Whitney stepped into the cold confines of the bank and glanced around the lobby. This wasn’t her usual branch, but it was the closest one to her new office. It was the bank’s main LA location and suitably upscale inside. Lots of gleaming marble, modern gray furniture, and updated teller counters. She dug around in her purse for her wallet as she joined the shortest line.
That morning she’d realized her paycheck still hadn’t hit her account. A couple of phone calls confirmed there was a problem with her direct deposit but not on the employer side of things. She’d contacted the bank, but they couldn’t help her over the phone. It was an issue that had to be dealt with in person, of course.
She fought with the plastic sleeve holding her bank account card. The copies of the direct-deposit paperwork were in the inner pouch of her purse. She pulled them out and returned her wallet to the dark abyss of her purse. Her gaze shifted around the busy bank. It was lunchtime and packed, which meant the lines were moving slowly, giving Whitney way too much time to think.
For the last four days, thinking was something she’d done her best to avoid. That cringe-worthy night after the wedding played over and over again in her mind. She did everything possible to stay busy. Working late had never been such a relief. She’d thrown herself into brainstorming the branding for the new street-inspired Chess & Perry line. As a young girl obsessed with pop culture, Kadie was the ideal buyer, and she had so many great ideas. Whitney loved incorporating them.
Working with Kadie was the perfect excuse to stay out of the house. She just couldn’t stand the weird vibes around the place. Eddie had been gone by the time she’d woken up that next morning, and she’d only seen him twice since. Both times, he’d remained tight-lipped and done his best to avoid her. He seemed to be working an awful lot of overtime.
Mick wasn’t much better. He’d tried to talk to her over a very awkward breakfast, but she just couldn’t do it. He’d been kind and let the subject drop. A few times they’d tried to have a meaningful conversation, but nothing came of their attempts. In the end, they’d been reduced to text messages about picking up a gallon of milk or dealing with the neighbor whose dog crapped in the front yard again.
Whitney hated to even consider it, but if the three of them couldn’t sit down and talk this out, she was going to have to find a new living situation. Perhaps it was a bit premature to be thinking about worst possible outcomes, but better to be prepared than tossed out on her ass, she figured. Frankly, Eddie and Mick had been an item before her and would probably continue after her. She was the interloper in this situation, and the only way she was coming out of this relationship was as a single woman.
And it broke her heart.
Whitney couldn’t remember ever crying as hard as she had the last few nights. She loved Eddie and Mick. When she was with them, she felt secure and safe. The two of them had given her the illusion of family she’d so long craved.
Maybe it wasn’t an illusion. Maybe it was real. Or had been, at least. After her breakdown, she’d shattered whatever chance they had to be happy. She’d never forget the look on Eddie’s face or the way Mick looked afraid to touch her. She’d hurt them both so much. Probably in ways she couldn’t fix.
Whitney rubbed her face and forced away the troubling thoughts. She couldn’t function like this. Something had to give.
Stomach still churning with the pain of loved lost, Whitney inhaled a steadying breath and tried to focus. She moved up a few more steps and patiently waited her turn. Finally, she was summoned to the teller’s open window. “Good afternoon, ma’am. How can I help you?”
Whitney smiled, introduced herself, and explained her predicament to the teller. “I was told I needed to come down here to clear this up.”
“Yes, Ms. Montcrief,” the teller said, “but you’ll have to speak with someone in our electronic-banking division.” She pointed to a set of desks across the lobby. “They’ll be able to sort out the issue for you.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes and huff. Instead, Whitney smiled again and thanked the teller for her help. She stepped aside and tried to decide which desk to try. Both had nearly equal lines waiting behind the ropes. She judged the bankers’ faces and decided the older woman seemed nicer and more helpful.
As Whitney crossed the lobby to join the new line, she noticed the double doors to the lobby opening. The security guard’s shout barely registered. No, it was the eardrum-busting shotgun blast that finally caught her attention. As if in slow motion, she turned her head just in time to see the red splatter of blood hit the wall behind the guard who hadn’t even had time to pull his holstered weapon.
“GET ON THE GROUND!”
