Disaster Status (17 page)

He clenched his teeth. Mustard gas, sarin, Ebola virus, anthrax. The fear was that the enemy had it all. In the Persian Gulf . . .
and here now?
If you watched the news these days, you knew what else they had: ricin, botulism, nuclear. He glanced around the trash bin. Radioactive materials were supposed to be disposed of separately, but you couldn’t trust anybody. Not when they were strapping explosives to women, hijacking ambulances and fire trucks to carry terrorists, using innocent little children . . .
Ah, no. No.

Perspiration beaded on his forehead as the sounds, smells, and images returned with an ugly vengeance—high-pitched squeal of missiles, oily smoke, pillar after pillar of orange fire rising in the blackness . . . Then the discovery in pale morning light . . . bodies of civilians, nomads who’d pitched their tents in the dark in the strike zone. The coppery stench of congealing blood, staining the sand . . . so much of it, all mixed together: from camels, men, women . . . children. Those tiny faces, pale hands, those dark, unseeing eyes.
“Father God, not the children . . .”

Sarge’s stomach lurched and he retched, leaning against the brick wall until the nausea finally subsided, the heaves mercifully dry because he’d eaten little more than beef jerky. He tried to remember Cody’s whisper in the darkness of his hospital room.
“You still there, Rich? . . . I’m glad.”

He folded his hands to his chest for a moment, holding his breath. When was the last time anyone had been glad to see him? needed him for anything more than mopping up a mess, lifting something heavy, or emptying the trash? When had anyone cared enough to ask him something like . . .

His chest constricted as he remembered the boy’s words
. “Do you pray, Rich?”

Sarge opened his eyes at the sound of distant sirens and fumbled in the pocket of his scrubs for his cigarettes. He was running low. Better run by the gas station. Get some jerky too. That old woman in Little Mercies was looking at him like he was nuts for buying so many.
Ever heard of C rations?
It didn’t matter. But he couldn’t risk the mission by having her get suspicious.

He flicked his Zippo, touched the flame to the end of his smoke, and inhaled deeply. Then pinched the cigarette between his lips and reached for another sack. Red plastic. Pathology lab, he could tell from the faint, sickly sweet smell of formaldehyde. Specimens, tissue.
Body parts?
He yanked the cigarette from his mouth and cursed as the new, toxic anger swirled.

No one was taking Cody’s leg. No one was hurting that kid. He’d do whatever it took to keep him safe. And he’d take out anyone who stood in his way.

+++

“Well . . .” Scott shook his head as Jonah’s yodel receded down the ER corridor. He glanced back at Erin. “Can’t say you haven’t been warned about the McKenna clan.”

“No, I can’t.” She blinked at him, studying his face long enough to make his pulse quicken. “And I like what I’ve seen—” she glanced down—“I mean, your parents are great. I’m glad things look so encouraging for your stepdad.”

“Yes.” Scott glanced toward the doors to the ER, the mix of dread and relief swirling again. “You made all the difference, Erin.”

“I didn’t do that much. Fortunately he was fairly stable and the ER wasn’t a madhouse, so I was able to whisk him right in. Once we got his blood pressure to settle down, it was simply a matter of—”

“Hey. Hold it.” Scott grasped her shoulder. “I’m saying you were good to my parents. Explained things, took time. Cared how they felt. It meant a lot to them after all they’ve been through.” He took a breath and released it slowly. “It means a lot to me too. Thank you.”

“Well, good, then; I’m glad.” She raised her arm to look at her watch, and he realized his hand was still on her shoulder. He lifted it away reluctantly. He hadn’t seen her in three days and hadn’t known until just this moment how much he’d missed her.

“What’s next?” he asked, suddenly unsure whether he was asking about medical treatment . . . or about where things stood between them.

“Gary’s almost ready for discharge; he’ll go home and rest. Tomorrow morning he comes back for the thallium treadmill and more labs. With orders to return here if anything changes in the meanwhile, of course.”

“How likely is that?”

“Not very. You heard the doctor say that his symptoms are probably gastric and point more to the effects of stress.”

He nodded, his stomach churning at how tough things had been for his parents this past year. For his grandfather, too, and especially for Cody.

