Intensive Care

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“Hello? Is someone in there?” The smell was stronger near the door, but there was no answer. Maybe he’d imagined the voice. His heart pounded as he twisted the key and pulled open the door.

Ripley Davis tumbled out at his feet, followed by a cloud of thick, choking air.

Shock poured through him, followed by panic. She wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

She looked dead.

“Christ!” When he inhaled, the reflexive cough practically tore his throat apart. Choking, he lifted her in his arms and cradled her limp body against his chest. He staggered away from the closet. Away from the poisoned air. “Dr. Davis! Ripley! Can you hear me?” The words were trapped in his burning lungs, but the pressure eased once they were in the fresher air of the outer office.

She felt light in his arms. Too light, as though the life had already drained from her.

He slammed the door shut and lowered her to the floor. He knelt beside her, as close to praying as he’d been for half a decade. Trying not to remember that his prayers had been ignored before.

“Come on, Ripley. Come on, baby, breathe!” His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone. “Come on, damn it. Breathe!”

And she did.

She took a gasping breath. Then another. Then she started to cough and struggle weakly against him. A spurt of pure relief sizzled through Cage. She was alive.

Barely.

He couldn’t even name all the emotions that flooded through him. Wasn’t even sure he wanted to. He sagged down beside her and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re okay. Just breathe. Take it nice and easy.” He soothed her with mindless words as she curled into him. “Easy now. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He felt an impotent rage build. He’d been tossing her office while she was in dire danger.

With every deadly incident, it became clearer that she needed his protection, not his suspicion.

Too soon, she tried to talk. She gasped, “Call…HazMat,” between breaths in a voice as scratchy as raw wool. “Chlorine.”

He placed the call, directing the Hazardous Materials crew to the closet and deflecting their questions with a curt, “No, I don’t know what the hell happened. Just get down here.” He glanced down at Ripley, who was curled against his chest, shaking. His heart constricted. He’d almost been too late. Again. What the hell was going on here? “Hang on. I’ll call the ER and get a gurney sent up.

Her sudden grip on his wrist was firm, though she was still shivering with reaction. “No…ER. I’ll be…fine.” She pushed off his lap and shook her head. “Not…weak in public.”

He missed the feel of her against him even as his mind registered the danger in the emotion. He faced her down, saying, “Bull. You were gassed unconscious. You’re going to the ER and no arguments.” He glared to let her know he was serious.

Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand in a vulnerable, almost childlike sweep, and said, “Thank you. I didn’t think anyone was…” She took a breath. “Thank you.” When he reached for her, she shifted away. “No. I’m fine. I can hold myself up.”

Cage dropped his hand, realizing he’d wanted the contact for himself, and knowing his brain was right in thinking she spelled danger. She was in danger, and she was dangerous. Of all the women he’d met since Heather’s death, she was the first one he was attracted to. The first one who might make him lose sight of his purpose. His vow.

His penance.

There was a commotion out in the hall as the gurney arrived on the heels of the HazMat team. Ripley was loaded onto the bed over her protests that she could walk just fine. As they wheeled her away, Cage could hear her say over the rising din in the hallway, “Nobody calls my father, understand? I don’t want anyone to know about this.”

He hesitated, knowing that meant she’d be alone. Vulnerable. Then he shook his head. She’d be surrounded by people. Nothing could hurt her in the ER.

He hoped.

“Mr. Cage, over here!” One of the HazMat guys waved.

Seeing that the big inspirators were sucking the last of the fumes out of the closet, Cage glanced in. “What have you got?”

“I’ve got a gassy closet, that’s what I’ve got.” The protective-suited figure pointed to the far corner of the little room. “A couple of bottles fell off the shelves and leaked into each other. Add drain cleaner to bleach and poof!” He spread his hands wide. “Instant chlorine gas. Luckily it was contained in this space.”

“Dr. Davis was locked in the closet at the time,” Cage said, watching the other man’s eyes widen.

“No kidding! What was she doing in here? Is she okay?”

“She’ll make it,” he replied, thinking that he had no idea what she’d been doing in the closet. Now that she was gone, and her presence wasn’t distracting him, his thoughts turned in a new direction. A less welcome, more familiar direction. Deception. What if she’d been in the closet hiding more nukes? Or removing them? He hated himself for it, but couldn’t set the suspicion aside. “Do you have a Geiger counter with you?”

“Sure.” Another suited man handed it over. “But why bother? Chlorine gas isn’t radioactive.”

