Читать книгу In Graywolf's Hands - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 7

He was going to live.

Jacob Lindstrom was going to live to see his first grandchild born. Maybe even his first great-grand-child, if the man played his cards right. All because he, Lukas Graywolf, the first in his family to graduate from college, let alone medical school, had decided to make cardiac surgery his field of expertise.

That, and because Jacob’s wife had nagged him into taking a treadmill test, whose alarming results had sent the middle-aged corporate CEO to the operating table almost faster than he could blink an eye.

With excellent results.

Walking out of the alcove where friends and family were told to wait for news about the outcome of surgeries, Lukas let the door close behind him and took a deep breath. Never mind that it was basically recycled hospital air, it felt good, sweet, life-giving. And soon, Lukas thought, a hint of a smile finding its way to his lips and softening his chiseled features, Jacob Lindstrom would be able to say the same thing.

It was a good feeling to know that he had been instrumental in freeing another human from the grasp of death. His smile deepened ever so slightly as he turned down the long corridor.

This was probably the way his forefathers had felt. Those ancestors who, more than a handful of generations ago, had relied on the knowledge of plants and spiritual power to heal the sick and injured. There had been more than one shaman found in his family tree and, if he were to believe his mother’s stories, a few gifted “seers” and “healers” across the ocean in Ireland, as well.

It was a heady legacy, indeed, he mused. Lukas was one-quarter Irish, three-quarters Navaho but right now he was four-quarters exhausted. It had been a taxing surgery, not without its complications.

Turning a corner, he entered the doctors’ lounge. Shedding his scrubs, he put on his own clothes by rote, leaving behind his white lab coat. He was off duty, had technically been off duty for the past two hours. Except that Mr. Lindstrom’s surgery hadn’t exactly gone as planned. They’d almost lost the man twice.

Lindstrom’s vital signs were good now and there was every chance for a strong, rapid recovery.

Lukas had said as much to the man’s wife and grown children, who had spent the last few hours contemplating the possible demise of a man they had heretofore regarded as indestructible. He had barely finished talking when Mrs. Lindstrom had hugged him and blessed him.

He wasn’t much for physical contact, but he knew the woman needed it so he had stood still and allowed himself to be embraced, had even patted her on the shoulder. He’d left the woman with tears of joy in her eyes, counting the minutes until she could see her husband again.

Lukas’s mouth curved a little more as he shut his locker door. This was why he’d become a surgeon in the first place, why he had set his sights on heart surgery. The heart was the center of everything within a human being.

His goal was simple: to heal and preserve as many lives as he could. He figured the reason he’d been put on earth was to make a difference and he intended to do just that.

The rush that came over him was incredible and he paused beside the locker for a moment to savor it. He was one of the lucky ones, he knew. He could still feel the overwhelming elation after each surgery that went well. There were many in the medical community who had burned out, who performed surgery by the numbers and felt none of the gratification that he was feeling now.

They didn’t know what they were missing, Lukas thought, pity wafting through him. He picked up his windbreaker, feeling as if he could pretty near walk on water. Or at the very least, on some very deep puddles.

As he started to open the door to leave, it swung open. Allan Pierce, a first-year intern, stumbled in on the long end of a thirty-six-hour shift. His eyes brightened slightly, the way a private’s did in the presence of a four-star general.

“You on duty tonight, Dr. Graywolf?”

“Off,” Lukas told him crisply.

He could already visualize his bed, visualize his body sprawled out on top of it, the comforter lying in a crumpled heap on one or the other side of his body. Though it was only a year in his past, he’d gotten completely out of the habit of the long hours that interning and residency demanded. It wasn’t something he cared to revisit on a regular basis.

“Wish I were,” Allan mumbled. His shaggy blond hair drooped into his eyes, making him seem years younger than he was.

“You will be,” Lukas promised, feeling uncustomarily lighthearted. As a rule, he was distant with the interns. “In about five years. ’Night.”

So saying, Lukas walked out of the lounge and directly into the path of turmoil.

The rear doors of the emergency room sprang open as two ambulance attendants rushed in. A gust of leaves, chasing one another in the late autumn wind, swirled around the wheels of the gurney. The wounded man strapped to its board was screaming obscenities at anyone within earshot, but most were directed at the slender, no-nonsense blonde keeping pace with the attendants.

For just a second, as the wind lifted the edge of her jacket, Lukas thought he saw the hilt of a revolver. But then her jacket fell closed again and he found himself wondering if he’d just imagined the weapon.

