Jacqueline Diamond - The Doctor + Four

“Tennessee,” Barry answered. “A town named—”

“There!” she broke in. “The blue house, third from the corner. That’s Duke’s van in front. Obviously, they’ve joined forces again.” As he eased toward the curb, she added, “Don’t stop here. They might get suspicious.”

He found a spot three houses down. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m going in alone.” She started out.

“Whoa.” Barry touched her shoulder. It felt delicate beneath his large hand, and her loose hair played across his wrist. “I’m coming, too.”

“No way. You look like a narc.”

“I’ll get rid of the jacket.” He released her. “Don’t you think I’ve earned a little trust?”

Her expression softened. “You want the truth? I’m scared to march in there by myself. But we can’t force Gina to leave, and I’m having a hard enough time winning her cooperation as it is. I have to handle this alone.”

Barry hated to think of her getting hurt. “This guy Duke seems possessive. He might turn violent.”

She bristled. “Hey, Mr. Reporter, do you have fantasies of playing the hero? Because like I told you, I prefer to handle this solo.”

Only a macho jerk would insist on running the show. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

Her appreciative smile vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “You’ve done your good deed. I’ll have an ambulance transport us to the med center, or get a cab if she refuses. Go home. I don’t want to get used to anyone watching over me.”

She exited abruptly. Her pace along the sidewalk quickened to a near run.

That was odd phrasing. I don’t want to get used to anyone watching over me. As if she feared her own weakness. Preposterous. Barry had never met a person less weak-minded than Sonya.

He supposed he ought to comply with her wishes. Drive to the hotel, throw the remainder of his belongings into a suitcase for the flight tomorrow and spend the rest of the evening writing the tale of ex-townsfolk who’d migrated to the land of overpriced cottages and Mickey Mouse.

But he suspected he’d have trouble concentrating while his thoughts lingered on a brittle woman who’d inexplicably touched his heart. A woman with a determined jut to her chin and, he suspected, heartbreak in her past.

In the rearview mirror, he watched her ascend a roofed porch. A pause, and someone admitted her. Gone. At risk, and not a darn thing he could do about it.

He decided to stick around, just in case.

The man with the dog had vanished. The shrieking kids ran out of string and slammed their way into a house. Long minutes ticked by.

Sonya didn’t emerge. She’d have to assess the situation and persuade the girl and Duke, possibly enlist the midwife’s support. Ten, fifteen minutes at least.

Barry flipped through radio stations and listened to a couple of songs. Then he found an all-news station from L.A., but it was broadcasting the same reports he’d heard earlier in the day.

This was taking too long.

Dr. Sonya Vega might put rescuing a patient above her safety, but he didn’t. A covert glance through a window ought to lay his concerns to rest. Then he’d leave peacefully, with no one the wiser.

After exiting the car, he made his way toward the house. Heavy curtains blocked the front windows, so he circled through a side yard past a couple of garbage cans.

The kitchen entrance stood ajar. Barry surmised someone had been interrupted while taking out the trash.

Nevertheless, entering without permission constituted trespassing. He’d gone to great lengths to avoid trouble in the ten years since his release, aware of how easily an ex-con could land behind bars. Both Tennessee and California had three-strikes laws, which also carries harsh penalties for a second felony, and if his presence was misunderstood, a burglary conviction would put him away for a long time.

Maybe he should mind his own business, despite the fact that retreat ran counter to his instincts. Walk away and never look back.

Then, inside the house, a woman screamed.

Standing on the porch, Sonya was relieved when Lourdes Garcia herself opened the door. It had crossed her mind, after she’d so blithely dismissed Barry, that the midwife might have moved. Or might refuse to let her in.

On the woman’s round face, relief warred with anxiety. “Doctor, please hurry!”

The long room across the front of the house resembled a makeshift infirmary. Obviously, the woman treated clients here more often than Sonya had realized.

To her right, empty couches and plastic resin chairs faced a TV set in an overstuffed living room that probably doubled as a waiting area. To her left, two cots were wedged into the dining area, where a wheeled cart held basic obstetrical equipment including medication and syringes, baby scales, plastic sheets and clean towels, and a device for reading blood pressure.

The sole patient, Gina, lay across a cot with a cold cloth on her forehead. Duke must have hidden when the bell rang, either in a hallway or via a swinging door that Sonya assumed led to the kitchen.

Mrs. Garcia gestured toward the girl. “Her blood pressure is too high. She jumps when I touch her. Must go to hospital.”

“How high’s the pressure?”

“One-forty over ninety.”

That alarmed Sonya, as did the hyperreflexivity, a sign of eclampsia. “How frequent are the contractions?”

“Four minutes.” Good. That meant delivery could still be hours away.

“Have her waters broken?” A negative response. That was good, too. “Other symptoms?”

“Headache. Also, her eyes hurt.”

“Everything’s blurry,” Gina broke in, near hysteria. “My head’s splitting. What’s wrong, Dr. Vega?”

“You have a condition related to your high blood pressure. I explained earlier that this could happen. If we don’t get you to the hospital, it could be very, very dangerous.” To Lourdes she said, “She hasn’t suffered any seizures?”

“No, no, thank the Lord.”

An angry male voice interrupted. “She’s fine.” Duke appeared in the hallway, a knife in one hand. “Deliver the baby and quit fussing.”

“She could die. I’m calling an ambulance.” Sonya took out her cell.

“Put it down!” Angry, jittery, clearly suffering from drug withdrawal, he thrust the knife toward her. It barely missed her arm.

Sonya jerked back. Unwillingly, she folded away her cell. In the throes of a drug craving, he might kill her and scarcely remember it.

“Duke, I’m scared,” Gina wailed. “My head hurts and…oh, no!” She swore mightily as a contraction hit.

Lourdes rushed to her side, giving instructions on how to breathe to distract from the pain. Sonya attached a blood-pressure cuff and took a reading.

Labor had worsened the pressure. Even in an operating room, there was a possibility the girl might suffer a stroke or other deadly complications. “You have no idea how serious her situation is.”

Duke’s lip curled. “You have no idea how serious I am, Doc.”

Sonya couldn’t stand by any longer. “If you don’t want to be involved, then leave.” Into her phone, she tapped 911. “I’m not letting my patient die to suit your ego.”

From the device, a dispatcher’s voice announced, “Police and fire emergency.”

Sonya barely had time to shout the address before the man lunged at her. Gina screamed.

Desperately, Sonya searched the medicine cart for a weapon. A cord scissors fit into her hand. Terrified, knowing the instrument was inadequate, she waved it in front of her.

In that instant, someone shoved the kitchen door outward and Duke turned in a flash. Barry! Thank God he’d come.

The thug dived forward. Barry kicked his wrist and sent the knife skittering, then tackled his opponent.