Intensive Care. Jessica Andersen
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to yell again and choked.
It hurt to breathe. It hurt to keep her eyes open. It even hurt to beat on the door. Oxygen. She needed oxygen. Ripley crouched down and sucked at the narrow crack beneath the door, but the seal was tight.
Holding the lab coat over her face, she battled back through the thickening fog and tried to nudge the bleach bottle away from the drain cleaner. But the gas had fuddled her coordination. She pushed too hard, and the bottles tipped over. Bleach splashed into the blue puddle and the reaction was instantaneous.
A gout of vapor erupted. Ripley reeled back and fell against the door, sinking to her knees as her strength failed. Blackness crowded her vision as she gave a few feeble whacks at the door and called, “Help me. Somebody, please help me!”
She thought she heard another footstep in the hall.
Then she thought nothing.
Chapter Four
The anger swirled deep inside Cage as he stalked the halls of Boston General. He didn’t like the effect Ripley Davis had on him. He didn’t like the things she made him remember. Made him want. She wasn’t anything like Heather had been, yet he was drawn to her. It didn’t seem to matter that she was everything he despised.
He valued honesty. She wasn’t telling him the whole truth.
He hated doctors, especially R-ONCs. She was head of the department.
His priority was protecting the patients from doctors. One of her patients was dead. Radioactive. And her biggest priority was saving her own hide.
Just like all the others.
He halted in the middle of the wide elevator lobby. So why was he walking back to Radiation Safety? He should be in R-ONC, questioning her until she broke down and admitted to taking the personnel file off his desk, until she told him everything she knew about Ida Mae Harris and the radioactivity Dixon supposedly found in the broom closet.
He had an ugly suspicion the two were related.
“Damn it.” He spun on his heel and marched back the way he’d come. “This time, I’m not leaving until I have some answers.”
But when he reached the outer office, Cage found R-ONC deserted. “It’s almost five on a Friday.” He cursed. “What did I expect? Dedication?”
Noticing that the door to the inner office stood ajar, he crossed the carpeted floor and peered inside. It was empty. Casually glancing back toward the corridor, he eased across the room to her desk, feeling awkward even as he assured himself it was the right thing to do.
He needed to know what she’d been hiding that morning. He needed to see those papers. They weren’t on her desk, so he was reaching for the top drawer when he heard a thump out in the hallway. It didn’t sound like Ripley Davis’s purposeful stride, but he didn’t want to be caught rifling through her stuff. Feeling ashamed by his actions, though he couldn’t have said why, he walked across the outer office and peered into the hall.
It was deserted. A faint whiff of cleaning solution suggested that the janitor had begun his work for the evening. Satisfied, Cage turned back to the inner office. Another thump brought him up short. This time he thought he heard a voice.
“Help me.”
“What the hell?” Adrenaline kicked him into the hall, which was still empty. The corridor was lined with closed doors. Heart pounding, he yelled, “Hello? Does somebody need help?”
There was no response, but the smell of cleaning solvent grew stronger. He wrinkled his nose and glanced over at the R-ONC broom closet, where Dixon had found the jar of radioactive material.
There was a key in the lock.
“Hello? Is someone in there?” The smell was stronger near the door, but there was no answer. Maybe he’d imagined the voice. His heart pounded as he twisted the key and pulled open the door.
Ripley Davis tumbled out at his feet, followed by a cloud of thick, choking air.
Shock poured through him, followed by panic. She wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even sure she was breathing.
She looked dead.
“Christ!” When he inhaled, the reflexive cough practically tore his throat apart. Choking, he lifted her in his arms and cradled her limp body against his chest. He staggered away from the closet. Away from the poisoned air. “Dr. Davis! Ripley! Can you hear me?” The words were trapped in his burning lungs, but the pressure eased once they were in the fresher air of the outer office.
She felt light in his arms. Too light, as though the life had already drained from her.
He slammed the door shut and lowered her to the floor. He knelt beside her, as close to praying as he’d been for half a decade. Trying not to remember that his prayers had been ignored before.
“Come on, Ripley. Come on, baby, breathe!” His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone. “Come on, damn it. Breathe!”
And she did.
She took a gasping breath. Then another. Then she started to cough and struggle weakly against him. A spurt of pure relief sizzled through Cage. She was alive.
Barely.
He couldn’t even name all the emotions that flooded through him. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He sagged down beside her and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re okay. Just breathe. Take it nice and easy.” He soothed her with mindless words as she curled into him. “Easy now. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
He felt an impotent rage build. He’d been tossing her office while she was in dire danger.
With every deadly incident, it became clearer that she needed his protection, not his suspicion.
Too soon, she tried to talk. She gasped, “Call…HazMat,” between breaths in a voice as scratchy as raw wool. “Chlorine.”
He placed the call, directing the Hazardous Materials crew to the closet and deflecting their questions with a curt, “No, I don’t know what the hell happened. Just get down here.” He glanced down at Ripley, who was curled against his chest, shaking. His heart constricted. He’d almost been too late. Again. What the hell was going on here? “Hang on. I’ll call the ER and get a gurney sent up.
Her sudden grip on his wrist was firm, though she was still shivering with reaction. “No…ER. I’ll be…fine.” She pushed off his lap and shook her head. “Not…weak in public.”
He missed the feel of her against him even as his mind registered the danger in the emotion. He faced her down, saying, “Bull. You were gassed unconscious. You’re going to the ER and no arguments.” He glared to let her know he was serious.
Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand in a vulnerable, almost childlike sweep, and said, “Thank you. I didn’t think anyone was…” She took a breath. “Thank you.” When he reached for her, she shifted away. “No. I’m fine. I can hold myself up.”
Cage dropped his hand, realizing he’d wanted the contact for himself, and knowing his brain was right in thinking she spelled danger. She was in danger, and she was dangerous. Of all the women he’d met since Heather’s death, she was the first one he was attracted to. The first one who might make him lose sight of his purpose. His vow.
His penance.
There was a commotion out in the hall as the gurney arrived on the heels of the HazMat team. Ripley was loaded onto the bed over her protests that she could walk just fine. As they wheeled her away, Cage could hear her say over the rising din in the hallway, “Nobody calls my father, understand? I don’t want anyone to know about this.”
He hesitated, knowing that meant she’d be alone. Vulnerable. Then he shook his head. She’d be surrounded by people. Nothing could hurt her in the ER.
He hoped.