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In all that time, Sophie’s modus operandi for dealing with men never changed. She was an expert at getting a man’s attention, but once she’d landed him, she threw him back. Catch and release.
Sophie had come to realize that her commitment phobia and the lighthearted, devil-may-care persona she put on for the world to see, was just flat boring. Like a hamster in a cage, she was spinning her wheels and getting nowhere with her life.
The problem was that in a small town where everyone knew everyone’s business and had very long memories, her flirtatious ways had caused her to lose many people’s respect. And that was unacceptable to her.
Sticking her earbuds in her ears, Sophie smiled to herself. She bent down to press her nose to her knees as she clasped the backs of her thighs. She’d made some real changes over the past year.
Running had become nirvana for her and for the first time she had the body she’d always wanted. These days when she got depressed, she headed for the lake trail instead of a dish of Louise’s salted caramel and pecan ice cream. Her favorite store now was the organic farmer’s market. She had stamina that she hadn’t known before, and her weekend shifts at the ER, which could run as long as eighteen hours, didn’t compromise her regular weekday workload helping Dr. Nate Barzonni with heart surgeries.
Despite all these changes, Sophie hadn’t yet gotten a handle on love. She had no earthly idea how she’d overcome her bad habits, phobias and insecurities, but this was the year she’d start trying. Her self-help podcasts promised she could make it happen. She had to think differently and then she’d be able to make the right choices. She had to trust in the universe. Believe in the laws of attraction. Be the master of her own fate. Write her own script...
Her cell phone blared with an ambulance siren alert. It could only mean the ER was calling.
Sophie halted her run before it even started. She whipped the cell out of her shorts’ pocket. “Mattuchi here.”
The excited woman’s voice on the other end said, “How fast can you get here? We have a multiple-car accident on its way in from Highway 421. Possible DOA.”
“I’m there,” Sophie shouted into the phone, already sprinting toward her car.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_bdac6da2-54f0-56a0-ab1a-099a79ad9a91)
JACK CRAWLED OUT of the rabbit hole. Or maybe it was some kind of wartime trench. Lights were flashing like mortars and bombs exploded. But this wasn’t war. He’d never been in a war, though he’d seen those kinds of movies. Maybe he was in a movie. No. Impossible. This wasn’t the drainage tunnel either, because they’d moved him out of that.
But who were “they”?
“Can you hear me, Mr. Carter?” a woman asked in the softest, most melodious caress of a voice he’d ever heard. It came to him like the peals of church bells tumbling through a mountain valley, distant yet beckoning.
It had happened. He’d died. Life was over. Pfft. Just like that. And this voice was that of the angel sent from heaven or the beyond to take him to his new life. He was struck by the utter finality of it all.
A thousand regrets fluttered across his heart. Jack never thought of himself as a family man, but the first person he pictured was his sister, Ava. He’d never see her again. Nor his brother-in-law and business partner, Barry. Would Ava be okay without her big brother Jack to watch out for her? Would Barry be able to handle the company without Jack’s guidance? And what about his niece, Kaylee? She wasn’t even a year old yet. He’d arranged for a bank account in her name to start her college fund. Ava and Barry were planning to come to Indian Lake for Katia’s wedding. Jack had hoped to talk them into moving here. Or had he already done that?
Facts tumbled into Jack’s brain like slow-falling snow. No, Ava and Barry still lived in Chicago, but Katia said she missed Ava a great deal and had investigated housing options for them, should they decide to make the move.
Now that Jack believed he was dying, he wished he’d pressed the issue more. He’d missed six months of little Kaylee’s life. Suddenly, oddly, that realization was very important to him and the loss filled him with sadness.
He also realized how vital Katia was to him. She was more than his stellar salesperson, manager and second-in-command at the office. She was a dear friend. He loved her like a sister and she took care of him like he was her brother. Katia juggled her own life—right now, she was planning a wedding and a two-week honeymoon in Italy—managed his business, grew their sales and made certain that just about everything in Jack’s world ran smoothly. How would he manage without her while she and Austin were on their honeymoon?
But if I’m dead, I won’t care. Will I?
His head was a jumble of thoughts and he was having a difficult time sorting out the present from the past. He supposed that was to be expected, considering he was dying. Or was already dead. But how did he get here?
Jack’s head felt like it was torn in two. Pain seared through his temples like a sizzling lance.
If he was dead, why was he in such agony? Think, Jack. Think.