Before the instructions could even sink in, the quintet of bank robbers began firing their shotguns and automatic weapons at the ceiling. On instinct, Whitney threw herself to the hard marble. Pain shot through her abdomen and chest at the sudden impact, but she paid it little mind. She figured if she was still feeling pain, she was alive.
Her gaze flicked to the heavily armed men garbed in black tactical outfits similar to the kind she’d seen Eddie wear. These men were not fucking around. Snippets of the news articles popped into her head. Fear squeezed her heart. Oh, god. Please, please, please don’t let them kill us.
Chunks of ceiling tile and shards of glass rained down around her. Busted-up lights sparked. Bullet casings or whatever those metal things were called pinged as they bounced off the marble floor. Only the knowledge they were shooting above her head kept Whitney from straight-up hyperventilating.
“Tellers out on the floor. Managers, loan officers, all of you. On the fucking floor now!”
Whitney watched the herd of employees scurry out from behind the counters and desks as ordered. Without having to be told, they held their hands high and said nothing as they filed out and lay down on the ground. She wondered if that was part of their “What To Do In The Event of A Hold-Up” training.
“Keep your eyes down. Put your hands on the back of your head. Now!”
Whitney did exactly as told. This wasn’t the time to try anything cute or brave. These guys wouldn’t hesitate to pump her full of lead. She remembered what Eddie had said that morning about the guys sending text messages. She hoped none of her fellow hostages were thinking of doing anything similar.
“Move one fucking muscle and you’re dead.”
She kept her gaze planted on the floor. Boots hit the ground all around her. She prayed the robbers were able to get their money fast and get the hell out. That’s what had happened at Kadie’s branch, right? She’d seen that story, too. Shots fired but no deaths. Maybe these guys were wising up and doing things differently.
“You the manager?” Whitney heard a scuffle as someone far off to the left was yanked off the ground. “Where’s your assistant?”
“O-o-over there,” the man stammered in fear.
There was another scuffle as the assistant manager was hauled to her feet. Whitney could tell it was a woman by the sound of her scared whimpering. She felt so badly for the woman and prayed she would cooperate.
“Open the vaults.”
She heard two of the gunmen escort the managers out of the main lobby and into a back area. She desperately wanted to sneak a peek but squashed the urge. Movement meant death.
The other three robbers walked around the lobby and harassed the other hostages. They were sick and cruel with their taunts. She tried to black them out and not pay attention to the ugly words they spewed.
Glass crunched as one of the gunmen moved closer to her. Whitney’s gut clenched when she felt the toe of a boot touch her outer thigh. Her breath caught in her throat when the gunman used the still-warm muzzle of the firearm to push her skirt up. Humiliation soured her belly. He gave a low whistle and pushed the firing end of the gun against her butt. “You wear these sexy panties for me?”
Her fingers curled, and her nails bit into her scalp as he leered down at her. The tip of his high-powered rifle traced the cleft of her ass. “Want to go into one of the back rooms and play with me, hot mama?”
Whitney didn’t know what to say. Whatever she said would be the wrong answer. And speaking caused movement, didn’t it? Was this one of their screwed-up head games?
She yelped when he grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her up onto her knees. Bitter coffee breath assaulted her nose. “You think you’re too good to talk to me?” His open palm cracked the side of her head. Pain stabbed her skull. “Answer me, you skinny bitch!”
“Please,” she whispered tearfully. Her mind short-circuited as her fight-or-flight response took hold. “Please.”
“Please what, you cunt?” He shook her brutally and made her teeth knock together. “Please let me suck your cock?” He mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Please take me into a back room and fuck my ass?”
Whitney sobbed as frantic panic rocked her to the core. All around her, the whimpers and crying of her fellow hostages started. The entire room vibrated with primal fear. Whitney shrieked in pain and terror as the masked man started to drag her across the floor by the hair. She kicked and clawed at the hand tangled in her hair, no longer caring if they shot her or not. If he got her into one of those rooms, it was all over for her.
