Fatal Trauma Read online

  “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we could reconnect. And I need to tell you something. I know I told you that during college and medical school I drifted further away from God, but that’s changed. I’m trying . . . for lack of a better word, I guess you could say I’m trying to be a follower—not just an observer.”

  Gwen grimaced and took a deep breath. “That’s just too funny. Sort of like something by O. Henry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m where you were ten years ago,” Gwen said. “I haven’t set foot inside a church since I started law school.”

  ***

  Kelly gathered her things from her locker and sank into a chair in the ER break room. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and called Mark. It was late—almost midnight—but he’d insisted that she call him for a ride home.

  He answered on the first ring. “Mark, are you sure—”

  “Don’t give it another thought,” he said. “I’m sitting in the ER parking lot right now, in a slot marked for patients.” There was a pause and the sound of a slamming car door. “I’m heading for the double glass doors. I’ll meet you there.”

  Once they were safely in the car, Mark asked, “Do you want to go somewhere for coffee? I know that when I get off around midnight I’m generally too wired to sleep.”

  He paused, and she could tell he was trying to decide whether to say more. Maybe if they stopped for coffee . . .

  “Sure,” she said. “Do you have someplace in mind?”

  As it turned out, he did. In a bit, they were seated in the back booth of a diner with cups in front of them. “Anything interesting happen on your shift?” Mark asked.

  Okay, I’ll go first. Maybe he’ll open up after that. “Actually, I wanted to talk with you about what happened tonight. Detective Ames and his wife came in with their son, Junior.” She tried to relate the story objectively, but when she repeated Ames’s final words, the menace that had been in them came through in her voice.

  Mark put down the cup he was holding. “So do you plan to keep this to yourself . . . and me, of course?”

  Kelly shook her head. “No, I think we should follow through.” She looked at Mark. “You were going to call the Ames’s pediatrician. I guess that’s the next step.”

  “I still haven’t done that,” he said. “I’ll go by the hospital tomorrow, get the doc’s name off the ER record, and make the call.”

  “And if he agrees that there’s probably some abuse?”

  “If he hasn’t already done something about it, I’ll call Child Protective Services myself,” Mark said. “I’m not going to let the child suffer because I’m afraid of his father.”

  Kelly wanted to tell Mark to be cautious, but she could see there was no use. When it came to the well-being of patients, Mark wasn’t one to be deterred. That was one of the many reasons she’d been fond of him. Now there was more than fondness there. And she sensed that Mark had the same feelings for her.

  “What about you?” she asked. “How did your dinner with your friend go?”

  Mark stared down at his virtually untouched cup of coffee as though it were a crystal ball. “I . . . I guess I should level with you. The person I went to see this afternoon really was a high school classmate, but she’s also an attorney. The detectives warned me that I’m still a prime suspect in Anna King’s shooting. They told me I should get a lawyer.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with that,” Kelly said. “If anything, I’d think your knowing her in high school might be a good thing. The question is how good a lawyer is she? Does she do a lot of criminal cases?”

  “Not really.” Mark sipped from his cup. “Cold.” He put it down and frowned. “No, Gwen does general law, and she offered to refer me to another attorney, but I insisted on her.”

  “Why?” Kelly asked.

  “Because I know her. I figure that would mean something when it came to defending me.”

  “You make it sound like she was more than an acquaintance,” Kelly said.

  “True, we were something of an item in high school,” Mark said, his eyes fixed on the tabletop. “I didn’t choose her for that reason, and since I broke off our relationship I was afraid she might tell me to take a hike. But at least there was some connection there.”

  Kelly pushed her cup away. First Anna King, then this woman from Mark’s past. The phrase “fear of commitment” came to mind. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear—not at all.

  ***

  The man sat in his dark SUV outside the diner, slouched so low behind the wheel that his head was barely visible. This opportunity was too good—both of the people involved in the deaths of the Garcia brothers, together in a car after midnight. The streets of Drayton weren’t exactly deserted, but traffic was light enough that often two or three minutes passed with no cars, no pedestrian traffic. This was the perfect time for the Zetas to exact revenge.

  He had already pulled his pistol from the holster he wore strapped to his calf. There were times he chose something with stopping power, such as a Glock, but for this assignment he had selected a Beretta Bobcat. The pistol was small and light, but, in the hands of a marksman, the seven .25 caliber bullets in the chamber could be just as deadly as the .357 Magnum loads from a larger gun. And he was certainly a marksman. That’s why he’d been chosen for this assignment.

  Had a casual observer seen him slumped in the driver’s seat of the vehicle, they might have thought he was asleep. However, he was wide-awake and attentive. He was used to being up for long hours at a stretch and was prepared to watch as long as—

  Here they came. The door of the diner opened, and the two emerged. She had pushed through ahead of him, despite his apparent efforts to open the door for her. The woman hurried around the car and stood there until he unlocked her door using his key fob, then clambered in before he could get around the car to open the door. The man shrugged, climbed behind the wheel, and drove away.