A minute ago he was driving his car, though he couldn’t remember where he was going. Then the squeal of his brakes, the thud of the initial impact with the other car; the grind, crunch and thunder of his car being mangled. And the voices. His voice—cursing. Owen shouting and cursing even louder than Jack. And Aleah’s blood-curdling scream. Then soft whimpers. Then nothing.
Aleah. She was the reason he’d insisted on this seminar in Chicago today. Katia had hired Aleah to be an assistant. Sweet kid. Only twenty-one but with the wired kind of energy he could only get from a triple cappuccino at Cupcakes and Coffee. She didn’t know a darned thing about insurance, but she was smart and so willing to please. Jack had wanted Aleah and Owen to learn as much as they could about the business as quickly as possible. Proper information and training were key. Jack didn’t have time to teach them all he wanted them to know, and this seminar was perfectly timed for his needs.
Needs.
“...needing immediate attention,” the angel voice said. “I’m so sorry if I cause you any more pain, Mr. Carter.” Her voice brought him back to the present. “I have to clean the glass out of your eyes.”
I’m not dying.
Hospital. I’m in a hospital.
She was wiping his mouth with a warm, wet cloth. With light dabs, she sponged at his nose and he realized that the musty smell he’d thought was the drainage tunnel had been the scent of his own blood. He heard, but did not see, the plinking sound of bits of glass as she plucked them away from his face and put them in a hard plastic container.
She leaned her face close to his and he smelled mint mouthwash and a floral perfume.
“Mr. Carter? I know you’ve been through a trial. The police said they had to use the Jaws of Life to get you and the woman out of the front seat.”
Jaws of Life... Was he alive now? He thought he was dead. Floating in the stars. No. He had to be alive because he felt excruciating pain.
“Aleah,” he said, but her name came out like a choke and was indecipherable even to him.
“Mr. Carter, I’m so sorry if I’m hurting you. Am I hurting you?”
The angel’s words somersaulted over each other and didn’t make a lot of sense, and then Jack realized it wasn’t the angel, it was the fact that his brain was working on slow track. But he didn’t mind letting her voice wash over him. It took away his fears.
Impossible as it was, he clung to hope.
“I know it’s difficult to talk. Just go slow, Mr. Carter. Try to say your name. Can you do that for me?” she urged.
He wanted to please her. He didn’t know why, but he thought there might be some kind of judgment about all this. He lifted his tongue. “J-Jack.”
“Wonderful,” she breathed. “Marvelous.” She smoothed the cloth over his right eye and continued to wash it before moving on to his left. “It’s looking good. You’ll probably need some stiches over your eyebrow and along your hairline. Can you open this eye for me?”
The struggle was like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up a mountain. His eyelid barely lifted and what little he could see swam in front of him like a school of silverfish on one of his snorkel dives in the Caribbean. “I’m—not blind?”
“No.” She chuckled softly. “The blood and glass had matted them shut. I’m almost done with the other eye. I’m glad to see that no glass hurt this one.” She continued cleaning his left eye then rinsed the cloth. She used what appeared to be a long pair of tweezers to remove a tiny flake of glass from his upper lash. “You have long lashes. Good thing. They helped to capture this little rascal.”
She wore medical gloves, but he could feel her warmth as she traced her fingertip over the top of his left eyelid. “I think you should go ahead and open this eye for me now.”
Jack couldn’t believe the enormity of his task. If he opened his eye and didn’t see, what would he do? How would he cope? Would he have to have surgery? What if there was no cure?
“You’ll be just fine,” she assured him, touching his forearm and holding his hand in hers. “I’m right here.” She offered him more comfort and more confidence than he’d thought possible. He realized he was deeply afraid.
He finally managed to get his eye open, and as he looked at her he realized that in some sacred part of him, he’d hoped this was heaven, and that she might be an angel. Yet his slow and beleaguered consciousness affirmed that he was alive. As his eyes focused through swollen and bruised lids, he saw a beautiful stranger with an illuminated smile and dark eyes that promised a universe filled with hope.
“Hello, Jack,” she said with that voice he knew would haunt him for the rest of his life, even if he never saw her again.
She had a heart-shaped face; naturally, being an angel of mercy and saving lives, she would be all heart. She wore a white lab coat over maroon scrubs. Her name tag rested over her right side, heart pocket.
S. Mattuchi. RN.
“Nurse Mattuchi?” Jack mumbled, feeling a jagged pain saw through his head.
“You can call me Sophie. The doctor has ordered more tests for you. I’ve assured him your heart is stellar.” She leaned close.
