Pete and Tucker were employees of the hospital and were compliant with all the private-duty parameters. Their qualifications were impeccable. They were not nurses. “She’s just insulted because she screwed the pooch,” Pete stage whispered.
Pamela Barnes explained to them that Cassie’s nurse, Kelly, felt responsible for missing Cassie’s rapid decline because she was forced to divide her time with another patient.
“Ma’am, if you’re concerned about all your stickers, labels, and care plans, why don’t you come on in while we try to keep this little filly alive?” Tucker asked.
Though they never gave care based upon who the patient was, Hunter advised them Cassie was important to Ian, which made her extra special. Pete and Tucker were used to working together in the radio silence of combat and confirmed the care she needed with simple nods and hand signals.
* * *
Jack and Hunter walked through Cassie’s chart. The rapid PCR blood test came back with what they feared: bacterial meningitis. “We need to let her folks know. I hope her brothers get here to say goodbye,” Jack said as he wrote more orders. “I’ll need consent from them for the ICP monitor.” A neurosurgeon would attach a monitor to measure the rising pressure in her head. “At least we can watch the train crash.”
Hunter answered his phone on speaker. “The bacteria from her thigh are gram-positive. It’s staph,” a voice from the lab reported.
Hunter looked at Jack. “Staph? What the hell is going on here?” They checked her OR record. The sponge count was confirmed by the circulating nurse. “It wasn’t even a whole sponge. Where did it come from? Why did Joe choose to work on the thigh instead of her chest?” Hunter asked questions in rapid succession.
Jack tapped his foot. “Joe was in this morning. He asked about her. I didn’t think it was odd at the time, but now?”
* * *
Ian read Hunter’s text.We need to talk.
Hunter and Ian walked toward Ian’s truck, where Jason sat in the back seat. Hunter said, “Drive around the block.”
Ian shifted the Navigator into drive. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” His nostrils flared.
“How long have we known each other?”
“Hunt, what’s going on? All right, we’ve known each other about seventeen years. Why?”
“You know I’m not a conspiracy guy—never have been—but someone wants Cassie dead.”
Ian pulled roughly to the curb. “Talk now.” He slammed his hands on the steering wheel.
“I told you: Cassie’s septic. Neisseria meningitides is usually found in the nose and throat of about fifteen percent of people. I swabbed her breathing tube and suctioned and swabbed her nose and mouth. I swabbed every other orifice. There isn’t a hint of the bacteria anywhere except one place—her arterial line—it was loaded. Jack is pulling it now.”
“So, it came from there?” Ian asked.
“That’s the problem. The only way that much could infiltrate the line is if someone put it there. And it gets worse. Her leg infection is caused by a completely different bacterium. Gram-positive, staph aureus. I swabbed the sponge piece I found beneath her leg muscle. It was loaded with it. That just doesn’t happen.
“I did some snooping. Jack Parker said Maddox was asking questions this morning. Cassie’s nurse was asked to take care of Cassie and one of Maddox’s patients, who was awaiting a bed in another unit. Out of nowhere, the man crapped out, diverting Cassie’s nurse from her care. And Maddox was operating on Cassie’s thigh when I got to the OR. That didn’t make medical sense. Ian, it’s some pretty compelling circumstantial evidence, but there’s no proof.”
“I’ll look into it. Can she survive this?”
“You know I never bet, but the oddsmakers would think they have a sure bet against her. When are the other Paulsen boys due to arrive?”
Ian pulled from the curb. “Christian and Caleb at any moment. The other boys, late tomorrow.”
“The faster, the better.”
* * *
Still reeling from the conversation with Hunter, Ian stayed at the hospital long enough to see the neurosurgeon drill into Cassie’s skull to attach a monitor. The numbers showed pressure building in her brain. She was dying. His head was trying very hard to convince his heart to keep things noncommittal. It was an abject failure.
He forced himself to return to the office, where he checked in with the manager of Chase Ventures. The men became friends as students at Stanford.
Vaughn Hannah took a long look at his boss and old friend. “Ian, we’re waiting for more specs on the urgent care deal. I’ll let you know. I’ve got your back, so do what you need to do. Wellington, New Zealand and California are both under control.”
“I appreciate it, Vaughn.”
