Critical Affair Read online

  And a profound isolation.

  Emotions Michael understood only too well.

  But he had said nothing to Gary. The young man wouldn’t have heard anything he had to say. Gary simply needed someone to listen to him today. Michael had listened.

  And then he had given orders that Gary’s bed be moved out of isolation and into the room where Leon, a twenty-one-year-old with osteogenic sarcoma, was recuperating after having the bottom half of his left leg amputated.

  Leon was also at the point where he hated all well people and was ready to take out his anger on anyone who came within hearing range. But Michael saw the anger of both young men for what it was—a desire for change. They were fighting back.

  Adapting to their new realities and healing their torn emotions would take more than time, however. It would take connection with someone who understood. They could help each other in a way he could not.

  After finishing his case notes, Michael turned off his computer, stretching to get the kinks out of his shoulders and back. The workout at the gym was going to feel good tonight. Saturday was always his favorite time—no competition for the weight machines or overcrowding in the steam room.

  Out in the hallway, he was about to press the elevator button when Hazel, the senior nurse on the ward, scurried over. “They need a psych consult in the E.R., Dr. Temple. Can you take it?”

  Hazel knew when his shift had ended. He also knew that she wouldn’t be making the request if there were anyone else available.

  “Who’s the E.R. doctor?” Michael asked.

  “Brad Winslow.”

  Michael nodded as he headed toward the stairs, always the quickest route down to the E.R. As he exited onto the floor, he found himself in the midst of a barely controlled frenzy.

  A few nights before he’d been called down to the E.R. to evaluate a patient and had faced a similar situation. The emergency team’s resources were taxed to the hilt because of the casualties caused by the dense fog.

  Motorists refused to listen to the advisories being broadcast over the radio and TV about the reduced visibility. Slowing down wasn’t something that came easily to drivers in Southern California. And they were paying for their folly.

  Every trauma room was full, all curtains closed around examining areas. Patients lay on gurneys in the hallways. Even the waiting room was overflowing. Triage nurses scurried from patient to patient, taking vital signs, assessing injuries in order to prioritize the most serious.

  The harried clerk at the desk had a telephone to his ear while trying to simultaneously answer questions being shot at him by two anxious family members on the conditions of their loved ones.

  Michael located Brad in exam room 4. He slipped inside and stood at the door while the E.R. doctor worked on a young man with a knife wound to the stomach.

  All the ravages Mother Nature could unleash still paled next to the damage human beings inflicted on one another.

  “You called for a psych consult?” Michael asked as soon as the patient’s bleeding had been controlled.

  Brad didn’t turn from his task. “Thanks for coming down, Michael. I haven’t had time to start a chart on her. She’s in the doctor’s lounge. Only secluded place we had to put her.”

  “What happened?” Michael asked.

  “Technically, she assaulted an E.R. patient.”

  Which meant that according to hospital policy, she had to be seen within one hour of being placed in seclusion.

  “How’s the patient?” Michael asked.

  “Concussion but stable. He’ll be spending the night with us in a bed upstairs.”

  The doors burst open behind Michael and a nurse’s head appeared. “Dr. Winslow, we have a car accident victim who’s gone into cardiac arrest.”

  Brad quickly finished with the patient in front of him, barking orders that he be taken up to the O.R. Twisting around, he ripped off his bloodied gloves and smock and raced after the disappearing nurse.

  “Frank Keller witnessed the assault,” Brad called over his shoulder to Michael. “He’s in the waiting room.”

  Brad was out the door to attend to the new emergency before Michael could even ask him the name of the psych patient.

  Back at the admissions desk, Michael noted that the beleaguered clerk was still tied up on the phone and being harassed by patients and family alike. Helping himself to a clipboard and fresh patient chart from behind the counter, Michael stepped into the waiting room.

  “Frank Keller?”

  A fiftyish man leaned away from the wall and headed toward him. Michael introduced himself. Since there was no place to talk privately in the crowded and noisy corridors, Michael beckoned his witness toward the exit.

  Once they were outside, the din of humanity subsided. The evening was moist and pitch-black with fog. They made for a bench at the corner of the building, away from the flow of foot traffic and yet still within the lighted perimeter.

  As they sat side by side, Michael studied his companion.

  Keller had carefully clipped nails and wore a suit and dress shoes, all currently soiled. He’d washed his hands and face within the past few minutes. The smell of the antiseptic soap used in the hospital’s rest rooms was unmistakable.

  But there was a dirt smudge on his neck that he’d missed, and his fingers quivered slightly as he picked at encrusted debris on his trousers. The man was holding together, but something had shaken him.

  “What happened tonight, Mr. Keller?”

  Keller took a deep breath before he began. “I’m the manager at the Grand Hotel. About an hour ago, a private airplane crashed into our second floor ballroom, tore it to pieces. The pilot was gone before I got to him.”

  He paused, rubbed his eyes as though trying to rub away the image. “I guess I should be thankful that it was just the three of them in there. Thirty minutes later and the place would have been filled with lawyers.”

  Michael watched as the imagined nightmare of that scenario played through the man’s mind, etching deep lines into his face.