Jack caught a floral scent in her dark hair as she fluffed his pillow and continued talking.
“Hearts are my specialty,” she continued. “I’m a cardiac surgical nurse, but I help out in the ER when they need me.” She pulled away and added, “I was off duty but came immediately when I got the call about you and your friends.”
Friends?
Suddenly, Jack’s mind was alert and the jumbled pieces of information in his brain fell into place. He moved his sluggish and swollen tongue. “Owen and Aleah?” He reached for Sophie’s forearm and squeezed it anxiously. “Tell me.”
“Owen is just fine. A broken collarbone and a few bruises. Aleah is being examined by the doctor right now, as is the driver of the other car. We were quite worried about you. You were unconscious and I was afraid you’d been blinded.”
“What else— I mean...” He closed his eyes and felt a scratch across his eyeballs as if they were filled with sand. Even the most minute movement was so difficult. “Please. Sophie. What else happened?”
“You have whiplash. No broken bones, but your ankle is sprained. No internal injuries. We’ll keep you overnight for observation. That concussion is dangerous. The neurosurgeon will be down later to check on you and she’ll probably order a CT scan.”
“Neurosurgeon?” Jack’s fear meter leaped to high alert.
“We have to make sure there are no blood clots or other damage. Best to cover our bases. Yours and ours.”
Jack tried to nod and failed. “Good thinking.” He paused for a moment. Words were reluctant to move from his brain to his lips. “Your insurance carrier will commend you for your prudence.”
Her expression was quizzical. “I wasn’t thinking of our liability—I only want what’s best for all our patients.”
“Don’t...take me wrong—” Jack tried to sit up but failed. He slumped back on the pillows. He groaned as he tried to touch his aching head, but when he lifted his arm he saw the IV and several butterfly bandages over a nasty gash in his forearm. A fleeting worry about scarring shot through his mind, but he dismissed it. He’d come razor-close to losing his eyesight. He was thankful that, in all likelihood, he’d walk away from this with some scars on his arm, a badly sprained ankle and a headache.
A beep went off in Sophie’s lab coat pocket. Anxiety distorted her pretty features and suddenly her entire demeanor changed. Her motions were brusque, hurried, but exact as she tore a plastic wrapper away from a disposable hypodermic needle. She dabbed gauze with alcohol and cleaned his IV site, then took the IV line, unhooked it and cleaned both ends of the plastic connections before injecting a vial of medication into his IV. “This will help with the pain,” she said, glancing into the hallway. She turned back to him. “This is your call button if you need anything. I know you must be thirsty, but we can’t let you have anything to eat or drink for a while. If you feel nauseous, you hit that button immediately. Do you understand?”
Jack nodded, disconcerted by her stern tone, and suddenly realized that the soothing melody of her voice had distracted him from what was going on in the rest of the ER. Sophie peered through Jack’s privacy curtain, and he heard what sounded like dozens of people all talking at the same time. Orders were being shouted. Someone was rattling off clipped, terse instructions. Rubber-soled shoes and sneakers pounded against the linoleum floor. Wheels of gurneys wobbled and screeched.
Though it sounded like pandemonium to Jack, an outsider, he knew these were professionals. He believed in this hospital and its very qualified staff. After all, it was only a few months ago, thanks to Katia Stanislaus’s expertise, that he and his company had landed the insurance contract for the Indian Lake Hospital. He’d met with President Emory Wills himself. Jack also knew cardiac surgeon Nate Barzonni personally. He was an excellent surgeon and could have had his pick of positions at Sloan-Kettering in New York, but being the altruistic man he was, Nate chose to divide his work between the Indian reservations up in Michigan and here in Indian Lake.
It eased Jack’s nerves to know that he, Owen and Aleah were in very capable hands.
Still, Jack wanted to talk to somebody who knew what had happened to him and his employees in the fog on Highway 421 tonight. Had he gone off the road? Had he fallen asleep? Was this his fault? What could have caused all this suffering?
Just considering that he could be responsible in the slightest degree was intolerable. Guilt flooded him like a tsunami, taking over his thoughts and causing more agony than his physical pain.
His whole life, he’d tried to do the right thing in every circumstance. From striving to live up to his marine father’s demanding and impossible expectations to taking care of his sister and mother after his father’s death. He chose insurance as a career to help others protect their lives and their possessions. Jack Carter was a guardian.
In the blink of an eye, he had placed the people in his charge in jeopardy.
Now Jack had to face his darkest hour.
