Stephanie Bond - Too Hot to Sleep

With much effort, Ken blocked out the voice of the seductive caller to take care of the tasks at hand. The stop into the pawnshop proved to be fruitful. Based on the written descriptions from the burglarized homeowner, he recovered two rings and a bracelet, along with the bad Polaroid photo of the woman who had pawned the pieces. He locked the bagged articles in the trunk of his car, then slid behind the steering wheel, suddenly looking forward to truancy duty, despite the smart mouths of the hooky-playing teens he would inevitably find walking the corridors of the mall and hanging out in the parking lot. Kids could be puzzling these days, but he had a good motivator—the memory of the cop who had routed his own behind out of an arcade twenty years ago and harassed him back into high school.

Ken eased into fast-moving traffic—drivers were always willing to let a police car merge—then turned in the direction of the mall. Out of the corner of his eye, Ken saw a small figure dart into the street directly in his path. His heart vaulted to his throat as he slammed on the brake so hard he was sure he would trigger a pileup. A sickening thunk sounded as his front left bumper made contact with a yielding body. Horns blasted all around him. Miraculously, the truck behind him stopped with no impact. Immediately Ken flipped on the blue lights, then sprang from his seat, praying every step of the way.

Fear nearly paralyzed him when he saw blood on his car and the lifeless form on the street. Two seconds later his knees weakened with relief that he hadn’t hit a child. Still, the sight of the large dog lying beneath his bumper put a stone in his stomach. His hands shook slightly as he touched the animal to see if it was alive.

It was. Although he didn’t know much about dogs, this one appeared to be a mutt. Multicolored long hair covered its body, although its face was broad and blunt. He wore no collar. When Ken stroked its back, the dog opened his eyes and whined, then tried to stand, only to collapse, emitting painful little barks.

“Sorry, boy,” he murmured, aware of a crowd gathering around. One of the dog’s legs bent at an odd angle, and he was bleeding badly from the hip. Gathering his wits, Ken looked around and spied the entrance to the County Hospital emergency room less than a half block away. Perhaps someone there could at least stop the bleeding until he could transport the dog to a veterinary clinic.

Decision made, he tied a handkerchief around the dog’s muzzle to keep him from biting in his pain, then bundled the dog into the back seat of his squad car. He covered its trembling form with a blanket from the trunk, knowing the gesture probably gave him more comfort that it gave the dog. He hoped against hope he hadn’t mortally wounded the poor pooch. Ken slid into his seat, and zeroed in on the emergency room entrance. He’d find help there.

“SEE YOU TOMORROW,” Georgia called to a co-worker as she walked toward the E.R. exit.

What a ghastly day. She removed her name badge and her pace quickened at the thought of talking to Rob. After mulling the matter for hours, she’d decided that he couldn’t have feigned his responses last night. She knew abandon when she heard it, and he’d had it in spades. He’d probably already left her a message at home.

The service door next to the stairs burst open and a tall uniformed police officer emerged carrying a small body wrapped in a blanket. “He ran in front of my car,” he said, his chest heaving. “He’s bleeding, and I think his leg is broken.”

Adrenaline and years of training took over and she bolted into action, waving him toward a triage room and yelling ahead as she jogged beside him. “We have a small victim who was struck by a car! Which room is available?”

“Three,” the clerk said, handing her a chart as she passed. People parted and Georgia looked for the attending doctor as she led the way into the empty room. “Somebody get Dr. Story,” she called before the door closed, then automatically grabbed a pair of surgical gloves from an overflowing box.

She felt a split second of sympathy for the broad-shouldered police officer who lowered his bundle gently onto the examining table. His shirt was bloodstained and his face was creased with worry that pulled at her heart. This was the basis of E.R. medicine. This was how she could make a difference in the world. She felt an instant bond with the man. He, too, was in the business of saving lives.

“Do you have the victim’s name?” she asked, stepping forward.

“No,” the officer said, then pulled back the blanket. “He wasn’t wearing a collar.”

Georgia froze as she surveyed the hairy mass. “It’s a dog.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His Southern manners aside, exasperation puffed her cheeks as the bond between them vanished with a poof. She stripped off the surgical gloves and strove to keep her voice even. “We treat people here, Officer, not animals.”

He frowned. “Can’t you make an exception?”

“Absolutely,” she said ruefully, “if I wanted to lose my job.” She stepped to the door and yelled, “Cancel the call for Dr. Story.” Turning back to the dark-haired policeman, she pulled her most professional face. “We have health codes to maintain. You, of all people, should know that.”

His dark eyebrows knitted and he adopted a wide-legged stance. “You could at least bandage the cut.”

Her heart went out to the poor dog, and she crossed her arms to keep from following her instincts to heal. She also had instincts to eat, pay rent and not default on school loans, which would be difficult to satisfy if she were fired. Even after a year, she was still considered a greenhorn in emergency medicine. Dr. Story watched her like a hawk. A flagrant violation like this one could be the end of her career at County Hospital, a stain on her record. Georgia swallowed and averted her gaze. “I’m sorry—hospital procedures. The veterinary clinic on Sixteenth Street is the closest facility.”

The officer’s anger was palpable. But instead of leaving, he turned and scanned the shelves of supplies, his big hands touching everything.

“What are you doing?”

“What you should be doing,” he growled, then yanked a roll of gauze from a box and unrolled several lengths.

She opened her mouth to protest, then realized the futility of arguing with a man twice her size, with three times the determination. Georgia hung back, but as he clumsily wrapped the gauze around the dog’s body, something…happened. Unexpected warmth and admiration expanded her chest. The man hadn’t a clue what to do, but was driven to act. However misguided, she couldn’t help but respect his zeal. When he unwound another twenty feet or so of the gauze, she shook her head. Just like a man to overdo.

“That’s enough,” she said quietly.

He glanced up, his eyes flashing, ready for battle.

“He won’t be able to breathe,” she added, then donned more gloves and found tape and scissors. With resignation that she’d probably get written up and reprimanded, if not out-and-out fired, Georgia leaned forward and finished the bandaging, then gave the animal a perfunctory examination. The dog and the cop were wide-eyed and silent, but she could feel the man’s anger had dissipated. “Officer—?”

“Medlock,” he supplied.

“Officer Medlock, my knowledge of a dog’s anatomy is limited, but it appears he does indeed have a broken leg. He might have a broken rib or two as well, but his breathing is good, so I don’t believe his lungs were punctured. There’s no blood in the mouth, nose, or ears, so if he has internal bleeding, it does not seem to be profuse. And that—” she stepped back and peeled off her gloves “—is absolutely all I can do.”