“And I’m afraid,” Erin continued, “the doctor nixed the idea of your stepdad taking that outing with Cody this afternoon. He was really disappointed.”

“They were going to watch the fishing boats come in,” Scott said with groan. “Ah, man, I forgot. Cody hasn’t been farther than the hospital’s sunroom in nearly two weeks.”

“Your grandfather was going back up to his room; maybe he’s going to take him.”

“Can’t. Doesn’t drive much anymore. Takes the bus most places. And he’d have trouble with a wheelchair.” He scrubbed his hand across his mouth, remembering Cody’s pallor and pinched expression, the feel of that frail hug last night, his plaintive voice when they’d talked about church.
“You don’t come with us anymore.”

“Then you’ll take him. It’s the only solution.”

“I’m working,” Scott blurted, his mind already ticking off the list of things he had to accomplish at the station.
That follow-up phone call to Portland . . .
“Today’s not a good day. The chief is counting on me to . . .” His words trailed off as he caught her expression. So much like that night she’d talked about her father.

“You can’t take some personal time? explain things to your chief so he understands that your family needs you?”

“Right. Okay . . . I’ll make sure my parents are settled at home, check a couple of things at the station, and—” He stopped, noticing that she’d begun to smile.

“I love it,” she whispered. “I love that you’ll do this for him.”

“Then come meet him,” he said in a rush, needing to share the sweetest part of his family with . . .
the most caring woman I’ve ever met
. “After Gary’s discharged, come upstairs. Okay?”

“I . . .” Her fingers moved against his, and he was surprised to realize that somehow he’d taken hold of her hand. “Sure,” she said, her smile widening. “I guess I can handle one more branch of the McKenna family today.”

+++

When Erin arrived at the peds room thirty minutes later, she found Scott and Cody poring over a magazine, blond heads together. Both with Lynda Wells’s expressive eyes. She pushed aside the doubts that kept trying to creep in. Would he have chosen to disappoint this boy if she hadn’t pressed him?
Could he really do something like that?

“Good. You made it.” Scott rested his hand on his nephew’s shoulder, his expression clearly proud. “Erin, this is Cody. Cody, Erin. She’s a nurse . . . and a boxer.”

Erin laughed. “Your uncle exaggerates. But I hear you’re a fisherman.”

“Yes,” Cody said enthusiastically, despite the wheelchair and bandages. Her heart squeezed, knowing he’d suffered far more than physical wounds. “When I’m better, Uncle Scotty and I are going out on a charter boat. Maybe we’ll pull in some of the big ones, like the pictures in my magazine.” He tipped his head as if he were studying Erin’s face. “Hey, you look kind of like her—my library lady.”

“Librarian? I don’t think so, buddy. Erin’s more the adventurous type—roller coasters and . . .” Scott’s voice faded as his eyes met hers.

Erin was glad Cody broke the silence. “Do you fish, too?” he asked.

“Sure. My grandfather used to take me.” She wrinkled her nose. “Lingcod—those guys have teeth.”

“Cool.” Cody glanced at his uncle. “We’re going out to the wharf today. I can’t fish this time, but I get to watch the boats.”

“Right,” Scott answered, still watching her face, “and maybe Erin could come along.”

Her eyes widened.

“Oh yes!” Cody’s grin spread. “Could you?”

“Well . . . I’d have to get someone to cover for me. But Judy’s been wanting some extra hours, so maybe . . .”

“See if she’ll do it,” Scott said, “and we’ll all go watch the boats.”

+++

Iris stepped around a bobbing cluster of balloons, smiling at her granddaughter. “What ‘little mercy’ brings you in? PowerBars, trail mix?”

“No.” Erin smiled back. “I wanted to tell you I’m leaving early.”

“Oh?” Iris asked, knowing the telltale flush springing to Erin’s cheeks had nothing to do with sudden illness.

“I’m going to the wharf with Scott and his nephew. He’s being released for a few hours, and I thought . . . we thought it seemed like the right thing to do. For the boy.”

“Of course.” Iris nodded, remembering the child’s mournful tears.
Good plan, Lord.
“I have my car, so don’t worry about me.”