An elderly gentleman bravely came to her aid, rising up on his knees and hooking his cane around her attacker’s ankle. The gunmen went down with a noisy thud, and Whitney quickly scrambled free. Another masked robber stepped forward and slammed the butt of his gun into the old man’s temple. He crumpled and hit the ground hard, blood oozing from the wound.
Whitney didn’t get far before her would-be rapist latched onto her arm and dragged her back to his side. Her pumps scratched at the floor, and her bare skin squeaked against the slick marble. The gunman angrily punched the side of her head. Whitney’s ear rang, and she tasted blood as the inside of her cheek smashed against her teeth.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” The man Whitney assumed to be the ringleader strode back into the lobby. “Put that girl down, and get in here. There’s a shitload more cash than we expected. Armored car was late for pickup.”
The almost-rapist roughly shoved Whitney forward and then kicked her in the back. She oophed as she fell forward on her face. Pain radiated up her spine and into her shoulder. She was sure he’d bruised a kidney…or worse.
As Whitney fought for breath, the gunmen took turns carrying duffel bags of cash into the middle of the lobby. She placed her shaky hands on the back of her head as ordered earlier and prayed they would leave her alone. She hoped they would just take the damn money and get the hell out.
But her prayers weren’t to be answered.
One of the robbers headed to the front doors and let out a string of expletives. “Fucking cops, man,” he said finally. “Cops fucking everywhere.”
A gunman grabbed one of the tellers and shook him wildly. “Which one of you pricks pushed the silent alarm? Was it you?”
“No,” the teller quickly denied.
“No?” The gunman threw him down and grabbed the back of another teller’s shirt. “Maybe it was you?”
The woman shook her head and sobbed.
“Who gives a shit?” The ringleader snarled. “The cops are here now. We got to deal with them.”
“Out the back, boss?”
“Yeah. Plan B.” He kicked a bag of cash at one of his cohorts. “Grab what you can carry. I’m going to blow the back wall.”
Whitney didn’t like the sound of that. Her mind conjured up visions of explosives. She supposed they had some kind of underground access planned. A sewer or even an abandoned subway line. She didn’t know and didn’t really care. The sooner they were out of here, the better.
“Shit!” The robber manning the door sounded particularly agitated. “Fucking SWAT, man.”
SWAT? Whitney’s heart leapt. Eddie? She experienced a wild mix of emotions. On one hand, she was relieved, but on the other, she was afraid for him. Sure, he’d probably walked into crazier situations than this, but she’d never had to witness it firsthand.
A loud explosion rocked the back of the building. Whitney covered her neck with her still-trembling hands and hoped to god the building wouldn’t fall down around her ears. Not twenty seconds later, a louder, brighter explosion ripped through the front doors. Stun grenades followed quickly.
Whitney shielded her eyes and tried not to breathe the acrid smoke too deeply. She assumed tear gas would follow. Suddenly she wished she’d asked Eddie more questions about his work. She had no idea what to expect in a situation like this. The fear of the unknown just made everything worse.
A gunfight broke out above her head. Whitney’s entire body went stiff as she listened to bullets whiz and pop. This didn’t seem right. Why in the hell were the people meant to be rescuing them firing over the heads of the hostages?
Whitney flattened her body to the floor. She cried out as a heavy boot smashed her fingers. One of the robbers had backed up onto her hand. She tried to pull it free but couldn’t budge the man’s weight. Rolling onto her side, Whitney tugged hard.
And then she felt it, the searing pain of a bullet ripping through her shoulder. A second bullet slammed into her stomach. Amped up on adrenaline and nerves afire from the damage caused by the first two bullets, Whitney hardly felt the impact of the third. The crushing blow of the gunman’s limp body, however, she felt fully.
As Whitney struggled to breathe under the weight of the dead man’s body, she experienced the worst kind of regret. Mick and Eddie would never know just how much she loved them.
Eddie leaned back against the hood of the black SUV and watched the narcotics guys lead the cuffed subjects out of the house he’d just stormed with his SWAT team. Like most well-planned ventures, it had gone off without a hitch. He prided himself on preserving the safety of his men while performing their tasks at the very highest caliber.
