Hide My Light: A Romantic Suspense Thriller Novel (Hide Me Series Book 3) (8 page)

West’s eyes flew open and he took a deep breath, feeling his ribs crackle in his chest. His hands flew up. Shot! He was shot in the chest and dying. He took in great, whooping breaths, waiting to feel his heart beat its last. Would he know when it happened? Would he live for a few more moments? Or would everything go dark immediately?

But his heart galloped along in his chest, like he was running a race, not sitting still in a van. He looked down at himself and probed his chest at the center of the bloody hole in his shirt. He felt whole and unharmed. But at his feet was Katerina, still and quiet, her eyes closed, her hands curled into skeletal fists.

“Katerina,” he cried. He bent and lifted her to him, noticing she weighed no more than a feather.

Her cheekbones stood out in acute relief, sharp enough to cut glass, the skin stretched across them painfully. “Oh, Katerina,” he moaned. “What did you do?”

That was obvious though, wasn’t it? She had healed him. Healed him at her own expense. He pressed two fingers to her wrist and was glad to feel a heartbeat there, but it was soft and faint and fluttery. He was the one who had been shot and she was the one now possibly dying. He looked around and realized they were alone. The van was stopped in the middle of traffic and horns honked as people went around him. Where had the three gunmen gone? He looked in the back of the van and saw Kurt Kane, slumped in the very rear seat, obviously gone beyond a chance of help. He grimaced and wondered what that had been like for Kane, and for Katerina.

He slid to the side door and opened it, holding Katerina on his lap, then he lifted her gently and climbed out into traffic, trying to get his bearings. From what he could tell they were at least a mile from the hospital. Too far for him to carry her. Although he felt like he could. He felt full of energy and ready to run a marathon, but no matter how fast he could run it could be too long. He needed a car.

He stood in the path of traffic and started to wave people down. “Help us,” he cried. “We need help. We need to get to the hospital. Please!”

Almost immediately, someone stopped. It was a blue minivan with a teenage boy driving.

“Oh thank God,” West said. “Thank you for stopping. Can you take us to the hospital?”

“Jump in,” the boy said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to the sliding door behind him. West threw him a grateful look and opened the door, gently lifting Katerina in and kneeling with her between the seats.

“That her blood?” the boy asked as he stepped on the accelerator and hung a right.

“No, that’s my blood. I was shot.”

The boy’s eyes met his in the rear view mirror and West saw only admiration and belief there. “Hashtag awesome,” the boy said and West blinked, not sure he had heard correctly.

West dropped his eyes to Katerina’s face. What the boy had said didn’t matter. Only Katerina mattered. He was dismayed to see that the color in her face had gone paler, and the darkness under her eyes, darker. He pressed a finger to her throat and still felt a fluttery pulse there, but her breathing was slow and shallow. Her shirt had blood on it and he lost it for a moment, thinking she had been shot too. But then he realized it was his own blood, rubbing off on her. He grimaced and tried to wipe it away but ended up just smearing it.

He looked back up at the road, and was gratified to see the hospital in front of them. The boy drove quickly and competently. As the boy maneuvered the minivan into the emergency room drop-off lane, West tried to express his gratitude. Words seemed inadequate and he felt tears threaten. “Thanks, man,” he finally croaked. “You may have saved her life.”

"Yeah, dude, get her in there,” the boy said as his vehicle came to a stop, but West was already moving. He yanked the side door open and jumped out, running through the emergency room double doors with Katerina in his arms. He approached the glassed-in reception desk, passing the dozens of people in the waiting room. Katerina lay limp and motionless in his arms, not making a sound. Her body felt hot and light, dry as kindling.

He knew the woman behind the desk but in his dismay he had forgotten her name. He held Katerina up so she could see her. “She’s really sick, buzz us in,” he said. The woman took one look at his face and reached for the buzzer. West ran to the doors and pushed them open, walking down the hallway he’d traversed so many times before, but never with this sick feeling of dread in his heart. He didn’t have a room waiting for him, he had nothing, so he stopped at the triage desk. The nurse there stood, concern crossing her face. West could remember her name, thank God.

