Peril (30 page)

What caused her spirit to ache now was how she'd cheated him of affection over the last several months. Losing Teagan, her kidney failure, and the ultimate need for dialysis took away her desire for those marital joys. And sadly, her life hanging in the balance did little to help her want to cling to the world she shared with her husband.

Wouldn't it be better for everyone if I just disappeared? I infuse my grief into every life I know
. She'd had enough of it herself.

Morgan gazed at Scarlett's bed and involuntarily superimposed a memory of her own baby over this child's untimely death. She swaddled Scarlett's body in a cloth and trembled badly.

Drew was on the other side of the crib, assisting her. He laid a heavy hand on her forearm and eased it off the cocooned body. He pulled her around the other side and pushed her into a seated position on an empty toddler's bed.

He leaned close to her. “You did everything you could.”

Morgan nodded, tears flowing.

“We did everything by the book. They can't hold you responsible for her death.”

Her teeth bit into her lip—the irony, salty fluid filled her mouth.

Drew cupped her chin. “Enough of that. One thing at a time.”

Morgan nodded. Could she pull it together? So far there hadn't been any sign that someone was coming to save them. No sign that help was present on the floor. A portable TV had been pulled into the center of the unit, and Scott flitted around it like a young moth pondering whether the electric blue light was nirvana or death.

“We need to take care of that cut.”

Trudy heard his statement and pulled supplies out of one of the bedside cabinets.

“How bad is it?” Morgan asked.

“How do you feel about stitches without lidocaine?”

“Why don't you just clean it and use butterfly closures?”

“You should have Steri-Strips on the unit somewhere, don't you?”

Izabel nodded. With Scott otherwise occupied, she made slow, steady steps to another cabinet to pull the materials out.

“We need to start feeding people,” Drew said as he moistened a cloth at the nearby sink. He dabbed at the dried blood on her face.

Intellectually, she knew what he was doing. It was a common ploy in
those who worked with pediatric patients. Talk about the normal. The dull. The everyday stuff to draw attention away from the horrifying thing that was happening to you.

“I know. We can get snacks. Keep people drinking.”

Izabel dropped the supplies on the side of the bed. “I can start pulling juice and cheese and crackers out.”

“Before the snack, round on the patients. Let's make sure no drips are running out. Patient care needs to continue as normal. Vital signs. Turning. Everything. Team up with Lucy, okay?”

Izabel gave a halfhearted wave and neared Lucy, who stood vigil at Seth's bedside.

Morgan glanced Drew's direction. She picked up the package of Steri-Strips. “You're pretty good at what you do. Staying calm. Making sure things are taken care of. From what I know about paramedics, your type isn't necessarily good at letting others step in and help.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You think you and I are much different, Ms. Control Freak?”

Morgan tried to separate the thin, plastic sheets so she could open the package. “If I control everything, I can only blame myself when things go wrong. I don't have to worry about someone else letting me down.”

“Isn't that lonely? I've found that just surrendering and allowing others to help gives me back more control—particularly if it's the Big Man in Charge.” He plied the package from her fingers. “You know my big fingers are not going to be as delicate as they need to be, but you're stuck with them.”

“It's all right. It won't hurt any worse than it does now.”

She should have kept her lips closed until he was done. Even the gentle probing of his fingers against her cheekbone increased the pain throbbing at her temples.

He reached for more strips. “Ice will help. Some Tylenol for the splitting headache I'm sure you have. I've been clocked a few times in my life and I know it's no fun. Do you think those punches I took improved my mug any?” He paused from dressing her wound and gave her a quick side profile.

She smiled. There was something about Drew. Medical people were known to have a dark sense of humor—particularly when in stressful situations. But his self-deprecating manner was a salve to her sad spirit.

Scott turned up the volume.

What they knew as hostages was only what they saw on the television. Evacuations of the hospital were taking place. They were moving children to a nearby high school gymnasium—at least those who should stay for hospital care. The critical patients who were difficult to move out of the facility were being relocated to the emergency department, which had been closed down to all incoming patients. The campus was closed. All children who could be discharged were being sent home. All surgeries canceled.

There was surreal—and then there was unfathomable. Housed in their little unit, it was hard at times to understand how these three men had altered the course of so many lives. Had anyone else died today because of them?

Suddenly, Scott motioned to his other compatriots. He tilted the portable screen their direction, and Morgan caught sight of the image that had them so enthralled.

Her biological father, Thomas Reeves, appeared before a throng of press. A reporter's mike nearly kissed his lips. The woman edged into his personal space and it looked like he was about to deck her.

With their captors' attention drawn away, Drew patted at the vial of the paralyzing agent in her pocket. He kept his voice low. “Want to tell me what you want to do with that?”

Morgan turned her head toward the blanketed-up windows to shield her voice. “It's not enough to incapacitate all three. Maybe just one. Need to get a needle and syringe to draw it up.”

“Cut the head off the snake as they say?”

Morgan nodded. “The others seem to be here to support Scott. That Jose guy is pretty even tempered. The other one, Dylan . . . well, I've got a horrible feeling about him.”

“When Scott hit you, Jose was definitely not on board. I saw him almost lunge at Scott to stop him. But I agree about Dylan. During that same moment, it looked like he was next up for an amusement park ride. Pure excitement on his face. It made my skin crawl.” Drew motioned with a faint tilt of the head up to the ceiling. “Do you see what I see?”

