breathing.

She held out her hand, but the expected supplies didn’t materialize. Annoyed, she glanced up to see her kidnapper digging through the bag of supplies.

“Give me that,” she said impatiently, snatching it from his hands and dumping the contents on the bed next to her patient. Gauze, Band-Aid bandages, tape...no occlusive dressing.

“Do you have any plastic bags?”

The man shook his head. Of course not. Fabulous.

“Okay,” she said, thinking out loud. What else could she use to seal off the wounds? “I need you to cut off two squares from the shower curtain liner. Make them about this big—” She held out her hands to demonstrate. “Can you do that?” It was a long shot, but it just might work.

As he left to procure the requested material, Jillian collected the jar of Vaseline, several gauze squares and the roll of white tape. She spread a liberal coat of the petroleum jelly on the gauze, saturating it completely before moving on to the next stack of white squares. By the time she was done, the man had returned from the bathroom with her liner.

“Lay them on the bed. I need you to roll him again.”

Her patient moaned as he was repositioned. The kidnapper grimaced in response, and she realized with a shock that he was upset by the sounds. She was so used to people moaning, crying or screaming that she’d become desensitized, no longer bothered by the sound of a person in pain. In fact, she much preferred it if they made noise—it told her they were still alive and breathing.

“If he’s crying, he’s still here,” she told her kidnapper, uncertain why she offered him such reassurance. Maybe because his unguarded reaction to his friend’s pain made him seem more human, not the dark monster she had painted him as after he’d thrown her in the car.

Moving quickly, she placed the soaked gauze over the hole in the young man’s back, applied the square of shower curtain liner and taped down three edges. She leaned back, gesturing, and her patient was returned to the bed, giving her access to the chest wound. She repeated the process for his front, studying the dressing with a critical eye. It wasn’t ideal by any stretch, but it would have to do. Now to restore his breathing.

A large-bore IV was the safest way to decompress a patient, but she didn’t recall seeing those supplies in the bag. Still, best to double check. She scanned the paraphernalia on the bed, clenching her jaw in frustration as she realized she was going to have to employ a more dangerous, and painful, method of treatment. She hesitated, but there was no help for it.

“Give me the chest tube kit.” She held out her hand, gratified when the man passed her the bundle right away. “We’ll make a nurse out of you yet,” she murmured, laying the kit on the bed and ripping open the package. It was slightly different than what she was used to—the diameter of the tube was much smaller, for one thing—but she was pleased to see a valve on the end of the tube. Since she didn’t have access to a drainage system, the ability to seal the tube was critical. She put on fresh gloves and picked up the scalpel.

“Hold his right arm above his head.”

The man moved forward, grabbing Tony’s arm and raising it as instructed. “Keep hold of him,” she said, meeting his eyes for a brief second so he would know she was serious. “Don’t let go.”

Jillian bent to make the first cut. “Wait,” the man said. She looked up at him to find his eyes wide and his face pale. “Aren’t you going to give him something first? Something for the pain?”

She gritted her teeth, unused to having her actions questioned in an emergency. “I can’t,” she explained with a patience she didn’t feel. “He’s lost too much blood and I can’t risk sedating him when I don’t have control of his airway. You didn’t steal me any local anesthetic, so I have nothing to give him to numb the area. Now, hold him down.”

Tony’s eyes flared open and he grunted as she sliced quickly and cleanly through the skin, making a small cut to insert the tube. She stuck her finger inside, probing through the deeper tissue until she felt the bone of his rib. Keeping her finger in place to hold the incision open, she picked up the plastic tube and positioned the tapered end.

“Now it’s really going to hurt,” she warned, and thrust the tube through the opening she’d created. Tony let out a guttural scream and writhed on the bed, trying to wriggle away from the pain. “Hold him.” She bit the words out, working fast to push past the resistance of muscle and connective tissue until the tube broke into the free space of his chest cavity with a pop she felt in her fingertips.

There was a soft hiss as the air in his chest began to escape through the tube, a sound that always made her think of opening a soda bottle.

Jillian held her breath, looking for a flash of red. If the bullet had nicked an artery and his chest cavity was filled with blood, it was unlikely the man would live. She couldn’t treat an internal hemorrhage in a motel room.

Fortunately for him, the tube stayed clear. She kept one eye on the dressing that covered his bullet hole, gratified to see the gauze suck into the wound as Tony’s chest cavity decompressed. The shower curtain liner seemed to hold, as well, creating a seal to prevent air from re-entering his body. As the gas left his chest he began to cough, gasping in great lungfuls of air between the racking spasms that shook his thin frame. Jillian bared her teeth in a fierce grin, the familiar rush of satisfaction washing over her as she rode the high that came from saving someone’s life.