  “The three of them?” Michael prompted, to get Keller’s attention back on track.

  “Russell and Jennifer had just booked the ballroom for their wedding reception. Her friend, Gina, was with them. I was in my office, working on their menu, when it happened.”

  His hand gesture was one of irritation. “These last-minute things are always a pain. When he was fitting me for a crown last week, I warned Russell that he’d never pull off a decent wedding in a month’s time. But he told me he’d waited too long for Jennifer to say yes to put up with any more delay.”

  “You said he was fitting you for a crown?” Michael asked.

  “Russell’s my dentist.”

  “I see. Please go on.”

  “They were still in the ballroom looking things over when the plane flew in and took out the west wall and every window facing the sea. The noise was deafening. My staff lit out the front door like the devil was after them. I probably would have followed if I hadn’t seen Jennifer. She was amazing—ran straight into the wreckage to be by his side, despite the danger to herself from the broken glass and fallen rubble.”

  “By his side, you mean…?”

  “Russell. Jennifer wasn’t hurt. But Russell was knocked unconscious, and Gina got struck by a piece of glass. Paramedics said that the first aid Jennifer administered to her friend saved the woman from bleeding to death. Last thing I ever imagined was her losing it.”

  “How did she lose it?”

  “Gina was treated and sent up to a hospital bed. The E.R. doctor who had been working on Russell came out to tell us that he was awake and expected to completely recover. Jennifer was so relieved. I saw her face. I know that’s how she felt.”

  Keller flashed Michael a look as though he expected disagreement.

  Michael gave Keller a noncommittal smile and a nod, both to show acceptance of the man’s message and to urge him to continue his story.

  “The treatment room was needed f
or another emergency, so they rolled Russell into the hallway to wait for an available hospital bed,” Keller continued. “That’s where I left him and Jennifer while I made the calls.”

  “Which calls?”

  “Jennifer had gotten hold of Gina’s parents, but hadn’t been able to reach any of Russell’s relatives. Russell gave us his father’s cell phone number and his sister’s. I told Jennifer I’d make the calls so she could remain with her fiancé. I had to let the hotel owners know about Russell’s status, anyway. Even though this accident was clearly not the fault of the hotel, one can never assume that someone won’t sue. Not that the owners are only concerned about…I mean, they were genuinely happy to know that Russell and Gina were going to be all right.”

  “I understand, Mr. Keller. Dr. Winslow told me that you were a witness to the assault?” he prodded, hoping to get the man back to the point.

  Keller nodded. “After notifying Russell’s relations and the hotel owners, I returned to the hallway where Russell still lay on the gurney. That’s when I saw Jennifer dump a full pitcher of ice water all over his…crotch.”

  The hotel manager paused as he made an unconscious, protective movement toward that part of his anatomy.

  “What happened then?” Michael asked.

  “Russell howled, then started cursing. An orderly rushed over at the same time that the E.R. doctor poked his head out of the trauma room to see what was going on.”

  Keller paused again, shook his head. “The doctor saw the way Russell was clutching himself, did a quick examination, got some dry towels to, uh…wrap things. But when he asked what had happened, neither Russell nor Jennifer would say a word.”

  “So you told the doctor what you saw,” Michael guessed.

  “Wouldn’t have if I’d been thinking straight. Wasn’t really any of my business. But I was so shocked, and after everything that had happened…Anyway, I could tell by the way Russell glared at me afterward that he was really angry I hadn’t kept quiet. Damn.”

  Keller stared at his hands as though he wanted to wash them again.

  “Are you worried about repercussions?” Michael asked.

  The man’s frown deepened. “Never a good idea to piss off a guy who could be putting a drill in your mouth next week.”

  “What happened then?”

  “A nurse came over to say that a bed in one of the wards upstairs had become available. She rolled Russell away. The E.R. doctor asked the orderly to escort Jennifer to the physician’s lounge. I don’t know why. Russell’s going to be all right. It’s not like he’s going to press charges or anything.”

  “It’s routine hospital policy,” Michael explained.

  “I hope you can find out what the hell happened. They seemed like such a perfect couple when they came into the hotel tonight. And she was so gentle with him when he lay unconscious in the wreckage. This definitely isn’t like her.”

  “Have you known her long, Mr. Keller?”

  “I only met Jennifer this evening. But after watching her on TV for the past year, I feel like we’re old friends. She comes across so…well, honest and down-to-earth. Her weather reports are some of the best stuff on the tube.”

  Michael stared at Keller through several heartbeats as the man’s words registered. “Are you talking about Jennifer Winn?”

  “Yes, of course. Didn’t the E.R. doctor tell you who she was?”

  Michael mumbled a quick thank-you to Keller before hurrying back into the hospital. He dove through the mass of humanity toward the doctor’s lounge.

  A grim-faced orderly guarded the entry, legs apart, arms akimbo. Michael told him to go back to the floor, and yanked open the door.

  She was alone, standing at the back of the room, staring at the wall—a slim silhouette in a dark blue sweater and slacks. Her face was a profile of soft, familiar curves. Her golden-brown hair fell in a tangled tumble to the middle of her back.

