Chapter Three

Tori placed her hand on the door, readying to push it open, but stopped. This would be the hardest thing she’d ever done in her medical career.

“You did everything you could for him,” Suzie said. “He was found too late, you know that.”

She did know that. By the time Tyler Wojcik’s parents found him unconscious in his bedroom, hypoxia had already set in. In all likelihood, the boy was probably brain dead before he’d even arrived at the hospital. That didn’t make her feel any better.

Wil’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

She shook her head and took an unsteady breath that seemed to rattle her rib cage. “No, you’ve got patients to see, and this won’t take long.” It couldn’t. Not with the organ donation Tyler’s parents had agreed to.

“Okay, then.” Wil’s voice was gentle, understanding. As a senior doctor, he’d been through this many more times than Tori had, and she appreciated his unwavering support. “I’ll find you afterward. We can go to the lounge, grab a coffee, talk if you need to… Anything.”

“Thanks, Wil.” She looked up into his brown gaze, grateful for the compassionate understanding she glimpsed there.

“Ready?” Suzie asked.

No. Not really. For what she was about to do, she’d never be ready. She pressed her fingers to her eyes, willing herself not to lose it. Tyler’s parents needed her to be strong for them. They were the ones entitled to cry, not her. Not now, anyway.

Tori pushed open the door to the private room. Tom Wojcik stood up from where he’d been seated beside his wife, Emma. Sitting next to Emma was the organ donor coordinator, a kind woman named Mrs. Joba who held one of Emma’s hands.

Quietly, Suzie closed the door behind them. For a moment, the room was dead silent. Tori couldn’t get her feet to move. Then one of the monitors beeped, calling her attention to the handsome teenager on the bed. Various tubes containing fluids and artificial nutrients led to the IV in his arm. Since Tyler was incapable of breathing on his own, a ventilator did the job for him. Once it was removed, his heart would continue to beat anywhere from minutes to up to an hour. For the Wojciks’ sake, she hoped it was the former. Prolonging things would only make their decision to take Tyler off life support that much harder to live with.

With her heart squeezing as if someone had tied a noose around it, Tori went to the couple. “Hi, Tom. Emma.”

“Dr. Sampson.” Tom’s eyes were red and puffy, his face haggard and looking as if he’d aged ten years in the few days she’d known him. Slowly, and with obvious reluctance, he nodded. “We’re ready. We’ve made our peace with this and said our goodbyes.”

A gut-wrenching, gurgling sob came from Emma’s throat. “I still can’t believe this is happening,” she began, shaking her head. “This is just so…surreal.”

Mrs. Joba hugged Emma’s shoulders. “I know it’s hard, but what you’re doing is a very beautiful, very generous thing.”

“I know.” Tears ran freely down Emma’s cheeks, her eyes as equally red and puffy as her husband’s. “I know,” she repeated, as if to reassure herself.

Tom took his wife’s other hand then sat down again, his shoulders shaking as he began sobbing.

As an only child, Tyler was the center of their universe. Soon, he would be gone.

Tori rolled her lips inward and tilted her head back, hoping the tears backing up behind her eyes didn’t start rolling. Once they did, they’d never stop. Be strong. Be strong for Tom and Emma. That’s the only thing she could do for them now.

“Okay,” she whispered to Suzie. To Tom and Emma, she said, “You can hold his hand, if you like.” Miraculously, her voice hadn’t shaken, and it gave her the strength she so desperately needed.

Through her tears, Emma managed a grateful smile. Tom helped her to stand then tucked her against his side as they followed Tori and Suzie to the bed. Mrs. Joba stood at a respectful distance, waiting to accompany the couple from the room before Tyler was taken to surgery to have his organs removed. Tori had already discussed the process with the Wojciks so they’d know what to expect.

Grimly, it occurred to Tori that the opioid epidemic sweeping the country had led to a great many more life-saving organ donations.

She stood on one side of the bed next to the Wojciks. Suzie stood on the other, awaiting Tori’s signal. She gave a single head nod, then Suzie turned off the EEG and disconnected the leads. The ventilator would remain on to keep Tyler’s organs oxygenated prior to surgery.

Emma leaned over and kissed her son on the mouth. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy,” she whispered, kissing him again on the cheek. “We love you. We will always love you.”

Tom uttered a low moan then leaned down and kissed his son’s forehead in a gesture that threatened to crack Tori’s heart wide open. Hold it together.

Mrs. Joba stepped closer, resting her hands on the Wojciks’ shoulders. “Tom, Emma, I have another private room for you to wait in. After the surgery, you can spend more time with him. I promise.”

As Mrs. Joba accompanied the Wojciks from the room, Tom turned. “Thank you, Dr. Sampson.”

