Deadly Ties

© copyright July 2004,

Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright July 2004

New Concepts Publishing

5202 Humphreys Rd.

Lake Park, GA 31636

Acknowledgments for

The critique gang, you know who you are.

A huge thanks to J., for answering questions she’d probably rather not have. George for the same, and Aunt T., thanks for answering all the medical and ER questions.

I’d like to thank Officer Kenny Bryson of the Metro Police Department for patiently answering my long list of questions.

This is for family, for teaching me that blood is never everything and love heals all.

3

Travis County Correctional Center, Austin, Texas, December
How dare they! Who in the hell did that bitch Shepard think she was? Nina Fisher would make them all pay.

“The appeal to reinstate parental rights has been denied. Ruling stands,” the lawyer said sitting across from her.

No! They couldn’t do this to her. He was hers, damn it. Ryan was her flesh and blood. It wasn’t Nina’s fault the eight-year-old kid didn’t listen. The little shit had never listened. It was her right to discipline him any way she saw fit. Ryan was to blame for this mess. If he’d only behaved she wouldn’t have had to hurt him. And what was the big deal? Nina still didn’t know why they had charged her with Ryan’s attempted murder. He’d lived hadn’t he? So he’d spent a while in the hospital and had a broken arm and some bruises. What was the fuss about?

Damn, what she wouldn’t give for a fix. Just one quick fix. A bump, yeah, a bump would be great to get over this freekin’ jonesing.

“Ms. Fisher, did you hear what I said?” the slick lawyer--she had forgotten his name--

asked. Probably fresh out of law school.

Nina stared at the brick behind Mr. I’m-cool-because-I’m-a-lawyer’s head.

“Yeah, I heard you.”

She shifted and stared at the man across from her with his perfectly groomed blond hair, starched shirt and neatly knotted tie. Probably never worried about things like paying for childcare or whatever the hell.

“I bet you drive an SUV. Or no, one of those perfect law firm cars in either gray or black, like a Lexus or maybe a BMW? No, you’re too new. Like gourmet coffee don’tcha?” Anger rose up in her, clawing to get out.

The lawyer ignored her.

Just one fix. She leaned up, tapping her fingers, bouncing her legs on the balls of her feet.

“Ryan’s mine.”

The lawyer sighed. “Ms. Fisher, it’s over. You lost. I have to say, I warned you. Going in with the attempted murder charge against you, we really didn’t have a chance to win.”

“And I bet you just tried your ever living damnedest, didn’t you, sport?”

He stiffened. Then stuffed the file into his briefcase and clicked it shut.

“No judge was going to give you your rights back after you nearly killed your son.”

She slapped her hands on the tabletop. “That’s right! Mine! My son! Not that social worker, Taylor Shepard, bitch.”

He took a deep breath. “As far as the courts are concerned, you have no child and Ryan Shepard’s mother is Taylor Shepard.”

4

Nina wanted to tear the idiot to shreds. She lunged across the table, grabbing the man’s tie and jerking him over the edge of the table to her. “Never. I’ll never let him go. He’s mine.

Mine! A piece of paper doesn’t make him anyone else’s. My blood flows through his veins.”

The guard jerked her back, muttering to the lawyer to leave.

“He’s mine!” she screamed. Another guard pinned her to the table.

“Good day, Ms. Fisher.” The door clicked shut behind him.

Prison sentence or no, Nina would find a way to take what was hers. Attempted murder, my ass.Thinking of Ryan with Mrs. Shepard stormed rage through her veins. “I’ll make you pay, bitch. Before long you’ll wish you never heard of me. I’ll make your life hell,” she whispered.

“Come on Fisher,” one guard said, jerking her up and slapping the cuffs on her.

She walked out, the guard, a large ebony skinned man twice her size, pushed her down the hall.Her chest heaved up and down with emotion, and she stumbled along the corridor. All this because Ryan had fallen through a plate glass window. She really hadn’t meant to throw him
that
hard. If he’d only listened, she never would have thrown him in the first place. Stupid brat.

