Disaster Status (22 page)

She sighed, knowing she was being ridiculous. Nick hadn’t heard about her appointment. But he’d always been able to sense her feelings. Read her heart. That was the risk. She couldn’t see him until she was less vulnerable. That would take time. Meanwhile . . .
“We’ll talk. I’m making that happen.”
What had Nick meant by that? He wouldn’t just show up, and—

Someone tapped on the doorframe, and she jumped, dropping her knitting needles into her lap.

“Sorry, Dr. Stathos,” Judy said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Leigh fibbed, ignoring the hammering of her heart. “Got a patient for me?”

“No, I don’t. Amazingly.” She dragged her fingers through her short, spiky hair and smiled. “But I wanted to let you know that I talked with the ICU nurses. Ana’s awake, and they’re weaning her off the ventilator.”

“Oh, thank heaven!” Leigh exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

“And to celebrate, I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee to go with the goodies one of the nurses from the medical offices offered us. I just met her outside and snagged a few. Thought I’d refill your cup and threaten those hips with a few calories. Homemade lemon bars?”

Lemon.
In an instant the dream was back, lemon blossoms, her tears, Nick’s pleading eyes. She pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“Dr. Stathos? Are you okay?”

Leigh met her gaze. “Sure. Just tired. Didn’t sleep all that great. I’m glad today’s quiet.”

Judy groaned.

“What?”

“I can’t believe you said that.”

“Said what?” Leigh reached for her coffee cup.

“The
Q
word. You said it out loud. You’ve doomed us now.”

Leigh grimaced. “Sorry. Good thing we’re not superstitious.”
About jinx words or dreams or . . .
a soon-to-be ex-husband who can read my heart.

Judy smirked. “Oh yeah, that would be which nurses? You want a lemon bar to boost your energy before people start dropping like flies?”

“Only coffee, thank you. And I promise that the only mess we’re having today has already happened. Ketchup and hash browns. Did housekeeping answer your page?”

“Finally. I hate it when Sarge isn’t working.”

Leigh handed Judy her Golden Gate coffee cup. “His weekend on nights?”

“I think he’s doing some Army Reserve time.”

“Really?”

“I know. I’m surprised too. Because of his leg. But I saw him outside just now. He was getting out of a car by the trash management area. I don’t think it was his car, but I’m sure it was him. I almost didn’t recognize him, dressed like that.”

“In uniform?”

Judy nodded. “But the weirdest part was . . . he shaved his head.”

+++

Sarge grabbed a cleaning rag and mopped it across his brow, startled again at the stubbly feel of his scalp. Twenty minutes since he’d sneaked up the back stairs to the housekeeping closet and he was still sweating. Like those 115-degree days in the desert, when he’d pour the sweat out of his gas mask so he wouldn’t drown in it.

Had that nurse recognized him in the parking lot? She’d done a double take, but he wasn’t sure. He’d kept his head low and hurried. And he’d used his landlord’s car, the one abandoned behind the apartment complex. Hot-wired it, because he couldn’t use his own for the mission. At any rate, it was probably better if the nurse thought he was someone who belonged at the hospital. Not a stranger intent on child abduction—Code White.

He rubbed the rag across the back of his neck. They wouldn’t be paging Code White right away. First, it would be Code Red—fire. He dropped the cloth, pulled the old Army Zippo from his pocket, and tested the flame. In a very short while he’d complete his mission. Save Cody. He opened the closet door half an inch and peered toward the boy’s room. That man—a relative, he’d heard someone say—had slept in the chair all night, completely out of character. Who knew if he could be trusted? So it had to be done now. Risk or not. Sarge couldn’t allow the boy to be taken away and his leg sawed off. Wasn’t going to happen on his watch, daylight or not. He’d set off the fire alarm, get the boy, smuggle him down the stairs, and . . . His brain stuttered. Where was his war journal?

