have whiplash. No broken bones, but your ankle is sprained. No internal injuries. We’ll keep you overnight for observation. That concussion is dangerous. The neurosurgeon will be down later to check on you and she’ll probably order a CT scan.”
“Neurosurgeon?” Jack’s fear meter leaped to high alert.
“We have to make sure there are no blood clots or other damage. Best to cover our bases. Yours and ours.”
Jack tried to nod and failed. “Good thinking.” He paused for a moment. Words were reluctant to move from his brain to his lips. “Your insurance carrier will commend you for your prudence.”
Her expression was quizzical. “I wasn’t thinking of our liability—I only want what’s best for all our patients.”
“Don’t...take me wrong—” Jack tried to sit up but failed. He slumped back on the pillows. He groaned as he tried to touch his aching head, but when he lifted his arm he saw the IV and several butterfly bandages over a nasty gash in his forearm. A fleeting worry about scarring shot through his mind, but he dismissed it. He’d come razor-close to losing his eyesight. He was thankful that, in all likelihood, he’d walk away from this with some scars on his arm, a badly sprained ankle and a headache.
A beep went off in Sophie’s lab coat pocket. Anxiety distorted her pretty features and suddenly her entire demeanor changed. Her motions were brusque, hurried, but exact as she tore a plastic wrapper away from a disposable hypodermic needle. She dabbed gauze with alcohol and cleaned his IV site, then took the IV line, unhooked it and cleaned both ends of the plastic connections before injecting a vial of medication into his IV. “This will help with the pain,” she said, glancing into the hallway. She turned back to him. “This is your call button if you need anything. I know you must be thirsty, but we can’t let you have anything to eat or drink for a while. If you feel nauseous, you hit that button immediately. Do you understand?”
Jack nodded, disconcerted by her stern tone, and suddenly realized that the soothing melody of her voice had distracted him from what was going on in the rest of the ER. Sophie peered through Jack’s privacy curtain, and he heard what sounded like dozens of people all talking at the same time. Orders were being shouted. Someone was rattling off clipped, terse instructions. Rubber-soled shoes and sneakers pounded against the linoleum floor. Wheels of gurneys wobbled and screeched.
Though it sounded like pandemonium to Jack, an outsider, he knew these were professionals. He believed in this hospital and its very qualified staff. After all, it was only a few months ago, thanks to Katia Stanislaus’s expertise, that he and his company had landed the insurance contract for the Indian Lake Hospital. He’d met with President Emory Wills himself. Jack also knew cardiac surgeon Nate Barzonni personally. He was an excellent surgeon and could have had his pick of positions at Sloan-Kettering in New York, but being the altruistic man he was, Nate chose to divide his work between the Indian reservations up in Michigan and here in Indian Lake.
It eased Jack’s nerves to know that he, Owen and Aleah were in very capable hands.
Still, Jack wanted to talk to somebody who knew what had happened to him and his employees in the fog on Highway 421 tonight. Had he gone off the road? Had he fallen asleep? Was this his fault? What could have caused all this suffering?
Just considering that he could be responsible in the slightest degree was intolerable. Guilt flooded him like a tsunami, taking over his thoughts and causing more agony than his physical pain.
His whole life, he’d tried to do the right thing in every circumstance. From striving to live up to his marine father’s demanding and impossible expectations to taking care of his sister and mother after his father’s death. He chose insurance as a career to help others protect their lives and their possessions. Jack Carter was a guardian.
In the blink of an eye, he had placed the people in his charge in jeopardy.
Now Jack had to face his darkest hour.
Just then, the air was split again with screams of human pain that Jack would never have imagined, even in his worst nightmares. He heard a man, a young man, yelling for help. Then he screamed again with such agony, Jack thought he must be torn in two. Jack wanted to cover his ears, but even if he could have, he knew he would never forget that scream for the rest of his life. It was so terrifying it sounded inhuman.
But above it all, he heard the high-pitched wail of a young girl’s terror that turned his blood to ice.
“That’s Aleah!” Jack growled as tears burned his swollen and bruised eyes.
A voice came over the loudspeaker. “Code Blue. Code Blue. Dr. Barzonni to the ER, stat.”
Sophie glanced back at Jack with pleading eyes as she burst away from his bedside. She flung back the curtain and said, “I want to help you, but I have to go to her.”
Jack reached out his aching arm to Sophie and motioned her away. “Save her, Sophie. Save her.”
SOPHIE RUSHED AROUND the nurse’s station to the ER bay on the opposite side. Bart Greyson, an RN with a decade of ER experience, had just gone in there with a stainless steel defibrillator cart.
Bart ran the ER with an iron fist and more stamina than the entire staff combined. He could pull over forty-eight hours on duty with only a half dozen, ten-minute catnaps while sitting at his computer. Bart had brains, insight and skill...and a case of Red Bull in his locker. He was a legend at Indian Lake. No one second-guessed Bart or his orders.
“You’re the first of the cardiac team here,” Bart said to Sophie as he shoved a medical chart into her hands.
“Dr. Barzonni is on call?” Sophie asked, never taking her eyes from her patient.
“I just got word he’s upstairs with an emergency surgery. We’ve paged Dr. Caldwell. I left a message at the nurse’s station, as well. I don’t know who will show up,” Bart replied with a huff of exhaustion. He stuck his hands on his hips. “Figures. It’s a full moon. It’s always an asylum here during a full moon.”
Sophie gently lifted Aleah’s eyelid and examined her. “I heard her scream but she’s unconscious,” Sophie observed.
“She was unconscious on arrival and except for that one time, she’s been unresponsive.”
Sophie turned to the defibrillator. “She’s in arrest?”
“No. Arrhythmia. The Code Blue was for the other victim. Dr. Hill had to leave Aleah and see to the John Doe. He was the driver of the other car. The cops are working on getting an ID for us.”
Sophie had worked with Dr. Eric Hill nearly every weekend since she’d begun her ER duties six months ago.
Dr. Hill was five years past his internship and residency at Cook County Hospital in Chicago. He’d told Sophie that in those five years, he felt he’d seen everything emergency medicine could throw at a person. He’d come to Indian Lake for a change of pace. Well, he’d gotten it. Unless there was a major accident like this one, most weekends in the ER were run-of-the-mill household accidents—falls or injuries with tools—and relatively minor illnesses where the patients or their parents didn’t have medical insurance.
Sophie watched Dr. Hill and three nurses work on a tall,
