Page 81 of Tough Justice

As she stepped onto the curb, she noticed David Landry, the orderly, leaning on the open window of a blood-red sports car, the make and model of which she couldn’t identify from this distance. Maybe that was his brother, Pete. Judging by the car, it looked like Pete had gotten back on his feet pretty quickly.

Honestly. The ER parking lot was turning into a veritable whose-dick-is-bigger showroom.

Tori stared at the car. During the first search warrant she’d gone on, Deck had mentioned that the distributor they were looking for drove a fancy black sports car. These weren’t black, but perhaps the distributor had a collection. There had to be hundreds of fancy cars on the road in Denver at any given moment, let alone the entire state. The distributor could be anyone.

Reluctantly, she pushed through the door and went inside. It was barely four o’clock, and the front desk lounge was already crammed with patients’ relatives trying to find out how their loved ones were doing. She swiped into the ER, hoping to be so busy there wouldn’t be time to think about anything else but work.

Wil stood at the nurses’ station, reviewing a form. “How were your days off?” he asked, handing the form to one of the admins.

“Good.” Not. “Just…quiet.”

Wil’s brows rose. “Did you spend them with your DEA agent?”

“No.” In the last eight weeks, she and Wil hadn’t been on a single shift together. He probably didn’t even know that Deck had been badly injured. “We’re not working together anymore, and we’re no longer seeing each other, either.”

Wil’s lips pressed tightly into a grimace. “I’m sorry. I know you liked him. I’m here for you if you want to talk.”

“I know that. Thanks.”

“Dr. Barnett,” a nurse called out. “There’s a patient waiting for you in ER 4.”

“Coffee later?” Wil asked over his shoulder, already heading down the hall.

“Sounds good.” Anything to occupy her mind would be a welcome relief.

…

Six hours into her shift and Tori’s feet were killing her. A ten-car pileup on I-25 had kept the ER hopping nonstop. Finally, most of the cases had either been treated and released or sent to other floors for X-rays, MRIs, or surgery. Except for one.

Tori had examined an unconscious young woman who she suspected had neurological damage. Since Max Maynard was the neurosurgeon on call tonight, she’d requested him for a consult.

“Good thing you called me in on this,” Max said, having just completed his examination. “She needs surgery to release the pressure on her brain.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll get her on the schedule right away.” Without another word, he left the room.

Tori entered a few notes into the patient’s computerized chart then headed to the doctors’ lounge to splash cold water on her face. Along the way, she heard a raised voice coming from ER 4. She poked her head in to see Wil and Ethan standing beside the examining table.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” A man of about forty, with a blood-soaked towel wrapped around his wrist, hopped off the bed, his face twisted in anger. “You nearly killed me with the shit you gave me in Sheridan. I should report your ass.”

He pointed at one of the men, but she couldn’t tell whether it was Wil or Ethan. The movement had tugged up his shirt sleeve, exposing what looked like tattoos—two rings of barbed wire around his biceps. “Get me another doctor. Anyone but you.”

“Relax.” Wil moved his hands in a calming gesture. “You came to the ER for help, and that’s what we’re trying to do. Help you.”

Tori cleared her throat. “Dr. Barnett. Dr. Dexter. Can I assist you?”

Wil spun, his eyes widening at the sight of her standing in the doorway. “No. Thank you, Dr. Sampson. We’ve got this.” With a move so subtle she barely caught it, he stuffed something—a syringe?—into the right side pocket of his coat. It happened so fast she couldn’t be sure. Normally, nurses administered injections in the ER, not doctors.

“Would you like me to get Nurse Torres?” They both knew Suzie had a natural way with people and was good at handling difficult patients. Like this one obviously was.

“No,” he practically spat out.

“Hey, wait.” The man pointed to her. “Is she a doctor? I’ll take her instead.”

Wil gave a subtle yet dismissive nod, the message of which was clear: Do not undermine me.

“Okay.” Reluctantly, she left the room. It wasn’t like Wil to be so curt, especially with her.

“Tori,” Suzie called out, pointing to another room. “You’ve got a customer.”

For the next ten minutes, Tori attended to a young patient who’d broken his arm on a trampoline. “We’ll send you upstairs for an X-ray then get you set up with a cast.”