Sarge shoved a mop bucket aside, pulled out the old vacuum cleaner, the journal, and the aluminum bat. A package of beef jerky fell from vacuum bag, and he retrieved it from the floor. He ripped it open with his teeth, then chewed the salty meat as he flipped the pages of the journal, looking for the mission outline. He skimmed page after page, concrete plans . . . but so much about Cody too. Their conversations in the night.
“I hardly pray at all now.”
His chest constricted. The boy had no one he could count on. Sarge had to do this. It wasn’t Code White; it was mercy.

He patted his pocket to be sure the Zippo was there. Then pulled an OR gown over his uniform and peered down the hallway. Now or never.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Elmer doesn’t look so old,” Cody said, peering through the glass at the goldfish. “Except maybe around the gills.”

Iris laughed softly. “Happens to the best of us, I’m afraid.” She watched Cody spread his fingers alongside the fish. She was glad she’d come. This boy had made her feel welcome and needed from the moment she first met him. “I figure Elmer Fudd measures around nine inches now. I doubt he was even two inches when we got him.”

“You won him at the county fair?”

“My husband did.” The hurt on Erin’s face came to mind, and she sighed. “It took a lot of trying, dozens of misses, but good things are worth the effort. Elmer helps me to remember that.” Her gaze moved to Scott’s jacket draped across the chair, a discarded snack wrapper, folded into a neat square, lying on its seat. “Your uncle stayed with you?” she asked, thinking that she’d finally have to explain things . . . to everybody. Scott had seen her arrive at Cody’s room this morning.

“Yes. He stayed all night,” Cody said, his dimpled smile leaving no doubt how pleased he was. “I told him he didn’t have to, that the night nurses watch me, but he really wanted to stay. I was hoping Rich would be working last night. He must know I’m leaving today. And I wanted Uncle Scotty to meet him.”

Iris nodded. Cody was fond of the hospital staff, this night nurse in particular. Though she’d never met the man, after hearing Cody mention him—his patience, obvious kindness—she’d begun to imagine the nurse like a burly guardian angel. Perhaps like John Travolta in
Michael
, that movie she and Erin had rented. Iris smiled at the unlikely image, then glanced at Cody. She was surprised by the sudden sadness in his expression.

He looked at the fishbowl and swallowed.

“Are you worried about something?” Iris asked, stepping closer to the bed.

He bit his lip and nodded. “If the oxygen chamber doesn’t work, if they have to operate on my leg . . .” Tears welled in his eyes. “I don’t want to be so much trouble for everyone. My great-grandpa’s old, now Grandpa’s sick, and Grandma’s worrying . . .”

Iris took a deep breath, her heart aching for this selfless child. Losing his parents, at risk for losing his leg, and worried about being a burden?
Dear Father, help me find the words.
But Cody continued before they came.

“You see,” he whispered, “I think that’s why Uncle Scotty stays away so much. I think I’m messing things up for everyone. And if I only have one leg, then it will get even worse.” A tear slid down his cheek.

“Oh, Cody . . .” She reached for his hand and then stopped as an alarm began to sound.

A deafening series of staccato blasts, fast as a panicked heartbeat. “Code Red third floor south. Code Red.”

+++

Scott rose from the cafeteria table, glanced toward the PA system speakers, then back at his grandfather, raising his voice over the din of the alarm. “Did they say third—?”

The operator’s voice repeated the page before he could finish. “Code Red third floor south. All staff, be advised. Code Red. This is not a drill.”

His grandfather pushed back from the table, his expression anxious. “That’s Cody’s—”

“No,” Scott interrupted, “his room’s at the north end, and it’s probably a false alarm, but I’m going up there to check things out.”

“I’ll go with you.” His grandfather rose and tightened the strap of Jonah’s carrier.

“No, stay here. Just in case.” He read the concern on his grandfather’s face and tried to reassure him, despite the quickening of his own pulse. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll call you from Cody’s room.”

He took off, barely making it to the south stairwell before the radio buzzed on his belt. Fire dispatch was rolling an engine to Pacific Mercy Hospital. He yanked the stair door wide and took the steps two at a time.

