Peril (21 page)

“Emma!” Drew called again, both to keep her from crossing a line and to draw her attention to his attempts to stem the bleeding.

Her face paled.

“Roy, we need to go, now!”

Their pilot had been a quiet presence at the door as they got report. Now he scurried off to get the helicopter warmed up.

Drew yanked the transport gurney closer to the ER bed. Emma watched IV lines and tubes as Drew lifted the limp, ashen body and placed it gently on the thin frame. One small blanket, several seat belts, connection
to the transport monitor. Her IV fluid had already been changed over to their equipment. Emma pulled her end of the gurney toward the door. Drew grabbed their hastily-thrown-together trauma pack. He wished there'd been a transport Isolette available. They ran down the hall, into the early morning, and loaded the gurney into the back of the helicopter.

Considering the distance, the travel to the hospital would be a short fifteen minutes. Emma's voice crackled through his head gear. “We're going straight to the PICU.”

Drew nodded but his eyes remained fixed on the rise and fall of the infant's chest. Transferring a patient from one place to another was the leading cause of tube dislodgement. The last thing they needed was this little one's breathing tube to slip out of place. Intubating a patient, particularly a very small one, in a moving helicopter was difficult at best.

Emma's voice again, a tinny sound in his ears. “Someone was shot.”

Drew nodded again.
Taking a critically ill infant straight to the PICU isn't all that unusual
.
Why does Emma feel the need to explain a busy ER?

She patted his knee. “Drew, a hospital security guard was shot.”

He looked up at her as his stomach tightened. She hadn't meant a pediatric gunshot wound. An adult gunshot victim wouldn't go to Sacred Heart.

Unless it's one of their own staff.

“Seriously?”

The helicopter banked, and Drew noticed a slew of police cars at the main entrance. His side tipped down, and the landing site was in clear view. Drew's heartbeat ticked up a notch. “Where is everyone?”

Normally, when a helicopter landed, at least two additional staff came out to help off-load their tiny charge. Extra hands helped the management of all the tubes and lines to ensure nothing slipped out.

The helicopter skids settled on the rooftop. “They're in lockdown. Maybe they can't meet us,” Emma said.

Drew's heart sputtered. “You didn't say anything about that.”

She worked at gathering up the IV bags. “Sorry. The PICU attending mentioned it. You know these things never turn out to be anything serious.”

Drew gripped his fingers on the patient's airway to keep it steady as they began to unhook the gurney. “Lockdown? That's definitely new. It's not like a fire alarm. Did you see all those police cars out front?”

Emma shrugged. “Not really paying attention. Worried about this little one.”

A figure emerged from the doorway, dressed in casual street clothes, followed by another two just behind him. He shouldered a weapon and aimed it straight for the helicopter.

Drew's heart hammered in his chest. He keyed his mike. “Roy! Up! Up! Take off now!”

“What are you doing?” Emma yelled.

Drew slammed the gurney back into the locking mechanism. “There're armed men on the tarmac.” He slammed his fist several times into the top of the craft, not sure if the sound would translate to the front of the compartment.

Roy's voice was calm in his helmet. “Steady yourselves.”

The helicopter lurched to the side, knocking Emma back into the window. The sound of a sudden hailstorm hit the craft.

Gunfire.

He grabbed the front of Emma's flight suit to yank her down as the craft took a dizzying full circle turn. Black sludge marred the windows. A hole appeared just above their patient's gurney.

“We're leaking fluid,” Roy said. “We're going to have to set her back down.”

There was a heavy thud that thrust Drew's stomach into his throat. A quick check on the infant's monitor showed normal, steady patterns. He eased his head up to check out the window and saw the lead figure advancing to the aircraft.

Drew keyed his mike. “Roy, you don't happen to—”

“No, I can't carry at work.”

Emma's shaky hands grabbed at his helmet, her voice muffled. Why wasn't her mike picking up? “Drew . . . ”

He eased back and noticed a dark, wet circle spreading through Emma's blue flight suit on the left side.

“Oh no, Emma . . . ”

Without thought or permission, he plied her flight suit zipper down and yanked her white undershirt up. A hole gaped in her lower abdomen. He pressed his hand against it and turned her toward him.

No exit wound.

A bullet in the left side could mean a spleen injury and rapid blood loss.

Drew pulled off her flight helmet to rid the suffocating effect it could have on her breathing. “Emma . . .”

She looked at him, her eyes glossy with both fright and shock. “I'm really hit?”

He eased his helmet off and smiled at her. “You know, you're supposed to let me handle the heavy fire.”

There was a rap at the door. Roy's voice was thin through the partition. “Guys, they want us out. We're stuck here.”

“Roy, Emma's hit! We need to get her to the ER.”

Clearly audible were the swear words that flew from Roy's mouth. “I'm out first. Hang tight.”

Drew grabbed a bucket package of 4x4 gauze and placed it to Emma's side, the bleeding more of a gentle oozing than a brisk flow. At her throat, he placed two bloody fingers and assessed the strength and speed of her heartbeat.

Thready and weak.

“How is it?” she asked, her pale lips in a nervous smile.

The trouble with treating medical personnel was they knew the purpose of every little mannerism and what it meant. They also knew the platitudes that were often said to keep a patient calm in light of grave injury.

He shook his head. “It's not as bad as I thought.”

“You're lying.”

“I'm not.”

“Then I don't need a line?”