“You’re gonna have fun where you’re going, Fisher.” The other guard was a woman with pale blonde hair, who looked too much like a doll to be sporting a uniform.

“Go to hell,” she spat back.

“No, I’ll wait and let you tell me what it’s like,” answered the guard. “Most inmates don’t look well on those who hurt kids, especially their own. It’s lower than low. In the pen, it’s almost as bad as being a cop. Yeah, you’re gonna have lots of fun.”

Nina opted for silence. The rage boiled and rolled through her, a strong black cloud eating everything in its path. Time. She needed time. Time to think, to calm down, to plan. Damn it, if she only had some goods, she could focus enough to figure out what the hell to do next. Her laceless shoes squeaked on the linoleum. She’d have plenty of time for that once she reached Gatesville. Nothing like a maximum security prison for lots of thinking time.

Damn Ryan and his do-gooder savior.

It might take her awhile, but she’d figure out a plan. She always did. Always.

And when she did, those who wronged her, paid. They paid dearly.

5

Washington, D.C., June

Blllleeeeeepppppp
. The high-pitched whine of the flatlined EKG echoed against the confines of the operating room.

Gavin’s latex covered hands gripped the paddles again, blood smearing on the handles.

The metal plates slid smoothly together. “Clear.”

The medical team stepped back from the table.

Just for a moment the EKG graphed a slight fibrillation as the heart muscles attempted to once again live. The heart beat again, but then flatlined. It was useless. Shit.

“Dr. Kinncaid?” asked one of the surgical nurses.

“Damn it.” He handed the paddles to another assistant. He hated calling time of death. He wiped his forehead with his arm before he looked at the large black and white clock. “Asystole.

12:32 p.m.”

Hell-fire and bloody damnation. Gavin could only look down at the young, beaten face lying relaxed and lifeless on the operating table. Bruised and swollen it pleaded for help. Help that never came. Or when it had, it had been too damn late. Clear tubes ran out of her. IV’s hung suspended from metal hooks. The black plastic of the ventilator stood still and silent now, no longer pumping air into her lungs.

He fisted his hands on his hips. Pointless. It was all so damned pointless. Everything about this situation could have been prevented. Everything from the teen being pregnant in the first place, to her abuse, to her death. If only someone had taken the time to run an ultrasound down in the ER, they would have seen the internal bleeding. Someone might have caught onto the fact that the young girl was hemorrhaging to death. And by the time he had discovered the mistake up in the maternity ward, it had been too late.

His sigh heated his face against the clinical mask he wore. People shuffled quietly around him. The coppery scent of blood mingled with the stringent smells of antiseptic and disinfectants.

“Dr. Kinncaid?” He glanced up to see the anesthesiologist, Dr. Rita Farganio, holding the door. Most of the others had filed out.

“I’ll be along in a moment.”

The door swooshed behind her as it swung closed.

Gavin gently laid his hand on the girl’s forehead. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m so damn sorry.”

On another sigh, he turned, jerking off his bloodied surgical uniform and left the OR. He didn’t care what others thought. Distance was all well and good, and a necessary part of the job.

But, sometimes certain cases and certain patients grabbed you by the throat.

Cold water gushed over his hands, the fruity scent of the antibacterial soap tingled his nose. Was there even anyone to notify? The girl’s parents? He’d learned they were in custody,

6

since the father was the one who’d beaten his pregnant daughter. And who would notify them?

Him? Their lawyer? Or the cops?

Gavin tried to remember if he’d ever been in such a situation before and couldn’t think of a single one. The closest he’d come was when he’d been called in to help with a molestation case and needed the parent’s permission to do the exam, only to find out the father was the bastard behind it.

The excess water sprinkled on the stainless steel as he turned off the faucet and reached for a paper towel. He tossed the towel angrily into the trash bin.

“Dr. Kinncaid?” asked a gray haired nurse in the maternity ward’s pastel uniforms.

What now? He turned. “Yes?”

“There is a woman inquiring about Miss Gibbons. I just heard what happened. She’s been pacing the floor for the last hour or so. She said she was the girl’s social worker.”

