CARRIE WAS IN HER KITCHEN, ABOUT TO MICROWAVE A TV DINNER, when her cell phone rang. Once she recognized the caller, all thoughts of food left her. She dropped into a chair and breathed a silent “thank You” to God.
“Adam, is that really you?”
“Yes. It’s so good to hear your voice. You’ll never know how much I miss you.”
“Oh, but I do, because I miss you even more.” Carrie had a million questions, but they all fled her brain like dandelion fluff in a strong wind. She asked the one that remained topmost in her thoughts. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. Just tired. But only a few more days to go.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m just east of—” Static filled the line, then everything went quiet.
Carrie looked at her phone display. “Call failed.” Was it the fault of her phone? No, she had good reception. The problem must be with Adam’s phone. Maybe a battery, perhaps poor cell phone reception where he was. She waited a couple of minutes for him to call back. When he didn’t, she dialed his number—first his regular cell phone, then the throwaway phone he’d bought—but all she got was a mechanical voice saying, “Your call cannot be completed.”
At that moment, what Carried wanted most was to throw something, to vent her frustration with cell phones, cell phone towers, cell phone service providers, and everyone associated with the mass communication industry. Instead, she took a deep breath. It had been good to hear his voice and know he was doing well. That would have to be enough for now.
Before she returned to her food preparation, she murmured a brief prayer. God, please keep him safe. Bring him back. Please . . .
“Lila, I’ll be ready to start seeing patients in a few minutes.” Carrie scanned the list of morning appointments. Nothing unusual there. She decided that she might have time to finish reading the medical journal article that had caught her eye yesterday.
She started digging through the stack on her desk, but before she could put her hands on the right one, her phone rang—not the primary number, but her back line. She didn’t give that number out to a lot of people, but one of them was Adam. Maybe . . .
She lifted the receiver. “Hello?”
The voice wasn’t Adam’s. It wasn’t even a man calling. Disappointment replaced hope in Carrie’s mind. “Yes. Who’s this?”
“This is Doris, in the ER. Your patient, Mrs. Cartwright, is here, complaining of weakness, nausea, sweating. May be the flu—lot of that going around—but I thought I should give you a call. Do you want me to have the ER doctor look at her, or do you want to come over?”
The fact that Shelly Cartwright had come to the ER in the first place worried Carrie. The woman wasn’t a complainer. Her husband was in Afghanistan. The couple had a three-year-old son, an unexpected blessing that came while they were in their late thirties, but as far as Carrie could tell, Shelly was doing a good job of handling the stress of being both mother and father during Todd’s deployment. This must be something bad if it sent her to the ER.
“Dr. Markham?” Doris’s voice carried a hint of impatience.
“I’ll come over to see her. In the meantime, let’s get some labs going.” She rattled off the tests she needed, including a blood count to look for anemia and a blood sugar to check for low or high values. She added potassium, since a deficiency could contribute to weakness. “I’m on my way.”
When Carrie pulled back the curtains around the ER cubicle, she was taken aback by what she saw. The woman on the gurney looked nothing like the vivacious brunette with whom Carrie spoke at church only a few weeks ago.
Doris moved to the other side of the gurney and reached down to pat Shelly’s hand. The nurse might have a gruff exterior, but Carrie knew better.
“Shelly, what’s wrong?” Carrie asked.
“I feel so silly being here, but I kept getting weaker and weaker.”
The history Carrie obtained was of the fairly sudden onset of weakness, sweating, slight nausea. “When did this start?”
“About an hour . . . maybe an hour and a half ago.”
“Did you do anything for it?”
“I lay down, drank some Coke, but nothing helped.”
“Any pain?”
“No, nothing. I just felt like I was going to pass out . . . still do.”
Carrie looked across the gurney and checked the monitor again. Blood pressure had dropped a bit, pulse had gotten a little faster in the past few minutes. Cardiogram complex on the monitor didn’t look quite right—maybe hypokalemia?
“Labs back yet?” Carrie asked.
“Not yet,” Doris said. “I’ll see what’s holding them up.”
“Just a sec.”
Doris turned, a puzzled look on her face.
“Let’s hook her up and do a full EKG.”
Without question, Doris grabbed the apparatus and began attaching the leads.
In a moment Carrie was looking at the paper strip spewing from the EKG machine. “That explains it.”
