The Crush Part 23

Grace Wesley thanked her again for saving Wick's life.

The detective said a clipped "I'll be in touch," then punched the Down b.u.t.ton on the elevator.

Rennie went back into Wick's cubicle and asked the

nurse if he had shown any signs of coming around. "He's moaned a couple of times, Doctor. That's all."

"Please page me when he does. I'll be in the OR, but as soon as he wakes up I want to know about it."

"Of course, Dr. Newton."

Before leaving, she gazed down at her patient, but curbed the impulse to brush a wayward strand of hair off his forehead.

She showered in the locker room and put on fresh scrubs, then went to the cafeteria on the ground level. She had a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice, but she ate it only because she needed fuel, not because she wanted it or enjoyed tasting the food.

Back on the surgical floor, she reviewed her next patient's charts and spoke to her briefly. "Your oncologist and I agree that the tumor is contained. Once that section of bowel is removed, you're prognosis is very good."

The woman thanked her groggily as the anesthesiologist administered the heavy sedative into her IV.

Rennie scrubbed methodically. It felt good to be performing a task that was familiar and routine. Her carefully organized life had slipped out of her control. Ever since she heard about Lee's murder, ever since the appearance of the roses in her living room, nothing had been in order.

But, she thought as she scrubbed ruthlessly between her fingers, she could get back that control. All she needed to do was focus on her work. Work was her handle on life. Get a grip on her work and she had a grip on her life.

In the operating room, she was slicing through adipose tissue on the patient's abdomen when the a.s.sisting resident surgeon said, "Heard you had some excitement around here this morning."

"Our Dr. Newton is a regular heroine," said the scrub tech.

Rennie, whose mind was on her task, asked absently, "What are you talking about?"

"It was all over the news this morning."

Rennie glanced at the anesthesiologist, who'd spoken from his stool behind the patient. "What was on the news?"

"How you saved the cop's life."

The resident said, "Threadgill's brother died in the line of duty a few years ago. You prevented him from doing the same."

"Except that this Threadgill wasn't on duty at the time," said one of the circulating nurses.

"I don't know anything about him," Rennie said coolly.

"Suction, please. I responded to an emergency, that's all."

"According to the news, the girl was beyond help," the anesthesiologist remarked.

The talkative resident picked up the story. "I heard straight from the paramedics who responded to the nine-one-one call that she was found in the cop's bed. Apparently whoever attacked Threadgill killed her first."

'Jealous boyfriend?"

"Or husband."

"Could be. The way they've pieced it together, Threadgill was in the shower."

"Speaking for myself," the resident quipped, "I always have a cigarette first. Then shower. What about you, Betts?

Do you smoke after s.e.x?"

"I don't know," replied the circulating nurse. "I've never looked."

Everyone laughed.

The scrub tech bobbed her eyebrows above her mask.

"If this cop looks anything like the picture they printed in the newspaper, I'd say the girl died smiling."

"Could we please get back to business here?" Rennie snapped. "What's her pressure?"

The anesthesiologist replied in a subdued, professional tone. Rennie's brusqueness had quelled the joking. She kept her head down, her concentration focused on the surgery. But when her pager chirped, she asked the circulating nurse to check it for her.

"It's surgical ICU, Dr. Newton."

"Would you call them, please?"

She listened as the nurse placed the call. "Okay, I'll tell her." She hung up.

"Threadgill's waking up."

"Thanks."

Although she sensed the raised eyebrows above the masks, no one dared to comment. From there the talk related only to the procedure they were performing. Finally Rennie withdrew her hands and nodded for the a.s.sisting surgeon to clip the last internal suture. She probed the area with her gloved finger to make certain all the sutures held. "Looks good."

"Perfect," he said. "Excellent job, Dr. Newton."

"Thank you. Would you mind closing up for me?"

"Your wish is my command."

"Thanks. Good job, everyone."

She peeled off her b.l.o.o.d.y gloves and pushed through the door, knowing that as soon as it closed behind her she would be the topic of speculative conversation. Let them wonder, she thought.

She reported the satisfactory results of the operation to the patient's anxious family, then hurried to the locker

room, took a second shower, and reached the ICU just as the nurse was urging Wick to cough up his breathing tube.

He suffered the choking sensation all patients did, but eventually the thing was out. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it, Mr. Threadgill? You did real good."

He moved his lips but the nurse couldn't hear him, so she leaned down close. When she straightened up, she was chuckling. "What did he say?" Rennie asked.

"He said,'Get f.u.c.ked.'"

"You don't have to tolerate that from him."

"Don't worry about it, Doctor. I've got a husband and four sons."

Rennie took her place at Wick's bedside. "Wick, do you know where you are?"

He grunted an unintelligible reply. She placed her stethoscope on his chest and listened for several moments.

'You're doing fine."

"Thirsty."

"How about some ice chips?" She looked across at the nurse, who nodded and left on the errand. "We'll start you out on ice chips, Wick. I don't want you to drink anything yet and get nauseated."

He grunted again and was struggling to open his right eye, unaware that it was swollen shut. He would be groggy and disoriented for hours yet. "How's the pain, Wick? I can increase the dosage of your pain medication." He mumbled something else she couldn't interpret. "I'll take that as ayes."

The nurse returned with the cup of crushed ice and a plastic spoon. "Give him a few spoonfuls every time he wakes up." She made the necessary notations on his chart.

Before leaving she said, "I'll be either here or at my office.

Page me if there's any change."

"Certainly. Oh, Dr. Newton, I think he wants to speak to you."

Rennie returned to Wick's bedside. He groped for her hand. Despite the IV port that was taped to the back of his hand, his grip was surprisingly strong. She leaned down close. "What is it, Wick?"

He whispered only one word.

"Lozada."

Detective Wesley frowned at her from the other side of his cluttered desk. "Anything else?"

'Just that. 'Lozada,'" Rennie repeated.

"When was this?"

"Around noon today."

"And you're just now telling me?"

"I had to sort it out first."

"Sort what out?"

Other personnel in the Criminal Investigation Division appeared to be going about their business, but Rennie was aware that she was an object of curiosity. "Is there someplace we can talk more privately?"

Wesley shrugged and indicated for her to follow him.

He led her into the same room where the interrogation had been videotaped. They sat in the same seating arrangement. She didn't particularly like the implication that she was once again being placed in a defensive position, but she didn't remark on it. Instead she immediately resumed the conversation.

"Could that mean it was Lozada who attacked Wick last night?"

"Oh, you think so?"

She felt her cheeks turn warm. "Apparently that's not a news flash to you."

"Hardly, Doctor."

"May I ask you a question?" He shrugged with indifference.

"What is it about me that rubs you the wrong way?"

He s.h.i.+fted in his chair. "Nothing."

"That's not true. You've disliked me from the get-go.

Why?"

"Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind, Dr.

Newton? What did you 'sort out' this afternoon?"

"The day of Lee Howell's funeral, I received a bouquet of roses. This was the enclosure card."