Code Triage (5 page)

Riley nudged Leigh. “There she is.”

Leigh shaded her eyes and looked. It was Caroline. Hard to miss in the bright purple scrubs assigned to the phlebotomists. And because she was—had been since the day she was born—so astoundingly beautiful. As tall, willowy, and angular as Leigh was petite and curvy; broad forehead, wide-set gray eyes, and cheekbones that belonged on a New York fashion runway. Exactly what their mother had pushed for so ruthlessly. Caro had been as troubled as she was beautiful for as long as Leigh could remember. It worsened in the months that Leigh was living in Pacific Point.

“I’m glad you don’t have to make that commute anymore, and that you’re both back at your house,” Riley added. “It’s good you came home to help her, Leigh.”

“Nick came and got me.” Her chest constricted at the memory of Nick in the chapel at Pacific Mercy Hospital. She’d thought he’d come to talk her out of the divorce and had been ready to tell him to go away, to stop trying to change her mind. And then he’d explained about her twenty-three-year-old half sister. The DUI, her night in jail. He’d taken her home to the house—
“our house”
—and had one of her nurse friends stay with her. His plan was to get her into a respected treatment facility in Sausalito and finally have an evaluation for her increasing bouts of depression and mood swings. He’d been deeply concerned. And completely right.
She’s better because of him, not me.

“Nick’s always thought of her as his sister. Always stuck by her. And . . .” Leigh’s eyes moved back to where Caro stood, leaning against the brick wall of the hospital. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He still is.”

Nick walked out of the ER doors and joined her sister.

+++

“Hi.” Nick stopped a few feet from where Caroline leaned against the building. The last time he’d seen his sister-in-law, she’d been in pretty bad shape emotionally. Not that he would have expected much else after she’d spent the night in jail for hitting a parked car while under the influence of alcohol and leaving the scene. And then being released into the custody of the brother-in-law who’d betrayed her sister. He’d talked to her a few times on the phone during her stay in Sausalito. Knew that Leigh was trying to get her interested in going back to college, maybe even pursuing a nursing career, but . . . “Long time, no see,” he said tentatively.

“Yes, well—” Caroline met his gaze—“not my fault you’re living somewhere else.”

He hid his flinch.
Nice shot, little sister.
There was no bulletproof vest for this situation. He hadn’t known what to expect from her—she’d always been capricious, moody—but what he saw now, despite the medication, looked like hurt wrapped in anger. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

“No, it isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” He studied her face for a moment, thin as always, small shadows under her dove gray eyes. She’d been through a lot, he could tell, and it took all he had not to put his arms around her, tell her if she needed anything, he’d be there for her. But hugging his sister-in-law wasn’t an option anymore. He’d hurt her, too. “I was here on a call, saw you . . . thought I’d ask how things were going.”

“How things are with me or with Leigh?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “She’s out at the stables more than she’s home. But when she’s there, she’s packing—boxes all over the house, job applications spread out on the breakfast bar. We’ve only been here a couple of months and already Leigh wants to leave so badly she can taste it.” Caroline watched his eyes for a moment, then took aim again. “You’d better come rescue that precious lemon tree of yours. She’s killing it.”

The lemon tree. Our honeymoon in Capri.
He resisted the urge to look toward where Leigh sat on the bench, imagining how she’d react when he told her that the Child Crisis investigator standing in her ER was the woman he’d taken to bed in a grief-induced blur of confusion, anger, and pain after Toby was killed. It wasn’t going to be easy. But leaving Leigh to discover Sam’s identity on her own wasn’t an option. He glanced at Caroline as she spoke again.

“You were going to use the lemons for that Greek soup,” she said, her expression softening. “That one you always made . . . You know, with the eggs and rice.”

“Avgolemono,” he said, memories hitting him full in the heart. The kitchen in their old Victorian fixer, always in stages of remodel. Black granite counters, stainless steel, Leigh standing barefoot on the hardwood floor watching him as he cooked, teasing him about being a macho SFPD cop with a whisk in his holster. He’d offer her a sip of the creamy soup from a wooden spoon. She’d murmur with passionate approval, then move into his arms, lifting her face for a kiss. Her lips would taste of lemons, and . . .

He was surprised to see sudden tears in his sister-in-law’s eyes.