“What?” Shelly asked.
Carrie held up the wide strip with the full EKG tracing. “You were hooked up to a cardiac monitor that only gives a partial picture of your heart’s activity. This is a complete one, and it confirms my suspicion. You’re having a heart attack.”
“But I don’t have chest pain,” Shelly said in a “this can’t be happening” tone.
“Almost half of women who have heart attacks don’t have chest pain,” Carrie said. “But we know what the problem is, and we’ll take care of you.”
And that’s what they did. Oxygen. Aspirin under the tongue. Amiodarone. A beta-blocker. A call to the interventional radiologist, and soon Shelly was on her way to the X-ray suite for a coronary angiogram.
While Carrie waited for the results, she asked Doris if she knew who was caring for Shelly’s son. “Sorry, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask the EMTs who brought her in. Rob and Bill are still here. They’re on break in the cafeteria.”
Carrie found the two EMTs in a corner, sipping coffee and swapping stories. She didn’t make the connection between name and person until the one with his back to her turned, and she saw it was Rob Cole. This might be awkward. Well, she needed the information.
“Dr. Markham, come join us,” Rob called.
Bill slapped Rob on the shoulder and grinned. “Yeah, I’m tired of this guy’s company.”
Carrie pulled up a chair, declined their offer of something to drink, and got right to the reason for her visit. “You guys did the pickup on Shelly Cartwright?”
“Yeah,” Bill said. “She was having second thoughts about calling 911 when we started to load her onto the gurney, but she was pale, her blood pressure was a little low, and the neighbor who was with her insisted that she should be seen by a doctor.”
“So a neighbor was there,” Carrie said. “Do you know if she’s taking care of Shelly’s son?”
“That’s right,” Rob said. “The woman’s sort of a grandmother type, and I got the impression she does that a lot when the mother has to go somewhere and can’t take her son.”
Carrie pushed back her chair. “Thanks. I’ll have the social worker make contact with her. We need to be certain the little boy’s taken care of until his mom is released.”
Carrie was a dozen steps away when she heard, “Dr. Markham?”
Carrie turned to find Rob behind her. “Yes?”
“I . . . I wonder if you’d like to have dinner with me while your boyfriend’s gone. I’ve been on my own before, and it’s no fun.”
“Thanks anyway, Rob, but I’ll be fine until Adam gets back.”
She turned to walk away, but apparently Rob wasn’t through.
“So where did he go? How long is he going to be gone?”
“Rob, I’m sorry. I have to get back to my patient.” She turned and hurried away before the young man could say anything else. Can’t he take no for an answer?
Adam dropped his suitcases and flipped the switch to illuminate the bedside lamp of his motel room. After making sure the door was double locked, he closed the blinds and pulled the heavy drapes together. Then he slumped onto the bed.
He closed his eyes and wondered how Carrie was doing. It frustrated him when his cell service failed earlier today, but at least he’d been able to tell her he was all right. In a bit, he’d call from the landline in his room, and they could talk as long as they wanted.
It had been a disappointment, but not a surprise, when Carrie said she wasn’t ready to take back his ring. He wished she were wearing it now. On the other hand, if he did what might be necessary to protect her from Charlie DeLuca, there was a very real possibility Adam wouldn’t be able to keep a wedding date anytime soon.
Well, it was too late to turn back. He should reach his destination tomorrow. Now there was another call to make, one that was critical to his mission. He dialed Dave’s cell number, but the call, like the one that preceded it earlier in the day, went unanswered. Adam had already left one message. No need to leave another. He’d try again later.
Adam’s grumbling stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch. No problem—he’d seen signs for several fast food places nearby. One of them would probably be open late. He’d get a burger and malt, then call Carrie. After that, a shower and a good night’s sleep.
He started to get up, then fell back onto the pillow. He was exhausted. He’d rest for a few minutes, maybe half an hour. Then he could be up and running.
Adam heeled off his shoes, pulled the spread over him, turned off the bedside lamp, and closed his eyes. After what seemed like only a few minutes, the ring of the phone brought him awake. He grumbled as he sat up and turned on the lamp. Adam snatched his cell phone from the bedside table, but the display was dark. His sleep-clouded mind finally cleared enough for him to realize that the ring came from the room’s telephone.
