Rachel wasn’t nearly as subtle and groaned theatrically. “Oh, come on. You didn’t tell me you were on call.”
Cassie pushed up from her seat. “I’m not. It must be something bad.”
Zed stopped and looked up, her expression serious. “A shooting?”
“I don’t know yet.” Cassie frowned. It had been over five years since the Mandalay Bay massacre, but that kind of thing was hard to let go of. She shuddered at the memory and pushed away the vivid images of the hundreds of injured concert-goers she’d seen that night. “Rain check on lunch, Rach.”
“Do you need to go too?” Zed asked.
“No. Only hotshot doctors get dragged away from their downtime,” Rachel said and relaxed back onto the table. “I’ll call you later.”
“Sure.” Cassie left, and the dry heat outside took her breath away, whooshing down on her like she’d opened the door on an oven the size of a skyscraper. She speed-walked to her car as best she could in four-inch pumps. When she got in, the upholstery of her seat all but seared her flesh and the steering wheel was almost too hot to touch. This damn hell city needed a subterranean parking lot and roadways.
The traffic was reasonably favorable, and she made good time. She screeched to a halt in her personal space and resumed her speed walk to the staff entrance. Cassie took a cleansing breath before she swiped her ID to enter. Whatever was waiting for her behind these doors, she could handle it. Just like she handled every other emergency this city had thrown at her in the past eight years. Andemergencyemergencies, where she and every other available doctor were called in, tested her mettle and made sure she was still at the top of her game. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but they were kind of thrilling in a macabre way, like she was battling the devil for human souls.
Cassie rolled her eyes at her ridiculous self and flung open the door, ready to face the melee. She was barely two steps into the building before Lucy, one of the longest-serving nurses at the hospital, grabbed her arm and tugged her into the doctor’s lounge to change into scrubs.
“Thank god you got here so fast,” Lucy said.
“What’s happening?” Cassie opened her locker and changed faster than one of the magician’s assistants on the Strip.
“Suspected fuel tank explosion at Harry Reid.” Lucy held the door open and talked as they walked. “Two hundred and sixteen passengers, twelve crew, and the captain and co-pilot.”
“Lucky they weren’t at full capacity, I suppose.” Cassie tucked her tank into her pants.
“They were on the runway, about to depart for Barcelona, when something exploded. Around a quarter of the injured have been brought to us, and we’ve already lost three.”
Cassie straightened her top when they stopped at the main ER doors.
“Ready, doctor?” Lucy handed Cassie a pair of surgical gloves.
She nodded, pulling the gloves on. “Ready.”
Lucy held her card to the access panel, and the doors opened. The cacophony of people yelling orders, screaming in pain, and crying in desperation swept over her, and in her head, she turned the volume down to a manageable roar. These were the days that reinforced why she’d chosen to be a doctor. As a seven-year-old, she may not have been able to save her brother, but she could damn well save these people now.
Chapter Three
Taryn leaned against the bar and took in the sprawling spread of the Vegas club. Neon lights, writhing bodies, bass-thumping music, and a high-level hum of constant chatter. She loved every element of it. Meeting new people was one of her favorite things about constantly being on the road, and the first night in a new city never got old. It didn’t matter how similar their life experience was, no two people ever seemed alike. They could’ve had almost identical childhoods in the same area around the same time, and yet there’d always be differences, sometimes subtle, sometimes blindingly obvious. For Taryn, the variety really did give life its flavor.
She ordered two Jack and Cokes, then scanned the women sitting in hunting packs around tall tables on the perimeter of the dance floor. More than a few caught her eye, and they exchanged nods, smiles, and hungry looks. She’d only just gotten here, so it was way too early to be thinking about who she might go back to the hotel with. The bars in San Francisco had scratched her itch, so to speak, so she could definitely take her time choosing a playmate tonight.
Andi patted her shoulder heavily. “That’sa fancy-pants bathroom. Every cubicle has one of those expensive Japanese toilets that do everything except give you an orgasm.”
“Huh, I’ve got to see that. Drinks are on their way.” She gestured to the dance floor. “The women over at tables two, three, and five look like they’ve been in forced celibacy for a month and are determined to make up for it tonight.”
Andi followed Taryn’s gaze to the tables that actually were painted with numbers. “Do you think they have bingo nights where you win whoever is sitting in those seats?”
“It’s Vegas; anything is possible.” She clapped Andi on the back and headed to the restrooms.
They didn’t disappoint. She and their team had done shows in Vegas a few times, and so much of it changed in between visits that it was like coming to a new city every time. There was always some big new attraction designed to take your breath away, and for this club, the illusion of never-ending mirrors and toilets that cost more than the average car were this year’s extravagance.
When in Vegas…She made use of the facilities and indulged in a pleasant and cleansing butt bath. When she opened the door, one of the women from table five blocked her exit.
“Hi, handsome,” the woman said.
Taryn held her laughter at the woman’s comical, stage-sexy whisper and smiled. “Hi, yourself.” She peered over the woman’s head and held up her hands. “Do you mind?”
The woman stepped aside and let Taryn go to the giant basin along the length of the wall where a four-foot-wide faucet produced a waterfall to wash her hands. Metal-tipped stilettos clipped across the stone floor, before the woman stood so close Taryn could feel warm breath on her neck. Instead of being hot, it was a little like an over-excited dog hanging over her shoulder, desperate to be taken for a walk. But desperation was never sexy. Taryn found women most sexy when she had to work for it, at least a little.
