Intensive Care Crisis. Karen Kirst
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been yanked out of the storage cubicle tucked against the wall.
Audrey didn’t pause to consider her options. Spinning on her heel, she jogged down the hall, half-expecting to be ambushed from behind.
She pounded on Julian’s door. From this distance, she couldn’t see her apartment. Her assailant could use the opportunity to slip out undetected. Or he could still be hiding in her closet, behind her shower curtain or beneath her bed...
The door swung open, revealing a sleep-tousled marine. At the sight of her, he snapped to attention. “Audrey.”
“I woke you, didn’t I? I promised not to bother you with my problems, but my door was open and my stuff is everywhere—”
She broke off when he left her in the doorway and disappeared into what she assumed was his bedroom. When he returned, he had a sleek black gun in his grip and there was no trace of fatigue in his hardened face. He didn’t spare her a glance as he strode past her into the hall. This, she realized, was a force-recon marine in action, focus narrowed on the potential threat.
Audrey followed, her gaze glued to the surf-shop insignia stretched across his broad, muscular back. Reservations kicked in. What was she thinking? Mere days ago he’d hovered near death. She’d fought to keep him alive, and now she was sending him straight into danger.
He was about to cross the threshold when she spoke. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I should contact the police.”
Julian held a finger to his lips and continued into her apartment, sweeping the rooms one by one. The sight of her home in chaos, and the knowledge that a stranger had invaded her space and touched her things, made her feel sick and violated. It didn’t help that Julian was seeing her life laid bare.
Returning to the living room, he tucked the gun into his waistband. “He’s gone.”
Audrey bent to retrieve a crumpled photograph of herself and Seth off the floor. The image was one of her favorites, taken at a local shrimp festival, where they’d eaten their weight in fried shrimp and hush puppies and lounged on the riverbank listening to live bands. A month later, a cancer diagnosis had upended their innocent world.
Julian’s fingertips grazed her arm. “You shouldn’t touch anything. Not until the police have dusted for prints.”
There were questions in his eyes that she was thankful he didn’t put a voice to. The lump in her throat grew, and she nodded mutely. While he called the police and gave a brief report, she wandered through the rooms again, impatient to restore order and erase the evidence of the intrusion.
He rejoined her in the kitchen, frowning at the swirl of ground spices on the countertops and pots and pans on the tiles. “A unit is en route. They’ll want to know if anything’s missing.”
A gasp ripped from her lips. How could she have forgotten?
Brushing past him, she hurried to her bedroom and, dropping to her knees in the closet, reached for the decorative boxes shoved in the corner. They weren’t in a neat stack anymore.
Her heart sank. He’d found her hiding place.
“Audrey?”
“My journal.” She frantically rifled through the contents discarded on the thick carpet. “It’s not here. He took it.”
Moving closer to crouch beside her, he rested his hand on her shoulder. The connection grounded her. Kept her from flying apart. “What’s in the journal?”
She ended her futile search and twisted to meet his gaze.
“Evidence.”
* * *
Julian stood between the entertainment center and couch, out of the way but within reach should Audrey need him. He watched her speak with the Jacksonville police officers—one young male and a thirtyish female—while the crime-scene guys dusted for prints. She’d had a nightmare of a day, yet she exuded admirable composure. Still in her scrubs, her glossy hair in an intricate braid, she stood with her sneakers far apart and her arms folded over her chest. Her tone was even, her words succinct. Only her eyes bore witness of her distress.
For a second there on the closet floor, he’d nearly given in to the need to fold her in his arms and comfort her. He’d stifled it. Audrey hadn’t reached out to him for emotional support. He wasn’t sure he could manage to shoulder anyone else’s hurt. It was taking all his energy to contain his own.
The male officer looked up from his handheld device. “This journal of yours? What information does it contain?”
“Dates. Patient names.” She tugged on her hospital ID. “I detailed each and every instance of missing supplies and narcotics, as well as the wrongly administered medications and patient reactions.”
“Did you keep a second copy on your laptop or flash drive?”
She glanced at her ruined laptop, smashed on the floor. Her rose-tinted mouth dipped into a grimace. “I didn’t think to. I should have. I didn’t imagine it would progress to this...”
The officers exchanged a significant glance. The journal was likely already destroyed, and without an electronic copy, her claims couldn’t be substantiated.
“We’re going to speak to the residents on this floor. Someone might’ve seen something suspicious or heard unusual noises. We’ll also go over the building’s security-camera footage.”
They left soon after, along with the crime-scene officers, and promised to reach out if they discovered anything useful.
He joined her in the entryway. “I’d like to help clean up. I can work in the kitchen and bathrooms.” The least personal spaces, which he expected she’d prefer.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Avoiding his gaze, she started pairing shoes and sliding them into the cubicle slots.
“My calendar’s swiped clean these days.” His choice. “You’ll be saving me from bingeing on home-decorating shows.”
Lifting her head, she stared at him.
“Trust me,” he said, “I know all I need to know about accent walls and upcycling.”
Her lips lifted in a semblance of a smile. “You sure about that? There’s usually a new style concept waiting to be sprung on the masses.”
He picked up a delicate high-heeled sandal and handed it to her. “I’m sure.”
After he helped her finish the shoes, they worked in separate areas. As he organized her kitchen cabinets, his thoughts drifted to that photo. Who was the young man who’d had his arm slung proudly around Audrey’s shoulders? Where was he now?
It’s none of your business, Tan.
He had no personal interest in Gunny’s daughter. He had no interest in romance, period. On occasion, he’d ask out a girl for a casual day of surfing or sailing, but he made it clear up front that he wasn’t looking for commitment. He’d already disappointed his father with his decision to forego college and enlist in the US Marine Corps. Trying and failing at the sacred institution of marriage would further damage Chin Tan’s opinion of his only son. Military marriages faced myriad challenges. When clandestine, dangerous missions were the norm, a husband and wife had to have a steel-tight bond to weather daily life.
Shaking his head at the direction of his thoughts, he refocused on the task at hand and moved to the guest bathroom. After more than an hour of cleaning, Audrey’s apartment held no signs of the break-in. A different layout than his, the space was feminine and breezy without being cluttered. Her sense of humor showed in her choice of wall art, which mostly consisted of whimsical animal paintings in vibrant colors. Unlike him, she’d taken the time to hang curtains and assemble pillows and rugs. He liked her style.
His stomach rumbled, and she heard it.
“I haven’t had a chance to shop for groceries, or I’d offer to