When the hissing sound stopped, Jillian twisted the stopcock on the end of the tube to seal it off and picked up her stethoscope. Normal breath sounds on the left and the sweet sound of slightly labored, but functional, breathing from the right. His heart sounded good, too, the frantic cadence settling into a steady rhythmic pulse as his breathing evened out. Excellent.

She leaned back, looping the stethoscope around her neck. “We’ll leave the tube in place for a few hours, make sure the dressings don’t leak. If he still looks good, we can take it out.” She taped the tube in place to keep it from moving too much, then picked up the gauze and petroleum jelly. Time to make another dressing. It wouldn’t do to have air re-enter his chest through the hole she’d just created.

“I need another square of the shower curtain.”

The man didn’t move right away and she looked up, wondering if he’d heard her request. He was staring down at his friend, his expression a mixture of anger and hope, almost as if he couldn’t bear to believe the young man was going to make it. While Tony was stable for now, he wasn’t out of the woods yet, and Jillian knew there were many things that could still go wrong. It would be so much better to get him to a hospital where his condition could be properly monitored, but since that wasn’t going to happen, she’d just have to make do as best she could.

“Hey,” she said again, waving her hand to get her kidnapper’s attention. “It’s not time for a break yet. I need another square of curtain liner.”

He blinked at her, as if he was coming out of a trance. With a short nod, he rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jillian pressed the saturated gauze over the incision she’d made and allowed herself a brief moment of rest. Treating patients always brought an adrenaline rush, and tonight was no different. If anything, she was even more on edge, given her current circumstances. Still, she had done her job, and done it well. She had saved this kid’s life, and if he cooperated, nothing else would go wrong. Maybe the kidnapper would even let her go—after all, she’d done what he’d asked her to do. Surely there was no need to keep her now?

That thought made her shudder as she circled back to the realization she’d had in the car. While she didn’t know his name, she had seen his face. He wasn’t just going to let her walk out of here—no way.

That didn’t mean she had to make things easy for him. She heard him stir in the bathroom and knew she didn’t have much time. Glancing quickly over the supplies on the bed, she grabbed a syringe and a vial of sedative and shoved them both in her pocket. When she was finished with Tony, she’d ask to use the bathroom and draw up a dose of the drug while she had privacy. It was a risky defense, since she’d have to get close to the man to administer the drug, but it was the only option she had.

She wasn’t going down without a fight.

* * *

God, he was actually going to make it.

Alex sagged against the wall of the bathroom and shook his head at the realization, relieved beyond words. Tony was going to survive, which meant he was one step closer to discovering the identity of the mole who had betrayed him. It had seemed like such a long shot that he had hardly dared hope Tony could be saved. His death certainly would have been the low point of a truly crappy day, but now there was a chance he could make things right.

And all thanks to her.

She’d been amazing, he reflected as he bent to his task. So totally focused and intense, as though she could heal Tony through the sheer force of her will. It had certainly made him sit up and take notice, and he could only imagine what her patients thought when she brought that energy to them. He couldn’t have asked for a better doctor, and felt a fresh wave of guilt at the knowledge he had forever changed her life.

He wanted to let her go, wanted to return her to the nice, safe life she’d led before. But now that he’d pulled her into this mess, he couldn’t leave her until he knew she’d be safe. With the 3 Star Killers after him and the FBI thinking he was a traitor, he had to clear his name and make sure she had protection before walking out of her life. Hopefully she’d forgive him for what he’d done, once she knew why he’d done it. He paused, wondering why with everything else going on, the thought of her anger upset him. Not like he didn’t have enough to worry about right now.

He cut the plastic square free and stood, folding his knife and putting it back in his pocket as he returned to the bedroom. She was still sitting on the side of the bed, her hand pressing a square of gauze to the place where the tube entered Tony’s body. A small part of him felt a perverse satisfaction at the memory of Tony’s reaction as she’d inserted the tube—he deserved all the pain he could get.

The doctor glanced up as he neared, but quickly looked away when she took the square from him. Interesting. She’d never had trouble meeting his eyes before. He watched as she taped it into place with brisk, efficient movements. Then she sat with her hands in her lap, as if at a loss for what to do next.

He could relate. When he geared up for an operation, adrenaline was a palpable rush in his limbs, coursing through his veins in a powerful rhythm. During the operation was no different, his body seeming to move of its own accord, his actions perfectly choreographed thanks to endless hours of training. But afterward, when the danger was gone and there was nothing left to do, it was hard to come back down to earth. He imagined emergency medicine, with its life-or-death stakes, was much the same way.

Without stopping to question his motives, he decided to distract her. “Alex,” he said softly in answer to her earlier question.

She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes.

“Before, you asked me my name. It’s Alex.”

“Oh,” she said, her gaze sliding away from him again. She removed her gloves with fumbling fingers and tossed them into the trash can by the desk. He gave her a moment to respond, but she didn’t say anything.

