Code of Justice. Liz Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ fix was easy enough to understand.

      Suddenly he grabbed the IV line attached to the back of her hand, almost tugging it out. She forced her eyes to open all the way, looking into the face of a man with glassy eyes, long white hair and several days of patchy beard growth.

      “What are you doing?” she asked, carefully keeping her tone soft, if scratchy.

      He didn’t look at her, just continuing his chant. “Need to put the tube in the line. Then I get a fix.”

      “What are you doing?” she asked again, putting more force behind her words as she reached for the call button, praying it would bring help right away. Her words made him glance at her, but it didn’t make him pause, as he pulled a small medical vial from his pocket and tried to connect it to her IV. “Stop! Don’t do that!”

      Even with the tremors in his hands, he moved quickly, slipping the vial into place to feed whatever was in it into the line. She tried to roll to the side to stop him, but the sudden burning in the back of her hand was excruciating.

      The man shuffled a step toward the door, as she clawed at her hand, trying to pull the tubing out.

      “What is this?” she cried as the fire raced up her arm.

      It took her another moment to realize that the blood-curdling scream filling the room came from her own throat.

      TWO

      Even after Jeremy Latham flashed his Sheriff’s Deputy badge at the pretty blonde nurse at the station next to the elevator, she wouldn’t tell him the exact condition of the survivor of the helicopter crash that had claimed two lives. Something about confidential patient records. No matter. If she was conscious, he would get Heather Sloan’s statement and piece together the events leading up to the crash. But as he approached the door he’d been directed to, a scream sent him running toward the very room the nurse had indicated. As he neared it, a woman shouted again.

      Hoping the door was unlocked, he crashed into the solid wood. It flew open as he twisted the handle, sending him to his knees on the slick floor.

      A pair of very old shoes and an unpleasant odor shuffled past him as he scrambled to his feet. He caught only a glimpse of the back of the man’s head before screams from the bed grabbed his attention.

      “Get it out. Get it out! It burns!”

      The cries from the woman on the bed made it clear what took priority. She needed help. Now. Jeremy ignored the other man as he scrambled to her side.

      Putting one hand on her forearm, Jeremy said, “Where does it burn?”

      “Right arm,” she managed between gritted teeth, her eyes rolling back in her head.

      This was no time to pretend he had the kind of medical training needed to help. He pounded the call button over and over, following it up with shouts of his own. “Nurse! Nurse! I need help in 411!”

      The young woman screamed when he picked up her arm, but he had to get a closer look at the crimson stripes making their way toward her elbow. She must have pulled the dangling tube from the back of her hand, but the redness definitely started beneath the tape still holding an IV needle in place.

      The red lines were nearly to the crook in her arm when he realized that he had to stop whatever was causing them from getting any farther. Yanking the IV cord from its bag he wrapped it around her biceps and jerked it into a crude knot. The slick plastic didn’t want to stay in place, so he held it there, calling again for help. “Nurse!”

      The woman whimpered, and he put his hand back on her forehead.

      “It’s going to be okay. You’re all right.”

      Just then, the same blonde nurse who had told him Heather was in room 411 entered at a run, and her presence made Jeremy breathe a little easier, despite her curt tone. “What happened in here?”

      “I don’t know. I was in the hallway, and I heard someone screaming. There was another man in here. I think he put something in her IV. She said that it was burning her. I tried to stop it from going any farther up her arm.” He raised his hands to show her the makeshift tourniquet.

      The patient groaned, her eyes still clamped shut. And the nurse immediately took control. “Keep holding that,” she said, pointing to the tubes in his hand. “I will be right back. Heather, hang in there.” She raced out the door and in an instant her voice came over the hospital’s PA system, calling for help in Heather’s room. It finally sank in for Jeremy that this was the woman he’d come to see—the survivor of the helicopter crash who had, it seemed, been attacked near fatally again. What have you gotten yourself mixed up in, Heather Sloan?

      In a flash the blonde nurse was back, followed by two other nurses in pale green scrubs. One of the new nurses glared at Jeremy for a moment, before taking the IV tubing out of his hands and holding it in place. The other nurse poked buttons on the machine on the other side of Heather’s bed.

      He opened his mouth to ask what he could do before realizing he was useless in a hospital. But he did know what needed to be done. With the victim secured, it was time to go after the attacker. Sprinting for the door, the voice of the other nurse stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t just leave. The police will have questions for you.”

      “I’ll have questions for them, too. As soon as I get back.”

      Spinning out the door, he raced toward the stairs. Someone like the man who had been in Heather’s room would be noticed riding in a crowded elevator or strolling through the crowded halls of the hospital. He’d look for a deserted escape route.

      Following the path Jeremy assumed the other man had taken and trying to keep his shoes from sliding on the freshly buffed floors, he skidded into the stairwell. As he raced down the steps, he tried to remember any distinguishing factors about the other man. He had been on the floor when the attacker passed, so his observations were limited, but based on the condition of the black boots he’d worn and the terrible stench that followed him around, Jeremy’s best guess was that he was homeless. And his hair was silver and matted. That was a pretty slim description.

      Now he could kick himself in the pants for not getting a better look at the would-be…killer? But was he really trying to kill Heather? Why else would he have put something into her IV line?

      But what could their connection possibly be?

      Could it be related to a case she had been working?

      Four flights later he ended up in a storage room piled with stacks of clean laundry. Metal shelves lined the walls, and additional rows filled most of the floor-space, so he dropped to the ground, peering through the six-inch gap below the bottom of each shelf. Palms flat on the cold floor, he craned his neck in search of those black boots.

      Satisfied that he was alone, Jeremy jumped back up and hurried to the door, which led him into a hallway next to the E. R. Straight ahead was the ambulance entrance. Stopping quickly at the nurses’ station, he flashed his badge and asked, “Did you see a homeless man go past here a couple minutes ago?”

      The young man behind the desk nodded. “Sure. White hair and gray jacket?” He pointed toward the glass doors. “He looked like he was in a hurry.”

      “Thanks.” СКАЧАТЬ