Uncovering Her Secrets. Amalie Berlin

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СКАЧАТЬ this really the good twin, or was it the tomboy with scraped knees dressed up in her sister’s haircut and clothing?

      That probably qualified as stressful. Left him a little off kilter.

      On her way back to the female patient, Dasha stopped to press her upper arm against that of a nurse, just long enough to break her stride. A touch to comfort...albeit a strange one to keep her gloves clean, but a kind gesture anyway.

      A second later she was with the female patient, said a few soft words to her, then straightened and resumed directing. “Dr. Monroe, you’re with me. Everyone, we need to wheel these two into the OR. We’ll separate them there.” The nurse she’d touched looked misty-eyed but jumped in to help. They all worked seamlessly as a team. Not just people working together.

      Not once had he had that. Not since residency. He’d forgotten how she could do that...make people want to be their best. Strange contradiction in her character.

      Think about it later. Time to work. Preston would never wish this kind of accident on anyone, but submersing himself in work was exactly what he needed.

      A group surrounded the gurneys. Pounding feet and squeaky wheels announced transit of the unlucky couple through the hospital to the freight elevator—the only one big enough to take the gurneys in the position the steel rebar had locked the couple into—then to the large operating room.

      “Dr. Monroe, you’ve got Mr. Andrews.” Dasha didn’t look at him as she spoke but kept an eye on her patient.

      He’d like Mrs. Andrews. In truth, that was probably a two-surgeon job, but they only had so many hands. Maybe he could help Mr. Andrews and then give Dasha a hand, if Mrs. Andrews survived that long. Lots of blood vessels in the area that could be damaged.

      They settled in the large operating suite. Neither patient was conscious now. Blood loss did that.

      Dasha handed him the surgical saw. “Would you?”

      Deferring to him? Okay, that was surprising. He always loved the saw—had almost gone orthopedics because of it. Did she remember that?

      Later. Focus. Figuring out her motivations would drive him insane, and now was not the time. She was just another surgeon in a dicey situation with him.

      The sound of metal on metal bounced off every hard flat surface, roaring at near-deafening levels while the steel teeth chewed through the rod.

      As soon as it had cut through, Dasha’s team pulled Mrs. Andrews’s table over, locked the wheels and got to work.

      Preston handed the saw to his surgical tech, had his gown and gloves changed, and cut in, following the rod through so much shredded flesh.

      As he got to work, the burning in his eye subsided. Maybe he was off the hook. Maybe work really would save him. He and Mr. Andrews would save each other.

      “Talk to me,” Dasha called, though she needn’t have lifted her voice. Back to back, they weren’t close enough to touch but Preston could swear he felt her. The air vibrated between them. Or maybe they were touching somehow. Her gown? His? Just something else he needed to ignore.

      “Liver pierced. Most of it shredded. There’s enough intact to salvage. Working on the bleeding now.” Of which there was a large amount. “Yours?”

      “Working on the bleeding,” she echoed, but in her voice there was a sound he could still identify. She didn’t think Mrs. Andrews was going to make it. But if he knew nothing else about Dasha, he knew she didn’t like to lose.

      “I need to know if they got hold of Nettle,” Dasha said, her words rushed, agitated.

      But she wasn’t talking to him. Let her deal with the rest of department. His focus was in front of him.

      How much worse would this morning have been if he and Dasha had had nothing to do but sit around and reminisce? Remember that time when we were dating, and you broke my heart and left me handcuffed to the bed while you stole my fellowship? How much trouble would his mouth have gotten him into then? It certainly would’ve taxed this new leaf he struggled to turn over.

      His mouth had caused him years of trouble, and was the reason he had to work with the woman he’d spent the past decade quasi-stalking.

      The best way to avoid Dasha? To know where she was. Know where she worked. Know what conferences she attended. Know where she lived, where she likely shopped, dined and visited. Avoidance of that level required intelligence.

      It wasn’t really stalking. It was more like anti-stalking. In a stalker sort of way.

      And now she stood behind him, no more than a yard away.

      Another hour passed.

      “How’s it going over there?” She asked for updates regularly but hadn’t made any more attempts to manipulate him by riling him. Something else he should put off thinking about until later when he was deciding whether to come back to St. Vincent’s.

      “Closing,” Preston answered. “Transfused two pints of blood.” No doubt this wasn’t exactly what the board had in mind for supervised practice.

      “Good. I need you.” To help with the surgery. She needed his assistance with the surgery. The words she’d chosen were bad, but they had no hidden meaning.

      “How is she doing on blood?” he asked.

      A surgical nurse helped him out of his gown and gloves and into a fresh set.

      “Up to three, probably adding another...” She never looked away from her patient.

      His first view inside the woman’s chest nearly robbed him of breath. “We could do with a cardiac surgeon.” Could they ever. But in the small cavity his hands joined hers, and they worked in tandem to repair damage that appeared irreversible.

      “That’s who I’ve been asking for updates on,” she muttered, but she still worked. She wouldn’t give up. It was one thing he could give her credit for. Well, that and her skill. On a professional level Dasha was good. It was as a human being that she had failed.

      His left eye twitched. He squinted. Sometimes taking charge of those muscles helped. Sometimes it didn’t. Working with Dasha might be a deal-breaker. He’d have to think about it.

      Later.

      When he relaxed the muscles around his eye, his sight sharpened and he saw it. There was a small cut on Mrs. Andrews’s heart, but it had not gone through. “Damn.”

      “What is it?” Dasha stopped what she was doing long enough to look where his hands were.

      “She needs to go on the pump,” Preston said. “Now.” That the heart wall had held this long was a miracle.

      “Get the line in her. Go femoral, we don’t need any more holes north of the belt,” Dasha said, then went back to what she was doing. Already the techs were getting the heart-lung machine in place. They’d started moving the second he said the word pump. Preston could get used to that.

      A cannula landed in his hand and he prodded around on the woman’s thigh to find the artery, swabbed with alcohol and threaded it in. By the time he was ready СКАЧАТЬ