“Carol, you have to get us into a room quickly. She needs attention right away,” he said, his voice breaking.

Carol grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down the hallway. He followed her with relief. “What happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know really. She just collapsed. “She’s got …” he trailed off, not sure what to say, “… a metabolic disorder,” he finished.

Carol pulled him to the left, into the first empty room. “Put her on the bed. I’ll get somebody in here to start working on her.”

Carol disappeared and West laid Katerina on the bed gently. “Katerina, can you hear me?” he whispered into her ear. No response. If he had been on the ambulance, this was when he would have checked to see if she was responsive to painful stimuli, rubbing her sternum, or pinching her trapezius muscle. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Katerina. He couldn’t knowingly inflict pain on her.

Two nurses rushed into the room and he stepped back, grateful. They would do what needed to be done. He would pray. The doctor came in behind the nurses and West was glad to see her. Her name was Doctor Reyes and she was one of the more competent doctors on staff. If anyone could fix Katerina, she could.

Doctor Reyes looked Katerina up and down, then pinched the web between Katerina’s finger and thumb. West winced when there was absolutely no response. Doctor Reyes turned to him. “What happened?” she said.

“She collapsed, Doctor Reyes.” He had already decided he wouldn’t mention her psychic thing or the healing that she had probably done. It would just confuse people and wouldn’t help anyone treat her. Doctor Reyes looked at West's chest and raised an eyebrow. “What happened to you? Whose blood is that?”

West groaned internally. What could he say? He couldn’t admit it was his own blood, because as far as he could tell, he didn’t have a wound anymore. And it obviously wasn’t Katerina’s blood. The doctors eyes narrowed as she watched the result of the thought processes flash across West’s face.

“Uh, there’s a guy in a van back there and he’s dead and I need to call the FBI agent who is somewhere in the hospital because he needs to know about it,” West said, not really answering her question.

Doctor Reyes nodded, then spoke to the nurses over her shoulder. “When you get an IV in, normal saline, wide open.” Talking to West again, she said, “Why does she look so thin? Is she malnourished?”

West shook his head. “There’s something going on with her right now. Some sort of metabolic or metabolism issue. That’s why she collapsed. She’s using up too much food. The last time she was awake, she ate enough food for three grown men and she was still hungry.”

Doctor Reyes crossed her arms and held a finger up to her bottom lip, tapping it there. “Has she been under stress or strain?”

“Yeah, this guy that’s dead in the van? He tried to kill her. That’s why the FBI is involved. I really have to call him and let him know.”

Doctor Reyes gave him one more appraising look. “Call him, but stick around. Don’t leave the emergency room.” She dismissed him, turning on her heel and addressing the nurses, giving orders almost too fast for West to follow. But he knew that Katerina was in good hands. The best possible hands. And he had something to take care of.

He left the room quickly and found a laundry cart. He snatched a scrubs shirt off of it and walked to the bathroom. He cleaned the blood off of himself quickly and changed into the scrubs shirt, folding up his bloody shirt and looking around for somewhere to put it. He didn’t want to just throw it away. Something told him that it would be a better idea to save it. He didn't know what for, but he didn't want to ignore his impulses. Proof, maybe. He folded it as flat as possible and lifted up the large metal trashcan, then placed the shirt on the ground and put the trashcan on top of it. It was a little wobbly, so he pushed it into the corner. Perfect. He would come back and get it as soon as possible.

West left the bathroom and hurried to the reception desk. Now he remembered the woman’s name. Robin. She was sitting at the desk, talking to an irate woman outside the glass. “Robin, can I use one of the phones?”

Robin nodded distractedly to him and he picked up the handset and dialed nine for an outside line before he realized he didn’t know Craig Masterson’s number. He sat there for a moment, a blank look on his face, and then dialed another number.

He got Emma Masterson’s secretary on the first ring. “Sylvia, It’s West. is Lieutenant Masterson around?”

“Sure West, hold on.”

“Lieutenant Masterson.”

“Emma, it’s West. I really need to talk to your husband. He's somewhere in the hospital but I need him to come to the ER. Katerina’s hurt and I know where the guy he is looking for is.”