“I believed in you two,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “For the first time, I’d started to think that it was all possible. Love, marriage, family . . .”

Oh, Lord, please . . .

“Caroline.” He reached for her arm, seeing the pain behind her anger. “Listen to me. I wanted that too. I still do.”

She yanked her arm away and stared at him. “I thought you did, Nick. I tried to believe it. But how can that ever happen with
her
around?” She looked over her shoulder toward the ER. “She was there when I drew that baby’s blood. I read her name badge: Samantha Gordon.” Caroline glanced toward Leigh. “This isn’t going to work. She’s leaving us both.”

+++

“Finn has pneumonia?” Kristi tightened her arms around her daughter, asleep in her arms with oxygen prongs in her nostrils. “How did that happen? He hasn’t had a cold, not even the sniffles.”

Leigh glanced at Riley, grateful as always for her presence. “He’d been vomiting during the night,” she explained as gently as she could, but she saw the immediate guilt in the young mother’s eyes.
When he was left all alone.
“And the X-rays reveal that he breathed some of that in, causing what we call aspiration pneumonia. Normally a baby of his age would be able to protect his airway—spit the vomit out—but the gas fumes made him too drowsy to do that.”

Kristi closed her eyes for a moment. “Will I be giving him medicines at home, then? antibiotics? I’ve done that before when he had an ear infection. It’s not a problem. He’s really good about taking them.” She blinked at Leigh, the look in her tired eyes not nearly as hopeful as her words.

“No. We’ll need to keep Finn at Golden Gate Mercy. He’ll get the antibiotics intravenously, and he’ll stay on oxygen. I’ve consulted with a specialist, a pediatric intensive care physician who is very qualified. He’ll be overseeing things.” She exhaled slowly. “Unfortunately, apart from the pneumonia, the blood tests show that the carbon monoxide exposure was enough to pose problems. Borderline in terms of numbers, but still worrisome.”

“No, oh . . . no.” Kristi’s eyes widened, the color draining from her face.

“His vital signs are good,” Leigh assured her quickly. “But we won’t know for several days—perhaps weeks—if there will be any actual damage to his organs. In order to be safe, his treatment will need to be aggressive and start immediately. The specialist will explain his plans to you this afternoon.” She smiled. “He’s not only an excellent doctor; he’s very, very kind and caring. Your baby will be in good hands, Kristi.”

“And Abby?” she asked, tears welling. “Is she okay?”

“Yes. Both you and your daughter had normal carboxyhemoglobin levels and your chest X-rays are good.” Leigh’s heart tugged as a tear slid down Kristi’s face and splashed onto the stuffed pony in her daughter’s arms. “But we’ll want to keep you both in the hospital a day or two for observation.”

Riley nodded. “We think we’ll be able to have you all in the same room. And I’d be happy to get you a phone or make some calls for you. Family, pastor?”

“No. No family. And I’m new at my church.” Kristi lifted her chin as if willing them to understand. “I’ve been trying so hard to make a fresh start. To take care of my children. That’s why I took the extra job on nights; that’s why I wasn’t there last night when . . .” Her words dissolved into a painful moan. “Is Child Crisis going to take my children away?” She glanced toward the door, her body trembling. “Where’s Officer Nick? Maybe he’ll talk to her. He knows me; he knows how hard I’ve been trying. I haven’t seen my ex in months. There’s no drug deals going on in our apartment. Please get Officer Nick. He’s the only one I trust.” Tears gathered again. “This can’t be happening.”

“I’ll get him,” Leigh said as Riley bent low to comfort the young mother. Leigh had trusted Nick too, but it hadn’t worked out. And if she hadn’t had the miscarriage, she could have been a single mother herself. Or would a baby have changed things? She’d never know now. “I’ll get him for you,” she said again over the lonely and heartbreaking sound of Kristi Johnson’s crying.

+++

“You mean someone broke in there?” Nick asked, leaning against the door of his car and holding the cell phone to his ear. “Did you check with the landlord? I wouldn’t put it past him to cause problems.”

“Someone tossed it, big-time,” Colton said. “Busted the medicine cabinet clean off its hinges, cleaned it out, went through her closet and then threw her underwear all over the floor. Even emptied her refrigerator. Doubt the landlord would tear things up. He doesn’t want to spend a dime more than he has to on that building. The only thing keeping those moldy walls up is a million cockroaches holding hands.”

