Love Is in the Air (5 page)

Sal had never been so grateful to Richard as when he draped his coat over her shoulders and escorted her out of the trauma bay. The lights were too bright. The noise too loud. The pain too sharp.

Maria was dead, and there wasn’t a thing she could remember. Was she there when her best friend was killed? Had she done anything, absolutely anything at all, to save her?

With Richard at her side, she made it toward the ambulance doors and was almost gone when EMTs pushing a gurney passed by them, its occupant draped with a white sheet. The mid-region was stained burgundy.

Maria.

She reached out to the passing body, but Richard pulled her back.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

He wrapped his arms around her in a protective manner, but they felt thinner than she remembered. The embrace, while meant to be reassuring, felt only soft. His shower-fresh scent gave her no comfort.

With a wobbly gurney wheel squeaking, her best friend’s body rolled past.

CHAPTER 11

Sal stood at Richard’s bedroom window, watching the rainfall. If only she could cry as easily as the heavens. None of what had transpired felt real. From the smallest detail of missing a suture placement not once, but twice, to her best friend meeting a bloody end in the basement.

Arms wrapped around her waist, she stared at San Francisco from her vantage point atop Nob Hill. The Victorian home had been built at the turn of the century to provide the most magnificent view of the bejeweled city.

To the left was the glimmering Golden Gate Bridge. To the right was the now- dark Bay Bridge, and somewhere out in the blustery bay lay Alcatraz Island.

Beneath her, entire swaths of the city were still black, which only made the twinkling reds and greens of Chinatown all the more stunning.

Lightning danced across the horizon and thunder grumbled, but they were far off. Only distant reminders of the chaos that had crashed into her life. She glanced behind her. Richard was still asleep, his swimmer’s body only partially covered by the goose down comforter. If only she could have found sleep with such ease.

Fear clutched her belly. The desire to run was nearly irrepressible. It took conscious effort not to put on her shoes and just head out into the night. She knew that whatever happened down in the basement must have been horrible to make her so skittish, but not being able to remember the details somehow made it all the worse.

Richard had tried to soothe her, but each time Sal came close to snatching a fleeting memory from the ether, her throat closed off, and the only thing that came out was a moan.

Finally, to placate a very concerned Richard, Sal took a Valium and lay down in his arms, pretending to fall asleep. Once she was certain that he was down for the night, she rose and took up sentry duty by the window.

Below her perch, another section of streetlights bloomed to life in Cow’s Hollow. By dawn, it looked like the City would be fully powered. She could even see the sparks of electric buses running along the Presidio. Life was getting back to normal.

San Francisco might be that resilient, but Sal knew she wasn’t. When she tried to doze off, violent images filled her mind.

Blood red. White steel. Pain and fear.

So much for her mind protecting her.

A lightning bolt struck close. So close that while the sky was still lit, thunder shook the windows. In that moment, she saw the man’s reflection in the window. The set of his jaw. The sapphire eyes.

CHAPTER 12

Sal turned on her heel, but found only empty air. How could she remember the man so vividly in that moment, but now, a second later, she could barely hang onto the memory of his broad shoulders and thick stubble?

“Everything okay?” Richard murmured as he turned over.

“Yeah,” Sal lied as she wrapped her arms around her belly again.

Richard lifted the down cover. “Come back to bed.”

She glanced to the window as lightning struck over the Golden Gate Bridge, making the structure glow an unnatural orange. Since the landscape no longer offered her solace, Sal didn’t resist climbing in next to him.

Instead of their usual spooning, she made sure to cuddle face to face. She needed something to look at besides the dark night.

He hugged her to his smooth chest. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

But how could it be? Maria was dead, and what she had seen…

“Just relax,” Richard coaxed, stroking her hair. “Allow your chest to rise and fall.”

Not knowing what else to do, she obeyed, letting air fill up her lungs, and then exhaling. He was right. It did feel good. But instead of relaxing her, Sal suddenly became aware of Richard’s biceps holding her. His chest rubbing against her breasts. As blood rushed south, Sal nudged her knee between his legs until their limbs became entwined.

