Kate James - When Love Matters Most

She narrowed her eyes and he realized he must have been scowling. “Are you qualified to deal with trauma?” he blurted out, to reestablish focus on Zeke and his care. Stupid question, he chastised himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but there was no taking them back.

The V that had formed between her brows deepened. Her curt “Of course” sounded haughty, and made him angry for some reason...probably at himself, if he was honest. During the drive to the clinic, his feelings of guilt had extended from Jeff to Zeke, and that hadn’t helped his disposition. He was desperate for them both to pull through.

Then the veterinarian was all business. She asked him to explain what had happened and began her examination.

When she manipulated Zeke’s leg and the dog yelped, Rick’s angst spewed forth. “You’re hurting him,” he accused.

She looked aggravated. “I’m trying to diagnose him.”

“Well, can’t you give him an anesthetic or something to ease the pain?” He couldn’t stand to see the dog suffer. “You...”

The door opening interrupted Rick, and one of the techs rushed in.

Ignoring Rick, the veterinarian spoke to the tech. “Oh, good, Sean. Can you please hold Zeke still and try to keep him calm while I finish my examination?”

“Sure,” Sean replied, and moved into position beside the examination table.

When Zeke whimpered again, Rick threw his hands up. “You can’t let him suffer like this! Can’t you just...”

“I have to determine the extent of his injuries before I can sedate him,” she cut in. “I need you to stay quiet and let me do my job.”

“But...”

“Sean,” Madison interrupted and addressed the tech with a voice that brooked no argument. Her gaze, steady and angry, rose to meet Rick’s. “Since the officer is being a distraction, please escort him out so he can wait in the reception area and we can do our best for his dog.” As she lowered her eyes to Zeke, her expression softened and her whole demeanor changed. “We don’t have time to waste quarreling.”

Rick was about to object, insist that he had to stay. He needed to know what was happening with Zeke. When he felt Sean’s hand on his arm, he wanted to argue or resist, but realized it wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Zeke. It would only take valuable time and energy away from his care. Whether Rick liked it or not, this doctor was Zeke’s only chance, and antagonizing her would do no good. He didn’t bother to correct her that he was a sergeant or that Zeke wasn’t his dog. Both facts were irrelevant.

He shrugged off Sean’s grasp. “I can manage on my own,” he grumbled, and left the room, with Sean closing the door none too gently behind him.

Rick moved restlessly about the waiting area, occasionally stopping to stare out the window. He worried about Jeff. He worried about Zeke. He fumed at the way the bust had fallen apart, and berated himself for not having been there to begin with. The guilt, anger and worry were an ugly maelstrom in his gut.

He called his parents to tell them he was okay. He knew they’d be worried because they would’ve heard the news by now. He called his sister, Sophie, as well, since she’d left him a couple of frantic messages. He assured her, too, and asked that she call their brother, Daniel. Rick phoned Logan next to get another update on Jeff’s condition and the state of the investigation.

Jeff was out of surgery, but the doctors still couldn’t give any guarantees that he’d make it. They’d done all they could for him, Logan reported, but Jeff had lost too much blood, and the internal damage had been extensive. There were no developments with respect to the investigation. All they knew of the shooter at this point was that he was probably Mexican.

Rick couldn’t believe how what should’ve been a straightforward bust had gone so wrong. They’d received a tip, as they often did. It wasn’t from one of their usual confidential informants, although they’d dealt with this CI in the past. Nothing major, but enough to establish a degree of credibility. With the time frame so short, they’d never properly validated the tip.

Would he have taken any additional precautionary measures if he’d been called in? In retrospect, he felt that an abandoned vehicle would have been a yellow if not a red flag for him, but would he have thought so in the moment? Or would he have been so anxious to get the bust that he would’ve done exactly the same thing they had? He let out a string of expletives as he spun away from the window.

And nearly bumped into Andrea or Angela or whatever the part-time receptionist’s name was. He hadn’t realized she’d approached him.

“Um, would you like some coffee or water...while you wait?” she asked.

Her eyes were round, and she linked and relinked her fingers in front of her. Rick exhaled heavily. It wasn’t like him to take his feelings out on other people. It was also rare that his temper got the best of him. He sighed and smoothed the harsh edge to his voice. “I’m sorry. Yeah, a coffee would be good. Thanks.”

When she left to get it for him, he stared at the closed door to the exam room. Why was it taking so long?

His cell phone rang, and he answered it.

Jeff had gone into cardiac arrest.

CHAPTER TWO

MADISON HELPED SEAN wheel the gurney on which the sedated dog was lying to the clinic’s recovery area. Once Zeke was settled and she’d given Sean strict instructions for his care, she washed up the best she could. She was a mess; it had taken nearly two hours, but she was optimistic that Zeke would be fine. That was worth anything to her. Fortunately, the injury wasn’t as bad as she’d first suspected. The bullet must have just grazed him, and the damage was limited to the muscle and nerves in his right rear leg. An artery had been nicked, accounting for the significant blood loss, but his handler had been smart and acted quickly to stanch the flow. He’d likely saved the dog’s life.

With some rehab therapy, Zeke would recover, as long as he didn’t develop an infection. That was always a risk in cases like this, and she’d watch for it. She’d have to talk to the dog’s handler, though—Rick, Angela had told her—and strongly urge him to consider retiring Zeke. The dog might only be six years old, but he shouldn’t work again. With any luck, he’d enjoy eight or nine more years of just being a dog. However unpleasant the handler had been, it was clear he cared about his dog, so she figured it would be an easy sell.

Madison stripped off her soiled lab coat and stuffed it in a hamper. She thought about the groundbreaking platelet-rich plasma research she was part of at the San Diego Animal Rehabilitation Center. Zeke could be a candidate for a trial because of his muscle and possible nerve injury. But she was getting ahead of herself in her enthusiasm for the early success of her research. Whether platelet-rich plasma therapy was right for Zeke or not, she’d see to his rehab. If not through PRP, then definitely through aqua therapy.

She washed and dried her hands, then took a deep breath. She didn’t relish facing the truculent cop, but at least she had encouraging news for him. She didn’t want to consider what his reaction might have been otherwise. Was it just her personal experience, or did great-looking guys always have attitudes or tempers that were off the charts? This cop certainly proved her theory.

The cop in question was standing by the window when she entered the reception area. He had one hand jammed in the pocket of his pants and was holding a Styrofoam cup in the other. There were no other clients waiting. Fortunate, she mused, because if the strained look on Angela’s face was any indication, the cop’s disposition hadn’t improved.