She recited the last paragraph aloud. "I broke my promise to him too. Our love died with our baby girl."
The clock read 3:30. She returned the picture of a beautiful newborn with thick blonde ringlets to the wrapper. Curled up, her eyes closing from exhaustion, the letter drifted behind the bed.
Chapter Six
"Corcoran, move.” Corrections Officer Tim Lampton shoved the inmate down the corridor of the Silverton jail.
"Yes, CO." The thirty-five-year-old inmate moved without pause. The guard opened a steel sliding door before it slammed behind them.
Once inside the windowless, camera-free space, he spun the prisoner around. "You do this right."
"There isn't a choice?" Corcoran lowered his head. Lampton handed him five balloons and a small tube of water-soluble gel. "Pass this trial, I gonna sample some freedom? Right? Can you turn around?" He dropped his pants.
"Like hell, fish." Evil eyes studied the captive as he secreted the balloons inside his body. "Don't fuck this up, and you'll receive your reward." The CO jammed his flashlight hard into the prisoner's gut. He bent over in pain. "Remember who has the keys."
Moments later, Corcoran was returned to his cell.
"Hey, bro? Can you pick up the munchies for Thursday's game?" Lampton stood next to Sergeant Alden McAllister.
"Got it." The sergeant smiled as another CO walked by. "Call everyone; there’s another problem."
The undercover FBI agent masquerading as Gene Corcoran was going to learn firsthand what happened to problems.
At 07:00, Elizabeth clutched a tall cup of iced coffee. She greeted the intensivist sitting at the nurse's station with a smile.
"No offense, Beth, but you look like crap," Miles Gerba said.
"No offense taken. How are my patients?" The computer screen lit up with her sign-in.
"Got to give you credit, Sergeant Bailey is still here," he said while she read through his latest results.
"He gets the credit. He’s young and, until now, healthy."
"Someone shot him with an automatic weapon. Heart, lungs, liver, spleen, kidneys, small intestine, large bowel, and his bladder. Accept the rarity this is."
"Let's have this conversation in a week."
"The patient from the penitentiary is stable and comfortable. Randy's mad at you."
"Woohoo. Screw Knox and his hissy fits."
"Beth, he's making waves."
"Let him. Worse case, they let me go, not like I won't find another job."
"Drink, Dr. Grouchy." He slid her coffee in front of her. "Mrs. Whelan is responding to treatment, but she withdrew the protection order on her husband—again. He's going to kill her."
Memories chilled her. "I'll talk to her. Until she's ready, nothing will help."
"How's Mr. McLaren?"
"Much better. Can we move him from the floor?" Miles reported on her other patients.
"Yes. All done?"
A haggard breath echoed. "One more. Randy listed you and Steve as covering. He's off today and unavailable." Miles imitated Knox's voice. "Appendectomy. Sixteen-year-old gymnast, Hal Dufour's daughter. She's septic. The bigger problem: peek at her ultrasound."
"How the hell did he miss an ectopic?" The life-threatening ultrasound flashed in front of them. "This can't wait until Randy’s on again. Did you call him? Did you tell her?"