Another man, older than the woman by at least a decade and wearing a three-piece suit, followed slightly behind her.

The 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. Right now, she wasn’t all that concerned about tapping into miracles to prolong the life of a man she considered pure scum.

“Just means the taxpayers are going to have to spend more money,” she said without looking at the doctor at her side.

“Come again?”

Standing at the window, she watched as people ran back and forth, getting what looked to be units of blood, doing things she wasn’t even vaguely familiar with. “If your friend saves his life, there’s going to be a lengthy trial.”

Harrison glanced at the man who had come in with the blonde before looking back at her. “Everybody deserves his day in court.”

She had thought that once, too. Before the job had gotten to her. Before she’d seen what she had today. She turned from the window to glare at the doctor spouting ideologies.

Her eyes were cold. “A man who would blow up innocent people to vent his anger or to carry out some kind of private war doesn’t deserve anything.”

Harrison took quiet measure of her. The woman appeared to be a handful by anyone’s standards. Probably gave her superiors grief. Not unlike Lukas on a good day, he mused.

“Odd philosophy for a law enforcement agent.”

“Oh, really?” Tired and in no mood for pretty-boy doctors who probably saw themselves as several cuts above the average man and only slightly below God, she fisted her hand at her waist. “And what makes you such an expert on law enforcement agents?”

“I’m not,” Harrison said. A seductive smile spread along his lips as he regarded her. “But give me time and I could be.”

Lydia saw her partner move closer and held up her hand to stop him in his place. “I think you’d better go now.”

Harrison raised his hands in complete surrender, taking one step back, and then another. He had places to be, anyway. With a woman who was perhaps not as exciting as this one, but who, he was willing to bet, was a whole lot more accommodating.

“Okay, but go easy on my friend.” He nodded toward the room he’d just vacated. “His head doesn’t grow back if you rip it off.”

She glared at the doctor’s back as he walked quickly away. It was easy to be flippant, to espouse mercy and understanding if you were ignorant of the circumstances. If you hadn’t just seen a teenage boy destroyed, a life that was far too short snuffed out right before your eyes.

Restless, Lydia couldn’t settle down, couldn’t keep from moving. If only she and Elliot had gotten there earlier.

But the tip they’d received had been too late. It had sent them to Conroy’s house, where they had uncovered enough powder and detonating devices to blow up half the state. It was by chance that they’d stumbled across the intended target: the Crossroads Mall exhibit honoring Native American history.

They’d rushed to the Crossroads, calling in local police, calling ahead to the mall’s security guards. To no avail. She couldn’t stop the bombing, couldn’t get the mall evacuated in time. She tried to console herself with the fact that things could have been worse. If this had happened at an earlier hour, the damage would have been far greater in terms of lives lost. And fortunately, it had happened in the middle of the week, which didn’t see as much foot traffic at the mall as a Friday or Saturday night.

The bombing, according to a note sent to the local news station and received within the past hour, had been meant as a warning.

For Lydia, even one life lost because of some crazed supremacy group’s idea of justice was one too many. And there had been a life lost. Not to mention the number of people injured and maimed. The ambulances had arrived en masse, and the victims being taken to three trauma hospitals in the area.

Knowing that only Blair Memorial had an area set aside for prisoners, so the paramedics had brought them here.

And now the doctor with the solemn face and gaunt, high cheekbones was trying to save the life of a man who had no regard for other lives.

It was a hell of a strange world she lived in.

Lydia leaned her forehead against the glass, absorbing the coolness, wishing her headache would go away.

“I can take it from here, Lyd,” Elliot was saying behind her. “You’re beat. Why don’t you go home, get some rest?”

She turned to the man who had been her partner from the first day she’d walked into the Santa Ana FBI building. At the time she’d felt she was being adopted rather than partnered. Elliot Peterson looked more like someone who should be behind a counter, selling toys, not a man who regularly went to target practice and had two guns strapped to his body for most of each day. He was ten years older than her, and acted as if he were double that. Elliot took on the role of the father she’d lost more than a dozen years ago. At times, that got in the way.

He was always trying to make her job easier.

Lydia smiled as she shook her head. She wasn’t about to go anywhere. “You’re the one with a wife and kids waiting for you. All I’ve got waiting for me is a television set.”

“And whose fault is that?” It was no secret that he and his wife had tried to play matchmaker for her, to no avail. Loose, wide shoulders lifted in a half shrug. There was no denying that he wanted to get home himself.

