The Rescuer (2 page)

Stephen pul ed to the right lane. The word ambulance on the front of the vehicle grew larger as it approached.

The vehicle rushed past.

Ten minutes later highway traffic began to slow, and then both lanes of cars ground to a halt. Stephen eventual y reached the spot where a cop was directing traffic to the far left lane. The ambulance, lights stil flashing, was angled in ahead of a fire engine crowding the right lane.

A trailer that had broken free from a semi lay overturned in the road and a smashed-in car had taken a nosedive into the ditch. Through the rain he could see the firefighters working to extract a passenger from the car. Remove the window before you force that door. The frame was crumpled to the B-Pil ar that went from the undercarriage to the roof and provided structural support for the door frames. If the firefighter popped that door before he took care of the window, they would be working on an extraction while kneeling in shattered glass.

He should stop and offer to help. Stephen didn't act on the fleeting thought. He knew what to do-they probably did too- and if they didn't, they had to learn somehow.

Most rescue skil s

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came from hard-won experience. He couldn't rescue everyone in the world who got into trouble. He had tried and it about kil ed him.

The cop final y signaled his lane of traffic forward.

Stephen made one last assessment of the wreck as he slowly passed by. In another lifetime he'd written the book on vehicle extraction. The paramedics were bringing in the backboard and jtSst about had the victim free.

He turned his attention back to the road.

He owed Jennifer. She had asked that he be happy, settled, and at peace with life. She had pushed her version of a solution -encouraging him to settle down with Ann and to come to church, but he wasn't able to believe as she longed for, and she hadn't lived long enough to see him settled down, even if he'd been inclined to do so. He had let her down. And it hurt.

Jenny, I already miss you something terrible. Why did you have to die?

Silent tears slid down his cheeks, and he wiped them away

He pul ed out a bottle of aspirin from the glove box and dumped two tablets into his left hand. He popped them in his mouth, grimaced at the taste, and picked up his soda. The sides of the cup were sweating and the paper was getting soft. He took two long draws on the straw to wash down the tablets.

His phone rang for the fourth time. Stephen looked over at it. He had a feeling the cal er wouldn't give up, so he flipped the phone open with one hand. "Yes?"

"Stephen?"

Meghan Delhart's voice was like the brush of angel's wings over a bruise, a tender balm to a painful hurt. His hand tightened on the steering wheel and he glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure he could slow down without causing problems for someone driving too close to his car. He dropped his speed another five miles per hour. "Hey there, beautiful." Meghan had 13

been at Jennifer's visitation last night.

"You were on my mind and I took a chance you'd stil be up. It sounds like you're on the road somewhere."

"Just driving, thinking." She would understand what he didn't say. There had been nights when she walked out of a shift as an ER nurse not sure whether she wanted to go home, let alone back to work. He'd often played checkers with her on the ambulance gurney while he fol owed up on the patients he'd brought in.

If anyone had a right to complain about life, it was Meghan. She'd run away for a year in her own way after her car accident and its aftermath. She retreated to live with her parents and told friends not to visit. She went away to lick her wounds, and when the year was over, she came back at peace, with no signs of how hard the transition had been. He envied her strength. If Meghan could adapt to the tragedies that came in life, so could he. Jennifer was gone. He had to live with it.

"How far are you planning to drive?"

"Until sleep says find a hotel." He changed the radio station he was listening to. "I took a leave of absence from work."

She let that sink in. "That might be good."

He rol ed his right shoulder. Good, bad, it just was. He didn't have the emotional energy to handle the job right now.

"Are you driving through rain? The storm is getting close here."

"Wind driven rain," he confirmed. "Where are you staying?" She'd come into town for the funeral, so she must stil be in the area.

"I borrowed the keys to my grandparents' vacation place in Whitfield."

Whitfield.. .he final y placed it on his mental map. She was about twenty minutes northwest of his position.

The storm must be tracking her direction.

"I have a love-hate relationship with storms."

