• 59 •

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by the side of the road after she had screwed up her knee. For training her in the martial arts—teaching her to be strong, not just tough. For telling her it was okay to be with Carre and for making her see what a big deal it was to love someone. She hadn’t been able to fi gure out a way to thank Reese for all that. And to tell her that she loved her.

Now twenty-four hours seemed like a lifetime. She hadn’t even had one minute to thank her father for always being there, even when he was pissed at her. To tell him she tried to make him proud. To tell him that she loved him. Lurching to her feet, she catapulted herself to Reese’s side and dropped to her knees.

“Don’t let him die.” She grabbed Reese’s arm. “Reese. Please—”

“Allie,” Reese said sharply without looking up. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto Nelson’s face. “Take her outside.”

“Come on, honey,” Allie said gently, grasping Bri’s shoulder. “You gotta give Reese some room.”

“I won’t get in the way,” Bri said desperately, releasing Reese’s arm. “I won’t.”

Allie squatted down next to Bri, curved her arm around her shoulders, and put her mouth close to Bri’s ear. “Come outside and call Carre. You don’t want her to hear about this from anybody except you, do you?”

Bri glanced from her father’s gray face to Allie and nodded. “Just for a minute.”

“You can come back in when fi re rescue gets him squared away.

They’ll be here in a second.”

Mutely, Bri rose and followed Allie as far as the front door, but she could not make herself go outside. Instead, she leaned in the open doorway with the bright sunlight illuminating half of her face while the other half remained in the otherworldly shadow of the squad room.

Maybe it wasn’t happening at all. Maybe it was just a bad dream. She fumbled her phone from her belt and couldn’t remember her own number.

“I’ll do it.” Allie took the phone from Bri. “She’s still at home, right?”

“I think so. What time is it?” Bri felt like she’d been clobbered with a pipe.

“Never mind, honey,” Allie murmured, brushing her fi ngers through Bri’s hair. “I’ll fi nd her.” She continued to stroke Bri’s arm

• 60 •

Winds of Fortune

while she watched what was going on inside the station. “Caroline?

It’s Allie. No…she’s fi ne. She’s right here, but Chief Parker…he’s had a heart attack or something.” Allie turned her back slightly and lowered her voice. “At the station. Not so good. Could you get over here like right now? I think I hear sirens…that must be fi re rescue.

Hurry, okay?”

❖

Tory parked her Jeep on the side of the road where she wouldn’t block the Sheriff’s Department parking lot. An emergency vehicle idled with its doors open near the front entrance. As quickly as her damaged ankle would allow, she hurried up the sidewalk. A small group of people congregated just inside the reception area—Gladys Martin, the middle-aged dispatcher who’d been with the department longer than Tory had lived in Provincetown, and several uniformed offi cers, one of whom was Allie Tremont.

“Excuse me. Excuse me, let me through please. It’s Dr. King.”

Miraculously, the crowd parted, and she pushed through the waist-high gate into the main section of the station house. Bri, her face bloodless, rocked on her heels a few feet from the epicenter of activity.

Caroline pressed close against her side with one arm encircling Bri’s waist. Closer now, Tory could make out Nelson on the fl oor between the conference table and a desk, being administered to by two paramedics.

Reese squatted nearby amidst torn IV tubing packages, discarded syringe caps, and empty IV bags. Her face was still and hard as stone, but her eyes blazed with what looked like fury. Tory wanted to go to her, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

“Hi Luther,” Tory said, bending down close to the paramedic’s shoulder. She knew all of the medical personnel for fi fty miles. Hers was the only major clinic between Provincetown and the hospital at Hyannis.

All the units brought their non-life-threatening, and sometimes even their dire, emergencies to her. “It’s Tory King. What do you have?”

“Hey Doc,” the gruff, ex-army medic said without looking up.

