Deliver Me (2 page)

Elijah’s head fell forward, his chin hitting his chest.

Sleep would have to wait.

***

Monica Gardner stared at the mountain landscape hanging on the wall
behind the chief of staff’s desk so long she had made up a pretend family for
the snow-covered cabin nestled deep in the trees. She could practically smell
the aromatic pot roast the mother pulled out of the oven as she called the
family to dinner.

After she was sure she’d spotted a three-inch man skiing down the
mountain slope, Monica forced her gaze away from the painting. She rose, walked
over to the window, and watched as an engine-red streetcar made its way up the
street.

For the umpteenth time, Monica told herself this was the right decision.
New Orleans was a city in dire need. It had been brought to its knees nearly a
year ago when Mother Nature had unleashed her wrath on the Gulf Coast. Monica
remembered being obsessed with watching CNN as the news channel brought Katrina’s
devastation to the world’s attention. She’d written checks to the Red Cross and
donated to the clothes drive at her church, but it had never felt like enough.
She’d wanted to do more.

This job was the
more
she’d
been seeking. To live here and take care of the people working tirelessly to
bring their city back to its former glory was worth more than any checks she
wrote.

Besides, St. Louis had nothing left to offer her. Except the occasional
bout of depression and heartache, of course. Occasional as in three to four
times a day.

Monica took a deep, reassuring breath. She refused to fall victim to
self-pity. If she tried hard enough, she could put Patrick Dangerfield and his
lies out of her mind and out of her life. She would start an entirely
new
life, here, in New Orleans.

Monica jerked around when the door opened.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Dr. Gardner.” Dr. William Slessinger looked
as if he’d gone three rounds with the world heavyweight champ. Monica felt
honored he even bothered to interview her personally. He could easily have
foisted the hiring duties onto the Human Resources department.

Shaking his head, he continued, “I can just about guarantee something
else will come up before we’re done here. Take my advice, stick with practicing
medicine. Administrative work isn’t worth the headache.”

With an understanding smile, she said, “I plan to be on the shop floor
for a very long time. I love the ER too much to give it up.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Slessinger answered, lowering himself in the high back
leather chair behind his desk. “I’m excited at the prospect of you joining the
staff here at Methodist Memorial. This is one of the top hospitals in the
Southeast. Our head of oncology, Dr. Collins, was in the running for the Nobel
Prize in Medicine last year for her research on abdominal cancer.”

“I’ve read several of her papers in
JAMA
,”
Monica said, referring to the
Journal of
the American Medical Association
.

“You would be an exceptional addition to our staff, Dr. Gardner. You’ve
built an impressive reputation in a short amount of time.”

Though not as impressive as it could be, Monica thought. In fact, her
reputation would have been shot to hell if not for a fellow resident stepping
into a trauma and saving her behind. She wouldn’t dredge up those memories
today, either.

Monica gave him a gracious smile. “I owe a lot of that to the staff back
in St. Louis. They’ve taught me so much.”

“I’m sure they have. Carl Johnson sings your praises.”

“He’s been a wonderful mentor.”

Rising from behind the desk, Dr. Slessinger guided her out of the office.
“If it’s all right with you, I thought we’d go to lunch then on a tour of the
hospital.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Monica answered, her sprits buoyed by the choice
she’d made to move to New Orleans. She didn’t need time to think it over, she
was ready to accept the job here and now.

They walked a few feet down the hall to the bank of elevators. Dr.
Slessinger turned to her, a knowing look on his face. “I hope I’m not being
presumptuous in saying this, but welcome to Methodist Memorial, Dr. Gardner.”

Monica couldn’t help but smile.

It was nearly four in the afternoon before Eli could finally tear himself
away from the delivery wing. It had to be something in the air. Pregnant women
didn’t come sailing in one after the other like that on a normal day.

Peter Banyon, a second year resident from LSU Medical School, met him in
the brightly lit corridor.

“You left anything for me?” He hefted his backpack higher on his
shoulder.

“Just the grunt work. I’ve taken care of the important stuff,” Elijah
said as he scribbled on his last patient’s chart, smiling as Banyon socked him
on the arm with a playful punch.

“Dr. Holmes, you’ve got three messages from Dr. Slessinger.” One of the
floor nurses handed him three separate pink slips of paper.

Not Slessinger. Not today. The man could drag out a simple hello into an
hour-long account of how the word originated.

“He says it’s important,” the nurse added.

What wasn’t
?

He did not have time for this. If he wasn’t in his car in the next five
minutes, he’d be late for his niece Jasmine’s dance recital. Eli valued his
life too much to let that happen. His mother would skin him alive if he showed
up late to another family function.

Eli had no problem admitting he feared the slip of a woman who’d given
him life thirty-four years ago. Grown man or not, he’d rather go up against the
Spanish Inquisition then answer to Margo Holmes. At just under five feet, she
was like a little Napoleon Bonaparte, and not one of her three extremely larger
sons dared contradict a word she said.

“Stacey, do me a favor.” Eli slung his arm over the shoulder of the
petite nurse who’d started in OB the same year he began his residency. “Call
Slessinger in ten minutes and tell him I’ve left the hospital. Let him know
that I’m on tomorrow morning and I’ll call him as soon as possible.”

“You expect me to lie for you,” Stacey said. Eli already knew she would.
It wouldn’t be the first time.

He gave her his signature lopsided grin. “I’ll owe you one.”

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

Eli slipped into his office and quickly changed into navy slacks and a
moss green polo shirt. Ever since the day he’d once had to show up for a date
in scrubs, he kept a fresh change of clothes at the hospital.