Unable to move, unable to speak, Tori watched them go, staring numbly at the door. The Wojciks’ grief remained, lingering in the room like a dark shroud and reminding her of another horrible day. The day her mother died of a broken heart. She was no stranger to grief herself, but she’d never had to make the decision to take a loved one off life support.

“You okay, Tor?” Suzie asked.

Tori opened her mouth to answer when the door re-opened. An orderly came in to take Tyler’s body to the surgical unit where his organs and some tissue would be extracted then whisked away to help some lucky souls. As the orderly covered Tyler with a sheet, the tears that had been backing up steadily stung her eyes like someone had thrown a vat of acid in her face.

“I’ll be in the chapel,” she managed then rushed from the room.

…

Before heading to the ER, Deck put Thor up in the air-conditioned SUV specially designed for K-9s. At the admissions desk, he asked for Dr. Sampson. Several minutes and several unanswered pages later, Deck badged his way past the desk and went in search of the prickly doctor.

Part of him still couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but he’d already decided he wouldn’t take no for an answer. A doctor who looked vaguely familiar walked past. Deck was almost positive it was the other doctor in the ER with Dr. Sampson. About five-eleven, fit, and with a thick shock of brown hair. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Yes?” W. Barnett, according to his name tag, stopped and turned.

“You were in the ER helping my colleague last night.” Deck held out his hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The doctor shook Deck’s hand. “But I didn’t do anything. Dr. Sampson was in charge, and your friend was lucky to have her. I hear it was a close call.”

“Yeah, it was.” Something he hoped no other DEA agent had to go through again.

“Think you’ll get this gray death, or whatever it’s called, off the street anytime soon?” Dr. Barnett asked.

“We’re doing our best.” Which, lately, was piss-poor. “Actually, I’m looking for Dr. Sampson.”

For a brief moment, Barnett’s gaze shifted down the corridor in the direction Deck had been heading. “She’s tied up at the moment. I don’t think she’ll be able to meet with you today, but you could leave a message for her at the nurses’ station.” He indicated the opposite direction.

“Thanks.” Deck pulled his phone from his thigh pocket, pretending to take a call as the doctor continued down the hall. As soon as Barnett was out of sight, he headed in the direction Barnett clearly hadn’t wanted him to go. Along the way, he snagged an orderly whose nametag said D. Landry and that Deck thought had also been in the ER yesterday. “Have you seen Dr. Sampson?”

“Yeah.” The man looked behind him. “Saw her go that way about ten minutes ago.”

“Thanks.” Deck continued on until he came to another intersection. He looked left then right. Both corridors were empty. He turned right, walking to the end of the hall that dead-ended at the hospital chapel. The doors were open. A lone figure sat in the first pew. He recognized her long, straight hair tied up in a high ponytail.

Dr. Victoria Sampson. With her deep auburn hair and bright green eyes, she was extremely pretty. Too bad all that pretty was covered by a steel glove capable of punching a man’s testicles right up to his tonsils.

Her shoulders shook, the way someone’s might if they were laughing. Or crying. Given the location, he’d go with the latter. Who would have thought that the thorny ice queen who’d threatened to throw him from the ER on his “muscled ass” had a heart after all? The woman was all irony. As he stood there, her muffled sobs ripped straight into his gut.

Deck turned to leave, giving one last look over his shoulder to see her lower her head in her hands and make him wonder what had upset her to the point of tears. No matter how important his quest, he didn’t have the heart to bother her right then and there.

Quietly, he pulled the chapel doors closed behind him then headed back the way he’d come. When he turned left, he nearly bumped into a nurse wearing blue scrubs. Nurse Torres, he definitely remembered from yesterday. He’d catalogued everyone who’d come into contact with Dan. Just in case things had gone to shit.

“I heard you were looking for Dr. Sampson,” Nurse Torres said.

“I was, and I found her.” He nodded toward the chapel.

“Oh, I was trying to stop you. This isn’t a good time. She just lost a patient, a teenage boy, and it hit her very hard.”

“I could see that. I actually didn’t speak with her, but I think she could use a friend right about now.” Deck was certain he didn’t fall into Dr. Sampson’s “friend” category.

Nurse Torres nodded sadly. “We all could. That boy makes the fourth OD death at North Metro in the last week from this new drug.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly,” the nurse agreed solemnly. “Excuse me.”

Deck stared after Nurse Torres as she turned right toward the chapel. He wondered how old the kid was. Opioids were indiscriminate killers, not caring what age, race, or sex its victims were. Marianne had been only sixteen when she’d OD’d. Thinking about his baby sister had guilt twisting his insides. For a moment, he wondered if anyone would notice a big hole in the wall after he rammed his fist through the sheetrock.

He wasn’t a fan of involving civilians in his cases and certainly not a doctor, of all people. But he was desperate, and Dr. Sampson could very well be the key he needed to smash this investigation wide open.