  He started his car and fell in behind them, careful to stay back far enough to avoid raising the driver’s suspicions. The perfect spot for an ambush would be coming up quickly. He’d be ready.

  ***

  “Kelly, I didn’t mean to hurt you when I told you about Gwen. I wanted to be open about our past, but believe me, there’s no spark left of my past relationship with her.”

  There was silence from beside him. “I certainly didn’t mean to make you angry,” Mark said, his eyes glued on the road ahead. “Let’s talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said and turned to face the passenger-side window.

  Mark slowed the car and turned in to a strip shopping center. He brought the car to a stop and turned off the motor. “I can’t drive and talk, and this is important. Will you at least look at me?”

  She half-turned her head so she could see him. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Mark realized he wasn’t the world’s best extemporaneous speaker, but he needed to get this right. “When the detective told me I needed a lawyer, I remembered my folks had sent me Gwen’s information when she moved to Drayton. They were disappointed that I broke up with her when I went to college, and I think they hoped our being in the same town would eventually get us together again.”

  He waited for a reply, but was met with only silence.

  “Anyway, I wanted a lawyer who knew me, whom I could trust, so I chose her. She doesn’t normally take criminal cases, but I insisted.”

  “That explains the professional component of your visit with her,” Kelly said. “What about the rest of it?”

  Mark hesitated, trying to frame his response. His words were halting at first, but as he talked they poured out faster and faster. “As I talked with her I realized I used the distance between us when we went to college as an excuse to break up with her. I promise, there’s nothing between us now except the lawyer-client relationship.” He reached out and covered her hand with his.

  “So what you had years ago—”

&nbs
p; “Gone. One twist I discovered was this. We’ve even switched viewpoints about the role of God in our lives. I’m trying to find Him again, but she’s ignored Him since our breakup. ”

  Kelly’s failure to respond told Mark he’d better stop his narrative. He put his hand back on the wheel, started the car, and pulled out onto the street. “I’m sorry to have to tell you all this, but I thought you deserved to hear it. I’ll be quiet now. I should have you home soon.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes before Kelly spoke. “There’s something I guess I should tell you, since we’re being painfully honest with each other. And maybe it explains why what you’ve told me is especially painful.”

  Mark glanced at her but decided he’d better just listen.

  “I know we’ve only dated for a few months, but when we were being held at gunpoint the other night, I realized how important you were to me, and how devastated I’d be if you were hurt or killed. Afterward, I decided to share my feelings with you, but at that time it was obvious you were in no mood to hear them.”

  “What exactly were you going to tell me?” he asked.

  The silence seemed to last forever. Finally, Kelly said, “I guess I’d better get it out in the open. Mark, I’m—”

  Gunshots and the sounds of shattering glass overrode Kelly’s voice, and she slumped forward in her seat.

  17

  Kelly felt as though she’d been hit in the back by a three-hundred-pound linebacker. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest was on fire. She was driven forward, and although her brain sent a warning to her hands to reach out, she was unable to complete the move. Her head hit the dashboard. She was fleetingly aware of tiny shards of glass scattered on the plastic before everything faded into blackness.

  She didn’t know how long she was out—maybe only a few seconds, maybe longer—but when consciousness returned, the car was speeding through the streets, Mark hunched over the steering wheel as though by posture alone he could make the vehicle go faster.

  “What . . . what happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She continued to gasp for air.

  “Sit back. Don’t move. I’m on my way to the ER.”

  Mark turned a corner. Tires squealed, the car rocked and settled, and Kelly wondered if a couple of wheels didn’t momentarily leave the ground.

  “What happened?” she croaked again.

  “Someone shot at us. Several times. The bullets came in the back window and exited the windshield, but at least one of them got you in the back.” He braked for a second, whipped the car around another corner, and accelerated again. “You need medical attention fast. I don’t have anything in the car to even give first aid, and I decided it was quicker for me to drive you to the ER than wait for EMTs to arrive.”

  Kelly had trouble thinking coherently. Who could have shot at them? She vaguely recalled they were in danger, but the specifics fled her brain. She looked up in time to see the illuminated red letters, EMERGENCY, just ahead. As she watched, they became fuzzy, then faded, and finally dissolved into a silent blackness.

  ***

  Mark screeched to a stop right outside the sliding glass doors to the emergency room. He could run inside and get help, but maybe it would be faster to lean on the horn until someone responded. He did that, counting the seconds. If no one came within thirty seconds— No, there was someone now. A security guard, one Mark had seen but whose name he didn’t know, came through the door, one hand on his gun, frowning at the car with the blaring horn.

  Mark lowered his window and yelled, “Gunshot wound. We need help.”

  The guard didn’t waste time with questions, but ducked back inside, yelling as he went. In less than a minute, Dr. Eric McCray came running, followed closely by an orderly pushing a gurney. “Mark?” he yelled when he was close enough to see the situation.

  By then, Mark had vaulted from the car and run around to open the passenger door. He unfastened Kelly’s seat belt as he talked. “Someone shot through the back window of the car. Kelly was hit. I don’t know how many bullets got her, but—”

  Eric shoved Mark aside. “Let me handle this.” He motioned to the orderly, and together they moved Kelly onto the gurney and took off for the ER at a half-run.