“Another good bust, Eddie.” Santos, arguably LAPD’s best narcotics officer, smacked him on the back. “In and out. No fatalities. This is why I always request your team over that pinche O’Halloran.” Santos shook his head. “Thinks he’s a fucking cowboy with a gun.”
Eddie caught himself before he agreed with his colleague’s assessment. Although he had strong feelings about O’Halloran’s team, it wasn’t a good idea to air SWAT’s dirty laundry with the drug guys. O’Halloran tended toward recklessness, but as of yet he hadn’t made any fatal mistakes. There had been some close calls, too close for Eddie’s comfort, but then he wasn’t that team’s leader. Clearly they were more comfortable with that level of risk.
“Every team has a different method,” Eddie said finally. “We prefer to keep things low risk and plan for the worst.”
“And that’s why we all want you guys doing our entries.” Santos elbowed Eddie and gestured with his chin to the petite brunette hauling one of the gang members out of the house. “Look at her, man. Doesn’t take shit off anyone.”
Eddie thought she looked familiar. He tilted his head and studied her features. “Holy shit! Is that the Chief’s daughter?”
Santos laughed. “With his second wife. Sadie is tough. Damned good officer.”
Eddie figured she was something else to get that kind of high praise from one of LAPD’s senior officers. A man like Santos, who had seen and done it all in the name of protecting and serving, didn’t give out compliments like that unless they were earned. Eddie made a mental note to keep an eye on the girl. She had the look of a SWAT officer. Might be time to do a little headhunting, Eddie thought. After all, his team could use a little diversity.
“You going to the softball tournament this weekend?” Santos pulled his vibrating cell phone from his pocket.
“Hell yes,” Eddie answered quickly. “We’ve got to defend our title.”
Santos rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, man. We got some fresh talent on our team.”
“Let me guess,” Eddie said with a laugh. “Chief’s daughter played softball in college.”
Santos nodded. “We’re going to wipe the field with you guys.”
Eddie grinned at the good-natured taunting. “We’ll see.”
“Did I tell you that old Rico-”
Santos was interrupted by the static of the radio. Eddie only heard the last bit of the transmission.
“…211 in progress. Shots fired.”
Eddie leaned over and stuck his hand through the open window of the SUV to hit the volume on the radio. All around him, fellow police officers did the same thing. The transmission was repeated again by the dispatcher who asked for response from all available officers in the area. Not two seconds later, a separate call for his team as SWAT backup for O’Halloran’s team came through.
Training kicking in, Eddie and his guys jumped into their vehicles and sped out of the gritty neighborhood. As Eddie buckled his seat belt, he queued up the incident commander for more info. Five guys, heavily armed and loaded for bear, entered the bank. Multiple shots were heard by bystanders outside the bank. Guard was killed. Unknown number of hostages inside the bank.
“Our ETA is ten minutes, at least,” Eddie informed incident command. He made contact with the SUV behind them and made sure everyone was on the same page. They’d probably be assigned rear entry once on scene. “Anyone familiar with this bank?”
Craig piped up from the backseat and told Eddie what he knew about the branch. He’d only used it once, popping inside to hit up the ATM before going to that big new IMAX theater a few blocks down.
Suddenly Eddie realized why the address sounded so familiar. He’d driven past that bank a few days earlier on his way to meet Whitney at her office. That was her bank, wasn’t it?
Heart racing, he lifted the Velcro flap of the pocket along his thigh and dug around for his phone. He punched the speed-dial key assigned to Whitney. Her beautiful, smiling face lit up his screen as his phone dialed and tried to connect. It went to voicemail after a few rings.
“Whitney, it’s Eddie. Please call me or text me as soon as you get this. There’s a robbery in progress at the bank down the street from you. Stay inside your building and wait until you hear from me again to leave.”
“That your girl?” Danny asked as he weaved through an intersection after blaring the air horn to clear the lanes.
“Yeah.” Eddie didn’t even hesitate. Whatever had happened between the three of them, Whitney was still his girl. He loved her. Desperately. And he’d made a complete ass of himself the other night. Instead of being open and honest, he’d clammed up and dodged her. Real mature, he thought angrily. She deserved better from him. All she’d done was confide her deepest fears, and he’d blown it out of proportion. He’d hurt not only Whitney but Mick, too.