Hell, the social worker. Great. Wonderful. “Thank you, Bess. I’ll take care of it.”

He held open the door for Bess and stepped into the hall.

“I didn’t think you were on call today, doc,” she said briskly.

“I wasn’t. But they called me in for this. I was supposed to help my brother move into his new house today, and the whole family is having some lawn party or something at the place. I need to get up there.”

“You look like you need some sleep.”

He grinned. “That too.”

“Well, doctors need their rest too.” She opened the nurse’s station door and disappeared inside. His most hated part of the job. The pale green walls did not soothe him. Pastel colors on the maternity floor seemed to mock him. There was nothing he hated more than losing a patient, mother or child, except having to explain it to family or friends, to shatter worlds. Well, putting it off wasn’t going to make it the least bit easier. Gavin walked down the hallway towards the waiting room.

At the double doors, he looked through the window. Yes, indeed. There she was pacing down the distance to the doors opposite him that lead to the recovery rooms.

The waiting room, along with the nurses’ station and nursery--set between the recovery rooms on one side and labor/delivery and the OR’s on his side--appeared mostly empty, save for a few people clustered around the glass wall of the nursery. Miss Social Worker turned just short of the group and started back towards him. Her jeans and tee shirt, with white sneakers and a pony tail, made her look like an undergrad. What kind of social worker was she? Wasn’t her job to protect those children in her care? She looked too young to be a social worker with her reddish blonde hair pulled back. On a resigned sigh, he pushed through the door.

She looked up and her gaze locked with his. He saw the question in her light brown eyes.

“Miss…?” What was her name? Had she told him?

Her stride stopped a few feet from him.

“Dr. Kinncaid, isn’t it? How’s Amy?” Her voice was soft, gentle.

Her expectant expression pulled his attention back to her question. He gestured to the chairs beside them, lining the wall. She looked so fresh, so full of life, so young. Anger at what had happened to the young girl in the OR simmered over.

7

“Why don’t you have a seat?”

Her head shook back and forth. “No. I don’t need to sit down. Just tell me. How is Amy Gibbons?” Her eyes narrowed on his.

Gavin ran a hand over his face.

“Let’s sit down anyway,” he said, sharper than he intended, but after what had just happened and right on the back of the night he’d had, he was too tired to care if he hurt her feelings. He firmly took hold of her elbow and led her to a chair.

“I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,” he said.

Her russet brows pulled down over her eyes. “Reese. Taylor Reese.”

Taylor, that was different. “Well, Ms. Reese, I’m sorry to tell you this.” He took a deep breath. He really
hated
this, even if he did wonder at her professional competency. “We lost Amy and the baby.”

Her brown eyes never left his. In fact, she never moved a muscle. “What do you mean, you lost her?”

“They didn’t make it through the operation.”

For a single moment, she said nothing, didn’t move.

“We did everything we could.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Complications arose and --”

She raised a hand, palm out and halted his words.

“I’ve been around hospitals before, Dr. Kinncaid. I’ve seen kids die because parents shook them, hit them, beat them, starved them. Now tell me exactly what happened to Amy Gibbons. It’ll all come out in court anyway, and the district attorney’s office will need a copy of all her medical records and charts.” Her voice might be soft, but there was steel in it, sharpening her tone.Gavin sighed. “Once she arrived up here, I performed an ultrasound. There was a complication and apparently Amy had been and was still hemorrhaging,” he told her frankly.

Some liked explanations and others didn’t. Ms. Reese was right. In this instance it was all going to come out in the end anyway.

“And no one noticed this before?” her own soft voice sharpened.

The hospital would be lucky if they didn’t get a lawsuit out of this, or him a malpractice suit.

“I would have to assume, no. When I arrived in the ER, Miss Gibbons wasn’t dilated at all, though I suspected she was in labor, which is why I immediately moved her up here to maternity and for general observation. Why she was not moved up here before that, I do not know, but I will find out.” Someone was going to discover incompetence was a fault that cost lives. “However, once I had her up here and after an ultrasound, we discovered the blood was leaking into her uterus.” Gavin watched as her eyes narrowed.