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He heard the tension m her voice. "I know," he said gently. About al she remembered of the night of her accident was the lightning and the thunder. The majority of her prior week-and most of the fol owing several days-had been wiped out of her memory and never returned.

"You okay, Meghan?" He was reluctant to get pul ed into it tonight, but the fact that she wasn't asking drew*ftie words out.

At twelve she had worn reading glasses, her nose often in a book, and had a habit of mixing up her rs and was when she tried to speak fast. She was one of his first friends from the neighborhood around the orphanage, an endearing one in an embarrassing kind of way for a preteen boy teased about hanging out with a girl by his friends. He hadn't realized until he spotted her across the room last night just how much he missed her.

"I'l be okay when this storm blows over." She turned her radio to match his station. "I'm going back to Silverton tomorrow. Dad is coming in to pick me up."

"Do you want to go tonight? I'l give you a lift if you like."

"I don't need rescuing, Stephen."

He smiled. "Maybe I do."

She was quiet a moment. "You wouldn't mind?"

"I wouldn't mind."

And as she hesitated, he hoped she would say yes.

Meghan was one of few outside his family who he ful y trusted to understand his mood on a night like tonight.

"Yes, I'd appreciate a lift. I'm already packed, and I won't be able to sleep with this storm overhead."

"Then I'm on the way." Stephen picked up the map to figure out how to get off this highway and over to her area.

"Would you like coffee or tea?" Meghan asked.

"I'd love a cup of your tea with honey and cinnamon."

"It wil be waiting. I'l turn on the driveway lights and leave the back door unlocked. Come on in so you don't get drenched."

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"I'l be there soon."

He set down the phone. Meghan had talked him out of running away once before. He doubted she could do it again, but he at least wanted to say how much he appreciated her coming to town for the visitation. They were friends, and destined to always be just friends given he hadn't been smart enough to settle down with her when he had the chance-and life rarely gave second chances.

His life was littered with if onlys.

He would give Meghan a lift home and then continue with his drive. If he let himself start grieving the past, the pain would never end. One of those if onlys had nearly cost Meghan her life.

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17 One

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

friday, august 16 CHICAGO

Stephen parked the ambulance next to a police squad car in the parking lot across from the county building and confirmed his location with dispatch. He'd dropped off his partner Ryan at the gym down the street to take a much needed shower. A happy drunk staggering home at 6 a.m had lost most of his last beer across Ryan's shirt. It already had the makings of an interesting Friday shift.

The heat hit him as he stepped from the vehicle. It was a day that would send tempers flaring somewhere in the city, and his squad would be sent to patch up the results of the inevitable fights. Stephen hoped they didn't get a DOA run: He'd had enough dead-on-arrival cal s to last the year. He spent his days dealing with car accidents, heart attacks, gunshot victims, and drug overdoses. He didn't need some rookie cop trying to comfort the family cal ing him out to a victim with no pulse whose body was cold and stiff. This job wore at him enough without adding the strain of having to tel people they were looking at a corpse.

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Stephen shoved his hands into his pockets and tned to force himself out of the morbid mood. Last nights dispatch to a man who had died hours before lingered in his mind like some dark dangerous cloud. Being a paramedic might be a noble profession, but it didn't run to being a chaplain. He didn't need crying kids and angry spouses shouting at him to do something when it was obvious there was nothing he could do. The voicesfiad haunted his dreams last night.

What he real y needed was a vacation, a nice long pedestrian vacation where no one paged him or, for that matter, knew him. The decision resonated, and he made a mental note to force some time off into his schedule. He loved his job, but there were days he wanted to walk away from it.

Stephen entered into the restaurant on the corner and paused in front of the display of pastries and donuts to glance around the tables for his sister Kate. Cops hung out here. He eliminated those in police blues and looked at the remaining ladies. Kate rarely looked like the cop she was. As a hostage negotiator, she tried to downplay any sense of being a threat to the person she was trying to convince to surrender. He didn't see her and was surprised that he had arrived first.

Stephen waved good morning to the owner and walked to Kate's favorite table in the back of the restaurant. She preferred to sit with her back to the wal so no one could come up behind her.

