three.”
Julie’s heart skittered. She stared at the telephone as if it were
a rattlesnake. Please don’t let it be about Dade. God, please
let him be all right.
* * *
“Hello, Ms. McGuire speaking.”
“Lieutenant Pruchnicky here, Chicago Police. One of my men found
your business card on an accident victim, one Dade Donovan.”
Julie’s lungs constricted and she could barely breathe. She wanted
to cover her ears to block the officer’s next words, but she had to
know.
“He’s my partner. How is he?” she choked out.
“In critical condition at Northwestern Memorial. Can you contact
the family?”
“They’re out of town. It’ll take at least six hours for them to
get back. Listen, I’ll be right over.”
She threw the receiver down, not looking to see if it landed on the
cradle. Dade was hurt. He needed her.
Darting past Pam, she called back, “Cancel my appointments, and
Dade’s too. He’s in the hospital.”
The receptionist’s mouth gaped. Julie had no time to fill her in.
She had to get to Dade. She barely noticed she was riding in an
elevator as it sped to the lobby. Her legs shook, but she forced them
to move around the block to the parking garage. The process took
forever.
Her hands trembled as she turned the key in the ignition. Pulling
onto Monroe Street, she grasped the steering wheel as if it were a
lifeline.
Dade couldn’t die. He had to be all right.
The sunshiny July day mocked her concern.
* * *
Julie spied a clerk seated behind the desk at the patient’s
entrance. “Where’s critical care?”
“Fifth floor. You can take those elevators.” The woman pointed
to a bank on the right.
Julie rushed into the elevator as soon as it stopped. An excited
father, grasping his son with one hand and a stuffed giraffe with the
other, joined her.
“When’s Bobby coming home? I want to play with him,” the boy
asked.
“Maybe tonight, but he’s too small to play with yet. You’ll
have to wait until he gets bigger or you might hurt him.”
The boy nodded solemnly then turned his attention to Julie. “Do you
have a baby here, too?”
Wishing she were here for a happy occasion, Julie blinked back sudden
tears. “No, I don’t.”
The elevator stopped. The two exited on the fourth floor. At seven,
it was Julie’s turn.
With heart pounding, she rushed blindly down the still hall, past a
waiting room with a man and a woman seated on a couch.
Behind a concave desk, a nurse entered data into a computer, another
one spoke on the phone, while a third scribbled notes on a writing
pad.
“Is Dade Donovan here? How is he?”
The nurse who was writing the notes looked up. “Are you related?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. Only relatives,” she said, turning back to her
paper.
“I’m his fiancé. I have to see him.”
The nurse threw her a sharp look. Julie tried to look innocent and
sincere.
Dade would laugh when he heard what she’d said. She’d love to
hear that laugh.
“He’s in Three B,” the nurse said, relenting. “Dr.
Patterson’s with him.”
* * *
The man lying still, with the bandaged head and purple and blue face,
couldn’t be Dade. He was always busy. He’d not be caught dead
lying around like this.
At sight of the oxygen tube, the IV flowing into Dade’s arm and the
splint on the other one, an almost physical pain swelled in Julie’s
throat, threatening to choke her.
The doctor stood over the bed and shone a light into Dade’s eyes. A
machine beeped. A nurse scurried to refill the IV solution.
“Will he be all right,” Julie asked the doctor.
He turned momentarily from his patient.
“That depends. It’s been four hours since he was wheeled in and
he’s still in a coma. The longer he’s under, the heavier the risk
to his brain, heart and lungs. At this point it’s crucial he wake
up. His injuries also include a lung bruise, a broken right hand,
multiple right leg fractures and possible internal injuries. His
blood
Julie’s heart skittered. She stared at the telephone as if it were
a rattlesnake. Please don’t let it be about Dade. God, please
let him be all right.
* * *
“Hello, Ms. McGuire speaking.”
“Lieutenant Pruchnicky here, Chicago Police. One of my men found
your business card on an accident victim, one Dade Donovan.”
Julie’s lungs constricted and she could barely breathe. She wanted
to cover her ears to block the officer’s next words, but she had to
know.
“He’s my partner. How is he?” she choked out.
“In critical condition at Northwestern Memorial. Can you contact
the family?”
“They’re out of town. It’ll take at least six hours for them to
get back. Listen, I’ll be right over.”
She threw the receiver down, not looking to see if it landed on the
cradle. Dade was hurt. He needed her.
Darting past Pam, she called back, “Cancel my appointments, and
Dade’s too. He’s in the hospital.”
The receptionist’s mouth gaped. Julie had no time to fill her in.
She had to get to Dade. She barely noticed she was riding in an
elevator as it sped to the lobby. Her legs shook, but she forced them
to move around the block to the parking garage. The process took
forever.
Her hands trembled as she turned the key in the ignition. Pulling
onto Monroe Street, she grasped the steering wheel as if it were a
lifeline.
Dade couldn’t die. He had to be all right.
The sunshiny July day mocked her concern.
* * *
Julie spied a clerk seated behind the desk at the patient’s
entrance. “Where’s critical care?”
“Fifth floor. You can take those elevators.” The woman pointed
to a bank on the right.
Julie rushed into the elevator as soon as it stopped. An excited
father, grasping his son with one hand and a stuffed giraffe with the
other, joined her.
“When’s Bobby coming home? I want to play with him,” the boy
asked.
“Maybe tonight, but he’s too small to play with yet. You’ll
have to wait until he gets bigger or you might hurt him.”
The boy nodded solemnly then turned his attention to Julie. “Do you
have a baby here, too?”
Wishing she were here for a happy occasion, Julie blinked back sudden
tears. “No, I don’t.”
The elevator stopped. The two exited on the fourth floor. At seven,
it was Julie’s turn.
With heart pounding, she rushed blindly down the still hall, past a
waiting room with a man and a woman seated on a couch.
Behind a concave desk, a nurse entered data into a computer, another
one spoke on the phone, while a third scribbled notes on a writing
pad.
“Is Dade Donovan here? How is he?”
The nurse who was writing the notes looked up. “Are you related?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. Only relatives,” she said, turning back to her
paper.
“I’m his fiancé. I have to see him.”
The nurse threw her a sharp look. Julie tried to look innocent and
sincere.
Dade would laugh when he heard what she’d said. She’d love to
hear that laugh.
“He’s in Three B,” the nurse said, relenting. “Dr.
Patterson’s with him.”
* * *
The man lying still, with the bandaged head and purple and blue face,
couldn’t be Dade. He was always busy. He’d not be caught dead
lying around like this.
At sight of the oxygen tube, the IV flowing into Dade’s arm and the
splint on the other one, an almost physical pain swelled in Julie’s
throat, threatening to choke her.
The doctor stood over the bed and shone a light into Dade’s eyes. A
machine beeped. A nurse scurried to refill the IV solution.
“Will he be all right,” Julie asked the doctor.
He turned momentarily from his patient.
“That depends. It’s been four hours since he was wheeled in and
he’s still in a coma. The longer he’s under, the heavier the risk
to his brain, heart and lungs. At this point it’s crucial he wake
up. His injuries also include a lung bruise, a broken right hand,
multiple right leg fractures and possible internal injuries. His
blood
Similar Books
