Coming ine box set, p.33
Coming in Hot: Rescue Me Box Set, page 33
“Maria,” Rachel said sharply to the nervous woman. “Get a hold of yourself. Is that Mom?”
Maria’s glazed eyes seemed to clear. “Y-yes.”
“Bring her to stand here so she can see what’s going on and we can ask her more questions if we need to,” Rachel said in a tone that brooked no argument. She slid her cell phone from her back pocket of her jeans. “Call 9-1-1 now and tell them to dispatch a Lifeflight helicopter to this location right away. That a little boy’s been shot and he needs immediate air transport to Children’s Hospital.”
“Okay,” Maria said, spurred into action.
Rachel pushed both the trauma cart and the crash cart over to the gurney on the opposite side from where Devon toiled now that there was room to work with the little guy’s family moved out of the way. She quickly turned on the defibrillator monitor and attached the ecg leads, placed a pulse ox, and started cycling a blood pressure set to go off in precise three minute intervals. Next, she started a 20g IV in the antecubital of the boy’s right arm and started lactated ringers intravenous fluid wide open.
“Blood pressure is 71/49, pulse ox is dropping, and rhythm is sinus tach at 133 beats per minute,” she said, palms slick with sweat within her gloves.
Devon swore as he removed the stethoscope from his ears. “Absent breath sounds on the left. Probably a hemo-pneumothorax because of where the bullet lodged itself. Can’t be sure without a chest x-ray.” He swiped the perspiration off his forehead with his forearm. “Let’s secure an airway then place a chest tube.”
It had been years since Rachel had worked in an emergency room setting, but her training kicked in as if it were an everyday occurrence. Pulling the Broselow tape from the top drawer of the crash cart she laid it out next to pale boy struggling to breathe before her to determine what color category he’d be in and drew up all the rapid sequence intubation drugs that Devon ordered that would be used to sedate little Joaquin. Every so often she’d murmur soft encouraging words of comfort, praise at how brave he was, and reassure him with touch. She’d also point out that his mother was only a few feet away so he could see her.
Devon was definitely skilled, Rachel thought as she assisted first with the placement of an endotracheal tube and then with the chest tube insertion. Of course, she’d had to practically drag an extremely nervous Maria over to squeeze the ambu bag to deliver manual breaths to the now unconscious Joaquin to free up her own hands in order to help Devon. She admired the way he found the anatomical landmarks with the skill of someone who’d done it a million times. How steady and sure his hand was as he made the incision with the scalpel. By the time he was ready to grasp the sterile end to connect the chest tube to a collection chamber, Rachel was ready. Blood that had collected within his chest cavity poured into the device so that Joaquin’s lung could re-inflate with the proper intrathoracic pressure restored once the chest tube chamber was hooked to wall suction at -20cm.
Once or twice, Rachel thought she heard Seamus’ soft Irish lilt conversing with Evie. Soft murmurs of, “That’s my boy!” and, “See, Evie? I told you they’d get on well together,” reached her ears, but she had no time to look around and see where those two were or what they were up to. She glanced at Devon’s intense face and knew he hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary. Maybe now that she knew ghosts were real and Seamus was still in her life, she was making him appear when he wasn’t around. After all, if she could see him poof with all his brilliant kaleidoscope of light when he appeared, wouldn’t everyone in this room be able to do the same?
“Damn it,” Devon said, clamping the chest drain.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel asked, focusing on the task at hand once more.
“He’s losing too much blood. There’s already 500 cc’s in the chamber and there’s still more in his chest that needs to drain out, but you know what happens if it pours out too fast,” he said grimly.
Just then, the monitor blared out an alarm for a blood pressure reading which dropped from the low 90’s systolic to an alarming 52/36. The kid was suffering from hypovolemic shock and they had no whole blood to replace his lost volume.
“Wait,” Rachel said. “Your trauma cart is pretty inclusive, I thought I saw…” She turned and rummaged through the drawers once more and came out with a vial. “TXA!” she said triumphantly.
