Faye Kellerman - Grievous Sin

Right, Tandy thought. She knew all about the side benefits à la Leek. Penny-ante stuff. Such mundane fools. “Not for me. But thanks for the offer.”

“Welcome. Open.”

She swallowed the puree. It tasted like gritty soup.

“Besides, my work is important, Mack. People rely on me. I just don’t get any appreciation from the people I work with.”

“Like I said, they’re jealous.”

“But my patients … I’m really important to them.”

“I can dig it.”

“The doctors don’t have the time. It all falls on the nurses.”

Mack began scraping the sides of the container. “People at the hospital ever notice how good you look?”

Tandy twitched. He didn’t understand. Talking to Mack was like talking to wood. But at least he was real. She knew that much.

“Uniforms hide a lot.”

“Uniforms hide these?”

He squeezed her breasts. She yelped with pain.

“God, don’t do that! I’m so sore.”

Gently, he began to touch her, walking his fingers over her breast tissue. But it was more medical than erotic.

“You definitely are swollen.”

“I’m really going to feel it tomorrow.”

“That’s okay. You can only tolerate pain if you have pain.”

“No more.” She pushed aside the spoon and stood. “No more. I’ve got to go to work. Did you get it?”

“Yeah. I mixed it with a little something to take the edge off. I mean, you’re still going to feel sore—gotta feel the soreness—but not like a truck ran over you. How do you want it?”

“Usual, I guess.”

She sighed and dropped on her hands and knees. She felt him pulling off her panties.

“God, you have a wonderful ass.”

“You mean a wonderful pincushion.”

She felt him kissing one of her buns, running his mitt-sized hand over her firm flesh. Mack’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman.”

“I can’t, Mack. Besides, it won’t work. You know that.”

“What a loss …” His voice was low and wolfish. “For both of us.”

Kill him.

Tandy jerked her head up, her eyes snapping open. The suddenness of her motion startled Mack.

“You all right, Tandy?”

Beads of sweat ran down her face. The low one. Or was it? Did she really hear it? Tricks upon tricks upon—

“Tandy?”

“I’m …” She took a deep breath and let out a forced laugh. “I’m … fine. Let’s get on with it. I’ve got to go.”

Gritting her teeth, she didn’t even flinch as she felt the bite of the hypodermic. She rose slowly, her muscles aching. Like an old woman, she hunched her way to the corner, pulled the uniform off the coatrack, and stepped into the white dress.

She looked in the mirror, straighted her collar, and tugged on the hemline. Her developed chest was pulling the dress upward, showing off her long, shapely legs. She flexed and pointed her toes several times, watching her calves expand and contract with each movement.

So graceful. Like a ballet dancer.

Her face had lost some of its color. She steadied her hands and pulled out blush, dabbing her cheeks with a touch of red. She dropped the compact back in her purse and pulled out a brush. Gathering her hair into a ponytail, eyes on her reflection, she knew she was beautiful. It wasn’t Mack’s fault. Mack just couldn’t help himself.

Again she straightened her posture. She was now a model of efficiency in her uniform. She knew she could inspire trust.

That was important. Trust.

She glanced at her watch.

Time to go to work.

Darlene edged the last of the layettes into its space in Nursery J, then placed her gloved hands on her hips. Her eyes traveled to the babies, ten of them—two blacks, four Hispanics, three whites, and one Asian—as varied as L.A.’s own population. Each had its own personality, even at this age, but all of them were as precious as an angel’s song.

Not that they sounded like angels. Baby Girl Rodriguez and Baby Girl Jackson were squalling up a storm. Now Baby Boy Yamata … there was a good baby. Quiet. Like his parents.

Squalling up a storm.

The expression made her smile. No one knew squalls like she knew squalls. The late November winds on the lake … a cold so bone-chilling it froze your teeth numb.

Baby Girl Decker was missing … probably still with Cindy in the back room. Darlene thought about Cindy—a real good kid. Not too many sisters were that devoted. Not a lot of devoted people, period. That’s what Darlene liked about nursing. You gave to others, actually helped them. Helped them more than the doctors, if the truth be known.

She watched the infants for a few minutes without doing anything, observing wide-open mouths and scrunched-up eyes. Baby Girl Rodriguez had cried herself lobster red, fingers balled up into tight fists as she cried to be held. Too bad Darlene had only two arms. Shame women weren’t born octopuses.

Rubbing her arms, she threw a furtive glance over her shoulder. Slowly, her hands reached toward Baby Girl Rodriguez. Teeny little thing. Darlene had cooked chickens that weighed more. But the baby was fully formed and doing well. Cute coffee-bean eyes hidden by locks of silky black hair. The baby quieted as Darlene nestled her into her bosom, patted her little back. Tiny, fragile bones. All of the babies, so small yet perfect human beings. The wonderment of new life. It never failed to amaze her.

She undid BG Rodriguez’s blanket, and the cold blast of air suddenly sent the little girl into another episode of hysterics. Quickly, the nurse took the unclad baby over to the scales.

“Now this’ll only take a minute, honey,” Darlene cooed as she slid the poise over the indicator numbers. BG Rodriguez was still a little under two kilos: She’d need at least another couple of days of hospitalization before she’d weigh enough to go home.

“Stop your bellyaching. We ain’t even at the hard part yet.”

With a firm grip, Darlene lifted the infant from the scales, placed her on the table, and rewrapped her in her blanket. The baby’s loud outbursts quieted to whimpers. On the table was a tray of instruments and a stack of charts. Placing a firm hand on the infant’s stomach, Darlene scanned through the pile until she found BG Rodriguez’s records. She flipped through the papers, looking for additional instructions or orders from the pediatrician. Finding nothing of significance, she wrote in the time and the latest weighing.

The baby was now fully awake, black eyes trying to focus, legs kicking under the covers. Darlene chucked her chin, then carefully liberated a little foot from the swaddle of the blanket.