+++

Erin slowed from a jog to a walk for the last half block, finally convinced—after a thirty-minute run on the sand and one of Annie’s cinnamon lattes—that she could face her grandmother without bursting into tears or punching a hole in the wall.

She’d given the Lord an earful down there on the beach, about her doubts regarding Scott, the continuing frustration with her family, and now this with Nana.
“I made a selfish, awful
mistake.”
Her throat squeezed. God knew how badly she needed to believe it wasn’t true. And how sick with guilt she felt about the confusing mix of anger and heartbreak that slammed her when she heard those words. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been really angry with her grandmother.

But God understood—even if her grandmother didn’t—that what she’d confessed threatened Erin’s belief in honesty and loyalty . . . and love. How could it not? All her life, she’d wanted nothing more than to be exactly like her grandmother. The wave of sadness returned. How could Nana have thought it would help Erin to hear that? How did she expect her to sit there and listen? She couldn’t.

But now she’d had her run, her coffee, and her talk with God. She’d laid it all out for him point by point and reconfirmed her commitment to stand firm—strong and balanced—no matter what anyone threw her way. Even her grandmother. Erin loved her so much. But she couldn’t listen to anything more about Grandy, her father, or Scott. Or be pressured about forgiveness. She’d draw the line, loving but firm. God understood that. She’d done everything but shout it to him from the sea cliff a few minutes back.

And now . . . Erin caught sight of the house. Now she’d give her grandmother a hug, tell her she loved her. And that she was starving. Maybe they’d go out to breakfast at that place with the salmon latkes. And then try to catch up with the garden tour. Great idea. Erin opened the door, stomach rumbling, and called out.

But her grandmother wasn’t there. Not on the patio either. Her Bible was gone from the bench. The coffee cups cleared away.

Erin walked into the tiny living room and spotted the note on the coffee table.

Darling,

Needed at hospital. Back soon.

XXX

Kisses, so wonderfully Nana. But a strange sense of foreboding swept over her.
Needed at the hospital?
She looked toward the front door key rack, where her grandmother hung her hospital ID badge, and her gaze fell on the aquarium beside it. Top open. Net floating. The tank was empty. Where was Elmer? The odd sense of foreboding raised goose bumps as she headed out the door for her car.

+++

It all happened so fast that Iris was caught completely off guard. The deafening din of the alarm, her hurried attempt to reassure Cody, her sprint to the half-closed door, then surprise as it slammed open hard enough to knock her off-balance. And now she stared at the man in the military uniform. Shaved head, wild eyes, completely filling the doorway. Stunned, she inhaled sharply.
Don’t let this man in here.
She stretched tall, squaring her shoulders and hoping she looked authoritative. Her stomach shuddered. There was something familiar about his face. Still . . . “I’m sorry, but . . . what’s going on? Who are you?”

“Out of my way!” he rumbled. “Move it.”

Her body trembled with dread. The man wore a burgundy backpack and held an aluminum baseball bat.
A bat?
What was going on? National Guard? But surely they wouldn’t—

“Please,” she insisted, stepping backward but raising her hands in what she knew would be a futile attempt to keep the huge man at bay. “Just tell us what’s going on first.”

Cody called, “Who is it? Is there really a fire?”

The man peered past her toward the bed, and though his expression softened, her dread remained.

She raised her voice. “Cody, push your call button. Push—”

The intruder shoved her backward, and she lost her balance and fell.

Cody screamed, “Iris!”

“Push the button!” Iris scrambled to her knees, heart thudding. She shouted out the doorway, over the relentless din of the fire alarm, “Help! Someone, help us!” Then watched in horror as the man strode toward the bed.

Cody hunkered down behind the fishbowl, and she caught a glimpse of his terrified expression magnified by the glass. He screamed again as the man shoved the table aside. The fishbowl slid across the surface, teetered on the edge, then hit the floor and shattered. There was another scream. Her own.

“Stop!” she yelled, back on her feet. “Don’t touch him!”

