Tiel opened the box of pre moistened towelettes. "Do you think it's safe to use these on the baby?"
"I suppose. That's what they're for," Doc replied.
Although Katherine put up little peeps of protest, Tiel sponged her with the wipes, which smelled pleasantly of baby powder. Having had no experience with newborns, she was nervous about the task. She also continued to monitor Sabra's gentle breathing.
"I applaud her courage," she remarked. "I also can't help but sympathize with them. From what I know of Russell Dendy, I'd have run away from him too."
"You know him?"
"Only through the media. I wonder if he was instrumental in sending Cain in here?"
"Why'd you hit him over the head?"
"Referring to my attack on a federal agent?" she asked, making a grim joke of it. "I was trying to prevent a disaster."
"I commend your swift action and only wish I'd thought of it."
"I had the advantage of standing behind him." She wrapped Katherine in a fresh towel and held her against her chest for warmth. "I suppose Agent Cain was only doing his duty. And it took a certain amount of bravery to walk into a situation like this. But I didn't want him to shoot Ronnie. And, just as earnestly, I didn't want Ronnie to shoot him. I acted on impulse."
"And weren't you just a little pissed to discover that Cain wasn't a doctor?"
She looked at him and smiled conspiratorially. "Don't tell."
"I promise."
"How'd you know he wasn't a medical man? What gave him away?"
"Sabra's vitals weren't his first concern. For instance, he didn't take her blood pressure. He didn't seem to grasp the seriousness of her condition, so I began to suspect him and tested his knowledge. When the cervix is dilated eight to ten centimeters, all systems are go. He flunked the test."
"We both might get sentenced to years of hard labor in federal prison."
"Better that than letting him shoot Ronnie."
"Amen to that." She glanced down at the infant, who was now sleeping. "How about the baby? Is she okay?"
"Let's take a look."
Tiel lay Katherine on her lap. Doc folded back the towel and examined the tiny newborn, who wasn't even as long as his forearm. His hands looked large and masculine against her baby pinkness, but their touch was tender, especially when he taped the tied-off cord to her tummy.
"She's small," he observed. "A couple weeks premature, I'd guess. She seems okay, though. Breathing all right. But she should be in a hospital neonatal unit. It's important that we keep her warm. Try and keep her head covered."
"All right."
He was leaning close to Tiel. Close enough for her to distinguish each tiny line that radiated from the outer corners of his eyes. The irises of his eyes were grayish green, the lashes very black, several shades darker than his medium brown hair. His chin and jaw were showing stubble, which was attractive. Through the tear in his shirtsleeve, she noticed that blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage.
"Does your shoulder hurt?"
When he raised his head, they almost bumped noses.
Their eyes were engaged for several seconds before he turned his head to check his shoulder wound. He looked at it as though he'd forgotten it was there. "No. It's fine."
Hastily he added, "Better put one of those diapers on her, then wrap her up again."
Tiel ineptly diapered the baby while Doc checked on the new mother.
"Is all that blood…" Tiel purposefully left the question incomplete, afraid that Ronnie would overhear. Since Tiel had never witnessed a birth, she didn't know if the amount that Sabra had bled was normal or cause for alarm. To her, it appeared an inordinate amount, and if she was reading Doc right, he was concerned.
"Much more than there should be." He kept his voice low for the same reason she had. Draping the sheet over Sabra's thighs, he began massaging her abdomen. "Sometimes this helps curb the bleeding," he said in reply to Tiel's unspoken question.
"If it doesn't?"
"It can't go on for long before we've got real problems.
I wish I could've done an episiotomy, saved her this."
"Don't blame yourself. Under the circumstances and given the conditions, you did amazingly well, Dr. Stanwick."
CHAPTER 7
It was out before she could recall it. She hadn't intended for Doc to know that she recognized him. Not yet, anyway.
Although maybe her slip of the tongue had been subconsciously intentional. Maybe she had addressed him by name just to see how he would react. Her reporter's yen for provoking a response to an unexpected question or statement had goaded her into tossing out his name to see what his spontaneous, unrehearsed, and therefore candid reaction would be.
His spontaneous, unrehearsed, and candid reaction was telling. In sequence he looked at first astonished, then mystified, then irked. Finally, it was as though a shutter had been slammed shut over his eyes.
Tiel held his stare, her steady gaze virtually daring him to deny that he was Dr. Bradley Stanwick. Or had been in his previous life.
The telephone rang again.
"Oh, hell," Donna grumbled. "What do I tell 'em this time?"
"Let me answer." Ronnie reached for the phone. "Mr.
Galloway? No, like the lady told you, he's not dead."
Sabra had been roused by the ringing telephone. She asked to hold her baby. Tiel laid the infant in her arms.
The new mother cooed over how sweet Katherine looked now, how good she smelled.
Tiel stood up and stretched. She hadn't realized until now how taxing the final hour of labor and the birth had been. Her fatigue couldn't compare to Sabra's, of course, but she was exhausted nonetheless.
Physically exhausted, but mentally charged. She took stock of the present situation. Gladys and Vern were sitting together quietly, holding hands. They looked tired but content, as though the night's events were being enacted for their entertainment.
Donna was hugging her bony chest with her skinny arms and picking at the loose, scaly sacks of skin that passed for elbows. The taller, leaner Mexican man was focused on Ronnie and the telephone. His friend was watching the FBI agent, who showed signs of coming around.
Vern had propped Agent Cain's back against the counter with his legs and feet stretched out in front of him. His ankles were bound together with silver duct tape.
His wrists were likewise secured behind his back. His head was bowed low over his chest, but every now and then he tried to lift it, and when he did, he moaned.
"We've got him tied up," Ronnie was telling Galloway over the telephone. "We fired our guns almost at the same time, but the only one hit was Doc. No, he's okay." Ronnie glanced at Doc, who nodded in agreement. "Who's Ms.
McCoy?"
"Me," Tiel said, stepping forward.
"How come?" Ronnie gave Tiel a quizzical once-over.
"Well, I guess it's okay. How'd you know her name? Okay, hold on." As he extended the receiver to Tiel, he asked,
"Are you famous or something?"
"Not so you'd notice." She took the receiver. "Hello?"
The voice was government-issue-crisp and concise.
"Ms. McCoy, FBI Special Agent Bill Galloway."
"Hello."
"Are you in a position to speak freely?"
"Yes."
"You're under no duress?"
"No."
"What's the situation there?"
"Exactly as Ronnie described to you. Agent Cain caused a near disaster, but we were able to quell it,"
Taken aback, the senior agent was slow to respond. "I beg your pardon?"
"Sending him in here was a bad call. Miss Dendy needed an obstetric specialist, not the cavalry."
"We didn't know-"
"Well now you do. This isn't Mount Carmel or Ruby Ridge. I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job-"