Izzie worked every day of the nine days following the storm, taking whatever shift she was needed on, including the day she was released from Dr. Jacobson’s hold.
Just like she’d suspected, she’d been back to normal within a few hours. Her oxygen stats were back to ninety-five and steady.
She was good with that.
Hospitalization had been entirely unnecessary. She could have slept in the chair between the two beds in 403 as easily as she had the bed that had been pushed in there. That bed could have gone to someone who had needed it far more.
Heaven save her from doctors with dictator complexes. Even if, technically, he had saved her life.
Some of the doofiest first-shift nurses had had to point that out to her.
As if hiding out under a metal desk during a natural disaster all wrapped up together was romantic.
Um, no.
It had been one of the most terrifying moments—and it hadn’t been more than a few minutes total—of her life.
The hospital was getting back to normal. The ER was already being cleared of debris, and she’d heard Rafe talking about what needed to be done to rebuild it. They were going to completely remove the shell of the Boethe Street parking garage—thank goodness, too many bad things had happened back there—and actually expand the ER annex to add fourteen more exam bays, and a better lab.
More exam bays and more ER nurses. Maybe even an extra physician or two so that trauma surgeons no longer had to cover shifts in the ER unless they wanted to.
So…she’d see even less of the more annoying ones than usual.
Like Dr. Allen Jacobson who had been in her head far more than he probably should have. Or would have wanted to be.
Good things should happen now. Or Izzie hoped they would.
It was time good things happened around the city.
She and Nikkie Jean—now fully recovered, thankfully—got settled in for their four-hour shift at W4HAV, complete with posterboard and markers, after a quick chat with the governor’s wife as she crossed the parking lot toward the hospital. Ariella Avery—Rafe’s sister—had founded the charity.
They were going to start prep for the W4HAV choir benefit tonight. They’d postponed it because of the storm.
Nikkie Jean was one hell of a singer; she, Lacy, and Jillian would carry most of the songs for the concert. Nikkie Jean had finished belting out one of her solos when the door opened again.
Izzie looked up as she disconnected the receptionist’s phone; Ari had forgotten to lock the petty cash box and had been worrying. Ari was a bit anxious at times.
There was a man there. Tall, thin, usually well-groomed, but always, always coming off as oily to her. She had never liked him—or the eyes that followed a woman everywhere.
She hadn’t seen him since the night of the storm, when she’d overheard Rafe telling him that his nephew had died from his injuries. His nephew had had the creepy eyes thing, too.
Dr. Wallace Henedy stared at her. Something in his gaze had her hesitating. His gaze was so…empty. Broken. Fractured.
Every instinct for self-preservation she possessed flared. She took a step back. Then another.
“Dr. Henedy—how can we help—”
Izzie took another step back, putting herself between him and Nikkie Jean, but it was far too late. That’s when she saw it. The gun. Small. Not like the one Jake had made certain she knew how to use when she’d been fourteen.
It was pointed at her. Izzie never had time to move.
He fired.
Twice.
She’d never forget the sounds or Nikkie Jean’s scream.
Or the hellfire that came next.