  Michael wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she was even lovelier in person than he remembered. For several seconds he simply stood there, trying to steady himself emotionally.

  “Hello, Jennifer,” he said finally, his tone friendly but carefully circumspect.

  Since the moment he’d heard her name, he’d been working to keep a lid on his feelings. With this woman more than any other, maintaining a strict professional detachment was an absolute necessity.

  But when she turned toward him and he saw the tears in her eyes, his resolve unraveled.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JENNIFER RECOGNIZED Michael’s voice instantly.

  She told herself she was wrong. This had to be a trick of the senses, brought about by the disorienting events of the evening.

  But when she turned, his solid frame spanned the doorway. The same rich brown hair she remembered. The same blue eyes, warm as a sunlit sea.

  Five years peeled away and she was back in his seminar on grief at the local community college, his deep voice and gentle words spreading over her like a healing balm.

  During that six weeks, he’d made the world a good place to be again.

  And during the final sixty seconds, she’d made a complete fool of herself.

  For five years she’d thought about what she would say if she ever saw him again. She’d rehearsed a dozen lines—all sophisticated and witty, covering every conceivable circumstance. Problem was, she’d never conceived of this one.

  “It’s you,” she heard some mindless idiot say, knowing all too well that mindless idiot was her.

  His lips lifted in a half smile. “Right on the first guess.”

  Closing the door behind him, he started toward her. For one delirious second, she was back in one of those old daydreams in which he suddenly walked into a room, took her in his arms and—

  “I understand the evening has been an eventful one,” he said.

  She saw it then. The clipboard in his hand with a patient chart. Her patient chart.

  Dear heavens. He was the psychiatrist called in to evaluate her mental state. If she’d had any doubts about this being the most humiliating night of her life, they were gone.

  Jennifer lowered herself onto the nearest chair, grabbed a tissue out of her purse and dried her eyes. She was not going to cry in front of him. Not while there was even one shred of her dignity still left.

  “So, they sent in the famous Dr. Temple to evaluate the raving lunatic,” she said, trying to make her tone light.

  He took the chair next to her. “Actually, I came to see the heroine who saved a woman’s life.”

  Seconds passed before Jennifer realized that he meant her.

  “Heroine,” she repeated in disbelief.

  “True, the average man on the street might choose to call you crazy for having rushed into the wreckage of that plane crash, risking life and limb. But as a stroller down the hallowed halls of psychiatric wisdom, I can assure you that the technical term we use for such behavior is brave.”

  He smiled at her.

  Jennifer’s heart sighed. No one had ever been able to part the dark clouds of her world and let in the light like he could. God, it was good to see him again.

  The door to the lounge burst open and a harried-looking doctor sent Michael a quick nod of recognition as he sprinted to the coffee machine.

  “Let’s go someplace where we can talk,” Michael said to Jennifer, getting to his feet.

  She assumed he meant to his office. But when they left the physician’s lounge, he headed toward the admissions desk. After making some notes on the chart, he left it with the stack of others and started for the hospital exit.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink about now.”

  “A…drink?”

  “The Courage Bay Bar and Grill is right up the street. That okay with you?”

  Jennifer nodded, mute with surprise. This couldn’t be the same Dr. Temple who had turned down every invitation extended by the adult students in his night seminar
to socialize outside the classroom.

  Get a grip, Jennifer. This isn’t socializing. This is his job. You attacked someone tonight. He’s with you for one reason and one reason only. To assess whether you’re a danger to yourself and others.

  That was the depressing truth, despite his kind words to her earlier. He was going to be asking some personal questions soon. What’s more, he knew how to ask them. More than once in that grief seminar, she’d found herself telling him things she’d never meant to.

  But not tonight. She was going to keep her mouth shut. He was the last soul on earth she wanted to know about her newest romantic disaster.

  Better he think her some raving lunatic.

  The bar turned out to be packed, the function room overflowing, and there was a long wait for the dining room. A waiter suggested they try the rooftop patio. Even with the fog obliterating the view, it was crowded. They got the last table.

  Jennifer excused herself to visit the rest room so she could wash her hands and face, put on fresh makeup and brush her disheveled hair into some order. She might be resigned to the fact that he was going to think her a loony, but she didn’t want him to see her looking like one.

  You are nuts, she said to her reflection in the mirror.

  When she returned to the table, the waitress was delivering their drinks—a concoction that Michael had recommended called Flame. To Jennifer it looked like a mixture of citrus juices. When her first taste told her that there was a bracing amount of alcohol in it as well, she swallowed in welcome surprise.

  A stiff drink and a restful atmosphere to relax the lunatic. If this was the new direction psychiatry was taking, she was all for it.

  Chinese lanterns hung over the small dance floor in the center of the rooftop patio. The corner table where she and Michael sat was lit by a miniature hurricane lamp. Radiant heat drifted from the walls, taking the chill off the cocooning fog. The piano player’s slow songs and the murmur of voices from the other patrons seemed to come from very far away.

  She sipped her drink and waited for his first question, trying to prepare herself to deflect it. That would be the best she could do. Telling an outright lie—especially to him—wasn’t in her.