A few minutes later, he hopped onto the crowded elevator.

Two orderlies were debating a controversial call from last night’s
pre-season Saints game. Eli had been able to catch a few quarters between
deliveries. Just as he was about to add his two cents on the bogus penalty flag
that had caused the Saints the game, the elevator came to a halt on the second
floor. The doors opened and Eli was momentarily lost as he stared at the most
heavenly creature ever created.

She was beauty personified. A sweet caramel confection with soft brown
eyes and lips like an angel. She was petite and slender, with rich brown hair
stopping at her delicately shaped shoulders.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Her voice was hushed. Sensual. A sexy melody floating through the air.

Eli backed up a step to give her room and the goddess wedged between him
and one of the orderlies.

“Sorry. Someone spilled cleaning fluid at the entrance to the stairs,”
she explained. “Otherwise, I would have taken them.”

Eli opened his mouth to reply, but the elevator dinged, indicating they’d
arrived at the ground floor. The doors opened and Pretty Eyes walked out.

She turned left. He was going right.

Big dilemma.

Should he turn right and miss out on getting her number, or turn left and
face his mother’s wrath?

He’d dealt with Hurricane Margo before. He could take whatever she dished
out. Besides, with his mother, an apology and a kiss on the cheek would put him
on the road to forgiveness.

But could he deal with disappointing Jasmine?

Just the thought of a hint of sadness on his niece’s face sealed Eli’s
faith. He turned right.

He still arrived forty minutes late due to traffic on I-10 being backed
up nearly to the Mississippi River. Eli slid into the seat next to his older
brother and whispered, “What did I miss?”

“The classical dance,” Alexander answered.

“Did she notice?”

“Yep. Be prepared to buy half the stock at Toys-R-Us to make up for it.”

The Hip-Hop song Eli had heard every time he went to his brother’s house
for the last five weeks blared out of the speakers. Ten little girls, dressed
in denim overalls with one strap hooked and the other dangling to the floor,
stood in the middle of the stage. They started the routine Jasmine had demanded
he sit through at least a dozen times. A huge grin spread across Eli’s face.

“Look at my girl go,” Alex said with pride.

“You’d just better make sure she’s behind the camera directing videos
instead of dressed in hoochie mama clothes dancing in them.”

“Man, don’t even talk that way. This is about as far as I’m letting it
go. She’s switching to piano lessons after this recital.”

“Make sure her Uncle Tobias knows that,” Eli said, speaking of their
younger brother, the ex-basketball pro turned aspiring music mogul.

The number ended and the dance school’s instructor came from behind the
curtain, a microphone in her hand.

“Yo, Alex,” Eli nudged him with his shoulder and nodded toward the
instructor. “She’s not that bad. You ever think about hooking up with her when
you bring Jazzy in for her lessons?”

“No.” His brother shifted in his seat. “Anyway, she’s married.”

“Find out if she’s got a sister who’s single.”

“Not interested.”

What else was new
?

His older brother seriously needed some play. Eli knew it had been over
two years since Alex had seen a naked woman--other than on Pay Per View. He
probably didn’t take advantage of that either.

And it’s not as if the guy was hard on the eyes. The Holmes brothers were
known for their looks. People in the old neighborhood used to say they could
open up a modeling agency and be their own clients.

Eli could not understand how Alex did it. If he went more than a couple
of months without getting some, his eyesight went blurry.

“You need to get back on the dating scene, man. The way you live isn’t
healthy.”

“Because I don’t have a different woman in my bed every night like you?”

“Because you don’t have
any
woman in your bed. And it’s not a different one every night. The one I got now
is going on three weeks.”

“Three whole weeks?” He could hear the sarcasm in Alex’s voice. “Does she
get a trophy?”

“Nah, that’s not until the one month mark.”

“Would the two of you be quiet,” Margo Holmes hissed from where she sat
on the other side of Alex. “It’s bad enough you walked in an hour late.” She
shot the evil eye Eli’s way. “You don’t need another mark against you.”

Eli cursed under his breath. He could see Alex’s shoulders shaking as his
brother tried to stifle his laughter.

“You didn’t think she’d let you get by with coming here late, did you?”
Alex whispered.

Their mother leaned slightly forward and looked at them again. Eli
decided to hold his comment.

After the recital ended, Jasmine came rushing from behind the stage, her
Shirley Temple curls bouncing around her face. She plowed into him, wrapping
her skinny arms around Eli’s leg.

“What’s up, Water Lily,” Elijah said, ruffling her curls.

She stepped back. “My name is Jasmine,” his niece informed him, a sassy
hand on her hip. It was a game they’d played since the minute she learned to
talk. Eli called her every type of flower except the one for which she’d been
named.

“Did you seen me dancing?” Jasmine asked.

“See. Did I
see
you dancing?”
He’d warned Alex about letting this girl watch so much television. “And, yes, I
did. You were the best dancer up there.”

“I telled you I was good.”

He didn’t worry about correcting her grammar again. There weren’t enough
hours in the day.

“I know you have a good excuse for being late, Elijah Marcus.”

Eli turned to find his mother standing next to Alex. His brother dwarfed
her, yet it was painfully obvious who held the power.

Eli shrugged. “I sent a memo that no babies were to be born today, but
apparently, three expectant mothers forgot to read it.”

She pointed to her cheek, and Eli obediently obliged, placing a gentle
peck on the smooth skin. “You’re lucky you have a career where I’m forced to
accept your excuses.”