  Mark started to follow, but the security guard said, “Doctor, why don’t you move your car? Then come inside. I’m sure Miss Atkinson is in capable hands. Meanwhile, I’m going to call the police. I’m sure they’ll want to talk with you.”

  “But—”

  “What’s going on? Can I help?”

  Mark whirled and saw Carl, the scrub tech, climbing out of his auto and hurrying toward them.

  “Who are you?” the guard asked.

  Carl had reached the group by now. He held up his hospital ID card. “Carl Ortiz. I work in surgery,” he told the guard. Carl put one hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I was driving home and saw your car speed by. I sensed that something was wrong, so I decided to follow. What happened?”

  “Doctor, I’m going to have to ask you to move this car. You’re blocking the ambulance entrance,” the security guard said. “Then you can bring Mr. Ortiz up to speed while we wait for the police to arrive.”

  “But, Kelly—” Mark protested.

  “Let Dr. McCray do his job,” the guard said. “When you’ve moved your car, go to the ER break room. You can wait there.”

  Mark shrugged a half-apology to Carl. “I guess I’d better do as he says. I’ll see you inside.”

  ***

  Carl looked around him and marveled at how much this break room in the ER resembled the one in the surgical suite. Maybe all such rooms in US hospitals looked like this. He was more familiar with the ones he’d seen in Mexico. But that was a subject for another time, one to be explored in his own head but not shared with anyone. Especially Dr. Mark Baker.

  He put his hand on Baker’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” he said.

  “No, but I appreciate your turning around and following me to the hospital. If I’d done something stupid like sideswiping a car or blowing out a tire, we could have loaded Kelly into your car. I’m glad you were there.”

  “I’m afraid that you and Miss Atkinson are still in danger from the Mexican drug cartel—what was the name again?”

  “Zetas,” Mark answered, his mind obviously elsewhere. He continued to peer through the open door of the break room. After a moment of silence, he turned and faced Carl. “Look, I’m distracted here. You’ve done what you could, and if you give me your phone number I’ll call you with an update later. But right now, I’d like to be alone.”

  “Of course,” Carl said. “As you say, I’ve done what I can.”

  Outside, as Carl made his way toward his car, he thought, Actually, I didn’t do enough. But maybe I’ll be able to remedy that soon . . . very soon.

  ***

  Mark couldn’t sit still. He paced the length of the ER break room, occasionally looking out the door, his attention focused on trauma room 1 where Eric and several other doctors were working on Kelly.

  When Mark looked out the door the next time, he saw Eric, another surgeon whom he recognized but couldn’t fully identify, and a nurse wheeling Kelly toward the elevator. She had two IV lines in place, one delivering blood and the other connected to a bag of IV solution that he figured had medications added. An anesthesiologist walked at the head of the gurney, squeezing and releasing a bag that delivered air to the tube now in Kelly’s windpipe.

  Mark stepped outside, but Eric saw the action and shook his head. “Later,” he mouthed as the procession disappeared into the staff elevator, undoubtedly on its way to the operating room on the second floor.

  “Later.” How could Mark wait until “later?” He was a physician, used to being in the thick of the action, not a non-combatant standing by worrying, waiting, helpless. And that wasn’t just a patient on the gurney. That was . . . Mark retreated to the sofa and dropped onto it. What exactly was Kelly to him?

  He and Kelly had
worked together for the best part of a year, but he hadn’t gained a sense of her until the past few months, when they’d gone out for dinners, movies, sporting events, and the occasional concert. And the more he knew about her, the more he was attracted to her.

  There’d been a few dates with Anna King, but as he thought back on them, he realized that Anna had asked him out on most of those occasions, not vice versa. If he was interpreting some of the things she’d recently told him, dating him had been a smokescreen to mask . . . what? She’d never finished that conversation. Did he have feelings for Anna? Yes, but feelings related to her situation, the same kind of feelings he would have for anyone else who lay in a coma in the ICU, fighting for her life.

  Then there was Gwen Woodruff. In high school, he’d had visions of spending the rest of his life with her. She’d get her law degree, he’d graduate from medical school, and then they’d marry and live a perfect life as two professionals, with a family of two children and a dog. But that dream gradually was replaced by reality, and he realized Gwen wasn’t “the one.”

  Now that they’d been thrown together again, Mark discovered another twist: while he was in the process of reconnecting with God, Gwen had disconnected from Him. That might change—he hoped it would, for Gwen’s sake—but he no longer felt what they shared when they were younger.

  That brought him back to Kelly. Before the shooting in the ER on Saturday night, he’d felt close to her—closer than he’d ever been with anyone. He’d even wondered if this were the beginning of true love. His selfish actions that night had sunk him into despair about himself, but now he was trying to change . . . to get back on the right track in so many ways. Mark was starting to feel he was ready to be in a serious relationship. And Kelly would be “the one.”