Admiration mixed with relief entered those gorgeous blue eyes. Her traitorous tummy did little flips before she remembered he was an A-number-one jackass. She retrieved her cell phone from Joaquin’s mother who held it while Maria had been inducted into a makeshift respiratory therapist and had talked to the 9-1-1 operator. Without disconnecting the call, she flipped to her Google app and looked up the pediatric dosing information for TXA.
Tranexamic Acid had only been on the market for the last five years or so, but it was effective at clotting off major bleeds in trauma patients, or at least slowing the rate of blood loss so that the patient could reach a major trauma center in time for emergency assistance. Rachel couldn’t help but be impressed with how well Devon’s free clinic was set up. The man seemed to have every toy available to save lives. But of course he would have everything. His father was a goddamn multi-millionaire.
Millionaire. Her Seamus, who by all accounts had been an unassuming man with simple but elegant tastes, lived in the same modest home since before his wife had died twenty years before, drove a Hyundai Sonata, and lounged around in pajama pants and simple sport T-shirts.
And he’d left her a sizeable inheritance. Enough that she’d never have to work again if she didn’t want to.
And just how long have you been in the swindling business? I want to know exactly what you were doing to my father? Did you kill him for his money? Were you sleeping with him? Devon’s hateful accusations rang through her head as she worked and she had to do the drug calculations twice.
The flight team arrived as Rachel finished hanging the TXA and Devon gave the handoff report as they packaged their young charge onto their flight gurney, attaching all the portable monitoring equipment. There simply wasn’t time to ponder all that Devon had told her and accused her of. Moving out of the flight team’s way so they could work, Rachel removed her soiled gloves and washed her hands at the sink. As she dried off with the disposable paper towels, she saw Maria soothing the boy’s mother and Devon assisting the flight team. Everything was well in hand and she knew there wasn’t anything further she could do here. Quietly, she slipped from the room.
Chapter Eight
Rachel glanced down at Seamus’ still body in the steel grey casket he lay in. She’d arrived early enough because she’d wanted to have this private moment to say goodbye before she had to face all her colleagues and his jerk of a son.
She caressed his hair. There was a little half smile on his face. A tear slipped down her cheek and she swiped it away with a tissue. “You look good, Seamus,” she murmured, admiring the dark navy blue suit and red tie.
A flash of brilliant light that was becoming all too familiar burst into the room next to her. “I do, don’t I?” Seamus said. “When do we get this party started?”
Rachel rounded on him. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for three whole days! Ever since your son accused me of sleeping with you to swindle you out of your money. Why didn’t you tell me about the inheritance so I could of at least been prepared for his accusations and the allegations of others? People are bound to talk once that little bit of information gets around.”
“Ah, Rachel,” Seamus said patiently. “I’ve been busy, girl. Me and Evie were getting reacquainted if you know what I mean,” he said, waggling his bushy eyebrows happily.
“There’s sex in the afterlife?” she asked, shocked.
He opened his mouth to speak and she held up a hand. “No. Wait. I don’t want to know. Your sex life is just a little bit TMI.”
“Well, Rachel girl, you’re the one who brought it up,” he said reasonably.
“No,” she said. “Your son did when he accused me of being a gold digging whore the other day.”
Seamus’ gaze widened. “I don’t remember him using those words, exactly.”
“You were there! And spying on us? Ah, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she said and began to pace. “Why?” Rachel demanded. “If you knew all of this already, why did you let me stress out about it for the last few days!”
The sly look on his face was her answer. “Oh, right,” she said. “You were getting reacquainted with your wife. Can’t you talk to Devon? Set him straight about this entire business?” she pleaded, pausing her pacing to stop in front of him. “It’s humiliating.”
