“Three entrance wounds on the front,” Mick said, judging the angle of the wounds. “Let’s roll her so we can count exit wounds.” He needed to know how many bullets were possibly embedded in her tissues or organs.
Mick, the nurses, and Allison took hold of Whitney and rolled her onto her left side. Almost immediately, alarms clanged. Whitney’s blood pressure plummeted, and her heart rate took off wildly. He quickly scanned her naked back for exit wounds and found only one. “Belly wound was through and through. The other two are still in there somewhere.”
They dropped her back down, but her blood pressure and heart rate remained at dangerous levels. Allison listened to her chest again. “This lung is collapsing. Get me a chest tube tray.”
Mick assisted Allison as she placed a tube in Whitney’s chest to relieve the building pressure of free blood. A gush of dark red blood filled the tube and poured into the attached container. Although there was some immediate relief, it wasn’t enough. Whitney’s lungs were in bad shape.
“I need to get in there as soon as possible,” Allison decided. “Get those X-rays, and meet me in the OR.” She gestured with her head to the adjacent trauma room as she stripped out of her bloody gloves and yellow gown. “Let me check this guy out and I’ll be on my way up, okay?”
Mick nodded and turned his full attention on keeping Whitney stable. Alarms continued to clang. Blood flow eased up a bit in the chest tube but not by much. He ordered packed red cells and hoped she would hold on just a little bit longer.
Sally picked up the ringing phone and spoke for a few seconds before hanging up. “Dr. Cardenas is heading into the OR for an emergency C-section, but she’ll pop into your OR when she’s finished. Lancaster is up on the L &D floor if you need him before then.”
Mick preferred Daniela, but Lancaster would do in a pinch. “Thanks, Sally.”
Another nurse popped her head into the room. “OR three is ready.”
“Let’s go.” Mick kicked the brakes on his side of the gurney and waited for his team of nurses to get the equipment ready to go. As they rushed out of the room, he caught sight of Eddie hovering in the doorway. He couldn’t ever remember seeing Eddie look so scared. Mick paused just long enough to catch Eddie’s gaze. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch his arm, but his gloves were bloody.
“She won’t die.” Eddie’s jaw clenched and released. “She can’t leave us.”
“I’ll do my best.” Mick couldn’t promise anything more. He’d seen patients come into his operating room in far worse shape than Whitney and walk out of the hospital two weeks later. At the same time, he’d seen patients come into the ER talking and laughing and leave the hospital in a body bag a few hours later. Nothing was certain inside the walls of this place.
Eddie nodded and stepped aside. Mick continued on with the gurney but cast one final glance at the man he’d loved so long, before stepping through the double doors leading to the staff elevator. Their gazes held a moment before Eddie shoved off the wall and headed out of Mick’s line of sight. He said a silent prayer for Eddie’s well-being and then added another for Whitney.
God, guide my hands, he thought as he stepped into the elevator. Let her live.
Chapter Twelve
Eddie shifted slowly in the uncomfortable chair so as not to wake Mick. He’d drifted off an hour earlier, finally succumbing to exhaustion, and snored softly. The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor and the hiss, click, and suck of a ventilator filled the room. Whitney lay motionless in the ICU bed. There were tubes and wires everywhere. IV bags, some close to empty and others full, hung from poles. Automated machines controlled the speed at which the fluids dripped into Whitney.
Eddie just stared at her. Mick had said the first twenty-four hours were the most critical. So far, all had gone well. Eddie had to believe she would remain stable. To consider anything else was too painful.
Mick twitched and made a strange noise. Eddie put his hand on Mick’s forearm and patted him as one might settle a sleeping child. His gaze flicked to Mick’s haggard face. He’d worked so hard to save Whitney’s life and then turned right around to save the life of one of the bastards who had taken her hostage.
Renewed rage burned through Eddie. He’d nearly puked as Danny and Craig recounted the witness statements. One of those pigs had tried to rape Whitney. His fists curled in his lap at the disturbing image of Whitney, scared and screaming, being dragged across the bank. Thank god for Elmer Sanderson!
Eddie had tracked the older man down in the emergency room to shake his hand and thank him for standing up for Whitney. The old codger came from a different era, a time when men took chivalry seriously. Eddie could only hope he’d be full of piss and vinegar when he reached his eighties.
A shooting pain lanced through his hand. He unclenched his fingers and stared at the bruised knuckles of his right hand. O’Halloran’s jaw had been harder than he’d expected. The pain of purple, swollen knuckles was worth it, though.
When Mick had shown him the bullets pulled from Whitney’s body, he’d seen red. All his life, he’d heard that description, but until that moment he’d never experienced such blinding fury. Instead of matching the rounds used by the gunmen, the bullets taken from Whitney’s body matched those issued by the department. She’d been hit by friendly fire.
Once the chief had taken the jar of bullets from Eddie’s hand, it had all been over for O’Halloran. The dick was toast. Unfortunately, he’d probably take his team with him. For now, the guys were suspended with pay pending investigation. Sad, too, because there were some good men on that team.
“I should get you something for the swelling,” Mick said, his voice a bit a gravelly. He rubbed his face and sat up in the chair.
“No.” Eddie reached over and squeezed his arm. “It’s fine. You need to rest.”
“And you need to have that X-rayed, but you won’t.” Mick smiled and shook his head. “Let me grab an ice pack and some meds.”
Eddie knew better than to argue with Mick when he was in doctor mode. He stood up and checked Whitney’s IVs and the monitors before leaving the room. A few minutes later Mick returned, slapped a couple of pills into Eddie’s hand, and dropped an ice pack in his lap. “Break that, and give it a shake.”
Mick walked over to the sink and filled the pink plastic cup from the pitcher set. He grabbed a washcloth from a cabinet and brought both over to him. “Here.”
Eddie accepted the cup of water and tossed the pills into his mouth. He swallowed the cool liquid and set aside the cup. Following Mick’s orders, he broke the plastic ice pack and shook up the contents. It felt instantly cold.
“Give me your hand.” Mick prodded the swollen knuckles and made a noise. “Probably not broken, but if that swelling doesn’t go down, you will go for an X-ray.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Eddie watched Mick drape the washcloth over his knuckles to protect the skin and then placed the ice pack on top of it. “Thanks.”
Mick cupped Eddie’s jaw and brushed his thumb over his cheek. He slid back down into his chair and gazed at Whitney. “She’s doing okay. I mean, I realize how this must look to someone who doesn’t see people in dire straits every day. But, really, Eddie.” He turned his head and gave an encouraging smile. “She’s doing well.”
“If you say so,” he said, a tad unconvinced. “She looks like hell to me. Do you think she’ll wake soon?”
Mick shook his head. “We’ll keep her sedated for the night, probably most of tomorrow. Allison did a lot of work on that right lung. Keeping her out and on the ventilator is the best thing for her heart and lungs. Let them rest, you know?”