Now she didn’t have to concentrate on breathing, as her respirations quickened. Sal kissed the hollow of his shoulder, and then up his neck. Richard’s mouth murmured objections, but his groin was rising to the occasion. She urged his hand from where it rested on her back down to the curve of her hip.

He leaned down, Sal was certain, to discuss the psychological ramifications of post-loss coitus, but she met his lips with her own, sabotaging his resistance. As her tongue probed his, suddenly there was no argument. It had been so long, and it felt so good.

With eager hands, he pulled her nightgown up as she tugged his boxers down. Her pulse pounded as loudly in her ears as it had in that hallway. His hand found her breast as she spread her legs, but he held back. Only a few inches closer, and he would have quenched a hunger that welled from much deeper than her conscious mind. She wrapped a leg around his waist and urged him toward her.

“Take me,” Sal moaned.

His body seemed eager to comply, but Richard put his hand on her leg, easing it off of him. “It’s not right.”

Oh, but it was nothing else but right as Sal kissed along his jawline, nibbling at his stubble. The hair was sparse, but she liked its coarseness against her tongue.

With both hands on her shoulders, Richard pushed her away until they were at eye level. “This is not the way to honor Maria’s memory.”

“Are you kidding?” Sal snorted. “If our roles were reversed, this is exactly what she’d be doing.”

Richard’s eyes softened. “True, but you’re not Maria, and I’m not, well, every man who’s ever worked at San Francisco General.” She reached out to stroke his chest, but he caught her hand. “This isn’t making love. It’s acting out, and I won’t enable it.”

She could tell by the set of his lips and his waning excitement that he was serious. Sighing, Sal flopped onto her back, frustrated. She felt like yelling, flailing, anything but just lying there.

Her body still ached for the stirred-up desire to be fulfilled, but Richard patted her shoulder. “Come on. Roll over.”

As they assumed their usual spoon position, Richard’s smooth voice coaxed her to slumber. “Tense your shoulders, now relax them. Tense your arms, now relax them…”

It took a few minutes for her heart rate to drop to something close to normal. Between the soothing tone and the Valium, Sal felt her eyes droop, and when they did close, there weren’t any splashes of blood or metal. With her mind drifting off to a gentle sleep, she was almost glad they didn’t have sex.

Almost.

CHAPTER 13

The next afternoon, Richard’s SUV windshield wipers kept a steady beat as they brushed away the mist. Actually, anywhere else in the world, this would be considered a shower, but it took the raw power of last night’s storm for a San Franciscan to admit that it was actually raining. Any other form of precipitation was considered either a heavy mist or a thick fog. Forget that there were drops dripping from your lashes. It wasn’t rain.

Sal sat in the passenger seat, watching the “mist” collect on the hood of the car. They had just come from the police station, where she had given her statement. Or rather, lack of statement.

Worse than even last night, Sal couldn’t remember a single detail from the horrible scene. They showed her awful photos of the destroyed blood bank, but nothing could shake her memory. It was as if her mind were a chalkboard. Not only had someone wiped it clean, but then he had pounded the eraser of its loose chalk. All that was left were faint scratches on the board.

Sal couldn’t help but fear that she was somehow letting the person who killed Maria get away. All this she kept from her fiancé, though. He’d just tell her that it was survivor guilt or some other psychological term used to convince her that she should still be alive while her friend was dead.

Unfortunately, as Richard drove her to work, he wasn’t keeping his concerns quiet. “Honey, can we please try to have a rational discussion about this?” After she didn’t answer, he sighed. “I simply don’t believe that no one else is available to cover the shift.”

There were many things that Sal didn’t bother to explain to him. First, there simply wasn’t anyone else. Dr. Lambert had been in a car accident the night before. All things considered, he had come out lucky, but he had still ended up with a broken ankle. In addition, the only other R-3 had not only realized she was pregnant, but had started spotting, so she was put on strict bed rest. And given that Stacy had been on for close to twenty-four hours with minimal assistance, Sal needed to get in there before the staff mutinied.