Erin tugged at the string on a balloon and watched it bob for a moment, the look in her eyes almost wary—like a child afraid it would sail away. She sighed. “He wants to take me out for dinner after we bring Cody back to the hospital. Would that be okay?”

“You’re asking permission?”

Erin’s flush deepened. “No. I was thinking about your evening.”

“Pooh. It gives Elmer and me an excuse to order Chinese. He loves bean sprouts.”

“You’re sure, then? I won’t be out late.”

“Perfectly sure,” Iris assured, then wrapped her granddaughter in a tight hug. “Don’t give me another thought. I’m fine. Now scoot. I’ve got work to do.”

She watched Erin head toward the ER, then stepped into the back room to grab her sweater. When she returned to the counter, she was surprised to see a customer standing there. The big man with the ponytail, that employee she’d seen the day she’d bought a gift for Erin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. You’re Sarge, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered politely. He set a spiral notebook on the counter. “I’d like to buy another one of these, please.”

Chapter Twenty

Erin hadn’t been kidding about fishing—she knew her stuff—and Scott wasn’t sure who was more impressed, he or Cody. She knew her way around little boys too. His nephew had a crush. Couldn’t blame him.

“Squid, slimy mackerel . . . bloodworms?” Cody taunted, continuing his litany of gross bait and blinking into the afternoon sun.

“No problemo,” Erin insisted, planting her hands on the hip pockets of her jean skirt. “Can’t make me squirm. I told you.” She checked the brake on the wheelchair.

“Chicken guts, liver, kidney?”

She rolled her eyes. “Nurse?”

Scott snorted, biting his lip to keep from laughing. He watched her point toward the ocean and hand the binoculars to Cody as the breeze flirted shamelessly with her hair. In the distance, the sharp bark of sea lions rose above the soothing push and pull of the waves. Erin’s perfume, cinnamon sweet, mingled with the salty air. More effective than any bait. He reminded himself that he’d invited her along because Cody had seemed taken with her, because Grandma Lynda couldn’t make it today, and because it had been so long since his nephew had laughed in the sunshine, joked, and been fussed over by a young woman.

Erin patted Cody’s hair and then stooped to peer through the binoculars. Sunshine on her hair, long-legged stance, athletic, and so very confident. She was an amazing combination of strength, determination . . . and innocent vulnerability. Genuine—that was what she was. Beautiful and incredibly genuine. Warmth spread through him. Who was he kidding? Having her here was as much for him as it was for Cody. Scott had been deprived of sunshine and laughter too. He’d slogged through long months of cold loneliness this past year, limited himself to work and intense training, pushing aside all hope for happiness. But did it have to be that way? Didn’t he deserve to feel alive again?

“Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“Cody’s tired. And his leg is hurting,” Erin said, her concern palpable. “Maybe we should get him back to the hospital.”

“Right,” Scott said, glancing at his watch and feeling the cold swirl back as mercilessly as the tides below Arlo’s Bait & Moor.
His pain, my fault.
“It’s time.”

And time he stopped kidding himself. He wasn’t the right kind of man for Erin. It was foolish to even think of that. The important thing was to get Cody well and settled back with his grandparents . . . and then move ahead with his career goals. It had been the plan all along.

+++

Our lemon tree.
Leigh stared at the e-mailed image on her cell phone. The dwarf fruit tree in its beautiful hand-painted pot. It was blossoming, dozens of delicate white and purple blooms.
Like on Capri.
No message. But then, there didn’t have to be. An ache spread from her throat to her chest. Why would Nick do this? The first time he contacted her since she mentioned divorce, and he reminded her of their honeymoon? They’d planted the tree as a memento. She sank into her office chair, telling herself it could have been worse. He could just show up here, and—

“Ma’am?”

Leigh spun toward the door, startled. “Oh, Sarge. Need to sweep up?”

He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her, hugging his broom handle close to his chest. His eyes looked tired. “I wondered if you could spare some heartburn pill samples?”

“Sure.” She rose and walked to the shelving near the door. “I should have some. Yes, here we go.” She grabbed a package, then hesitated. “Indigestion, not chest pain? I don’t have to worry about you, do I?”