Morgan glanced around—the three still had their eyes glued to the screen. She ventured a quick look upward. A thin tube protruded from the ceiling.

“SWAT,” was all Drew said.

SWAT could see them! They'd snaked a camera through the ceiling and were watching all the drama unfold. But did they have a plan in place?

“How do you think we can do it?” Morgan asked.

Drew placed the last strip in place. “Inject one of them? I don't—”

A sudden slap to the top of the television jolted Morgan's nerves. Quickly, Scott was at their position. He snatched Morgan from the bed. The other two backed up a few steps. He planted her in front of the television.

“What is it with your father?” he screamed, his breath hot against the side of her face. “Does he love anything other than himself?”

Heavy fear spread through her body. Morgan caught the replay. “Whatever these men want, I can't help them. I won't help them.”

“Even if it saves the lives of the hostages?”

He pointed a long finger at the camera. “They are responsible for their actions. I can't do anything to change what's already been done. Now please, step aside. Some of us have important work to accomplish today.”

Scott turned the television off and grabbed her by the shoulders. “I want you to call him.”

“Why?”

“To get him to change his mind.”

Morgan took two hands and shoved the middle of Scott's chest, throwing his arms off her body. “I don't have that kind of power over him. I told you, I don't even know him.”

His eyes seethed a quiet rage. His fists clenched at his sides. “We're going to have to light a fire under your father.”

He stomped toward the crib that held the deceased baby. Morgan scrambled after him and tried to grab the back of his Kevlar vest. He swatted her hand behind him as if to ward off a pesky gnat.

“What are you doing?” Morgan screamed.

He scooped the bundle off the bed. “I'm going to give them a body. Maybe then they'll care a little bit more about what's happening in here.”

Morgan grabbed at his arm. “You can't do it. There're lines that should never be crossed.”

He shoved her back. “Evidently, you didn't learn that from your father.”

With one hand he grabbed the edge of the sheet and unwrapped the body. Morgan scurried around the other side of the crib and clamped
her hand down onto his wrist. He pulled his sidearm and aimed it at her chest.

She exhaled slowly to calm her quaking knees. “You told me you lost a child once. How would you like your child's body to be desecrated to prove a point? Imagine how this mother will feel. Are you going to put a bullet into Scarlett and throw her out the door? You don't think they'll be smart enough to tell that the baby had already died?”

He slammed the gun back into its holster and wheeled around.

A thud drew Scott's attention to the front door.

Chapter 34

1315, Saturday, August 11

J
OSE FELL NEAR THE DOOR
, caught in the throes of a seizure. His automatic weapon banged against the wall as his body flopped against the tile.

Morgan's instinct was to help. She took two steps in the flailing man's direction before Drew crossed in front of her—his face expressed his wish to let nature take its course. She got his unspoken message.

An incapacitated gunman is one less captor for all of us to deal with.

Scott shoved Drew out of the way. “Aren't you going to help him?”

Morgan pointed to the crash cart, and Drew, with slow steps, began to pull it from the crib that held the dead infant.

“Trudy, I need you to get a dose of Ativan out of the Pyxis machine.” Morgan neared the flopping body to ease the automatic weapon away. Drew kneeled next to her and gently plucked Jose's sidearm out of its holster. He slid it across the floor.

Scott paced like a rabid dog. “No one else move!” He reached down and picked up Jose's gun and secured it behind his back. “The only people moving are those helping Jose. Does everyone get me?”

To highlight his point, he fired several rounds over their heads. Tufts of ceiling insulation showered over Morgan, Drew, and their patient. Morgan shielded the seizing man's face as pink, cotton candy rained around them. She motioned to Drew. “We need to pull him away from the wall so we have more room to work.”

Trudy rolled two vials of Ativan her direction. Morgan opened the third drawer down from the top of the metal cart for a needle and syringe. Drew prepped a line full of saline for the IV.

Scott stormed closer. “What are you doing?”

Drew tightened a blue tourniquet around the thrashing man's arm. The convulsion would make getting the IV in Jose's vein more difficult. Morgan thrust the needle though the gray medication stopper and pulled
up the thick, clear fluid. “This is Ativan. It's like Valium. He needs it to stop the seizure.”

As Drew leaned over to look at the man's veins, he pulled the vial of succinylcholine out of Morgan's pocket and tucked the medication in his flight suit. Scott missed seeing the maneuver, or didn't understand it enough to know it was a threat to him.

There was a glance between the nurse and the paramedic. Drew's eyes begged her to consider the option of letting this one go. Under normal circumstances she'd never think of intentionally giving medication that would harm an individual, or even possibly kill him. Then again, she also had a rule against administering medicine without a doctor's orders. She'd already broken that rule today. Was the other so hard to overcome? Particularly when it involved someone who had threatened to kill her and her patients?

The problem with succinylcholine is that it also paralyzes the main muscle of respiration—the diaphragm.

If the diaphragm wasn't moving, the patient wasn't breathing, and they'd have to intubate and bag him to save his life. If they didn't, the young man would die of asphyxiation. There was no other conclusion as the result of that action.

Still, here was a chance to hobble the three-man strike force that held them hostage. Maybe a God-given chance. Two were easier to overcome than three.

Can I intentionally risk killing someone?

Drew popped the cover off the IV catheter. “You're going to have to help hold his arm in place.”