As soon as this day was over, Eddie promised himself he’d make things right between the three of them.
O’Halloran’s voice came across the radio and yanked Eddie right out of his thoughts. He kicked up the volume in disbelief as O’Halloran announced his team was making a forced entry. Without backup. Without proper planning.
“Shit!” Eddie swore as Danny punched the gas and swerved in and out of traffic, lights and sirens blaring. His stomach quivered. He had a really bad feeling about this one. Flashbacks to the ’97 shootout news coverage raced to the forefront of his mind. “Floor it, Danny. They’re going to need us.”
But it was too late. Eddie and his guys listened in utter shock and horror to the firefight blasted over a keyed radio mic. One of O’Halloran’s team members must have clipped his radio with the butt of his rifle. The uninterrupted transmission of gunshots played out as Eddie and his team raced to the scene of the bank.
The SUV had barely slowed to a stop before Eddie hopped out and rushed to the incident command truck. Their captain’s face was beet red as he listened to the clusterfuck of a response happening inside the bank. Heads were going to roll after this one.
Just as quickly as the firefight started, it came to an abrupt stop. Eddie heard O’Halloran’s team clearing the building and confirming the robbers were all either dead or wounded but secured. “We’ve got three civilians wounded. Need EMS ASAP.”
“Son of a bitch!” Captain Diaz looked to Eddie. “Get in there. Get the hostages out. Get EMS in.”
Eddie nodded and motioned to his guys. “Craig, Kevin, wait here for EMS. The rest of you with me.
They rushed to the front of the bank and entered the ruined interior. It looked like something out of a war zone. Acrid smoke irritated his lungs. The busted-out glass of the front doors and windows let in fresh air so the room was clearing fast. A pair of gunmen writhed on the ground. They’d suffered gunshot wounds to the chest and arms. Hostages sobbed as they skittered out of the lobby accompanied by SWAT. They slid on glass and tripped over chunks of roofing tile.
“Christ!” Eddie shook his head. This was exactly the kind of bullshit Rambo-wannabe response that put innocent lives at risk and got officers killed. His jaw clenched. O’Halloran had to go.
“Oh, fuck.” Danny’s distraught voice echoed in the lobby. “Here’s a fourth civilian. She’s hurt real bad.”
Eddie glanced over to his rookie team member and watched as he dragged a dead robber off another person. There was a wounded civilian pinned underneath, so he started over to help. His gaze drifted to the orange pumps on the victim’s feet. They seemed so familiar. God, he really needed to quit reading over Whitney’s shoulder. All those fashion magazines were finally starting to take over his head.
And that dress, he thought, as the brown and pink and burnt-orange paisley print came into view. He’d seen that dress somewhere.
Danny crouched down next to the female victim and looked up at Eddie with pain in his eyes. “Oh hell, boss. It’s your girl.”
Eddie stumbled over his feet as Danny’s words registered. His gaze snapped to the woman’s face. Bloody and bruised, but there was no mistaking her. “Whitney!”
Eddie fell to his knees beside her battered body and gathered her into his arms. She breathed raggedly and was only just conscious. Blood seeped from the wounds in her belly, chest, and shoulder.
“Boss, lay her out flat.” Danny’s take-charge voice snapped Eddie out of his panic. Danny immediately put his hands on the shoulder and chest wound and pressed hard. “We need EMS. Now!”
Eddie put his hand on the gushing belly wound and added pressure. “Whitney, sugar, can you hear me?”
“Eddie,” she whispered, her eyes wide and lips ghostly pale. “They sh-sh-shot me.”
“I know, sweetheart, but we’re going to get you all better, okay? Just hang on, sugar.”
Craig skidded in next to them and dropped an emergency kit. “EMS is a minute or two out.” He ripped open trauma dressing packages and tossed them onto Whitney’s body. Eddie grabbed one and pushed it against her belly. Danny did the same with two others.
“Old man,” Whitney said, her shaking hand trying to point somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder. “Tried to help me. Gun butt to the head.”
