The Doctor's Defender (Protection Specialists Book 3) (5 page)

“Pleural mesothelioma,” she explained, her measured words full of sympathy. “The asbestos caused scar tissue that limited the exchange of oxygen to the bloodstream.”

“Yes.” He still remembered the way his mother gasped for breath. Even with an oxygen tank, she couldn’t seem to fill her lungs. “It’s a painful way
to go.”

From down the street the sound of an engine turning over echoed in the quiet of the night. Reacting swiftly to the sound and its meaning, Kyle pulled Brenda into the shadows behind the thick trunk of a large maple tree.

“What’s happening?” Brenda asked.

He pressed his index finger against her lips. “Shh. Be still.”

His gaze scanned the road. He could barely make out the car rolling slowly down the street without its lights. As the older sedan moved past where they stood in the shadows, Kyle concentrated on the driver. A hoodie covered the person’s head and obscured the facial features, but from his size he had to be a dude. The car continued on down the road. Red lights glowed as the car braked and made a right turn, disappearing from view.

There’d been no license plate on the car.

Not a good sign.

“Let’s get you inside.” He tugged her forward and hurried her across the street and up the drive.

* * *

Kyle caught Brenda by the elbow as she moved to the sink to sterilize her hands. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

The familiar sounds and smells of the hospital soothed Brenda’s frayed nerves. She was about to step into her first surgery of the day, the removal of a gallbladder on a twenty-three-year-old woman who presented with cholecystitis, an acute inflammation of the gallbladder.

Brenda understood why he’d ask. She’d taken one look in the mirror this morning and nearly crawled back in bed. Her eyes were red and puffy, her skin pale with worry. But shirking her responsibilities wasn’t an option. Her patients relied on her.

“I’m fine. Really,” she answered. But she wasn’t.

Her father was very ill.

His heartbreaking prognosis was a deep sorrow embedding itself in her soul.

The thought of what life would be like without her dad in the world left her feeling hollow and cold. She looked up to her father, strived to make him proud. As CFO of a major corporation before his retirement, he’d been the epitome of success to Brenda.

He’d grown up on a farm in Wisconsin, moved to Chicago to study at Northwestern University, graduated from the business school with honors and was hired on as an accountant’s assistant with Penderson and Gutheries,
a financial services corporation based in Chicago.

Her dad had worked his way up the food chain, just as Brenda planned to do in the hospital. Though she didn’t share her father’s head for numbers, she was a star pupil just like him. They both were valedictorians in high school, both graduated top of their class from the same college.

As a child she’d craved his attention and approval, always determined to do better, be better, but always feeling that somehow she wasn’t living up to his image of an ideal daughter. It wasn’t anything overt, just this vague sense of displeasure. When he showed her how to sail, she’d read everything she could on sailing for days before their lesson so she’d be able to keep up as he taught. But instead of being proud, he’d seemed disappointed she’d known so much already when they’d set out.

And even more disappointed when she decided she liked the one-person craft better than a team yacht. She’d been too afraid he wouldn’t understand if she explained how terrified she was she’d mess up on a team craft and disappoint him even further.

Last night had only intensified that feeling of inadequacy when he’d shunned her attempts to help. Logically she knew he was proud of her accomplishments. She’d heard him brag about her often to his golf buddies. Then why push her away?

She hoped they’d have time before it was too late to reconcile the disparity.

“Brenda?”

Kyle’s deep voice shook her out of her dark reverie. She turned her gaze on him, feeling slightly disoriented. “Yes?”

“I asked if you need anything before you go in,” he said, his gaze probing her face.

She started, realizing she’d spaced out for a second. The uncharacteristic moment shook her. She was in the scrub room, preparing to take an organ out of a patient. She’d better pull it together. The last thing she wanted was to be unfocused during a procedure.

She breathed in, filling her lungs, and slowly let the air out as she centered her mind and immediately realized she was thirsty. Not surprising, really. She hadn’t drunk her normal sixteen ounces of water this morning because she’d been distracted by her bodyguard and her parents.

Her mother had made breakfast as if nothing catastrophic had shaken their world. Her father had sat at the kitchen table and read the paper. And Kyle had woofed down the eggs and bacon with gusto. Brenda had pushed her food around her plate but had no appetite. Sitting around acting as if her world wasn’t falling apart literally made her sick to her stomach.