Emma sucked in a breath and West hoped that she would hurry. He needed to get back to Katerina quickly.

“I can’t always get ahold of him right away, West. But I will try right now. Here, let me give you his cell phone number.”

“No thanks. I don’t have a phone. Just have him come see me in the emergency room, room A11.”

“Got it,” Emma said and West hung up the phone gently.

“Thanks Robin,” he said and hurried back to the room, praying that when he got there there would be some change in Katerina. Some good change.

When West arrived back at Katerina’s room, there were even more people inside it. As far as he could tell, Katerina had not woken or moved at all. There was an IV in her left arm, and a tube in her mouth. It was a small tube, much smaller than a breathing tube. It was attached to a bag and a small, white machine that was pumping a bland looking liquid through the two. She was being force-fed. Good.

The doctor and the two nurses were still there, and now there was a portable x-ray machine and two x-ray technicians. Waiting in line outside the door was an EKG technician with the EKG machine. West saw that everything possible was being done for Katerina and he knew he should feel better, but he felt worse. Her eyes were so sunken, her face completely ashen, and her skin was drawn tight over her bones. It was painful to look at her.

The x-ray technician ordered everyone out and while West was waiting in the hallway, Craig Masterson came in through the stairwell door, large strides eating up the distance to West quickly. Craig looked straight at him and West wasn’t sure how to read his expression. Angry? Determined?

“What happened?” Craig said as he drew even with West.

West was beginning to loathe that question. Here was another person he couldn’t tell the real story to. Craig hadn't believed Katerina when she told him how she had seen what Kane had done. So he couldn’t be trusted with the rest of it.

“Katerina collapsed,” he said. “Kane got us, right under the nose of your agent, and then he died in the van and the two other men ran off. Katerina collapsed with the stress of it.”

Craig shook his head in disbelief and West could see the thousand questions just behind his lips. “Kane died? What? Where is he?”

“In a full-size van, stopped in traffic, on Government Street about a mile away.”

Craig brought his radio to his lips and spoke into it, his eyes burning holes into West. West wondered how much trouble this guy was going to make for him.

Craig jabbed a finger into West's chest. “I’ll be back. Don’t you leave the emergency room.”

West nodded, but he knew if Katerina came around and he had a chance, he would be out of here in a second. They could leave, go anywhere, get out of California for good. Hide somewhere far away, another country maybe, where none of this could touch them.

Craig jogged towards the exit doors and West turned his attention back to Katerina. The x-ray technicians had finished with her, and now the EKG technician was attaching multiple leads to her chest, looking to see if there was anything wrong with her heart.

West leaned heavily against the doorway, his soul in the bed with Katerina, his mind dry and empty. All he could do was silently entreat God or fate or anyone who would listen to save his Katerina.

***

West watched for hours, hovering just outside the door, as Doctor Reyes called in test after test. Finally she approached him. “She’s stable, and unless you can tell us anymore about what happened to her, there’s nothing more I can do for her down here. We're admitting her.”

West reached out and grasped her hand. “Thank you Doctor.”

He watched as the nurses got all of her equipment ready to transport her upstairs, and then unlocked the wheels at the bottom of the bed, pushing her and her bed out the door. West walked alongside and held her hand as she was pushed into the patient elevator and up to the eleventh floor. They took her to room eleven sixty-two, three floors above Blaise, to the very room.

Once the nurses had everything set up exactly the way they wanted it, they nodded to West and left the room and he was alone with a motionless, unconscious Katerina. Again. This had happened before, but he'd never felt quite so desperate as he did now. It was like a piece of him was missing and only she knew where it was. He threaded his fingers into hers and looked at her face. She looked peaceful, like maybe she was just sleeping. Was it his imagination or did her color look better?

Oh, if only he had her healing ability! He would touch her, and fix anything and everything that was wrong with her. Then he would whisk her away to a tropical island somewhere and they would pretend that none of this had ever happened.

The door to the room opened and a short, balding doctor in a pressed white coat came in. West didn’t recognize the doctor, but he apparently already knew all about West.