“MI—his anterior ST segments are fl ipped. He was friggin’ fl atlined when we got here but we jumpstarted him with intracardiac epi. His blood pressure’s for shit still. Amy is talking to the ER at Hyannis.”

Tory nodded briefl y to the small redhead who sorted drugs from

• 61 •

RADCLY fFE

the emergency box as she talked on the phone, presumably getting instructions from someone at the hospital. “Amy, tell them I’ll take over until we get him there.”

With a grateful look, the redhead relayed the message and disconnected. “Sure rather have you running the show, Tor.”

“Thanks. How’s his rhythm?”

“Jumping around—a lot of PVCs,” Luther said.

“Lidocaine drip going?”

“Just started it,” Amy replied.

Tory nodded with satisfaction. “Okay then, then let’s run MI protocol and get him ready to transport. Morphine, O2, Nitro.”

“You want us to start tPA?”

“How much time are we down?” Tory asked, faced with a critical decision and not nearly enough information. The ideal treatment for someone with a heart attack was to open the blocked vessels as quickly as possible and insert thin plastic stents to keep the arteries open. However, irreversible cardiac damage would occur quickly if this treatment was delayed for even an hour or two. If they lost too much more time on the trip to Hyannis, Nelson might have a better chance if she started intravenous drugs that would dissolve any clots blocking his coronary arteries and hopefully allow more blood to fl ow to his heart.

But tPA, as it was called, was a less reliable treatment than stenting and could have signifi cant side effects.

Everyone looked at Reese.

“Eighteen minutes.”

“Amy,” Tory snapped, “call Hyannis and tell them to get the cath lab ready—we’re bringing in an emergency angioplasty. Let’s get him loaded guys, and make sure he’s strapped in tight. I’ll ride with you.”

“I’ll take point,” Reese said, “and clear the way.”

“Good,” Tory said softly and squeezed Reese’s hand before hurrying after the paramedics.

Reese watched Tory leave, then pivoted to Bri. “You’ll ride with me.” Her eyes fl ickered from Bri’s pale, stunned face to Caroline. From the looks of Caroline, she wasn’t about to let Bri out of her sight. “Both of you.”

“I’ll call in the evening shift to cover, okay, Sheriff?” Allie asked.

“Yes. And Tremont,” Reese said as she grabbed her hat and keys,

• 62 •

Winds of Fortune

“run the shift change and get these other guys home as soon as back-up arrives.”

“Yes ma’am.” Allie glanced at Bri. “Uh, do you think when you get a break someone could call—”

“I’ll contact you with an update.” Reese clapped Bri’s shoulder briskly. “Let’s go, Offi cer. We’ve got work to do.”

Bri twitched as if she were awakening from a dream and took a long shuddering breath. Clasping Caroline’s hand tightly, she said,

“Yes ma’am. I’m ready.”

❖

“Tory’s on the phone,” Randy said as Nita stepped out of a patient exam room. “She says it’s urgent.”

“I’ll take it in the offi ce. Thanks.”

Nita scribbled a note into the chart and tossed it onto the dictation pile. Then she grabbed the phone.

“Tory? It’s Nita.” Frowning, she held the phone in one hand and fl ipped through the next patient chart on her desk with the other. “Don’t even think about leaving until the situation is stabilized.” She sighed.

“Tory, I don’t mind working another shift. That’s why I’m here…How do things look?…Damn, Okay…call me later, then. Thanks.”

Aware that Randy hovered in the doorway, Nita traded the phone for the fi le folder marked Joey Torres and joined him. After checking that the hallway was clear, she said quietly, “Tory’s fi ne.” She lowered her voice. “Nelson Parker has had an MI. Keep it quiet for now, okay?”

“Oh hell,” Randy replied. “Let me know if you hear anything?”

“I will.” Nita indicated the chart. “I’ll be in doing a wound check on Joey.”

