My mind struggles to come up with the address but I can’t think of it. “It’s an office. Dr. Luke Nelson’s office. I don’t know the exact address but it’s in the strip mall on the corner of South and Nesbitt. Junior Feller is parked out front.”
“There’s an officer there?” Jeannie asks, sounding confused.
“He’s outside. I don’t think he knows what’s happened.”
“Hold on,” Jeannie says. She puts me on hold for a few seconds and then comes back on. “Junior’s coming in,” she says. “And I’ve dispatched an ambulance to your location.”
“Thanks, Jeannie,” I say and then suddenly Junior is there.
“Holy shit,” Junior says, taking in the scene. “What the hell happened?”
I drop Hurley’s phone and feel for a pulse. It’s there, but it’s fast and thready. I nod toward Jackie. “She stabbed Hurley. He needs an ambulance. She also killed Shannon Tolliver and Carla Andrusson.”
Junior looks momentarily confused. “She killed Shannon and Carla?” he echoes, moving closer to Jackie.
“She did. She confessed to me. She was having an affair with Nelson and apparently Shannon discovered what Nelson was doing and threatened to expose him. So Jackie killed her to shut her up and protect him. Here,” I say, pulling the recorder from between my breasts. “I think I got the whole thing on tape.”
Junior takes the recorder and drops it in his shirt pocket, then he walks over and cuffs Jackie. She puts up no resistance and he leaves her sobbing on the floor so he can come back to Hurley. He talks into his shoulder mike and then tells me, “The ambulance is almost here.”
This information is unnecessary since I can hear the siren close by but it reassures me just the same. “Hang in there, Hurley,” I whisper. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Is he?” Junior asks. “That looks bad.” He eyes the bloody blouse I’m holding, then I see his gaze shift briefly toward my chest.
“My jacket is in the other room. Can you get it for me?”
He fetches the jacket and briefly takes over wound dampening duties while I put it on. By the time I button it up I hear the ambulance siren out front and seconds later the EMTs come rushing in. Within minutes they have taken over the wound management, started an IV, and loaded Hurley onto a stretcher.
“I’m riding with you,” I tell the EMTs. Since my tone leaves no room for equivocation and the guys on the crew know me, they nod their assent. I follow them out to the rig and wait for them to load Hurley inside before I climb in.
We zip through town at a hefty pace with full lights and sirens. It’s a bumpy, rocky ride that leaves me gripping the bench seat and watching as Hurley’s IV sways back and forth.
“His blood pressure is pretty low,” one of the EMTs announces. “Eighty systolic.”
Panic rears its ugly head again and I struggle to keep it at bay. But it isn’t easy. Hurley’s color is nearly as white as the sheets and the amount of blood I can see on the chest dressing makes my throat tighten. Tears sting at my eyes and I swipe irritably at them. Then I take Hurley’s hand in mine and lean over close to his ear. “You better not die on me, Hurley,” I tell him as we hit another bump. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Chapter 47
Our arrival at the ER is organized chaos. The staff on duty knew we were coming, thanks to the EMTs’ radio report. But because the town is so small, the time span from when they heard we were coming to our actual arrival is only a couple of minutes, giving them little time to prepare.
I hop out of the ambulance and then back out of the way as the EMTs unload Hurley and wheel him into the ER. I follow close on their heels, checking out the staff on duty as we head for the trauma room. I’m relieved to see Dr. Cannady since I know she has an extensive trauma background and is an excellent doc. The nurses on duty are top-notch, too, an older, seasoned crew that has seen far worse and had their patients live to tell about it.
I stand in the doorway to the trauma room watching them dance their chaotic ballet, fighting an urge to jump in and help. My heart is telling me to get in there but my mind knows it would be best to stay on the sidelines. Even though the activity in the room looks frenzied and hectic, everyone in the room has their assigned tasks and knows what to do. Given the level of emotion I’m feeling, I’m not sure I’d be capable of thinking straight and would just be in the way. But I feel helpless standing here doing nothing.
Hurley is quickly stripped down to his skivvies and I can’t help but admire the brief glimpse I get of his physique. Within minutes the crew has blood drawn, a second IV line going, a heart monitor in place, and a set of vital signs. Hurley’s blood pressure is still frighteningly low and his heart is beating much too fast. Dr. Cannady orders the IV fluids opened wide and a stat portable chest X-ray.
Hurley is responding some, mumbling and moving, but I’m not close enough to tell if his words are making any sense or not.
I hear a mechanical sound closing in behind me and step aside to let the radiology tech into the room with the portable X-ray machine. Right behind her, much to my surprise, is David. Then it hits me; the staff would have paged the surgeon on call the minute they knew they had a stab wound victim on the way. He sees me, frowns, and stops.
“Mattie? What are you doing here?” He peers past me into the trauma room. “Who is that in there?” He looks concerned but also confused, no doubt because his first thoughts are that it’s my mother or sister in there, but one quick look makes it obvious the patient is a man.
“It’s Steve Hurley,” I tell him.
“That cop? What happened to him? Did he get shot?”
I shake my head. “Jackie Nash went nuts and stabbed him. She tried to stab me, too.”
I see curiosity flit across his face and know he wants more of an explanation but he stays focused. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing me from head to toe.
“I’m fine,” I say, glancing into the trauma room. “But Hurley is in bad shape.” I look back at my husband, the man I once loved, the man I was married to for seven years, the man who just a few nights ago pleaded for another chance, and realize he may hold Hurley’s life in his hands. “Please help him, David.” The words barely get out before my throat closes with emotion. Tears sting behind my eyes; I make a brief but futile attempt to keep them at bay, then swipe irritably at them as they course down my cheeks.
David stares at me a moment, then sighs. “You have a thing for this guy, don’t you?”
I don’t answer; I just stare back at him, my eyes pleading. I’m afraid to say too much, afraid to admit too much. I hear the clicks of the portable X-ray machine and Dr. Cannady’s voice follows.
“Dr. Winston? We could use your help in here.”
With that, David disappears into the room. The flurry of activity continues and moments later the X-ray tech returns with film in hand. David puts it up on a wall-mounted light box and studies it for a few seconds. From where I’m standing I can see the X-ray clearly and note with relief that both of Hurley’s lungs appear to be well aerated and expanded.
David confirms this. “The lungs look okay. I think the bleeding is our biggest problem. Let’s get him upstairs so I can open him up.”
As the nurses are making the final preparations for sending Hurley to the OR, David comes back out of the room and pulls me off to the side. “I can’t say I’m happy about you moving on to someone else already but I know it’s my own fault. And despite my feelings, you know I’ll do my best.”
I do. Despite his personal failings in the husband department, David is a dedicated and talented surgeon. Even if it’s a bit awkward, I’m glad David is here because I know Hurley will be in good hands. “Thank you, David.”
David takes off to get himself ready for surgery. I hear the nurses in the trauma room releasing the brakes on the stretcher and getting all the attached equipment ready for transfer. I turn to head back into the room to get one last look at Hurley, hoping to say some final words of encouragement even if I’m unsure he’ll hear them. But before I reach the door, someone else rushes into the room. I blink hard, barely believing what I’m seeing. Alison Miller dashes to Hurley’s bedside, grabs his hand, and leans over the railing to look at him.
“Oh, Stevie,” she cries. “Are you okay?” She looks over at Dr. Cannady. “Is he okay?”
“He has some internal bleeding. We’re taking him to the OR.”