“Mister Shepherd,” the doctor greeted him, with a raise of his chin.

“Hi,” West said wearily. “Is she going to be OK doc? Is there anything you can tell me?”

The doctor listened to her lungs and her abdomen and checked all of her vital signs then looked through her chart. “Actually, I can’t tell you anything because you are not her husband. I hope you understand,” the doctor said, his face resigned.

West nodded sadly. He did.

“But I hope you know that we will do our very best to fully support Miss Holloway in any way that she needs,” the doctor said, then laid her chart down on a table next to the bed and turned to walk out.

“Thank you,” West said quickly, his eyes on the chart.

As soon as the doctor retreated out into the hall, West snatched up the chart and read through it. Her blood work was all consistent with someone who was undergoing metabolic stress. Her x-rays showed nothing. Most of her other tests showed absolutely no reason for her current situation. But Doctor Reyes had made a notation referencing the nonspecific coma state she had been in before and saying this one seemed similar.
Perhaps it is a unique way that this subject's body deals with stress,
she concluded in her notes. West turned one more page in the chart and discovered the EKG and the cardiologist's notes regarding it. Katerina had had a heart attack. A minor heart attack, and the doctor expected her to fully recover with rest and adequate nutrition, but it was a heart attack nonetheless. West shook his head as his own chest felt heavy and dull. Katerina was twenty-six years old! Why in the world had she had a heart attack?

He read the cardiologist's notes three times and finally decided that the cardiologist didn’t know why. The notes kept referring to a severe hypermetabolic state and a hypotrophic heart muscle. West wondered if he was inferring that Katerina’s heart muscle seemed to have shrunk or been partially consumed as fuel for her body.

West winced and fingered the slight indentation on his chest where a gaping hole should be. Had her body consumed itself in order to provide energy for his healing?

West put the chart down and backed away from it, wishing he’d never read a word of it. He pulled a chair next to Katerina’s bed and sat, holding her hand again, his mind a blur of frantic and guilt-ridden thoughts.

He stayed that way for a long time, over two hours, glancing occasionally at her face, praying for some change in her countenance but his prayers were never answered.

He didn’t want to leave her, but there was something that he had to do. He refused to leave her alone though. His thoughts churned. Finally, he realized there was another option.

West picked up the phone and called Blaise’s room. Jordan answered, her voice low but happy.

“Jordan,” he choked out. “Something bad happened to Katerina.”

“Oh my God West, what?” Jordan cried, fear in her voice.

“Wait, Jordan. How is Blaise?”

“He’s fine, he’s great, he’s sleeping,” she said quickly. "What happened to Katerina?"

“She is in room eleven sixty-two, can you come up here?”

“Eleven sixty-two? You mean here in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jordan said and the phone went dead in his hand.

West replaced the receiver gently, then returned to Katerina’s bedside. He leaned over and talked to her, hoping she could hear him. “Katerina, I have to run to the first floor for a few minutes, but I’m not leaving you. Jordan will be with you. I’ll be as quick as I can, but I have to know.”

The door opened and Jordan crept in, rushing directly to Katerina’s bedside, on the opposite side from West. She took Katerina’s hand and looked closely at her face. “She's in a coma again?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Yeah,” West said sadly.

“Did she fry somebody else?” Jordan said, her eyes never leaving Katerina’s face.

“Yeah,” West said. “She did.”

“Oh, Katerina. I’m so sorry,” Jordan whispered, gently brushing Katerina’s hair back from her forehead.

“Jordan, can you stay here until I get back? I Just need to run downstairs for a few moments. Hopefully no more than twenty or thirty.”

Jordan nodded, never looking at him.

“Thanks Jordan, you’re the best. Here.” He grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil out of the little drawer in the table next to the bedside and wrote down a number. “This is the hospital switchboard. Call them and tell them to page me if you need me. I will come at a run.”

Jordan took the piece of paper absently and continued to brush Katerina’s hair back.

West crept out with only one look behind him. If he wasn’t positive she’d be absolutely safe, he never would’ve left, but after what she did to that guy in the van, he knew that not only did the bad guys not have a boss anymore, they were all probably running in absolute terror.