“No, ma’am,” Sarge said. “Don’t worry.”

“Good.” Leigh handed him the antacids. “If this keeps up, you’ll give your doctor a call?”

“Yup. Thanks.”

She watched as he peered at the sample for a moment, turning it over and over in his hands. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Antacids?”

He nodded, headed toward the door, and stopped. “That girl,” he said, twisting around to meet her gaze again.

“Girl?”

“The one they poisoned. She’s better?”

“You mean Ana Galvez?”

“Yeah.”

“There are signs of improvement. That’s encouraging.”

Sarge sighed deeply. “They won’t win. We’ll save her.”

“Yes . . . we’re doing our best.” Leigh returned his salute and watched him walk across the trauma room.
“We’ll save her.”
We.
This housekeeper felt part of the team working to save a little girl’s life. How great was that? If everyone thought like Sarge Gunther, the world could be a better place. But . . . Her brows drew together, recalling his words.
“They won’t win.”
Who were “they”?

She shook off the thought, picked up her phone, and deleted the lemon tree.

+++

Erin glanced around the casually upscale restaurant, voted Best Seafood on the Monterey Peninsula, glad she’d slipped into the ladies’ room for a quick trace of shimmery lip gloss and grateful for the hammered silver earrings she’d tucked into her purse. With those touches and the white cotton sweater she’d layered over her shirt, she didn’t look completely like a deckhand. After all, she could be picking anchovies out of her hair
.
She chuckled.

“What?” Scott asked, buttering a last chunk of sourdough.

“Cody and his bait talk.” She shook her head. “He’d have given anything for a handful of slimy stuff to tease me with.”

“That’s the job of a ten-year-old. Though Cody hasn’t had much opportunity to enjoy it lately.”

His gray eyes grew shadowy somber, and Erin was reminded of all the family had endured . . . were still enduring. It was troubling Scott; she’d seen that today. Along with something more that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A sense, though it was obvious he cared for his nephew, that he’d needed her there, almost as some kind of buffer.

“He lives with your parents?” she asked, nudging a grilled shrimp with her fork. Somewhere across the room, waiters finished singing an anniversary tune. People clapped.

“Yes.” A muscle twitched along Scott’s jaw. “His father’s family is scattered. They’ve hardly been in contact since the accident. My mother works from home, so she’s freer to get Cody to his doctor appointments. And to help him with his studies so he won’t get behind in school. It’s the best solution . . . for Cody, I mean.”

“And having you close by, being able to count on you, must be a huge blessing for your whole family. It’s obvious how much Cody admires you, and—”

“Coffee?” he asked, cutting her off. It was there again, that look in his eyes.

“Um . . . sure,” she answered, certain now that he was struggling with more than he’d made known. That look reflected far deeper pain than when he’d ripped his shoulder open on the ocean rock. He was still hurting from his sister’s death and because of Cody’s uncertain outcome. It was the reason she’d tried to comfort him that night by moving into his arms, and . . . She raised her brows, realizing he’d asked something. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Key lime pie. It’s good here.”

“Absolutely, then,” she said, anxious to put him at ease. “And thank you for this wonderful dinner. It’s been a treat for me.”

“And the least I could do after you helped my parents today.”

She glanced down, hoping the disappointment didn’t show on her face. “Well, I told you I was glad to help. You didn’t have to—”

“Erin,” he said. “Hey, wait.”

When she looked up, her breath caught at the change in his eyes.

He reached across the table and took hold of her hand, his expression earnest. “I said that all wrong. Asking you to dinner has nothing to do with paying you back for what you did for my parents. Or Cody. Or any of that. I asked you here tonight because I wanted to be with you again.”

“Oh.” Erin sighed with relief.

The waiter interrupted to pour their coffee and Scott let go of her hand. She met his eyes. The tender look was still there. On the rugged and handsome face of a man who stirred her, whether she wanted him to or not. A kind, selfless man, who cared for his family.
But wouldn’t be here for Cody if I hadn’t pressed
him?
The doubt rose again, and she hated the fact it made her think of her father. Scott wasn’t anything like Frank Calloway. He was one of the rare, good guys.
Believe it.
She cleared her throat and smiled at Scott. “So, then . . . key lime pie?”