Even if that weren’t the case, Sal simply didn’t want anyone else to cover the shift. Sitting around with all these half-memories and vague regrets weighed upon her. Richard wanted her to accept them.

How could she tell Richard that most of all, she needed to get out from under his doting eye? As Maria would have said, her fiancé was “up in her bizness.” He probed where she didn’t want to be probed, yet wouldn’t touch her where she wanted to be touched.

Sal needed to be around those who had known Maria and loved her, flaws and all. Richard tried, but he only saw her best friend as a sex-addicted adrenaline junkie. Her co-workers knew there was so much more to the woman. She longed to be with them. Those who understood her loss.

“I feel that returning to work so soon is ill advised.”

“Duly noted,” she snapped, realizing her words were too harsh, but not feeling exactly motivated to apologize. Sal didn’t want to admit it, but last night’s rebuff still rankled. Worse, the one person who could have turned the rejection into an anecdote with a great punch line was dead.

Richard’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, and his jaw worked up and down, as if weighing the words he wanted to say before he uttered them. She could see him struggle between allowing her the autonomy to make bad decisions versus counseling her into compliance.

Whatever bond they had formed when Richard had stood up for her against the police and Manning had eroded with the early morning rain.

She’d awakened resenting anything and everything he did.

He pulled the SUV to a stop in front of the ER as they waited for an ambulance to clear the bay. “Don’t hesitate to call if you want to come home early. Otherwise, I’ll be here at midnight to pick you up.” He overrode her protests. “Is that duly noted?”

Sal sighed. She deserved that. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll be on time.”

Richard shrugged as he pulled the car forward. “I’ll wait.”

He would do anything for her. So why was she being such a bitch?

Trying to summon a smile, she placed her hand over his and gave a genuinely affectionate squeeze. “Thank you.”

As an ambulance hit its siren behind them, Richard gave her a peck on the cheek. “Midnight.”

The witching hour
, Sal thought, not sure why that suddenly bothered her.

CHAPTER 14

Sal hurried out of the car, ready for whatever emergency the ambulance brought, but the EMT shook his head as he parked the bus. “Just a supply run. Streets have been quiet all morning.”

“I thought Frank worked on Thursdays?”

Matt shrugged. “Took the day off.” He looked away from her, giving his words more weight. “Seems everyone’s regrouping after last night.”

Sal was glad to know she wasn’t the only one.

As they entered the ER together, Sal found that Matt’s assessment had been correct. Ninety percent of the lobby seats were empty. Instead of the usual frantic hustle behind the nurse’s station, several nurses leaned on chairs, talking away. One even sat on the counter.

Oh, God, this wasn’t what she had signed on for. Sal had been looking forward to venting her cooped-up anxiety. An adrenaline catharsis. Instead, even here, she was going to have to talk.

Paul hurried over to give her a hug. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Sal lied, not sure how many of these greetings she could take.

Luckily, Stacy barreled down the hall with her gaggle of students.

“Dr. Calon, you didn’t have to come in. I’ve already pulled a double. A triple would be no sweat.”

Yet behind her, every single nurse shook their heads violently. They needn’t have worried. No matter how depressed she felt, Sal would never leave them at the mercy of a sleep-deprived Manning.

“Let’s get to the rounds,” Sal suggested.

Stacy didn’t seem to have much fight left in her as she turned to the roster board without further argument. With a quick glance, Sal realized it had been an even lighter day than she had at first suspected. There were only half a dozen patients’ names up there, and not a single one was highlighted in blue, indicating critically unstable. Only one was in red, as a warning to the staff that the patient was critical but holding his own. Most were either an “about to be discharged” green or an “awaiting procedures” yellow with a few “to be admitted to another service” oranges sprinkled in for color.

No wonder Manning looked so rested for being on duty for twenty-four straight hours. Twelve of them looked like they had been a breeze.

As Stacy pontificated on and on about her outstanding work, Sal’s eyes wandered to the nurses’ desk. The main computer was still decorated with Maria’s Hello Kitty kitsch: a pencil sharpener, paper clip holder, and about a thousand stickers.
Guess no one had the heart to take it down yet,
Sal thought.