But her patient shouldn’t suffer because of Brenda’s personal problems. “A glass of water would be helpful.”

Kyle nodded and padded to the water cooler in the scrub room. Gratefully she took the cup he offered when he returned and drank the liquid.

“Thank you,” she said when she handed back the empty cup, feeling better already.

“More?”

She smiled, appreciating his solicitousness. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

After scrubbing her hands, she entered the O.R. Her patient lay prepped on the table, white cloths placed so that only a square patch of her abdomen was exposed. The anesthesiologist, Derek, sat at the head of the table monitoring the patient’s vitals while the surgical technician prepped the instrument tray and laparoscopy, the video camera that would guide Brenda once she’d made the incision.

Brenda barely noticed the room itself. Bare, sterile walls. Cold metal everywhere. The faint odor of cleaner permeated the air.

One nurse, Kate, stood a few paces back. A second nurse approached Brenda with gloves and mask at the ready.

“How’s our patient this morning?” Brenda asked as the nurse slipped the gloves quickly over Brenda’s fingers and then secured the face mask behind her ears.

“Out like a light and waiting,” the nurse answered. “She was a bit nervous when we spoke earlier, but I told her she had the best surgeon in the city working on her today.”

“Thanks, Marge.” It was high praise indeed coming from the veteran nurse. They’d worked alongside each other often the past few years, ever since Brenda came on board at Heritage as a resident. She liked having Marge as her scrub nurse. She was competent, assertive in technique, anticipating Brenda’s needs before Brenda even had to ask. All good traits in a head nurse.

Though Brenda knew she was on the young side for a surgeon doing her fellowship under the auspicious guidance of one of the country’s leading general surgeons, Marge had never made her feel inadequate. Here at the hospital, at least, people appreciated how hard she worked, the hours she dedicated to the patients.

Here going above and beyond was rewarded. One day when she became chief she’d make sure to continue the tradition of recognizing hard work.

Marge leaned close. “Who’s the handsome stud by the door?”

Brenda glanced over to where Kyle had parked himself by the door. Handsome? Yes, Brenda couldn’t deny the assessment even if she wanted to. He was dressed from head to toe in green surgical scrubs just as she was, but the drab outfit didn’t detract from the width of his shoulders, the trim waist and long, lean legs. A face mask covered his mouth and nose. Gloves encased his strong hands, and shoe covers hid the loafers he wore.

Only his watchful blue eyes were visible. Beautiful eyes. Intense. Protective. Alert. Eyes that seemed to see a little too much for her comfort level. Brenda shifted her gaze back to Marge. “Bodyguard.”

Above her mask, Marge’s hazel eyes widened. “Bodyguard?”

Obviously the hospital gossip party line hadn’t reached the nurse. Relief that she wasn’t the butt of water-
cooler speculations and assumptions swept through her.

“Long story. I’ll explain later.” She stood beside the prone young woman lying on the operating table. “Let’s get to work.”

An hour into the procedure, a hissing sound disturbed Brenda’s concentration. “What is that noise?”

“It’s not coming from my end,” Derek said, though he stood to check his machines.

Marge lifted her head toward the vents in the ceiling. “It sounds like it’s coming from up there.”

“I can’t breathe,” Kate said, her hands going to her throat a second before she crumpled to the ground, hitting the instrument tray on her way down, sending forceps, retractors and scalpels flying.

The startling clatter of the surgical instruments hitting the floor jolted through Brenda as she stared in horror at the fallen nurse.

Suddenly she didn’t feel so good, either. Her eyes burned. The membranes of her nose tingled painfully. She lifted her hands away from the patient and glanced up. The vent was directly over her. A fine mist sprayed out of the slats. The room spun.

A loud siren drowned out the hissing noise. Someone had pulled the emergency lever.

In a heartbeat, Kyle was at Brenda’s side, his arms encircling her, pulling her away from the table. “We need to get you out of here.”

“My patient,” Brenda protested though her words slurred. The room darkened. The floor slid out from under her feet. Falling. Kyle’s strong arms caught her and lifted her against his chest. The scent of his aftershave chased away the stench of antiseptic and blood. She hoped she wasn’t dying.