“Yeah, but…”

There was no need for both of them to remain here. “How long since you and Janice had some quality time together?”

Elliot pretended to consider the question. “Does the birthing room at the hospital count?”

Lydia laughed. “No.”

“Then I don’t remember.”

She looked at him knowingly. “That’s what I thought. Go home, Elliot. Kiss your wife and hug your kids and tell them all to stay out of malls for a while.”

The warning hit too close to home. His oldest daughter, Jamie, liked to hang out with her friends at the Crossroads on weekends. If this had been Saturday morning instead of Wednesday night…

He didn’t want to go there. Suddenly ten paces beyond weary, Elliot decided to take Lydia up on her offer. “You sure?”

This job could easily be turned over to someone in a lower position for now, but she wouldn’t feel right about leaving until she knew what condition the bomber was in.

She started to gesture toward the closed doors behind her. Pain shot through her arm and she carefully lowered it, hoping Elliot hadn’t noticed. He could fuss more than a mother hen once he got going.

She nodded toward the room. “As the good doctor pointed out, that guy’s not going anywhere tonight. I can handle it from here. If anything breaks, I can always page you.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Elliot patted her shoulder. “Night or day.” He glanced through the window. The medical team was still going full steam. “From the looks of it, it might be a while. Want me to get you some coffee before I go, maybe find you something clean to put on?”

She glanced down at her bloodied jacket. “My dry cleaner is not going to be happy about this. And, thanks, but I’ll find the coffee myself.” She didn’t like to be waited on. Besides, Elliot had put in just as full a day as she had. “You just go home to Janice before she starts thinking I have designs on you.”

Looking back at his life, he sometimes thought he’d been born married. Janice had been his first sweetheart in junior high. “Not a chance. Janice knows there isn’t an unfaithful bone in my body.”

That makes you one of the rare ones, Elliot, Lydia thought as she watched her partner walk down the long corridor. She vaguely wondered if there would ever be someone like that in her life, then dismissed the thought. She was married to her job, which was just the way she wanted it. No one to worry about her and no one to worry about when she put herself on the line. Clean and neat. She was too busy to be lonely.

“You’d think a state-of-the-art hospital would keep coffee machines in plain sight,” she muttered to herself, looking up and down the corridor. About to approach the receptionist at the emergency admissions desk, she heard the doors behind her swoosh open.

Turning, she saw the doctor who had earlier hustled her out of Room Twelve hurrying alongside an unconscious, gurneyed Conroy. They had transferred the suspect back onto a gurney and he was being wheeled out.

She lost no time falling in beside the doctor. “Is he stable?” she asked. “Can I question him?”

Stopping at the service elevator, Lukas pressed the up button. He’d never cared for authority, had found it daunting and confining as a teenager. The run-ins he had had with the law before his uncle had taken him under his wing and straightened him out had left a bad taste in his mouth.

“You can if you don’t want any answers.” The elevator doors opened. The orderly with him pushed the gurney inside and Lukas took his place beside it. “He needs immediate surgery, not a game of Twenty Questions.”

“What floor?” she demanded as the doors began to close.

Lukas pretended to cock his head as if he hadn’t heard her. “What?”

Irritated, she raised her voice. “What floor are you taking him to?”

The doors closed before he gave her an answer. Not that he looked as if he was going to, she thought angrily. What was his problem? Did he have an affinity for men who tried to blow up young girls and cut down young boys for sport because of some half-baked ideas about supremacy?

Her temper on the verge of a major explosion, Lydia hurried back to the emergency room admissions desk and cornered the clerk before he could get away.

“That tall, dark-haired doctor who was just here, the one who was working on my prisoner—”

“You mean Dr. Graywolf?” the older man asked.

Well, ain’t that a kick in the head? Conroy and his people had blown up the exhibit because of contempt for the people it honored and here he was, his life in the hands of one of the very people to whom he felt superior.

Graywolf. She rolled the name over in her mind. It sounded as if it suited him, she thought. He looked like a wolf, a cunning animal that could never quite be tamed. But even a cunning animal met its match.

Lydia nodded. “That’s the one. He just took my prisoner upstairs to be operated on—where was he going with him?”

“Fifth floor,” the man told her. “Dr. Graywolf’s a heart surgeon.”

A heart surgeon. Before this is over, Dr. Graywolf might need one himself if he doesn’t learn to get out of my way, Lydia vowed silently as she hurried back to the bank of elevators.