Just then, the air was split again with screams of human pain that Jack would never have imagined, even in his worst nightmares. He heard a man, a young man, yelling for help. Then he screamed again with such agony, Jack thought he must be torn in two. Jack wanted to cover his ears, but even if he could have, he knew he would never forget that scream for the rest of his life. It was so terrifying it sounded inhuman.
But above it all, he heard the high-pitched wail of a young girl’s terror that turned his blood to ice.
“That’s Aleah!” Jack growled as tears burned his swollen and bruised eyes.
A voice came over the loudspeaker. “Code Blue. Code Blue. Dr. Barzonni to the ER, stat.”
Sophie glanced back at Jack with pleading eyes as she burst away from his bedside. She flung back the curtain and said, “I want to help you, but I have to go to her.”
Jack reached out his aching arm to Sophie and motioned her away. “Save her, Sophie. Save her.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_83e9ae25-d05b-5e52-a98f-3473d728e763)
SOPHIE RUSHED AROUND the nurse’s station to the ER bay on the opposite side. Bart Greyson, an RN with a decade of ER experience, had just gone in there with a stainless steel defibrillator cart.
Bart ran the ER with an iron fist and more stamina than the entire staff combined. He could pull over forty-eight hours on duty with only a half dozen, ten-minute catnaps while sitting at his computer. Bart had brains, insight and skill...and a case of Red Bull in his locker. He was a legend at Indian Lake. No one second-guessed Bart or his orders.
“You’re the first of the cardiac team here,” Bart said to Sophie as he shoved a medical chart into her hands.
“Dr. Barzonni is on call?” Sophie asked, never taking her eyes from her patient.
“I just got word he’s upstairs with an emergency surgery. We’ve paged Dr. Caldwell. I left a message at the nurse’s station, as well. I don’t know who will show up,” Bart replied with a huff of exhaustion. He stuck his hands on his hips. “Figures. It’s a full moon. It’s always an asylum here during a full moon.”
Sophie gently lifted Aleah’s eyelid and examined her. “I heard her scream but she’s unconscious,” Sophie observed.
“She was unconscious on arrival and except for that one time, she’s been unresponsive.”
Sophie turned to the defibrillator. “She’s in arrest?”
“No. Arrhythmia. The Code Blue was for the other victim. Dr. Hill had to leave Aleah and see to the John Doe. He was the driver of the other car. The cops are working on getting an ID for us.”
Sophie had worked with Dr. Eric Hill nearly every weekend since she’d begun her ER duties six months ago.
Dr. Hill was five years past his internship and residency at Cook County Hospital in Chicago. He’d told Sophie that in those five years, he felt he’d seen everything emergency medicine could throw at a person. He’d come to Indian Lake for a change of pace. Well, he’d gotten it. Unless there was a major accident like this one, most weekends in the ER were run-of-the-mill household accidents—falls or injuries with tools—and relatively minor illnesses where the patients or their parents didn’t have medical insurance.
Sophie watched Dr. Hill and three nurses work on a tall, overweight man in the next bay. He appeared to be in his late thirties. “He’s hardly got a scratch.”
“Drug overdose. Cops said he had heroin in the car with him and as the paramedics were tending to the three other victims, he shot up.”
“How are they bringing him down?”
“Paramedics gave him naloxone on site. Nasal spray was all they had. They didn’t get to him right away because he didn’t seem injured, just confused. It wasn’t until he dropped to his knees and passed out that they noticed the dilated pupils and white patches on his mouth. Once they got him here, we gave him more naloxone by injection. What a mess.” Bart shook his head but continued to work.
Sophie scanned Aleah’s reed-thin, very still body while two other members of the ER team hurried in to assist. Donna Jessup was one of Sophie’s coworkers on Dr. Caldwell’s team and worked one weekend a month in the ER. With her was Rob Seymore, a lab technician who quickly began drawing blood for the usual tests.
Aleah’s brown hair was matted to her head with glass and blood, much like Jack’s had been. She was still in her street clothes, though her blouse had been cut away and twelve electrodes had been placed on her chest.
“Donna, did you run an EKG yet?” Sophie asked.
“We had another cardiac patient just after these accident patients. It’s been bedlam, but I’m on it. I’m on it.” Donna attached the leads and turned on the EKG machine. She held the printout. “Infarction and atrial fibrillation.”
“A-fib?” Sophie circled the gurney and studied the printout. “Did Dr. Hill order an echocardiogram?”
Rob continued, “Yes. He was in the middle of examining her when the other patient started convulsing. And his heart stopped.”