He slipped his palm up to her cheek and waves of warmth and calm infused into her. “There, now, lass,” he said. “Don’t fret about a thing. I’m confident that everything will work out just fine. The boy will come to his senses,” he soothed. “Besides, you’re the only one who can actually hear and see me for some reason. I’ve visited Devon. Made all kinds of ghostly racket sans chains, booing, etc…but the boy is deaf and blind when it comes to me.”
“Wonderful,” she muttered. “Just wonderful.”
“I’m glad you like everything,” Paul Levinson said, coming into the room behind her.
Rachel jumped and Seamus disappeared in a flash of dizzying colors. “Ah, um, yes,” she said covering her surprise. “The bouquet of Rock Sea-Spurrey flowers were Seamus’ favorite. I’m so glad you were able to get them to lay on top of the casket. The lavender color goes great.”
Paul smiled. He was a slight, balding man in his late fifties with sharp, intelligent eyes that missed nothing. He’d been a great help when her ex-husband had been stalking her.
“You know Seamus, organized to the very last detail,” he said. “He’d paid a local florist shop to keep them on hand for this occasion.” His voice got a little choked up. “I’m going to miss the old bugger.”
Rachel placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We all are,” she said, wondering where Seamus had poofed off to now. She’d thought he was going to stick around.
“And I don’t want you to worry about a thing, dear,” Paul said after gathering his composure. “Devon will come around about the money.”
“About that,” she began. “Seamus must’ve been out of his mind. I don’t want any of it. Give it to charity or something.”
“Sorry, Rachel, but according to the terms of Seamus’ will, that isn’t possible,” he said.
“What do you mean it’s not possible?” she asked.
“Because,” Devon’s frigid voice came from behind her. “Dear old dad wanted you taken care of. In order for you to give your inheritance away, you’d have to marry me first. He wanted you to have the protection and security of the Jameson name and fortune,” he spat.
Rachel gasped and whirled around, feeling all the color drain from her face. “What?”
“You saw it in black and white the other day,” he said with a scowl on his face.
“Look, Dr. Jameson,” she said with contempt. “I skimmed those documents. And if you think I’m marrying the likes of you, think again.”
“Exactly!” Devon pegged Paul with his dark gaze. “See? Gold digging, manipulative—”
“That’s enough, son,” Paul said sternly. “This isn’t the time or the place to discuss this.” He looked pointedly over Devon’s shoulder as people began to arrive. “I suggest we take our seats.”
Rachel turned back to Seamus’ still body once more. “Oh, Seamus,” she whispered. “What have you done?”
The rest of the funeral passed in a blur of tears and memories as Seamus’ closest colleagues and friends gave eulogies and shared anecdotes of their time with him while he was on this earth. A few times Rachel caught glimpses of Seamus making the rounds, delighting in his time in the spotlight. Let him enjoy himself now, because she couldn’t wait to get him alone and give him a piece of her mind.
Chapter Nine
Devon sat at his father’s desk. An unopened bottle of Jack mocked him as he stared at the shiny, round DVD Paul Levinson had given him at the reading of his dad’s will the day before he and Rachel had worked on young Joaquin.
He turned the disc over and over in his trembling hands until the image blurred through his unshed tears. His heart squeezed with pain and the crushing loneliness threatened to engulf him. Not sure if he had the strength, but needing to find out what the old man had wanted to say that was so damn important that he felt the need to videotape one final conversation. He always did have to have the last word. Devon’s lips quirked despite his grief.
Christ, this was hard. Probably harder than it had been when Shannon and his mother died. Devon swiped at the tears that spilled onto his cheeks with the heel of his hand, disgusted with his weakness. When he demanded that Levinson contest his dad’s will, the old attorney encouraged him to watch the video. Demanded, in fact that Devon do so because legally, his hands were tied. In order for Rachel to be cut from the inheritance, she’d have to marry Devon. He swore. How had that treacherous woman gotten her claws so deep into his father right under Devon’s nose?
Well, you haven’t been around very much, have you?
