Critical Care (29 page)

Logan refused to imagine any alternate outcome and tried
not to dwell on the fact they'd found a bottle of sleeping pills
in Sarah's belongings. Fortunately her blood toxicology screen
showed only a trace of prescription medication and alcohol. Not
enough to be harmful or legally compromising. The important
thing now was that Sarah had stabilized and they'd sent her to
the ICU. The surgeon would keep a cautious eye on her condition,
and the pulmonary docs were monitoring her lung status. Tension
pneumothorax-it could have been fatal.

Logan's instincts had been right about Claire. She'd been sharp
to catch Sarah's symptoms and did everything right without wasting precious time. Without hesitating, like the new nurse might
have. He frowned, remembering the uncomfortable conversation
he'd had with Erin and Keeley thirty minutes ago. But then Logan
had the right to insist that every member of his team be top-notch,
didn't he?

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts. "Yes?"

"It's Claire. I'm finished talking with the chaplain and I'm
on my way out. Can you spare a few minutes? I need to talk
with you."

Logan felt warmth spreading through his chest. "No problem.
C'mon over."

He warned himself not to mention the stress interviews the
chaplain was conducting. Ironic as that must seem to Claire, he
didn't want to risk a confrontation over their stalemate regarding that subject. In fact, he wanted to forget all of this. He wanted to
do something enjoyable. Which reminded him he needed to make
that reservation. Tomorrow night, dinner along the river, Claire in
the dress he'd been imagining ... Why wait for tomorrow? Claire's
urgent care shift had been covered by another nurse. He could
make that date happen tonight, and after a day like today, nothing
could be better. Yes, they'd celebrate their victories.

Logan smiled at the tap on the door and the sound of Claire's
voice, but his smile disappeared when he saw the look on her face,
her pinched brows, and the rigid set of her jaw.

"You told Keeley Roberts she should quit?" she asked, spitting
the words out before he could speak. "How could you do that?"

Blast it. "Close the door."

Claire did as he asked, then turned back, crossing her arms
over her scrub top. Twin splotches of color rose high on her cheeks
as she trembled with emotion, eyes bright and long hair spilling
around her shoulders. She'd look beautiful if she didn't have murder on her mind.

Logan took a breath and raised his palm.

But Claire wasn't about to stop. "I talked with Keeley. She was
crying and angry, confused. Worst of all, she's doubting her skills,
afraid she's lost her edge."

"She might be right," Logan stood behind his desk, hating that
the conversation was headed down this slippery slope. He'd waited
all day to talk with Claire, but this was nowhere near what he'd had
in mind. "Look, I don't like being the bully here, but-"

"Yes. You do. I think you really do," Claire argued. "I think
everything I've heard about you is true." She hesitated, her expression obviously pained. "I think you're insensitive, critical, and
woefully uncaring."

Uncaring? He swallowed. "Claire, wait."

"Wait for what?" she asked, her voice deepening. "For the allpowerful and unbending Dr. Logan Caldwell to care? Or wait until
you can understand that Keeley Roberts spent the last year watching her only sister die? Her. Sister. Died. Don't you get it? People
are human and fallible. Not everyone can bounce right back after
a tragedy. Sometimes ... we ..." She covered her face with her
hands and began to sob.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay." Logan moved toward her, but Claire
stiffened and stepped back.

"No, it's not okay." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "I wasn't
okay either. In those first weeks after Kevin died. I told you I
doubted myself, had trouble. Remember?"

How could he possibly forget Claire being on duty when her
brother arrived critically burned and dying? Logan nodded, keeping his distance even though he ached to comfort her.

"What I didn't tell you was I quit that job in Sacramento.
Because even after I'd begun to feel better, one of the ER doctors
continued to question my competence-" Claire narrowed her
eyes-"and made it his personal goal to have me fired. He applied
more and more pressure until I began to hesitate, to second-guess
every single decision I made. I started to believe I was incompetent,
worse than useless-that I was the weak link in that trauma team."
She leaned forward and stared unblinking into Logan's face, anger
smoldering in her eyes. "A weak link. Your words. Remember?"

Logan winced, struggling for something to say. Anything to
stop this. What could he say? "I'm sorry."

But that wasn't right either because she shook her head, wiped
her tears away, and reached for the door.

"No," she said after clearing her throat. "Tell all those other nurses you're sorry." Then she shrugged and let out a soft groan.
"Including Sarah."

"Sarah?"

"Yes." A look of inconsolable sadness replaced the anger on
Claire's face. "She was hurrying to get here because of you. Because
she didn't want to let you down. She said she hadn't been able
to sleep, so she took sleeping pills. Then raced to get here after
she overslept. So she wouldn't disappoint you, her boss. A man
who doesn't understand that people have troubles and are sometimes ... weak. A heart is more than an organ in your chest, Dr.
Caldwell."

Logan stared at her, not trusting himself to speak. Not even
sure he could.

"Keeley's already left," Claire said, almost whispering. "And I'm
going right now. But you know where Sarah is."

Erin paused outside the doors to the ICU to shut off her cell phone,
frowning at the display of unanswered messages-all from Brad.
She hadn't talked to him since she found the checks in his car and
still wasn't sure how she'd deal with that. All Erin could think of
now was how near Sarah came to dying. And it's partly my fault.

She took a deep breath and walked into the ICU toward the
nurses' station, squinting as her eyes adjusted. Erin never understood how the staff could stand working in semidarkness-or semisilence for that matter, unless you counted the mechanical whoosh
of ventilators and robotlike beeping of countless monitors. Or the
crunching of popcorn. Erin waved to an evening shift nurse peeking out of the break room, a red-striped microwave bag in hand.
Then crossed the last stretch of blue carpeting to Sarah's room. She
was surprised to see her awake.

