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I’d practically grown up in hospitals.
My dad was a VA doctor most of his career, so I’d visited him often, did school reports on different aspects of the hospital and had access to many people in different capacities. My favorite report was in eighth-grade science when I wrote an essay about how X-rays worked. Maybe it fascinated me because I’d already broken three bones before I turned thirteen.
And then there was Nico. My younger brother had some serious health problems as a kid that took years to diagnose as a rare but treatable bone cancer. Tess, Jack, and I took turns keeping him company when he had to go in for tests, some that required overnight stays. I usually volunteered because I have a soft spot for Nico. He’s funny and sweet and sarcastic and kind without a mean bone in his body, though sometimes his wit was a bit too sharp and not everyone appreciated his dry sense of humor. To this day, some people never knew when Nico was being sarcastic or serious.
So between dad and Nico, I knew my way around hospitals. What staff did, how they managed floors, routines, rules, and schedules. Getting information about a patient you weren’t related to was next to impossible, but visiting a patient—even in the emergency room—was a piece of cake.
At least for me.
The first part was understanding the routine of a particular emergency room. Jennifer White had been taken to Abrazo, only a few miles north on Highway 51. The paramedics would bring her in through the emergency room, and she would bypass anyone waiting in the lobby. They’d hook her up to machines, check her vitals again, draw blood, inspect her for external signs of distress or injuries. This time of day—early Sunday evening—wasn’t generally busy. With the increase in urgent care sites all over the valley, emergency rooms mostly saw the seriously injured or those experiencing a major health event like a heart attack.
It would take the triage nurse fifteen to thirty minutes to process Jennifer, and depending on how busy they were, the doctor or PA might overlap. The best time to sneak in was after the initial exam while they awaited test results.
That was the one thing that still bugged me: what had they been poisoned with? Logan Monroe wasn’t faking. Though he recovered quicker than White, his eyes had been unfocused and he appeared genuinely confused when he first regained consciousness. Still, I’d been fooled once by a bounty I nabbed before he crossed the border into Mexico. I’d Tasered him, took him down, pleased with myself that I’d found the bastard who’d molested little boys and bolted before his court date. Then he faked a heart attack and it seemed so real that I called for an ambulance and took the cuffs off.
Then he hit me.
I used my Taser on him (again), took him down (again, harder), but still remembered how my jaw had smarted almost as much as my ego.
So yes, Logan Monroe could have been faking. But I didn’t think so and I trusted my instincts, bounty mishap notwithstanding.
Angelhart Investigations had been hired to look into Jennifer White for possible corporate espionage. No way would my mother take an adultery case—she considered it beneath them.
Well, Mom, some of us have bills to pay and can’t afford to pick and choose.
Jack and Tess worked full-time for Angelhart Investigations; Lulu worked part-time. Nico, like me, had kept his old gig—he worked at the Phoenix PD crime lab. I’d been a private investigator since a year after I parted with the Army—eight years this fall. I was supposed to join Angelhart Investigations. I’d helped my mom plan, organize, set up the office and the business. Then she stabbed me in the back. My own mother.
Dammit, I didn’t want to think about all that. Jack and Tess would be here soon enough, and I needed information before they arrived. I’d share because I’d promised Jack, but I wanted the upper hand.
I tossed my backpack over my shoulder. My just-in-case bag with extra supplies like water, energy bars, phone charger, cash, Taser, personal items.
Just in case I broke down by the side of the road in 110 degree heat...
Just in case I couldn’t make it home for the night and desperately needed to brush my teeth...
Just in case I needed a prop to bypass hospital dictators...
I entered the emergency room and immediately assessed the situation. Nearly empty. Three people waiting to be seen. A nurse in the triage area taking an elderly man’s blood pressure. Another nurse filling out paperwork. The intake clerk sat behind a glass window.
Through double doors were the emergency bays, each separated by privacy curtains. They weren’t visible from the lobby. To the right of the bays, a hallway led to additional rooms, the surgery center, offices.
Jennifer White would be in an emergency bay.
The intake clerk was likely the most dictatorial in the room. She made the trains run on time, made sure insurance papers were in order, was the first line of triage. She also knew occupancy, staffing levels, and resource availability. She wouldn’t just let me walk in.
But the nurse doing paperwork at her small cubicle? That was the one.
I smiled warmly as I approached her desk. “Hi, I’m Margo. My roommate texted me from an ambulance. She was in some sort of accident—Jennifer White? She asked me to bring her a few things. I rushed over—can I just go back and give this to her?” I held up my backpack.
The nurse smiled kindly. “I just processed Ms. White’s paperwork. I think the doctor is with her right now. Let me check for you. Feel free to have a seat.”
“Thank you.” I sat down in the chair closest to the nurse so I could eavesdrop.
The nurse picked up the phone. “Hi, Don, it’s Cindy. I have Jennifer White’s roommate here with personal items. Is Dr. Patin still with her?”
Silence for a moment, then, “Okay, thanks.”
I pretended to read my phone. Cindy said, “Ma’am? She’s having bloodwork done, so it’ll be ten, fifteen minutes.”