When she entered the procedure room, it looked like an instant replay of the day before, except this time Pia had joined the party. Sally, still laughing at something, laid out clean dressings and splint material on an instrument tray. Joey sat sideways on the procedure table, his injured right hand cradled against his chest in a sling. Pia stood next to him, her hip propped against the edge of the table. The person who held Nita’s attention, however, was Deo Camara.

Today Deo wore faded blue jeans that hugged her narrow hips and a faded grey T-shirt with the sleeves torn off. The neckline was

• 63 •

RADCLY fFE

ripped down the center, and Nita thought she glimpsed the soft swell of a smooth, creamy breast. She quickly averted her gaze, but she saw that Deo was smiling in a way that said she knew exactly where Nita had been looking. Annoyance at having given Deo more than a glance and, worse, having Deo catch her at it, set her on edge. She hated that Deo could throw her off stride with just a look. Deliberately, she turned away from Deo and smiled at Joey.

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” Joey feigned a pained expression. “I think I might need three or four months off.”

Deo laughed. “Like hell. You’re not spending the summer on the beach.”

“Let’s have a look.” Nita kept her back to Deo, whose deep rich voice reminded Nita of hot summer air on a lazy August afternoon.

That wasn’t all Deo reminded her of, and that was the real problem.

Deo actually looked nothing like Sylvia, who had been the epitome of blue-eyed, blond beauty, but they shared the same seething sensuality.

And apparently, if her racing pulse were any indication, she was still susceptible to such empty charms.

With effort, Nita put Deo out of her mind and, after donning sterile gloves, carefully removed the bandages from Joey’s hand. Pia watched from nearby.

“Incisions look good,” Nita reported. “There’s anticipated swelling, but nothing out of the ordinary. Finger position indicates the tendon repairs are intact.”

“What do you think about a functional splint?” Pia asked. “I’ll keep the affected fi ngers blocked for now so there won’t be any motion, but we’ll be ready for a little bit of gentle ranging in a few days.”

“All right. Sally can get you what you need if you want to fashion the splint yourself.”

While Pia worked on the splint, Nita re-bandaged the injured fi ngers and quickly recorded a chart note. On her way out into the hall, she said, “Two weeks for suture removal.”

She was almost to her offi ce door when she felt a hand on her arm.

She slowed, knowing who it was and silently chastising herself for the sudden swell of anticipation. Slowly she turned and met Deo’s eyes, knowing what she would see. Deep set eyes, liquid and dark. So dark.

• 64 •

Winds of Fortune

She could imagine how they would look when Deo was aroused, when that sultry shimmer turned to fi re. When Sylvia orgasmed, her glacial blue eyes sharpened until Nita feared she’d bleed on their edges. Deo’s eyes…Deo’s eyes would be molten, hot enough to scorch the fl esh from her bones.

“What is it?” Nita asked, her voice sounding breathy to her own ears. It’s only chemistry. Mindless attraction. Ignore it. Haven’t you learned?

Deo was entranced by the rapid fl urry of expression on Nita’s face. Annoyance, appreciation, intensity…desire. Even though the break in Nita’s careful façade had been fl eeting, she hadn’t been wrong.

She knew what desire looked like in another woman’s eyes. What she hadn’t expected was the quick surge of heat in the pit of her stomach.

Taken off guard, she fumbled for words.

“I…uh…I wanted to thank you for taking care of Joey.”

“That’s not necessary.” Nita backed up a step, aware of her open offi ce door just a few feet away. Sanctuary awaited. Being near Deo made her feel as if she were Daniel cast into the lion’s den. Her common sense told her to fl ee, but what she really wanted to do was reach out and sink her fi ngers into the thick black hair and thrill to the power of feline muscles rippling under her fi ngertips. Lions kill, she reminded herself. “It’s my job.”

“I know.” Deo took a step closer, wondering what it would take to stir that fi re in Nita’s warily shuttered gaze again. Unused to women hiding their desire, she found the situation challenging. “How late are you working?”