Page 4 of Lethal Attraction

Yeah, if the women in my life become really cool about a bunch of stuff quickly.

Taryn sits back, cutting her eyes at me as she crosses her arms over her chest. Her white coat bunches as she scrutinizes me. “I’m not privy to the male population, but you’re attractive, right?”

My face twists. “I guess?”

She rubs her chin as she contemplates my looks. “You could use a haircut.”

“I like my hair.”

It’s cropped with the sides faded. The top may be a little unkempt with my unforgiving work schedule, but I don’t think it looks bad.

Maybe I do need to freshen up a little?

“Maybe if you shave?” Taryn asks, squinting her eyes at me.

I rub a hand over my dark scruff, frowning at her. “Does it look bad?”

“I don’t know, dude!”

I run my hand through my hair, musing it further. “I think I'm a lost cause at this point.”

“You are,” she concurs, pointing a manicured finger at me. “Why don’t you come with Emma and me to the new bar downtown? I heard the atmosphere is nice, and I’m sure you’re bound to pick up someone.”

My features twist further at the thought of some dimly lit bar and a drunk woman hanging off my arm.

Hard pass.

“And watch you and your wife make googly eyes at each other all evening?” I chuckle, closing out my chart. “You two enjoy your night.”

She shrugs. “Invite is always open. It would be more interesting than having to explain the same shit to room two all night.”

If that isn’t the fucking truth.

I sigh as I run my hands along the bridge of my nose, preparing myself for round three with Mrs. Gertrude, an old bitty with a loud, shrill voice and the heart of a champion, who occupies our second ER suite. I’m just about to push my chair out when the code alarm chimes overhead.

“Code Grey, Code Grey, Code Grey,” the monotone recording produces from the nurse’s station. In a flurry, men and women dressed in standard blue scrubs scurry into action. Security darts through the ER automatic doors, looking around frantically for the assailant.

“Combative patient,” Taryn muses. “Those are yours. I’ll handle room two.”

I’m already in motion, grabbing my stethoscope as I intercept a nurse who’s wheeling a trauma cart into one of the open rooms. “Was there any alert from EMS?”

Wanda, an experienced nurse with grey hair pulled tightly into a bun at her nape, shakes her head as she hands the cart off. “It happened just up the road. They barely had time to stabilize the poor thing. She’s a biter.”

I blink. “You mean she’s a fighter?”

The older woman gives me a patient look. “I didn’t stutter, Dr. Bellamy.”

Fuck me.

“Okay, was anyone able to assess the damage?” I ask over the chaos ensuing in the small ER room.

Jackson, another nurse and the youngest on staff, rattles off the report. “We couldn’t get a name, but the patient is a female in her early twenties. She suffered a gunshot wound to her right shoulder and fell three stories onto the roof of a car. EMS believes her ribs are fractured and she sustained head trauma on impact.”

Jesus Christ.

What the fuck was this woman doing?

I shake myself out of my shock as I get to work. I know she’s going to need surgery to remove the bullet that’s lodged in her shoulder. She’ll also need X-rays and a CT to check for any bleeding on the brain. I order for a full exam, setting this mystery patient’s status to STAT.