Who could be calling? No one knew he was here. If this was a wrong number . . . He had to clear his throat twice before he could rasp out, “Hello?”
“This is Jeremy at the front desk. We were wondering if you planned to spend another night with us.”
Why was this nut calling? Adam had just checked in less than an hour ago. He glanced at his watch and was startled to see it was twelve o’clock. The phone cord barely stretched to allow Adam to pull aside the drapes and peek through the slatted blinds. When he looked out he did a double take. It wasn’t midnight-dark. It was noontime-bright. He’d slept for almost fourteen hours!
“I’m sorry. Yes, my plans have changed. I’ll be staying one more day.”
“Very good, sir. Fortunately we can accommodate you without your having to move. Have a good day.”
Adam checked the display on his cell phone. No missed calls, no messages. A growling stomach reminded him that his last meal had been twenty-four hours ago. A cup of coffee brewed in the room’s pot, with all the sugar and creamer available, would have to hold him until he could make himself presentable. After twenty minutes, showered, clean-shaven, dressed in clean clothes, he headed for the Denny’s near the motel.
An hour later Adam was back in his room, his hunger satisfied and his mind working at full throttle again. He microwaved the coffee that remained in the carafe and added sugar packets he’d picked up from the restaurant. Coffee in one hand, his cell phone in the other, he sat on the edge of his bed and punched in Dave’s number.
What if his brother still didn’t answer? What if he was undercover, or somewhere with no cell reception, or . . . After the fifth ring Adam was about to end the call when he heard, “Branson here.”
“Keith?”
“You mean Adam.”
“Sorry. I may never get the name right as long as you keep changing it.” There was a slight pause. “Where are you? And whose phone are you using? The display on my cell shows private number.”
“I’m at an Econolodge in Creedmore, North Carolina,” Adam said. “Where are you?”
“I’ve been undercover down here along the Rio Grande. Had my cell phone off for a couple of days.” Adam heard a door close. “That should give me a little privacy. Now, what are you doing in North Carolina? Did you change your mind about running away?”
“Actually, just the opposite.” Adam swiveled around to lie back on the bed, propped against the headboard. “I know it sounds crazy, but I need to see Charlie DeLuca.”
“You’re right. It does sound crazy. But why?”
“I want to talk to Charlie face-to-face and try to convince him to call off his shooter.”
“That’s not going to work, Adam.” Dave used the same tone he’d used years before when he gave sage older-brother advice. “And even if he says he’ll do it, what makes you think he’ll keep his word?”
“If that doesn’t work, then I’ve got an offer I’m pretty sure he’ll take.”
“And that is . . . ?”
Adam drained the coffee in his cup, but the lump in his throat didn’t move. “I’ll make him a deal.”
“What can you offer Charlie?”
“His freedom. If he’ll call off whoever’s been targeting Carrie and me, I’ll contact the DA and recant my testimony. Without me, the case falls apart and he walks.”
“That’s insane,” Dave said. “Not only would you be returning a criminal to society, you’d be admitting to perjury. In effect, you’re offering to take Charlie’s place in prison.”
“I know.” Adam thought once more about what was at stake here. “When there was someone trying to kill me, I was willing to take the heat. But Carrie’s in it now. And I’ll do anything to make her safe again . . . and I can’t think of any other way to do it.”
“So that’s why you’re there in . . . whatever the name is.”
“Creedmore. Yes. The Butner Correctional Facility, where Charlie DeLuca’s serving his sentence, is a fifteen-minute drive from where I am now. I need you to use your contacts in law enforcement to get me access to him. Can you do that?”
Dave’s sigh came through loud and clear. “I’m still going to try to talk you out of this, you know. But yeah, give me half an hour to make some phone calls. Give me your number and I’ll call you back.”
It was actually closer to an hour before Dave called again. Adam spent the time pacing the floor, his mind running in circles, trying to take the rough edges off his scheme. His mind threw up objections, then tried to tear them down. At the end of an hour, there were still some holes he might have to patch on the fly.
“Yes?”
Dave sounded almost sad, but then again, that was to be expected, given the circumstances. “I have the information for you.”
“You won’t need it. I think you can remember this,” Dave said. “The good news is that you or anyone else can visit Charlie DeLuca any time. But there’s bad news that goes with it.”