The man whirled, baseball bat clenched tightly across his chest, and stared at her. Perspiration streamed down his face, and his expression was pained, frantic . . . but determined. “Stand down. I’m taking the boy to safety. We’re leaving the desert. Please . . . please. Don’t try to stop me. Don’t make me hurt you.”

“No,” she begged, trying to calm her voice, “listen to me for a minute. Can we just—?” She turned toward a sound in the hallway.
Oh, Father, please let it be the staff.
Then she turned back in time to hear closer sounds: a grunt, followed by a sharp swish of air, and Cody’s scream as the aluminum bat slammed into the side of her head. A sharp crack, exploding pain, then strange debilitating numbness, weakness, and an angry buzzing in her head . . . as she staggered and fell. A stream of liquid, warm and sticky as syrup, filled her ear and pooled in the hollow of her collarbone.

Cody’s screams ended in a sob.

Please, Lord!
She tried to lift her head, to see, but she couldn’t focus her eyes. All she could make out were dim shapes. The man lifting Cody. There were faint shouts from outside the doorway.

Then Cody’s voice—frightened, confused. “Don’t take me, Rich. Please.”

Rich?
Nausea gripped her. She heard heavy footsteps, a curse, more shouts . . . before the vicious buzzing in her head obliterated everything else, and the darkness was complete.

+++

Scott raced toward the pediatrics corridor, his heart slamming against his ribs as the new page repeated overhead. The wastebasket fire was out, but now . . .

“Code Blue pediatrics. Code Blue.”

A resuscitation? He’d passed the nurses’ station, empty except for a lone ward clerk, before he saw a crowd at the end of the hallway.
Cody’s room, the room next door? Which?
He pushed harder, his shoes pounding against the vinyl flooring, eyes focused on his nephew’s door. Was that security there? There were nurses pointing, and then a crash cart emerged from another doorway.

The PA blared again: “Code White pediatrics. All staff on alert. Code White.”

He stopped in disbelief, lungs heaving, then grabbed the first person he saw. “What’s happening?”

An aide in pink scrubs gave him a wary look.

He dug into his pocket for his wallet and flipped it open to his ID. “Fire department. Captain McKenna. What’s going on down there?”
Please don’t say it’s Cody. It can’t be Cody.

“A woman’s been assaulted,” she said. “A visitor or a volunteer, we’re not sure. The police are on the way.”

Scott tensed, searching the crowd of staff at the end of the corridor. “But that page just now, Code White. Doesn’t that mean—?”

“Child abduction,” she confirmed with a grimace. “A precaution. We can’t find the boy the woman was visiting with.”

His heart wedged into his throat. “What boy?”

“Cody Sorenson.”

+++

By the time Sarge got to the first-floor landing, he was panting and queasy. The boy weighed more than he’d figured. His muscles were shaking. If his prosthesis slipped, they’d both be at the bottom of the steps in a bloody heap. No. He’d do this. He had to. If only Cody would stop crying.

He hoisted Cody higher against his shoulder and started down the next step, hanging on to the rail. He’d tried to wedge the baseball bat to block the stair door, but if anyone had seen him with the boy, it wouldn’t be long until—

“Rich, my leg’s hurting. Please stop.”

“Can’t. There isn’t time.” The boy struggled in his arms, and he fought to maintain his balance. “Hold still. You’ll make us fall.” The boy’s sob, close to his ear, tore at his heart.

“Please,” Cody begged. “Please . . . it hurts.”

Sarge turned awkwardly and returned to the landing. “Okay, we’ll rest. But only for a second.” He glanced up the stairwell, listening. “They’ll be coming for us.”

“Will you set me down? I can balance on one leg. I’m good at it now.”

One leg.
No one should get good at that. Sarge lowered the boy onto the landing. He set his backpack down too, relieved to shed its weight. “But hang on to the rail.” His gaze fell to the boy’s bandaged leg and the fresh red stain wicking through the layers of gauze. Blood. In an instant, he saw the children’s faces. Their eyes. The pale hands. “Let’s go,” he said, more gruffly than he’d intended. He glanced back up the stairs and reached for Cody. “C’mon. We’re going.”