While Clint took it to cover her, David continued patting the baby. To his surprise, the infant stopped crying, gazing up at him with wide, dark blue eyes.
“An ambulance is on its way,” Alex said, and Manny moved away. Giving them plenty of room, diners stared in frozen shock while the three men tried to take care of the woman and baby.
Alex leaned down to the woman and took something crumpled from her fingers. David watched Alex straighten out the card. Startled, David met Alex’s solemn gaze. When both men looked at Clint, a silent communication passed among them. David knew the other two also recognized the Texas Cattleman’s Club card that the stranger had clutched in her hand.
As a member of the prestigious social club, David knew, as well as his friends, that the Texas Cattleman’s Club was a facade. Its members worked together covertly on secret missions to save innocent lives. Tonight, two more close friends would have been with them, except Travis Whelan and Sheikh Darin ibn Shakir were out of the country on a confidential task. The woman lying on the floor of the Royal Diner was evidently here because she was seeking a Texas Cattleman’s Club member to help her.
She had a dark bruise on one cheek, and Clint had his handkerchief pressed against the wound on her head. In the distance a siren wailed.
All of the diners still stood back so David didn’t feel anyone could hear them if they talked softly. “She’s here for help from the club,” he said. “We can’t just leave her.”
“I agree,” Clint replied, and Alex nodded.
“We have to ride in that ambulance with her. And we can’t let them take the baby away from her,” David continued.
“I’ve glanced in this bag she was carrying,” Alex added quietly, with a grim note in his voice. “It has diapers and bottles and a little formula, but it’s also stuffed with money. A damn lot of big bills.”
David mumbled an expletive and tucked the baby into the crook of one arm. He hunkered down to take the woman’s wrist and feel her pulse. When he looked at her pupils, he saw one was dilated more than the other.
“She’s in bad shape,” David said, looking at Clint and Alex. “Her pulse is weak.”
“If something happens to her, we can’t let the state take the baby until we know who gave her that card,” Alex said.
“Call Justin Webb,” David suggested, thinking of a fellow club member physician. “Tell him to meet us at the hospital and let’s get him to check the baby. Even though babies aren’t his usual patients—as influential as he is at Royal Memorial, he can step in and help us.”
While Alex punched numbers, David said to Clint, “Take the baby.” With his pararescue training, David didn’t want to wait for the paramedics if the woman needed help. Before he could hand the infant to his friend, the bell over the door tinkled and two paramedics swept into the room. David recognized one of the medics and stood to speak to Carsten Kramer.
“Did anyone see what happened?” Carsten asked as the other paramedic knelt over the woman. David filled him in quickly while Clint put away his phone and nodded at David, indicating, to David’s relief, that Justin Webb would meet them at the hospital. David watched while the medic checked the woman’s airway, her pupils and her pulse.
Soon the paramedics had her hooked to an IV, and had an oxygen mask in place. They carefully put her on a transport board with a neck stabilizer and Clint Andover got permission to ride in the ambulance while David and Alex planned to follow in their cars. David passed the baby to a paramedic, feeling a peculiar reluctance to give up the infant even for a short time.
“Manny, we’ll get the bill later,” David called over his shoulder as he and Alex grabbed their jackets and rushed out behind Clint and the medics. Manny waved them away, following them outside and standing in his shirtsleeves, a spattered apron tied around his waist while he watched them.
Bright streetlights pushed back shadows and a sliver of moon hung in an inky sky above David’s car, which was speeding toward Royal Memorial Hospital. The ride seemed interminable, yet David knew the hospital was located within walking distance of the Royal Diner. Where had the woman come from? Who had given her the card? Questions plagued him during his dash toward the emergency entrance.
Carrying the diaper bag, Alex jogged to join him and together they rushed into the hospital just as the paramedics were wheeling the unconscious woman down the hallway through double doors. David and Alex met Clint and were told they would have to wait.
In less than three minutes, a familiar tall, brown-haired man, Justin Webb, M.D., came striding through the door and shook hands with all three men.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” David said. “They’ve already taken the woman and baby to an examining room.”
“Who is she?” Justin asked.
David quickly filled Justin in on what had happened at the diner.
“Sounds like what started out as a peaceful night in Royal has turned out to be a big problem dumped on you guys,” Justin said quietly. He nodded at David. “Okay, I’ll see about the baby.”
“Thanks!” David exclaimed with relief. “Just let us take care of the baby until the mother can.”
Justin frowned. “If the mother can’t keep the infant for a few days, I’ll see to it that y’all can,” he stated, his solemn gaze sweeping the other three Texas Cattleman’s Club men before he turned to stride away.
“He’ll keep that promise if humanly possible,” David said, staring after the tall doctor who was one of the Southwest’s leading plastic surgeons and responsible for Royal Memorial’s Plastic Surgery/Burn Unit.
“He’s been through this with his own,” Alex added as the three men headed for chairs to sit and wait.
David knew that the others were as aware as he that Justin’s oldest child, Angel, now adopted, was left on his wife’s doorstep before Justin and Winona were married.
“Justin and Winona adore that little girl of theirs,” Clint said.
“I think Justin will do everything in his power to see to it that this baby doesn’t have to go to the Child Protective Services,” David added.
As the three men waited, Alex Kent pulled out his cell phone. “Even though we need to keep a low profile on this as much as possible, it’s only a matter of time until the police are notified. I’m surprised they’re not here now. I’ll call Wayne Vicente and talk to him because we’ve worked together before.”
“Good idea, Alex,” Clint said.
David leaned back and crossed his long legs, listening to his friend talk to the police chief. Even though they were the only people in the waiting room, Alex spoke in a low voice. David glanced at his friends. They were in jeans, Western shirts and boots just as he was—standard dress for chili night at the diner.
As soon as he finished the call, Alex put away his phone. “Vicente will be here shortly.”
“I’ve been thinking about the woman,” Clint said. “If they hold her here at the hospital—or if she’s unable to leave—with all that money and a head wound and the card, she must be in