No kidding. Cage didn’t bother to answer, he simply cranked on the Geiger counter and swept the room.

Nothing. Relief skittered through him, followed by a sense of shame. He’d been searching her desk while she was locked in the closet with poisonous gas. Now he was scanning the closet that had almost been her death, while she was down in the ER. Alone.

If he didn’t get his head screwed on straight and figure out whether to protect Ripley or build a case against her, he’d end up doing neither. He didn’t think he could bear another death on his conscience.

“How’d she lock herself in?” the first guy asked. “These doors unlock from the inside.”

“Not if you leave the key on the other side.” Cage fingered the metal object in his pocket. “I’m sure it was an accident.”

Three masked faces peered at him in astonishment. “What else would it be?” one asked.

Cage touched the key again, considering. Worrying. He couldn’t believe that she’d accidentally locked herself in the closet and knocked over the bottles of cleaner. But what was the alternative? A conspiracy gone awry? A plot against her? None of it made sense. He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll talk to you later. I’m going down to the ER to make sure she’s okay.”

He had a few questions for Ripley Davis. Then he was going to wait with her in the ER, whether she liked it or not.

Nobody, not even a R-ONC, deserved to stay in the hospital alone.

TWO HOURS LATER, Ripley and Cage were buzzed into Leo Gabney’s office. Her throat still stung and her eyes were an odd shade of red, but she knew Cage’s arrival had been her salvation. A few minutes more and she’d have been facing serious lung damage. Or worse.

She suppressed a shiver and took a step nearer Cage. She frowned and moved away again, knowing she couldn’t afford the weakness. He’d saved her twice in two days, and she was physically drawn to him. But that didn’t mean she could count on him. Didn’t mean she liked him.

Didn’t mean she wanted him.

He was rude. He was afraid of cancer patients. He was the RSO and she was a heartbeat away from losing her department.

And he reminded her of her father.

Besides, Cage had been sending conflicting signals ever since he’d shown up in the ER. Sometimes she had felt protected by his fierce bulk. Other times it seemed as though he thought she’d locked herself in the closet to throw off suspicion. That he thought she’d killed Ida Mae and was trying to cover it up.

He might not be able to make up his mind, Ripley thought, but she had. She didn’t need Zachary Cage to protect her. She was just fine on her own.

Except that he’s saved you twice in two days. And you liked it when he held you. Unable to deny the truth of it, Ripley ground her teeth as the Head Administrator waved them to chairs facing his ocean-sized desk.

“Dr. Davis. Mr. Cage.” Gabney sat down and grew six inches. Rumor had it his desk chair was so tall his feet didn’t hit the floor. “What’s this I hear about problems in Radiation Oncology?”

“Big problems.” Cage rose to his feet and prowled the spacious room like a jungle cat, pausing for a moment in front of the scale model of the Gabney Wing that would be built if, no, when Boston General won the ten-million-dollar grant. “Dr. Davis was attacked yesterday by a patient’s husband.”

Ripley couldn’t guess the mood behind Gabney’s pudgy face and cool gray eyes. She’d never been able to read the Head Administrator, even the day he’d called her in to tell her R-ONC was next on the downsizing list. The little man had savored the news, knowing it was an underhanded blow at her father, Howard Davis, who had been Gabney’s predecessor as Head Administrator. Now he shrugged. “The Harris case is old news, and it’s been dealt with.”

Startled, she asked, “What do you mean, ‘dealt with’?” How could Ida Mae’s death have been settled when they still didn’t know why she died?

A small smile tugged at the administrator’s lips. “We can’t have rumors that our head R-ONC killed a patient, now, can we? At least not until the award has been given out.” He sniffed and flicked his fingers to indicate that the attack had been a nuisance rather than a real threat to Ripley’s life. “The witnesses have been spoken to, and I smoothed things over with Mr. Harris personally, though we may revisit the topic in a few weeks.”

The subtext was clear. Gabney needed R-ONC intact for the vote. After that, she was expendable, and so was her department. Damn it! With no local R-ONC openings, she would either have to give in to her father’s demands or start over in a new city. A new hospital.

And what of her patients here? She feared some of them, like little Milo, would fall through the cracks and disappear. She couldn’t let that happen.

But at the same time, she couldn’t ignore Ida Mae’s death or the radioactivity in her body. Nor could she ignore Cage, who asked, “What did Mr. Harris say when you spoke to him? Yesterday, he said the voice—”