“Okay, sugar,” Eddie said. “We’ll make sure someone gets to him.” Eddie glanced over his shoulder and saw one of O’Halloran’s guys dealing with an elderly man. “He’s okay,” Eddie assured Whitney.
Her teeth chattered. “Co-co-cold.”
Eddie’s heart clenched. He knew shock when he saw it. There was just so much blood. It pooled around her body, soaking her silky blonde hair and turning her dress a shocking maroon color. “We’ll get you warm as soon as we get you in an ambulance.”
“Sleepy,” she murmured, her eyelids drifting together.
“No! No, Whitney.” Eddie stroked her face with his blood-stained fingers. “Stay awake, honey. I need to you to focus on me and stay awake, all right?”
“Ca-ca-can’t,” Whitney replied so softly he barely heard her. “Tired.”
The wail of ambulance sirens lowered Eddie’s skyrocketing blood pressure a few degrees. Help had arrived. A pair of medics rushed in with a jump bag and dropped down beside Eddie and Danny. Craig backed away to give them room. Eddie reluctantly turned over care of Whitney to the female medic and her male partner.
He held Whitney’s disturbingly cold hand and looked into her eyes. Her lips started to move as if she was trying to tell him something. He couldn’t make out the words. Her eyes flashed with such seriousness. Whatever it was, she was desperate for him to understand.
The exertion took its toll. She coughed loudly a few times and then gurgled. Eddie’s heart skipped a few beats as he watched frothy blood bubbles dribble from the corners of her mouth. He sat back on his heels, paralyzed with horror as the medics suctioned bloody fluid from her mouth and intubated. A fireman appeared with a gurney, and Whitney was quickly tossed onto the stretcher.
Danny pulled Eddie to his feet and took Eddie’s rifle. “Go, boss. Go with your girl.”
Nodding, Eddie cast a quick glance at Craig. The other man gave him a reassuring look. He’d deal with everything here.
Eddie trailed the stretcher and medics to the ambulance. The female paramedic stopped him as he tried to climb into the back of the ambulance. “Are you family?”
“Closest thing she has to it.”
“Fiancé?” The medic guessed.
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t a lie, really. He loved her, wanted her as his wife, and would ask her as soon as possible.
“Get in, but stay out of my way.”
Eddie’s estimation of the paramedic rose even higher. A take-no-bullshit attitude like that? Usually a sign of competence. He’d take that over wishy-washy any day.
He settled onto the bench seat at the end closest to the double doors to stay clear of the two medics working on Whitney. While the male medic compressed the blue bag attached to the intubation equipment and delivered breaths, the woman cut the front of Whitney’s dress enough to bare her chest. She cut through the bra and removed the pieces of lingerie before attaching leads to Whitney’s chest. She punched the keys on the heart monitor. Eddie’s gut clenched at the sight of the very weak heartbeat.
“Where we going, Tamara?” The fireman poked his head through the small window between the cab and the box.
“Take her to Mick,” Eddie instructed.
“Mick?” Tamara glanced at him and frowned. “You mean Dr. O’Loughlin?”
“He’s our roommate and…friend,” Eddie answered. God, Whitney was right. It was sticky as hell trying to explain their relationship to others. “His hospital is closest, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” Tamara said. “Best goddamn trauma surgeon in this city.”
She gave the fireman his driving orders, and they sped out of the parking lot. Eddie braced his foot against the gurney to keep from sliding around in the back of the box. He desperately wanted to help, but there was nothing for him to do. Tamara and her partner had things under control, and Whitney was holding on-for now.
Eddie slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. His finger trembled as he punched in Mick’s speed dial key and tried to figure out how the hell he was going to tell the man he loved the woman they both wanted as their wife had been shot.
Mick plastered a smile on his face as his colleagues bullshitted around the lunch table in the cafeteria. He poked at the salad on his plate. Lately everything seemed unappetizing. He missed dinner with Whitney and Eddie so much. He’d tried to have a simple bowl of cereal with Whitney the other morning, but it had been disastrous.