The world went black.

FOUR

K
yle refused to succumb to the mist flowing freely through the hospital ventilation system and flooding the operating room. He held his breath, his lungs straining against the lack of oxygen intake. His chest burned with the chemical agent. He forced his eyes to stay open. His mind to stay alert. His limbs to function.

Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the alarm reverberating off the operating-room walls. Fogginess hovered at the edges of his mind, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to give in to the clawing need for air, and pushed through the pain.

He lifted Brenda in his arms. No time to check her pulse. Not with the lack of fresh air. He had to get them both out of here.

Each step took extreme concentration. Lift one foot, put it down. Then repeat. The door seemed a mile a way.

He blinked away the dark spots blotting out the light.

The door banged open. Someone wearing white from head to toe rushed to him. Reflexively he tightened his hold on Brenda. Turning his shoulder toward the oncoming assault, he continued moving, doing a little bull-rushing of his own.

But his legs gave out. No! He had to get her to safety.

Brenda slipped from his arms. His muscles wouldn’t work, wouldn’t hang on to her. He’d failed to protect her. The darkness descended, overwhelming the light. He let out a groan of protest as the world faded.

* * *

A clear plastic mask covered Kyle’s face. Cool air swiftly filled his lungs, chasing away the lethargy. His nose and throat stung. He shook his head to clear his mind. He fought for clarity. They’d been in the operating room. A hissing sound. The smell of bleach. The fine mist of gas flooding the room.

Brenda!

He’d lost her.

He yanked off the mask and pushed himself upright. Blood rushed to his head. His vision narrowed then slowly cleared. He was on a bed behind a curtained wall. Standing took effort. The world wobbled then righted itself.

Brenda. He had to find her.

He pushed back the curtain. The emergency room buzzed with energy.

A nurse hurried toward him. “Sir, you really shouldn’t be up yet.”

Ignoring the nurse’s admonishment, Kyle grabbed the nearest police officer. No doubt the incident in the operating room had brought the police in force. “Dr. Storm? Have you seen her? Is she okay?”
Oh, please God, let me have gotten her out in time.

“Sir, are you all right? You don’t look so good,” the officer said.

An older man dressed in a brown suit stepped to Kyle’s side. “Mr. Martin, I’m Detective Lebowitz, the lead on this case.” He frowned. “You should sit down before you fall down.”

Kyle cut the air with a frustrated hand. “No, I have to find Dr. Storm.”

“She’s being looked after by Dr. Landsem.”

“I need to see her.” Kyle wouldn’t be at ease until he saw for himself that his client was safe. “Where is she?”

“This way.” Lebowitz led the way down a hall.

Kyle kept a hand on the wall, fighting the dizziness camped out at the edges of his mind. They stopped at a private room. Lebowitz pushed open the door.

Brenda lay stretched out on a gurney, an oxygen mask covering her face.

A man dressed in a lab coat hovered at the side of the bed. Not Dr. Landsem. The killer come to finish off what he started?

Stark panic slammed into Kyle, wrenching his senses to high alert.

“Get away from her!” Kyle roared.

He grabbed the guy in a sleeper hold with his arm across the man’s throat, creating a triangle, pressing on the carotid artery. Kyle spun him away from Brenda. The man’s hands clawed ineffectively at Kyle’s arm as the oxygen supply to the man’s brain diminished. Kyle knew the guy’s brain was going fuzzy just as his was from the residual effects of the gas.

“Mr. Martin!” Lebowitz had his gun drawn. “Step away from the doctor.”

“He could be the one trying to kill her,” Kyle ground out.

“Kyle?”

He lifted his gaze. Brenda stared at him from above the mask. Relief swamped him. She was alive.

“Let him go,” she said in barely more than a hoarse whisper. The scratchy sound of her voice twisted Kyle up inside. The effects of the gas. A little longer in that room and her throat would have completely closed as the gas tore into her trachea and lungs, choking her. Killing her.

“Please, Kyle. It’s Sam,” she choked out.

The plastic surgeon who had a thing for Brenda.

Kyle eased the pressure on the guy’s neck; he could still be her would-be assassin. He quickly patted him down. No weapon.