“Well, I wouldn't say that. I just don't know—”

The back clamshell door opened. What Drew saw at first was the metal tip of an automatic weapon. Instinctively, he raised his hands in surrender.

“Out!” The weapon motioned, as if to magnetically pull him from his protective cave. “Listen! I said out!”

Drew glanced at Emma, at the baby unconscious on the gurney. He was the only one left capable of protecting them. He gripped her hand. “It's going to be all right. I'll figure it out.”

She shook her head, unbelieving. There had been an attraction developing between them. He could see the wish of hope fading in her eyes, thoughts about what they could have been.

He kissed her cheek quickly. “I know. I should have asked you before now about that date.”

The man's military cut matched the hard edge of his voice. His gray-green eyes spoke of a life lived on the same thin razor.

Drew eased out the back door with his hands held high. “I'm Drew.” The man seemed perplexed at his statement, as if he hoped for some pleading in light of Drew's current endangered state. “I have a sick infant in the back. My flight nurse was hit when you opened fire. She needs to get to the ER.”

The man's eyes narrowed. “Unload the baby. The woman stays here. Once we're in the PICU, the ER staff can come up here to get her. We'll leave the pilot back to help.”

Drew shook his head. “She needs prompt medical care. I can help her. Let me stay.”

“This is not a negotiation.” He cleared the sweat from his forehead. “Off-load the baby now.”

Drew did as he was told. It was going to be difficult managing the child on his own. He disconnected the transport ventilator and began assisting the infant's breathing by hand. “I need someone to hold these up.”

The lead man motioned to one of his cohorts. That man shouldered his weapon and grabbed the bags of IV solution. Drew stepped out, guiding the gurney with one hand, bagging with the other. His eyes trained on the chest to ensure rise and fall were present, a sign that he was inflating the lungs. As he pulled the load to one side of the helicopter, a third cohort came into view. This one had an assault rifle trained on Roy. The look in his eyes was hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, but Roy's clenched fists spoke of barely contained anger.

“Emma needs—” Drew started.

“I'll take care of her, Drew. I promise.”

The nudge of the weapon at his back propelled Drew forward.

Clearly, they wanted entrance into the pediatric ICU.
For what purpose?
This was the unknown risk. Damaging the helicopter meant they weren't hoping to use it as a means of escape. Not wanting to leave meant they had a clear agenda of what they wanted to accomplish. Voiding their means of escape meant death could be the welcome possibility of an out.

Why hold a group of sick children and nurses hostage?

They neared the elevator that would drop them down one floor to
where the PICU was housed. Drew eased in with the man assisting. The other two backed in ahead of him, their weapons trained on Roy until the doors closed.

Drew continued to bag, intentionally slowing down so he didn't provide the infant too many breaths from the adrenaline that pumped through his veins. He felt part of his life flash before him. He'd spent years in prison, an innocent man serving time for his twin brother's crimes. Even then, he'd never been this fearful about what the next moments would bring. When men were angry against men, their behavior was predictable. When men were steely, armed, and quiet—the outcome was almost always a mystery.

“When we get to the PICU, you're going to badge us in through the doors,” the leader said.

Drew doubted these were hospital types. The comfort their leader had in using the names of the units heightened Drew's concern. They'd definitely planned this out. It wasn't some random event.

The doors eased open and one of the men yanked the end of the pram to pull it from the elevator. Drew clenched his hand down on the frame. “Easy, you're going to dislodge my airway.”

The man held the elevator door open and eyed Drew evenly. “Do you know Morgan Adams?”

Drew shrugged his shoulders. He knew that nurse's name, had helped save her nephew's life, but he didn't see any reason to increase the chance of her being a target. “Never heard of her.”

“How about Dr. Lilly Reeves?”

Now, why would they want to know about her?

Chapter 26

0945, Saturday, August 11

T
HE
PICU
DOOR SWUNG
open to reveal the flight paramedic flanked by three armed white males dressed in casual clothes, their automatic weapons readied and pointed into the unit.

At first, confusion stymied Morgan's usually clear thought pattern.
What exactly is happening?
Tingly fear buzzed at her fingertips as they glossed over the raised buttons of the phone at the nurses' station. No connection to law enforcement could be made with the receiver to her ear and another person on the line.

“Morgan?” Dr. Marshall said.

She swallowed hard. “We've got trouble. They're in the unit.”

Just silence.

From her position at the central station, she had a clear view of every reaction by her staff. Over the rhythmic hum of life-support equipment, she heard a collective gasp as horror throttled each of her coworkers' throats. Lucy, the nurse, gripped a bed rail and eased herself to the floor. Morgan's sister-in-law, Lisa, placed a firm hand over her comatose son's shoulder.

The door closed, the one patient entrance in and out of the unit, and Morgan likened it to the clang of a prison door slamming shut. Her throat tightened. Her hands slicked with sweat as two of the men positioned themselves in front of it as sentries. Morgan eyed the red panic button housed under the ledge of the counter. Never before had she considered pushing it. Now she wondered if it actually worked.

Could I tap the button without them noticing? Would that action bring one of their fingers against the trigger?

“Who is Morgan Adams?”

The boom of the man's voice in the small space caused several people to jump. Morgan's heart slammed against her rib cage. Her lungs seized up
in her chest until she couldn't draw breath to answer. Little Bree began to whimper, her chocolate brown eyes wide with fear.

Too much stress can tax her weakened heart into further failure. What do I do?
Morgan pulled a single finger to her lips and held Bree's eyes with hers, silently begging for her to be quiet.