They ordered dessert and sipped their coffee while they waited. Erin was quiet, feeling Scott’s words hanging in the air like a gull over the Pacific Ocean. She stirred more cream than she wanted into her cup as the sun dipped gold and lavender toward the sea. Beautiful and as seemingly serene as Nana’s silent repose on her garden bench . . . except that Erin’s thoughts tumbled in new confusion. While her heart boxed against a hundred little doubts. All waving red flags.

“I wanted to be with you again.”

How on earth was she supposed to trust that? Did she want to?

Bait was so much easier.

+++

They’d snatched the boy. Right under Sarge’s nose.

He hunched over the employees’ lounge table, pretending to read an article on deer hunting while he strained to hear the conversation at the lockers beyond. The voices rose over the rattle of metal doors and the canned laughter from the lounge TV. Lupe and Claudia, housekeepers assigned to the pediatrics floor talking about Cody Sorenson.

“I tell you, girl, that boy breaks my heart. I keep praying he won’t lose that leg. Ten years old, same as my oldest grandson. Such a shame.”

“Do they know yet? If the infection’s spread?”

“I think they have to do that MRI before they can tell.”

“And decide if he should go off to that oxygen chamber. Didn’t Michael Jackson sleep in one of those things?”

What?
Sarge patted his pockets for the antacids, his stomach roiling. He leaned forward and tipped his head as he listened for more.

“If you believe the tabloids.
Hyperbaric chamber
is what it’s called. Like the divers use if they get the bends. I guess it helps wounds too. But it all sounds wrong to me. Squeezing a kid into an MRI tube, then shutting him into that oxygen chamber. I’m glad they let him go out with his uncle today.”

“That was his uncle? My, my, I didn’t think he’d make it through the doors with those shoulders.” Claudia’s voice whooped loudly, then dissolved into giggles.

“Yeah, and the spitting image of his father, Gabe McKenna. You remember the story. I swear that family’s going down the road of the Kennedys—one sad thing after another.”

“Oh, I didn’t make the connection. That’s too bad. Well, the boy’s tucked in bed now. I brought him a granola bar. Have to leave the rest to God.”

“Amen.” The lockers rattled. “Safe to clock out now?”

“Yeah, four minutes after. Don’t forget that key—someone might steal your moldy old Tupperware.”

There was a groan and more laughter as the voices began moving closer.

Sarge sat back in his chair and raised the hunting magazine, his stomach still churning.
An outing with his uncle.
What was to stop someone else from taking the boy? Could the hospital be trusted to check identities? And the oxygen chamber. What kind of garbage was that? Were people fooled that easily? He’d been wrong to think that watching the boy at night was good enough. He needed to be upstairs during the day too. But he was scheduled off tomorrow.

“Hey, Sarge. Time to clock out.” Lupe pointed at the magazine cover. “Or are you gonna hang around here and hunt somethin’ down?”

“Nah. Only killing time.”

“I’m not wasting another lousy minute.” Lupe sighed. “Tomorrow comes too fast. And I’m back upstairs, mopping floors and emptying trash instead of watching my grandson’s spelling bee. He’s gonna win, and his grams will see it on a camera phone . . . if I’m lucky. I requested Thursday off before the schedule came out, but you think the boss could give me a break?”

His breath snagged, and he forced himself to wait several seconds before speaking.
Easy does it. Be casual.
“What time is his spelling bee?”

“The assembly starts at two. It’ll be over by the time I’m out of here.”

Sarge shrugged. “I’ll come in, cover a few hours for you.”

Lupe’s mouth dropped open. “Hey, don’t kid a grandma like this. Heart can’t take it.”

“Not kidding.” His pulse quickened.

“I can’t believe this. Why—?”

Claudia nudged her. “Tell the man thanks, honey. Then run before he changes his mind.”

“Okay.” Lupe nodded. “Sarge, I could kiss you for this.”

“Do it and I
will
change my mind.”

Lupe laughed. “Well, thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

The woman had no clue how true that was.

+++