“What kind of hospital is this? I told that nurse downstairs hours and hours ago Amy needed an ultrasound.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, ignoring her outburst, he continued.

“After the sonogram, I immediately had her prepped for the OR.” He knew going into the operating room that the baby was lost, it flatlined before they’d reached the end of the hall. Since

8

the baby wasn’t far enough along for delivery, there had been no way it could have survived, but he tried all the same. No need to tell Ms. Reese this though.

He cleared his throat and continued. “We did everything we could.” Didn’t they? “I am sorry. Is there someone I need to notify? Normally, I wouldn’t even be telling you this, but would be telling her family. However, you told me earlier that her family was in police custody.”

She looked away from him. He blinked and continued to stare at her, waiting for her answer. Gavin couldn’t help but notice her perfect classic profile. Creamy skin, high cheekbones, though flushed, a straight patrician nose, and a straight, almost stubborn jaw. Her face was devoid of makeup with a dusting of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. He noticed then her hair was more red than blonde. Finally, she looked back at him. Her eyes glistened with cold acceptance.

“Yes, I suppose under normal circumstance one would tell a family these things.” Her chest rose as she took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell who needs to be told.” She shook her head. “You said you were her social worker?” Gavin had no idea why he asked, but he did.

“Yes.”

“What happened to her?”

“Her father beat her because he didn’t like the fact she was pregnant.” Her brows, the same reddish color of her hair, rose. “What do you think happened to her?”

“Was hers normally an abusive home?” he asked.

Her frown said she thought that a stupid question. She shook her head again. “Did it
look
to you like hers wasn’t?”

Color flamed high in her pale cheeks.

Anger at what had happened to that girl, at the uselessness of it all, came crashing down in his tired brain, loosening his control. “Well, I can’t help but wonder, Ms. Reese, what the girl was doing in that home to begin with.”

She drew back as if someone jerked her from behind, her plain white tee shirt, pulling back across her chest and trim torso. “Are you questioning my professionalism?”

Gavin rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for your loss.” This was where he had been taught to walk away. But her eyes held him. They were filled with pain, anger, and tears. And he’d always been a sucker for female tears. Damn it.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said. One lone tear trickled over lashes the color of her hair. Her forefinger, long and delicate, reached up and swiped it away. “I am too. And I have to wonder where the hell you were while that girl laid downstairs bleeding to death.”

She was questioning him?

“Excuse me?”

Ms. Reese stood, looking down at him. “Look, you have your questions about me, fine. I have mine about you.” She sniffed. “We’ll call it even.”

Gavin stood. “Now wait just a minute.”

“What, don’t like it when the tables are turned?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Gavin closed his eyes and counted. It really didn’t help. “As you said, we both have questions. I am sorry for your loss, and I’m sure you’re doing your job.”

She tried for a smile and he noticed her dimples winking at him. “I don’t know if I should

9

waste my energy to even bother with that insult.” Her head shook ruefully. “I should let you go.

After all, I’d hate to keep such an important doctor.” Her gaze scanned him from the top of his scrubs, where her eyebrows arched at his alien do-rag, to the tips of his shoes. “Of course, one does wonder.”

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. “Wonder what?”

She only smiled, a thin, straight one, but still her dimples caught him off guard. “Thank you for informing me, Dr. Kinncaid. Social Services will be contacting you for details and what not. And I’m quite certain you can expect some questions from the Gibbonses’ lawyer and probably someone from the district attorney’s office.” She reached down to grab her purse and he noticed her hands shook. Gavin caught of whiff of flowers--honeysuckle.

Whether or not she did her job, she did care. He could see that in her tears, angry or otherwise, the tremble of her hands.

He sighed. “I’m sorry for insulting you. I’m certain you did everything you could. I hate to lose a patient, any patient, and especially young ones.”

She straightened. “Then I suppose we have even more in common than questioning the other. I guess we’ll find out if we both did our jobs, won’t we?”