“He’s a hero, you know.”
Tania glanced over her shoulder even though by now the gurney had been tucked away into the trauma bay.
“No, I didn’t know.” She smiled at the man. “So that’s what one looks like,” she murmured, playing along with the older man. She took a step back, getting out of the gurney’s way, then pointed toward another area. “Put this one in trauma bay three,” she instructed the attendants.
“Treat him well, Doctor,” Isaac called to her as he was wheeled away. “Anything he needs, I will take care of.”
“He’ll have the best of care,” she promised before she turned her attention to the last gurney. The attendant closest to her gave her the patient’s particulars. The latter looked far from happy, but it was a toss-up as to who was more disgruntled, the patient or his police escort.
The man on the last gurney struggled against his restraints. “It’s a mistake, I tell you. The old guy must’ve slipped the bag in my pocket when I was leaving his store.”
“Now why would he do that?” she asked. She’d come across all kinds in the E.R. and this was just another odd case to add to the list.
“I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to pull some insurance scam. Who knows? Do I look like a thief to you?” he demanded hotly, indicating his clothing. Tania had to admit, except for the tear in the jacket, it looked like a high-end suit. “I’m going to sue that ape in the gray suit for battery and if you don’t want to be included, you’d better uncuff me!” he growled, yanking at the handcuff that tethered him to the gurney’s railing. “You hear me?” he demanded. “I want out of here.”
“No more than we want you gone, I’m sure,” Tania replied evenly. “But we can’t have you bleeding all over the place now, can we?” she asked sweetly. Glancing at the board over the front desk to see which room had been cleared, she saw a recent erasure. “Put him in trauma bay number four.” She pointed in the general direction, since she didn’t recognize these attendants. Tania spared the third patient one last glance. “Someone’ll be along to talk to you in a minute.”
“Not soon enough for us,” one of the patrolmen complained. He shook his head wearily as he followed in his partner’s wake. “It’s the heat,” he confided to Tania as he walked by. “It makes the crazies come out.”
She smiled. “So does the rain.” Tania signaled over toward the nurses’ station. “Elaine, take the gentleman’s information in trauma bay three.”
“What about one?”
“I’ll handle that myself.”
Elaine nodded, a knowing smile on her lips. “I thought you might.” Picking up a clipboard, she walked into trauma bay three.
Armed with a fresh clipboard and the appropriate forms, Tania went to trauma room one.
The moment she walked in, she could feel the man’s restlessness. Not the patient type, she thought, amused. Well, they had that in common.
While waiting for someone to come in, Jesse had taken off his jacket in an effort not to get it any more wrinkled than it already was. He wasn’t altogether sure why he did that. There was no saving the pants and without the pants, the jacket was just an extraneous piece of clothing.
Habit was responsible for that, he supposed. Habit ingrained in him since childhood, when every dime counted and no amount was allowed to be frivolously squandered or misspent. Stretching money had been close to a religion for his parents. They’d taken a small amount and somehow managed to create a life for themselves and for him.
He twisted around when he heard someone enter the room.
And smiled when he saw who it was.
“Hi.” She extended her hand to him. “I’m Dr. Pulaski. And you are…?”
“Jesse Steele.”
Succinct, powerful. It fit him, she thought, trying not to notice how his muscles strained against his light blue shirt.
“Well, Jesse Steele, I’m afraid there’s some paperwork waiting for you at the nurses’ station, but first, let’s see the extent of your injuries.”
“It’s nothing, really,” he protested. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous and in another time and place, he would have liked to have lingered. But hospitals made him uneasy and, in any event, he definitely had somewhere else he needed to be.
“The blood on the side of your head says differently,” she replied cheerfully. With swift, competent fingers, she did her exam. “I need you to take off your watch. I think you have a cut there.”
“It’s just a scratch.”
“Potato, po-ta-to, I still have to see it.” He took off his watch and set it aside on the nearby counter, then held his wrist up for her to see. “Okay, that’s a scratch,” she asserted. “You win that round. However—” she indicated his head “—that definitely needs attending to. Which means I get to play doctor.”
She smiled brightly as she crossed toward the sink. “So—” she turned on the faucet and quickly washed her hands “—I hear that you’re a hero.”
“Not really,” he answered with a mild shrug. Heroes were people who laid their lives on the line every day. Cops, firefighters, soldiers. Not him. “I was just in the right place at the right time. Or…” His lips gave way to a hint of a smile. “Taking it from the thief’s point of view, in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Do you always do that?” she asked, looking at him as she slipped on a pair of plastic gloves. “Look at everything from both sides?”
Crossing back to him, she gingerly examined the gash at his temple more closely.
He tried not to wince. She could feel him tensing ever so slightly despite her light touch.
“Occupational habit,” he replied through clenched teeth.
Taking a cotton swab, she disinfected the wound. He took in a bracing breath. “You’re a psychiatrist? By the way, you can breathe now.”
He exhaled, then laughed at her guess. “No, I’m an architect. I’m used to looking at everything from every side,” he added before she could ask for more of an explanation.
“Never thought of it that way,” she confessed.
It was good to keep a patient distracted, especially when she was about to run a needle and suture through his scalp. The best way to do that was to keep him talking about something else.
A quick examination showed her that the bruises were superficial, but the gash at his temple was definitely going to require a few stitches.
“Well, aside from a couple of tender spots that are going to turn into blacks and blues—and purples—before the end of the day,” she warned him, “you do have a gash on your right temple. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a couple of stitches.” He looked as if he was going to demur, so she quickly added, “But don’t worry, they won’t be noticeable. You’ll be just as handsome as ever once it heals.”
“I don’t need stitches, it’s just a cut.” He shrugged it off. “So, I guess that’s it,” he said, beginning to get off the examination table.
She put her hands on his upper torso to keep him from going any farther. For a little thing, he noted, she possessed an awful lot of strength.
“No, it’s not a cut. That thing on the inside of your wrist is a cut. That—” she pointed to his temple “—is a full-fledged gash that needs help in closing up. That’s where I come in,” she added cheerfully. “You’re not worried about a little needle, are you?”
“No, I’m worried about a big meeting.” He blew out a breath, annoyed now. If he’d stayed in the taxi, he wouldn’t have gotten into this altercation.