“Let. Me. Go,” Sam croaked.

Kyle released him.

Lebowitz holstered his gun with a glare at Kyle. “That was not necessary.”

“Can’t take any chances,” Kyle shot back, not caring that he’d acted swiftly. He’d rather apologize than have his client dead.

Sam clutched his throat and glared at Kyle. He wore a lab coat over pressed slacks and a pale pink button-down shirt. The name tag on his right breast pocket read Dr. Sam Johnson.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded to know.

“Someone who wants to keep Brenda safe,” Kyle said.

“I wouldn’t hurt her,” Sam declared, clearly affronted by the suggestion.

Relegating Sam to a low-level threat category, at least in a physical, one-on-one match even with his brain fuzzy, Kyle shifted his attention to Brenda. “Hey, Doc.”

She focused on his face and reached up to pull the mask off herself.

Sam crowded in. “Hi, Brenda.”

Kyle held his ground, an immovable barrier keeping the plastic surgeon from getting too close.

“Dr. Johnson, maybe you should step out,” Lebowitz
said. Sam frowned, stepped back but didn’t leave.

Brenda’s gaze bounced between the men then stayed on Kyle. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” He wanted the details as well but right now his priority was to get her out of there before her assassin made another attempt on her life. “We need to leave. Now.”

Brenda clutched Kyle’s forearm. “Tell me what happened.”

Kyle turned to the detective. “Lebowitz?”

The detective cleared his throat. “We found a hose in the ventilation shaft leading to a bottle of bleach mixed with ammonia. The combination created a deadly gas.”

Brenda gasped. Her panicked gaze locked on Kyle’s. He could see she’d made the same connection he had the second he’d realized gas was being funneled through the vent. Someone with access to the hospital did this. Someone she probably knew and worked with.

“He got you out in time.” Sam moved to the foot of the bed. He gave Kyle a disdainful once-over. “Though I’m not sure what he was doing in the O.R. in the first place.” His tone reeked of censure.

“Mr. Martin was hired by the hospital to provide protection for Dr. Storm,” Lebowitz said, his tone making it clear he approved.

“My patient?” Brenda asked.

“She was wearing an oxygen mask so she didn’t breathe in any of the chemicals,” Lebowitz stated.

“Dr. Landsem had her moved to another O.R.,” Sam supplied. “He’s closing her up right now.”

“The others?” Kyle asked, directing his question to Lebowitz.

Lebowitz met his gaze. “One nurse is critical.”

“Derek thought quickly,” Sam said. “He put on an oxygen mask before hitting the alarm. He dragged Marge out.”

When he didn’t continue, Lebowitz said, “By the time we got to the other nurse...” He shook his head. “She didn’t make it.”

* * *

“Oh, no.” Brenda sank back to the bed. The weight of responsibility bowed her shoulders. Kate. Dead. Another death on her conscience. “What have I done?”

“Hey.” Kyle placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a warm, gentle squeeze. “This isn’t your fault.”

She lifted her gaze. He towered over her. The glow from the overhead lights outlined his blond hair. He needed a haircut, she thought inanely. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She normally wasn’t so weak as to give in to tears. But then she’d never been in a situation like this, where innocent people were being hurt, killed, because of her. “It should have been me.”

A scowl darkened Kyle’s handsome face. “No. No one should have died today.” The hard note in his voice sent a shiver down Brenda’s spine. “The nurse’s death is on the person who rigged the poisonous gas.”

Logically she knew that was true. But if she hadn’t come to work, if she hadn’t been in that operating room today, if she hadn’t done whatever it was that attracted some crazy nut’s attention...Gary the security guard and Nurse Kate would be alive.

She tried to stand, but her stomach lurched and her legs shook. Kyle helped her to her feet and tucked her into his side, his arm holding her close. She felt protected, as if he was a shelter in a storm. Yet she hated that she wanted, needed, that protection. The hospital, the one place she’d always felt at home in, now posed a threat to her life and those she worked with. The tragedy with the cupcakes had come from outside the hospital walls. This—the gas piped into her O.R.—had come from within. Like a cancer instead of a stalker.

She thought about the staff she’d worked with over the years. Was one of them out to get her? Why?