Something had to change. Whitney and Eddie were both so stubborn. He’d have to be the one to make the first move. Stage a Come-to-Jesus meeting or something similar. They needed to sit down and talk and figure out a way to move on-together.
Mick truly believed the three of them could make it work, but they were probably going to have to make some hard decisions. Whitney was correct. She couldn’t marry both of them, but she could marry one of them legally. Which one was up to her, of course. The non-legal spouse could be married to the other two in a private commitment ceremony of sorts.
But first, he had to get Eddie and Whitney in the same room again and keep them there long enough to say his piece.
“Well, hell,” Joe Edgemont said with a sigh as he stared at his phone. The Pediatric Emergency Medicine specialist shook his head. “There’s another robbery in progress according to the news. Shots fired. Lots of police and ambulances on the scene.” Joe scrolled down on the screen and rolled his eyes. “Shit, we’re the closest trauma center to this one.”
Mick groaned and shoved back from the table. His colleagues grumbled and did the same. They’d been slammed the last week with a rash of gunshot victims from a gang turf war. It seemed that every summer the old feuds were reignited. One-hundred-plus-degree temps and bad tempers did not mix.
All at once, the pagers clipped on the waistbands and pockets of Mick and his other emergency-room colleagues beeped. He tossed his uneaten salad in the trash and checked his pager. Three gunshot victims, two critical, with an ETA of four to seven minutes.
As Mick fell into step behind Joe, his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and saw Eddie’s name. A ripple of panic burned his belly. God, what if Eddie had been called to the scene? Was he one of the victims? They never separated perpetrators from victims in the pages or radio reports.
He slid his finger down over the screen to answer. “Eddie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Eddie’s voice sounded unnaturally tight and thick. “It’s Whitney.”
Mick’s stomach dropped. “What happened to Whitney?”
“They shot her, Mick.” Eddie’s voice cracked. “It’s bad.”
Mick placed his hand on the nearest wall to steady himself. Whitney? Shot? What the hell was she doing at that bank? Not that the details mattered at the moment. “How bad?”
“A round to the chest, another to the belly, and one to the shoulder. She was conscious when I got there, but she faded fast and there was so much blood, Mick. It was even coming out of her mouth.”
Mick’s gut lurched at that last bit. Had the bullet punctured a lung or worse? The fear in Eddie’s voice only heightened his anxiety. “Are you in the ambulance?”
“Yes.”
“Can the medic take the phone?”
“Uh, hang on.” There was a shuffling sound, and a few seconds later a female voice came across the line. “Yeah?”
Mick recognized the woman’s voice immediately. “Tamara?”
“Dr. O’Loughlin?”
“Oh, thank god it’s you.” Mick breathed a bit easier. Tamara was one of the best paramedics in the whole damn city. She’d served in Afghanistan and Iraq and had saved lives out on the mean streets of LA that shocked even Mick. Girl had mad skills, and he was grateful she was using them on Whitney. “Give me a rundown of my-the patient’s-injuries.”
Mick listened intently as he hurried to the emergency room. Phone squeezed between his ear and shoulder, he gowned up and grabbed some gloves. He snatched a pair of safety glasses from the bin, too. His stomach heaved as Tamara mentioned Whitney’s down-trending vitals. She didn’t have to say anything more. Whitney was circling the drain.
“We’ll be on your doorstep in less than a minute.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Mick replied, the wail of a nearing siren bouncing off the nearby buildings. He snapped his phone shut and stuffed it in his pocket. Turning to the charge nurse, he said, “Page Allison. I’m going to need my cardio goddess on this one.”
From Tamara’s description, Mick felt sure Whitney’s lungs were collapsing. They’d probably sustained some kind of damage from a ricocheting bullet. If Whitney’s chest had to be cracked, he wanted Allison to be the one to do it. She had the magic hands, after all.
Mick slipped on his safety glasses and tugged on the gloves as the ambulance pulled into the bay. He followed Sally and Desiree out the doors and met the stretcher on the sidewalk. Eddie’s ghostly white face was bad, but the sight of Whitney’s limp, bloody body struck him hard. For a few moments, all he could do was stare at the sight of the woman he loved so much.