"How're you doing?" Erin asked, resisting the urge to check the
monitor overhead and the fluid collection bags hanging near the
foot of the bed. She wasn't going to be that obvious; besides, she'd
already called Sarah's nurse for a full report. Roughly ten hours
since the accident, Sarah's condition was remarkably stable.

"Okay." Sarah licked her dry lips. "Better, if you're packing a bag of M&M'S and a Diet Coke." She attempted a wan smile that
did nothing to erase the discomfort in her eyes.

"Believe me, I asked about that." Erin's gaze moved over her
teammate's battered face. Sarah's left eye was nearly closed by swelling, and the sutured side of her mouth was dark with bruising, like
she'd been snacking on berry pie instead of eluding death. Erin's
heart ached for her. "But you can't have anything to eat or drink
until tomorrow. They want to be sure your abdomen's okay."

"Humph." Sarah snorted, then winced. "I'm no doctor, but I'd
say this hose stuck in my chest says something about where the
problem is."

Erin studied the length of transparent tubing extending from
beneath Sarah's gown to its connection at a calibrated plastic collection container near the floor. A column of water, functioning as
a seal to prevent further lung collapse, fluctuated each time Sarah
breathed. Erin sighed. "It's the only way to keep you in bed, I suppose. Otherwise you'd be reporting for the evening shift down in
the ER."

Sarah closed her eyes and the ICU's eerie brand of silence surrounded them: whoosh-click-whir-beep, interrupted only by the
occasional distant moan from one of the other rooms and the soft,
reassuring response of a nurse. Erin figured her friend had gone to
sleep and was preparing to get up and leave when Sarah turned to
her. "I probably can't do that anymore," she whispered.

"Can't do what?" Erin asked, seeing anxiety in Sarah's eyes.

"Come back to work in the ER."

"Hey." Erin reached out and took her hand. "Don't talk like
that. You're going to be fine, and-"

"No," Sarah interrupted. "That's not what I meant." Her eyes
searched Erin's. "I mean because I've screwed up so much lately. And now this accident. If the investigation shows I'm at fault, I
could be fired, right?"

"I don't know yet. It hasn't been discussed." Erin squeezed Sarah's
fingers, exhaling softly. "How did all this happen, anyway?"

Sarah shook her head. "I haven't been able to sleep more than
a few hours a night in a couple of weeks. I have trouble sometimes ... this time of year. A doctor prescribed sleeping pills about
a year ago, but I'd never taken them before. Until now." She grimaced. "I also tried ..."

"Alcohol?" Erin asked, remembering that a trace had shown up
in the blood screening.

Sarah's response was barely perceptible in the darkness, a mere
dip of her bandaged head. "Wine. Another thing I usually don't
touch."

"Why, Sarah? Why would you risk all that?" What should I have
known?

"Sleep. I just can't sleep." She faced Erin, her expression guarded.
"I only wanted to get enough sleep so I could work. Because I didn't
want to let anyone down. We've been so short-staffed."

Erin gritted her teeth against a rush of guilt. Even if Sarah wasn't
going to reveal the reasons behind it, it was clear that she'd been
struggling with something and Erin missed it, completely missed
it. How was that possible? She was in charge and yet apparently
knew next to nothing about her staff. "Where's your family?"

A look of pain flickered across Sarah's face. "I ... I don't have
anyone."

"No one?" Erin asked gently. "Nobody we can call to come
visit?"

Sarah smiled ruefully. "The chaplain's been here. Twice. Merlene
and Inez too. And Claire. She said no one was seriously hurt in the accident. That the kids are all okay. I tried so hard not to hit them.
But I guess my reaction time was too slow."

"They're fine. I promise. One little sling, not even a real cast.
Otherwise, Logan gave them all a clean bill of health."

Sarah reached up to touch the stitches at the corner of her
mouth. "He's still here at the hospital?"

"You mean Logan?"

"Yes."

"Actually, I think he left already." Erin frowned. "He hasn't
been in to see you?"

Sarah glanced away, shaking her head. When she turned back,
her eyes were filled with tears. "Logan knows ... about the pills
and the alcohol?"

Erin nodded, and then her own eyes brimmed with tears as
Sarah's mournful sobs sliced through the silent ICU.

Father God, help her. Please help us all.

Logan gunned the Harley's engine and leaned into the curve,
relieved to see the live oaks and low-growing shrubs along the
highway finally give way to tall stands of pine. Chill air whipped
against him, snapping his scrub pants like a flag against his legs,
and he was glad he'd taken the time to pull on the leather jacket.
He'd almost forgotten it in his hurry to ... escape? Logan snorted
inside his helmet. Sure, he'd wanted to escape. Who wouldn't?
He'd had a brutal day and deserved the comfort of some peace and
quiet. Was that too much to ask?

He checked his rearview mirror and changed lanes, the obvious
answer to his own question making him irritated all over again.
It had been too much to ask, especially if he expected to find the comfort he needed in Claire's company. A quiet evening, the warmth
of a woman who felt like she was made for his arms, the soothing
sound of her laugh. He'd wanted that so much. It wasn't going to
happen tonight. Maybe never. He squinted, remembering the look
on Claire's face when she confronted him in his office, calling him
insensitive, unbending ... uncaring? She'd crossed her arms and
spit those words at him as if his professional actions-his responsibility to keep things under control-somehow negated anything
personal between them. Couldn't she see the difference?