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“I’m sure the two of you will have fun.” I waggled my brows and returned my attention to my report.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Without looking up, I answered. “It means I’m tired of you flirting with her horribly and getting nowhere. This way, you and she will be at that book drive all Saturday afternoon. Maybe you get to know her a little.”
“And here I thought dating within the same house was wrong.”
I shrugged. “I have no issue with it as long as it doesn’t interfere with your job, and Captain feels the same way.”
He was silent for a beat too long, so I peered over my shoulder. He was glaring at me.
“You think she’ll never go out with me, so you feel safe saying that.”
I burst out laughing, tossed my pen onto the papers, and faced him again. “Prove me wrong, Hastings.”
He opened his mouth to say something when my cell phone went off. A quick peek showed the pediatrician’s office.
“I gotta take this.”
“Later.”
“Hello?” I answered.
“Mr. Kooper?”
“Speaking.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Kooper. This is Dr. Perry, Jennifer, calling from Fool’s Pass Pediatrics.”
“Hi, Dr. Perry, is everything okay? I didn’t receive a call from the school saying either of my kids were hurt.” Dr. Jennifer Perry was a friend of Laura’s and while we didn’t talk a lot anymore, she was good to the kids.
“Oh, heavens no, I’m sorry. I was calling about some blood test results that came back for Milo.”
He’d had his yearly physical two days ago and because he’d turned ten, they’d wanted to do a complete blood workup on him.
“Okay, what’s going on?”
“Well, Easton, I was a little concerned by some of the counts for his platelets and white blood cells. Have you noticed or has Milo mentioned unexplained bruising, a rash that looks like small reddish pinpricks known as petechiae, or anything else abnormal?”
“No, nothing.”
“I’m hoping this is a lab error but in case it’s not, it’s best you take Milo to the emergency room. If it’s an error he will be sent home; if it’s not, he’ll be where he needs to be.”
“Jennifer.” I swallowed as my pulse thundered in my ears and sweat began to bead on my forehead.
“Yes, Easton?”
“What were the counts? How bad is it?”
“I really don’t want to?—”
“I’m asking you to tell me.”
“Very well.” She sighed, but I didn’t believe it was out of frustration with me. I knew from being a first responder that you never wanted to say anything unless you were sure you were one hundred percent correct.
“Milo’s a ten-year-old boy, and for a healthy child of his age we’d see a platelet count between three hundred thousand and four hundred and eighty thousand. His count came back at twelve hundred.”
“Oh, my God.”