Shaking himself from the stupor of surprise, Mick took charge. He issued commands to get an OR prepped while they stabilized and got the stretcher rushed into the nearest trauma room. As he did his initial assessment, Tamara gave her report again, and Sally cut off Whitney’s clothing. Mick ordered the necessary X-rays and other tests while Desiree established a second IV line.
“Lots of bleeding here, Doc.” Sally shook her head as she wiped at Whitney’s belly with gauze squares. “Should I page Dr. Cardenas?”
At Sally’s prompting, he glanced at Whitney’s abdomen. Paging an obstetrician-gynecologist suddenly sounded like an excellent idea. “Yes.”
There was just so much blood. Mick worried about what he’d find once he got her belly open. With that amount of hemorrhaging, there had to be a major vessel involved or something very vascular…like the uterus.
His gaze moved back to the monitors. Her blood pressure was tanking. She had decreased breath sounds on the right, and her oxygen saturation levels were uncomfortably low. He didn’t like it one bit.
“Not good,” Allison said as she strode into the trauma room, her focus on the monitors. She unlooped the stethoscope from around her neck and stuck the ear pieces in place. She listened to Whitney’s chest and made a face. “I don’t like this, Mick. What are the wound trajectories like?”
“Three entrance wounds on the front,” Mick said, judging the angle of the wounds. “Let’s roll her so we can count exit wounds.” He needed to know how many bullets were possibly embedded in her tissues or organs.
Mick, the nurses, and Allison took hold of Whitney and rolled her onto her left side. Almost immediately, alarms clanged. Whitney’s blood pressure plummeted, and her heart rate took off wildly. He quickly scanned her naked back for exit wounds and found only one. “Belly wound was through and through. The other two are still in there somewhere.”
They dropped her back down, but her blood pressure and heart rate remained at dangerous levels. Allison listened to her chest again. “This lung is collapsing. Get me a chest tube tray.”
Mick assisted Allison as she placed a tube in Whitney’s chest to relieve the building pressure of free blood. A gush of dark red blood filled the tube and poured into the attached container. Although there was some immediate relief, it wasn’t enough. Whitney’s lungs were in bad shape.
“I need to get in there as soon as possible,” Allison decided. “Get those X-rays, and meet me in the OR.” She gestured with her head to the adjacent trauma room as she stripped out of her bloody gloves and yellow gown. “Let me check this guy out and I’ll be on my way up, okay?”
Mick nodded and turned his full attention on keeping Whitney stable. Alarms continued to clang. Blood flow eased up a bit in the chest tube but not by much. He ordered packed red cells and hoped she would hold on just a little bit longer.
Sally picked up the ringing phone and spoke for a few seconds before hanging up. “Dr. Cardenas is heading into the OR for an emergency C-section, but she’ll pop into your OR when she’s finished. Lancaster is up on the L &D floor if you need him before then.”
Mick preferred Daniela, but Lancaster would do in a pinch. “Thanks, Sally.”
Another nurse popped her head into the room. “OR three is ready.”
“Let’s go.” Mick kicked the brakes on his side of the gurney and waited for his team of nurses to get the equipment ready to go. As they rushed out of the room, he caught sight of Eddie hovering in the doorway. He couldn’t ever remember seeing Eddie look so scared. Mick paused just long enough to catch Eddie’s gaze. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but his gloves were bloody.
“She won’t die.” Eddie’s jaw clenched and released. “She can’t leave us.”
“I’ll do my best.” Mick couldn’t promise anything more. He’d seen patients come into his operating room in far worse shape than Whitney and walk out of the hospital two weeks later. At the same time, he’d seen patients come into the ER talking and laughing and leave the hospital in a body bag a few hours later. Nothing was certain inside the walls of this place.
Eddie nodded and stepped aside. Mick continued on with the gurney but cast one final glance at the man he’d loved so long, before stepping through the double doors leading to the staff elevator. Their gazes held a moment before Eddie shoved off the wall and headed out of Mick’s line of sight. He said a silent prayer for Eddie’s well-being and then added another for Whitney.
God, guide my hands, he thought as he stepped into the elevator. Let her live.