His inner voice sneered, taunting him with another one of his failures. He hadn’t been there for Shannon, their unborn child, and now his father. With a curse, he yanked open the bottle of Jack and poured a double, swallowing it down in one long gulp. The welcoming heat scorched his throat down to his gut.
The real kicker of the matter was that if the woman didn’t receive her payoff according to his dad’s wishes, Devon stood to lose all financial backing his father had put into his clinic. By using his trust fund and with his dad’s help, Devon had been able to get all the state of the art equipment, medications, and pay the month-to-month expenses to keep the space open. Never mind his urgent care had very few patients, as most of low economic people he served in that neighborhood didn’t trust the “gringo” doctor. He still hoped that all that would change. As his patient load picked up, he would then hire a nursing staff and maybe another doctor to help him out. But he wouldn’t have the resources to do that if he didn’t pay off that shady fortune hunter, Rachel.
Thoughts of the ballsey red head switched his attention to the faded numbers on the palm of his hand. The remnants of the permanent marker where she’d scribbled the digits of her cell were no longer discernable. No matter. It wasn’t as if he was actually going to call or text the woman who’d swindled his father out of a million-dollar inheritance. He remembered her faked outrage when he’d called her out on her actions.
And to think his father’s attorney bought the song and dance routine of “give the money to charity” bullshit she’d been trying to pull at the funeral yesterday. Oh, she was a good actress all right. Devon could easily see how his father could have been taken in by what he would’ve thought as the perfect Irish lass.
Devon had heard his old man talk about Rachel before and could have kicked himself in the ass by not seeing the warning signs sooner. Honestly, whenever he’d stop by for visits in between trips abroad to check in on his father, his dad had mentioned a nurse that he’d befriended, but Devon had no idea the relationship had progressed so damn far. If he’d known, he’d have put a stop to it. For his father to actually change his will… Devon shook his head disbelieving that such a smart, rational man could be taken in by such a con.
The woman was an amazing nurse, he thought as he remembered them working together to save the life of that little boy a few days ago. He couldn’t argue that. For her to suggest using the TXA he’d added to the trauma cart for just such an occasion had probably saved Joaquin’s life. But her nursing skills weren’t in doubt. It was her morals and lack of integrity that he questioned. She’d had to have seduced his old man. There was no other explanation for his father’s behavior. Which was troublesome in and of itself because in all the years since Devon’s mother had passed, to his knowledge his father had never even so much as looked at another woman in that way. Flirted with, yes, but never had another sexual partner.
Another problem was the strong attraction Devon felt whenever he’d been around Rachel. If his father had tapped that… Christ, a man could go insane thinking about all this shit.
At first, he’d thought his attraction was because she’d looked so much like Shannon. But the more he’d thought about the similarities between the two women, the more he’d figured that his grief over the loss of his wife made him see things that weren’t really there.
Devon scrubbed his face with his palms, a heavy weight on his shoulders. Wanting to understand, he choked back a sob and willed himself toward the television and DVD player he knew lay behind the doors of the oak cabinet across the room. No matter how hard he tried, his body wouldn’t move. The sound of his own harsh breathing echoed off the walls as he wrestled with his tangled emotions. He felt so goddamn out of control.
Time passed while he sat there at his father’s desk staring at the shiny disc. How much, Devon had no idea. When he’d finally gathered up his courage, there were dark shadows in the room as the sun set low in the sky. He took a deep breath, wiped the dampness from his cheeks, and finally made his way over to the cabinet and put the recording in to play. Remote in hand, he returned to his old man’s desk and pushed the start button.
His father’s image filled the large TV screen before him.
“Hello there, lad,” Seamus said, smiling.
The old man looked good, Devon thought. He knew from what Levinson had told him that his father had recorded this fairly recently. It was hard to believe that he was now gone forever. Fresh grief constricted his throat.
“By now Paul will have told you the revised terms of my will. Now I know you’re probably pissed,” he said holding up a hand. “But just hold on a minute there, son, and hear me out.”