“Was the door forced open?”

“No. Landlord swears he locked it, but then he doesn’t look like Mr. Responsible to me. Anyway, that young lady’s not going to be happy when she goes back there. Her kids okay?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Nick said, thinking that he’d bet the landlord wouldn’t object if he went into the apartment, put things back in order. He caught a glimpse of Leigh heading past the visitors’ gazebo and toward him. His throat tightened. “Doctor’s coming now. I’ll check with you later, Colton. Thanks for the heads-up.” He closed the phone and slid it into his pocket as she arrived beside him. She looked worn-out.

“Cappy said you were out here,” she said, managing somehow not to look him directly in the eyes. “He was busy, so I thought I’d come out here myself.” She shook her head, and a strand of her hair snagged across her lips. He stopped himself from reaching out to brush it away. “My patient’s asking for you,” she said, swiping at the errant strands. “Kristi Johnson. Her baby’s blood shows the effects of the exposure, so we’re keeping him. She and her daughter will be staying for at least tonight.”

Nick frowned. “It’s serious, then, for Finn?”

“Could be. Brain damage is a big concern. I didn’t mention it to her, but the peds team is thinking about hyperbaric treatment. At any rate, they’ll be aggressive.” She sighed. “Why on earth don’t they require carbon monoxide monitors in these old buildings? But then she shouldn’t have been using a camp stove. And should have called to be sure her babysitter arrived, not blindly trust . . .” Her words trailed off as she met Nick’s eyes for a brief second, then looked away.

Like you shouldn’t have trusted me?

“Anyway,” Leigh said, glancing at her watch, “she’s worried about the Child Crisis investigation. Apparently she’s had some trouble before, related to the children’s father. A drug problem, it sounded like. She said you know the situation, and maybe you could put in a word for her. She’s very insistent on talking with you.”

“I’ll talk to her. But while I’m here, I wondered if we could sit down and talk about some things.” He watched her eyes, told himself to take a breath and keep going. “I know I promised to stay away, but we’ve never talked, really talked.” His chest constricted at the expression on her face.
Leigh, don’t . . .

“No. I’ve told you before, there’s no reason to talk. Even if there was, I don’t have time. I shouldn’t even be out here.” She glanced toward the ER entrance. “I need to get Mrs. Baldwin hooked up with psych services and send the Johnson baby upstairs to peds. Then I’ve got to try to find a minute to speak with that Child Crisis—” She stopped as he caught her arm.

“You need to know something. I need to tell you . . .” He saw the wariness in her beautiful eyes, knew she was about to protest again. “It’s not about the divorce. It’s about that investigator.” He fought the memory of the moment he’d told Leigh about the affair. The hurt on her face and pain in her voice:
“Who is she? What’s her name? Oh, God . . . who is she?”

“The investigator is Sam,” he said, suddenly as dizzy as the moment he heard that Toby—Sam’s brother—was dead. “Samantha Gordon.” He watched the color drain from Leigh’s face, her pupils widen. “I’m sorry, Leigh. But it’s like she said: this was bound to happen someday because our work—mine, hers, yours—they intersect.” His eyes searched hers, willing her to understand that it wasn’t personal. It was work, nothing more. “She’s as uncomfortable with this as you are.”

“Uncomfortable?” The color returned to Leigh’s cheeks. She crossed her arms, her body trembling. “
Uncomfortable
is what you say about a hangnail or a splinter. Or a stupid pebble in your shoe.” She flinched back as he tried to touch her again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me, Nick; don’t try to talk to me. And don’t use that calm, rational, police officer voice to tell me that
your
lover is standing in
my
ER, and that she’s as
uncomfortable
as I am.”

“Leigh, wait.”

“Leave me . . . alone!”

+++

Leigh whirled away, white coat flying and heart pounding so loudly in her ears that if a Code 3 ambulance raced in with sirens wailing, she’d never have heard it. She kept moving, jogging past the gazebo, gulping in air to clear the nausea, to push the frightening snarl of anger and humiliation away. And to get away from Nick. Because if she weakened and started to cry, or if she began pounding her fists on his chest and screaming—things she hadn’t done, depths she wouldn’t allow herself to sink to all these long, miserable months—he might think she wasn’t over him. That she wasn’t ready to move on, move away.