“When someone offers their name, it’s customary for you to offer yours in exchange.”

She glared at him then, a flash of temper darkening her brown eyes in the dim light of the room. He fought to keep a smile off his face, knowing it would only anger her further. “It’s the polite thing to do,” he pointed out reasonably.

“Polite?” she huffed. “You manhandled me in the hospital parking lot, shoved me into a car, threatened me and forced me to treat your friend with stolen veterinary medical supplies, and now you want to lecture me about manners?” She shook her head, her ponytail dancing with the movement. “As if this night couldn’t get any stranger,” she muttered.

“I did do those things, yes,” he said. “But there’s no reason we have to be rude to each other now.”

“Is this some kind of Hannibal Lecter thing?” She tilted her head, leaning away as she studied him. “Because I’m really not in the mood for games.”

He frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, the bad guy from Silence of the Lambs.”

“Never seen it.”

“Well, he always insisted on being uber-polite to his victims before he killed them. You should know that’s not going to work on me.”

He’d tried to keep her from bumping her head as he’d put her into the car, but maybe the stress of being abducted had caused her to snap. “I’m really not following,” he said, sitting on the second bed and trying to appear non-threatening. At least she’d saved Tony before going insane. That was something.

She sighed, the action pulling her white coat tight across her chest. He swallowed hard, keeping his eyes glued to her face. No way was he going to let her catch him ogling her, especially when she was clearly delusional. She seemed calm right now, but if she thought he was going to assault her, there was no telling how she’d react.

“Being nice to me won’t make me trust you,” she said, speaking slowly, as though he were a small child.

“I don’t expect you to trust me,” he replied truthfully. “I just want to know your name.”

“Why?” Her expression was wary, like she thought he could use her name against her somehow.

He spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of supplication. “So I know what to call you.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip, as if that possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Maybe I don’t want to talk to you.”

He clenched his jaw, biting back the retort that sprang to mind. It was his fault she was so jumpy, and snapping at her for it would get him nowhere.

“Fair enough. But we’re going to be stuck together for the foreseeable future, so I thought it might be nice if we were on speaking terms. Unless you think you can ignore me for the next few days?” He raised a brow in challenge.

“Days?”

The color drained from her face and for a second he thought she was going to faint. Alarmed, he half rose from the bed, but she held up her hand to keep him in place.

“No, it’s fine. Stay there. I just... I need to go to the bathroom.” She bolted up and dashed off before he could do so much as nod.

Poor thing. He’d worked with guys who threw up before an op, the stress and nervous energy settling in their stomach where it couldn’t do any good. He’d never had that problem himself, but he knew she’d be fine once she got it out of her system.

Wanting to give her a bit of privacy, he stood and stepped closer to Tony’s bed. The medical supplies were still strewed across the other half of the mattress, a jumbled mess of syringes, gauze and glass bottles. He could tidy this up, at least, so she wouldn’t think he’d been sitting here listening to her the whole time.

He tossed the wrappers from the supplies they’d used and then set about collecting the items and putting them back in the paper bag. He moved methodically, gathering all the supplies of one type at a time in an effort to keep the bag somewhat organized, to make it easier to find what was needed in case there was another emergency. He hoped they were done for the night, but he couldn’t be sure.

His hand paused as he began collecting the vials of medication. There were only two bottles on the bed. He closed his eyes, thinking back to his frantic search through the cabinets of the vet clinic. Most of the medication had been locked away, but he distinctly remembered finding three bottles that had been left out. He’d grabbed them along with fistfuls of other supplies and run, not bothering to stop to read the labels of what he’d taken.

Where was the third bottle? He felt along the bed, checking to make sure it hadn’t rolled against Tony. It wasn’t under the pillows, and a quick search of the floor didn’t turn up anything. He paused, suspicion making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Had she taken it?

He silently moved to the bathroom door, listening for any noise that would indicate what she was doing in there. It had been disturbingly quiet since she’d entered the bathroom, with no sounds of retching or water running. Almost as if she was trying to be too quiet, so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

Alex grasped the door handle, hesitating only a second. If he interrupted a private moment, he’d apologize. But he doubted she was in there trying to regain her composure.

With a twist and a tug the door opened, making her shriek. She jumped and he heard the musical tinkling of breaking glass as the third vial of medication hit the tiled floor. Just as he’d thought—she had taken it. Probably thought to drug him and make her escape. It wasn’t a bad plan, all things considered, and a small spark of admiration flared to life in his chest.

He leaned a shoulder against the door jamb, crossing his arms and legs as he studied her. She glowered at him, a half-filled syringe in one hand, her other clenched in a tight fist.

“I’m curious, Doctor,” he said conversationally, striving to keep the amusement from his tone. “What would you have done if the first dose didn’t knock me out?”