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.” Jeremy followed the old man’s path, hoping he wasn’t too late.
The sun hid behind a cloud as he stepped into the fresh air, looking around the parking lot. A woman with a broken leg rolled her wheelchair past him, and a flashy black Mercedes peeled out of the visitor’s parking lot. No sign of the old man.
Jeremy’s shoulders sagged as he headed back into the hospital, opting this time to take the elevator instead of the stairs. Glancing at his watch, he wondered how long his useless chase had lasted. Had he missed out on clues in the hospital room that could have helped him?
As he approached Heather’s room, the frantic sounds of saving a life continued. A deep voice had been added to the mix, but its tone was just as concerning as the others.
Turning away, he walked toward a small, deserted waiting room on the floor, images of Heather writhing in pain still flashing behind his closed eyelids. It was too familiar, knowing a woman was in pain and being completely helpless.
Pushing memories of the other woman out of his mind and focusing on the one he could still help, he slumped into a seat and pulled out his cell phone. Dialing an old friend, who he’d worked with on two unrelated drug cases when he started with the sheriff’s department years before, he said, “Hey, Tony.”
“Latham. How’s everything in the sheriff’s office?”
He shrugged out of habit. “Good. We’re keeping busy.”
“Yeah, I heard about that chopper crash. You working it?”
“Always.” His experience as an FAA agent supposedly made him an asset in situations like this, but the end of his time there had made it clear that he didn’t bring nearly as much to the table as the sheriff thought.
“So what can I do for you?” The tone of Tony’s voice relayed that he remembered that he and the PD owed Jeremy a favor for a tip on a case two months before.
“There was a situation at Immanuel Lutheran Hospital today.”
“You mean the one about five minutes ago?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know about it? I’m not even sure that our guys have made it down there yet.”
Jeremy ran his free hand through his wavy brown hair in desperate need of a trim. “I know. I’m here now. I was coming to talk to the crash survivor. An old guy—I think maybe homeless from the smell of him—was in her room and put something into her IV. The doctor is still working with her. I’m not sure what he dosed her with or what’s really going on, but the guy got away.” He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice.
“Whoa.”
“I know. So listen, I need you to do me a favor and keep your eye out at the jail just in case someone brings in a homeless guy with white hair, a gray jacket and black boots.”
“But that could be anybody. How would I even know if it’s your guy?” Tony sounded stumped.
“Just call me. I’ll come down and check it out.”
“Okay. You got it, man.”
Jeremy hung up his phone and walked back toward Heather’s room. The voices inside continued at a slightly less rattled pace, but Heather clearly wasn’t out of danger yet.
Back pressed against the wall, Jeremy slid to the floor, adrenaline leaving his system like a flood. Resting his forearms against bent knees and his chin against his chest, he sighed. God, please save Heather. He barely knew the girl—hadn’t even had