Or was the villain posing as a patient, biding his or her time, waiting for a moment to strike?

“Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt you?” the detective asked.

She shook her head and immediately regretted doing so as pain throbbed at her temples. “No. I don’t know who or why someone would do these horrible things.”

Tension emanated from Kyle like a high-voltage electrical current. He turned to Lebowitz. “I’m not liking how exposed she is here. Whoever did this has too much access to the hospital and the staff. You need to find the creep. Pronto.”

Brenda shuddered and pressed closer to Kyle’s side.

“We’re doing our best.” Lebowitz produced a notepad and pen from the inside breast pocket of his jacket. “Where can I contact you?”

Kyle took out a business card from his pants pocket and handed it to the detective. “This has my cell and the main number for Trent Associates. They always know how to reach me.”

Lebowitz stuffed the card into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and then handed one of his cards to Kyle. “If you need anything—” he shifted his focus to Brenda “—or think of anything that would be helpful, please call.”

Brenda tried to smile, but she feared it came out more like a grimace.

“Where are you taking her?” Sam asked, blocking their way.

“To safety.”

Something in Kyle’s expression made Sam draw back and move out of the way to allow them to pass. Brenda wanted to apologize to Sam. He wasn’t the enemy. He was only trying to be a friend. But the words stuck in her throat.

People were dead because of her. She’d been so stubborn, so set in her ways and in her belief she could control this... It was better for Sam if he just let her go.

She realized she was shuffling down the hall in bloodstained scrubs and booties over her shoes. “I need some things from my office,” she told Kyle.

His eyebrows dipped, but he nodded and led her to her office. She grabbed her purse, her pager and the files to the Hanson case. She made arrangements for someone to cover her shifts at the hospital and at the clinic.

“Now I’m going to the locker room to change out of these scrubs.”

Kyle shook his head. “No. You can wait until we get to your parents’.”

She stiffened, ready to argue, but then decided he was right. Better to just leave now rather than put herself or anyone else at risk. She turned off the light in the office. Her parents were going to be distraught by this latest attempt on her life. They had so much they were dealing with already; she hated to burden them with this, as well. And if anything happened to them because of her...

Grateful to be leaving the hospital on her own legs, Brenda slid her arm around Kyle’s waist. Cocooned within his protective embrace, she wanted to believe she’d be safe. That he’d be able to keep her safe.

But she was afraid safety was nothing but a pretty illusion.

* * *

“We can’t go to my parents’,” Brenda said. She sat in the passenger seat of Kyle’s SUV with her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her tense jaw and her dry-eyed gaze, full of determination, didn’t bode well. “If anything happened to them because of me...” She looked away and swallowed. Then winced.

Empathy tightened Kyle’s shoulder muscles. He slowed the vehicle and pulled to an angled stop at the curb. Keeping the SUV angled so the front end stuck out slightly forced other cars to swing wide, which put more distance between them and other vehicles as well as allowing a quicker, easier exit should anyone attempt to box them in. Staying alert to their surroundings, he kept the vehicle idling. An ambulance roared by, its siren blaring as it headed for the hospital a few blocks away. He understood Brenda’s reluctance to return to her parents’ home. Two attempts on her life had resulted in the death of two innocent bystanders, people she knew. She wanted to protect her mother and father.

“Then we’ll have to go to your apartment for clothes and such, until I can arrange for a safe house.”

“Good. Thank you.” She dug into her purse and brought out her cell phone. “I’ll call and let them know.”

Kyle didn’t envy that task. The Storms were dealing with a serious illness, and finding out that another attempt had been made on their daughter’s life would only add to their stress. But there was no help for that if Brenda wanted to keep them safe. He made a U-turn and headed toward Brenda’s neighborhood.

He listened to Brenda downplay the incident at the hospital to her parents, explaining the need to stay close to town in case there were further developments. He couldn’t fault her for trying to minimize the seriousness of the situation so her parents wouldn’t worry. When she hung up, he said, “You do realize you’re evading the truth to protect them just as they kept your father’s illness from you to protect you.”

She frowned. “This is different.”

“If you say so.”

After a quiet pause, she said, “He can’t control the illness.”

“And you can control this?”

She made a face. “No.”