He ordered a sunrise special for himself and, since Kate was a creature of habit, ordered blueberry pancakes and coffee for her. He'd learned to eat early and wel as time for lunch in his job was never a given.

He turned up the sound on his radio. Kate was rarely late unless she was out on an assignment somewhere.

There had been too many close cal s with her lately The last thing he needed was his sister getting herself shot.

He was on his second cup of coffee when she arrived.

Kate

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wore jeans and a pale blue shirt and carried a folded newspaper under her arm. He rose and pul ed out the chair for her. She had been out in the sun this morning-the beginning of a sunburn was showing on her face and she had the glow of sweat on her skin. Since she hated early mornings, he guessed she'd been on a cal somewhere in the city.

He could feel the heat coming from her back as she took her seat, and the sun had lightened a few more strands of her hair. He was constantly tugging a basebal cap on her to keep her from getting sunstroke on the job. She tossed her newspaper onto the table.

"Thanks."

"I'm glad you could make it." Stephen sat back down. "I already ordered for you."

"Great. I needed this break." Kate dipped a napkin in her glass of water and used the wet corner to clean her sunglasses. "The heat is getting to people. We had an incident at a manufacturing plant this morning, and I spent two hours leaning in a window to have a conversation with a guy."

He pushed five sugar packets across the table for her coffee. "Did it end okay?"

She glanced up and smiled at his question; he had to smile back.

"It was the usual supervisor-employee fight that just kept building until they threw a few punches and then the employee pul ed a gun." She set down the sunglasses. "He talked with his kids and apologized for a fight with them the night before, released his supervisor, then gave himself up. The gun turned out not to be loaded. I would have resolved it in an hour, but the supervisor wouldn't keep his mouth shut. Even I felt like hitting the guy at one point, so I can understand how the fight got started."

She dumped four packets of sugar in her coffee, tasted it, and added a fifth.

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"You're going to make yourself hyper drinking that."

"Sugar is my one vice and I'm sticking to it." She propped her elbows on the table, steepled her fingers, and pointed at him. "Your cal this morning was a surprise. What's happening, Stephen?"

"I need a favor."

She tilted her head to the side. "I'm always good for one."

"It's not difficult-I need you to meet Lisa at the airport for me tonight. She's carrying bones back with her and needs an extra hand." Their sister Lisa was a forensic pathologist for the city coroner's office. She'd been working for weeks to figure out how a Jane Doe had died and decided it was time to consult the experts at the Smithsonian. It got a little complex explaining to airport personnel and taxi drivers why she was hauling around boxes of bones.

"Sure, I'l meet her. Have you got other plans?"

"A date."

Kate's expression shifted from amusement to interest.

"A good thing to have on a Friday night. Do I know her?"

"Maybe.. .Paula Lewis. I've had to cancel on her twice when a dispatch held me up, and it hasn't been easy to get her to say yes again. I'm going to make it up to her tonight."

"Paulas a nice lady, if you like doctors."

He smiled at the qualification. "Very nice." Their sister Jennifer was a pediatrician and therefore an exception, but beyond that Kate did her best to avoid those in the medical profession and their inevitable work-related conversations.

The restaurant owner brought their breakfasts and paused to chat with Kate. News affecting the city in general and the police department specifical y was debated here long before it reached the watercooler at the precinct.

Stephen spread jel y on his toast and listened to his sister's intense talk about work. Kate was the heart, soul, and passion of

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the O'Mal eys. When someone in the family needed an advocate, she was the one they turned to.

He couldn't imagine life without Kate in it. Having lost his little sister Peg in a drowning accident and his parents in a car accident by the time he was eleven, he'd been convinced at an early age that he was destined to lose people he cared about. He'd been feeling pretty grim at Trevor House until Kate came crashing into his life. She had practical y dared him to try to get rid of her. Her tenacious leading with her chin, her rm-in-your- life, deal-with-it attitude had slipped under his guard like nothing else ever could. He loved her for it.