THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle Page 2

  As I drag to the next room, my feet shuffling against the polished floor, I feel every single minute of the last eight hours hit me all at once. I’m not normally a Sally Sulky Pants about pulling extra hours since it means I get more money out of the deal, and yet I’m running on empty as it is, and the finish line looks to be too far away for my sneaks and blue scrubs to run much longer.

  “Hey, Doc. You look like shit.”

  I grin as I walk into Emmy’s room and give her my usual finger salute, grabbing her chart and shaking my head.

  “Thanks, kid. You always know just what to say to make my day,” I mutter, as I frown and scan the data recorded in her chart.

  Emmy is an eighteen-year-old ex-cheerleader, who saw her dreams of college cheering and all-night frat parties turn to dust the moment she passed out and took a header off the pyramid.

  The prognosis: Lupus.

  Most people who are diagnosed with it keep thinking that one day their own bodies are miraculously gonna stop attacking themselves and they’ll be cured. The disease may not kill them quickly but, as I’ve constantly been yelling at Emmy since she was told her fate, being her own enemy and trying to live her life as she once did is not going to get her anywhere but the morgue.

  Hence, her latest hospital stay. The kid has taken it into her head that alternative medicine is the way to go and, while I don’t disagree with Eastern medicine to a point, it’s not something that will heal her disease.

  The newest rage on Emmy’s list is some tea that gives her a boost and allows her to fool herself into believing she’s healthy. Until the lupus kicks her ass and she ends up back here, hanging on by a thread.

  I feel for her. I do. It must really suck to have that active lifestyle most kids take for granted ripped away and some asshole doctor telling you that the best thing you can do for yourself is rest and take things easy.

  Especially in Emmy’s case. She’s gone from head cheerleader, valedictorian, founder- of-everything-under-the-sun club, to this girl who can’t walk a mile without wanting to pass out.

  “Hey, Doc, do you think if I take it easy for the next few weeks I might make it to prom?” she asks hopefully, as I check her vitals and the IV in her arm.

  “Em, honey, we spoke about this already. Your body is raging against you at the moment and what you’re doing to it isn’t helping. If you’d have stuck to the program like I told you to, you might have had a shot at prom. As it stands right now, you’ll be lucky to have enough energy to drag on that dress before your legs turn to noodles,” I say, not giving her hopeful little face an ounce of sympathy, though I feel like shit just saying this to her.

  Have to be real though, always real, because, as it stands and at the rate she’s going, I’ll be lucky to see this girl in the next six months.

  “But I felt so great. I was so sure it would work.”

  I feel worse when her blue eyes mist over and her lips start trembling.

  See, this is why I opted to work in the morgue! At least there I’d have manageable hours and I would know what I’m getting into. Screw the chief for refusing my application.

  “And I warned you it wouldn’t, Em. Lupus is manageable with the right treatment plan, and if you follow the plan to the letter, you should be able to live a normal, productive life.”

  “Normal? You call spending nine hours minimum on my ass normal? I used to run every track event and still go to cheer practice. I was the founder of Girls for Life. We ran a charity race every third week. I was a Girl Scout mentor, and I had a boyfriend! I have nothing now,” she grates, her thin arm hitting the mattress with a sneer.

  “Honey, I understand all that. And trust me, I hate that this is what’s happened to you, but there’s no changing it either. You have this disease, and it’s not something we can just cure right now. We can manage it though. If you let us. Taking all that crap you’ve been taking and going balls for the wall is not helping. You need to rest more, and you need to stick to the treatment we’ve worked out for you. And no prom, Em! I know what goes on at prom.”

  Drinking. Sex. The list is pretty endless, and I should know since I was a wild child myself. Sans the underage sex ’cause I have soooome morals after all.

  Em sighs tiredly, and I wince as I take in the dejected slant to her shoulders.

  “Grant is going with Ashley Gates.”

  “So let the asshole. You be better and take care of yourself, honey. If the little shit couldn’t support you though this and stick by you when you needed him, well, he wasn’t worth loving anyway. You’ll find someone worthy of you, someone who will understand that you can’t do everything that he may want. Someone who will change his life to be with you. You just have to look after yourself and make sure you’re here to meet that special someone.”

  “Really?” she asks hopefully, her blue eyes taking on a sheen. “You think I could really meet someone, like, when I’m like this?”

  Lying. You’re going to hell. Do you like over-tanning and crispy skin?

  “Absolutely,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. “There’s a lid out there for every pot, as my Grammy used to say. We just have to wait for God to match us up.”

  Ssssuuuure. That why you’re currently still flying solo and naming your sex toy?

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “No sweat, kid. Now remember—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Stick to the treatment and get more rest. I hear ya. Say, do you think if I’m really good I could still go to camp? The kids will be disappointed if I don’t go, and Mom said they’re doing some surprise thing for me. Please?”

  Emmy, as popular as she always was—before her friends started looking for greener pastures and someone else to hang onto—is also one of those rare individuals who spends every summer of her life volunteering at a camp for children with disabilities.

  Telling her not to go would be like stepping on a puppy. Darn it.

  “If you come in for a workup before you leave so that I can make sure you’re okay. And, if I clear you. Deal?”

  “Deal!” she yells, fist pumping the air with a whoop.

  It doesn’t escape my notice that even that small movement has her drained, and I leave with a sinking feeling in my gut.

  God, I just don’t understand why this shit can’t happen to lowlifes instead of the good ones. It’s like the ultimate unfairness in my opinion. I may be an ass for thinking this but seriously, shove these diseases into criminals and assholes, Lord. Leave the good ones to live full, happy lives.

  “Yo, Coleman.”

  God, not him.

  I grimace and stop in my tracks, as Bates comes running my way, his too-smooth, too-good-looking face coming into view as he stops in front of me and grins like the cat who just pounced on the canary.

  “What?”

  “So a bunch of us are going out to Eazy’s later—”

  “No, thanks.”

  “What? Wait, you haven’t even heard the best part of it yet, lady. We’re forming two teams to hit the darts competition. The pot is standing at two grand. Come on, Coleman. Hinckley told us you’re a pro dart player. Have a heart. Scrubs against Coats,” he cajoles.

  I’d really rather die than spend my Tuesday night with this creep but, heck, I could use some extra money to buy a new washer.

  “What’s the split?” I ask, moving back a little to avoid getting his cooties all over me.

  Bates grins, giving me his megawatt smile and the come-hither eyes I would gouge out before falling for.

  “Four-way split if Coats win. That’s five-hundred a piece. You in?”

  “Fine. But you’re buying the first round, and if you try to cop a feel of my ass again, I’ll shove a dart in your eye.”

  “Duuude. I don’t flirt with lesbians,” he crows before striding off, no doubt to go screw another scrub.

  Lesbian? I’d be insulted, I would, but I’m totally okay with the title, as long as the idiots working with me stay away from me.

  Another hour
passes without mishap. I’m going strong as the six-hour mark just passes when Sheila comes hustling my way, looking harried.

  “Oh my God, I am so glad you’re still here! I have to run. My son fell at school and they think he broke something. Please, please, please, tell me you can cover my rounds for me,” she huffs, her plump face an attractive shade of pink that complements her frizzy carrot top.

  She’s my pal, okay? I can call her a ginger without being an asshole. Most days, anyway.

  I’m dragging ass though, that second wind having disappeared at the mention of yet one more to-do. I still have charts, ten patients to look in on, Bisbee’s rounds to complete, and now this?

  Jesus. I’m not gonna make it.

  “Sure. What’s another hour or two?” I mumble, cringing when she gives me a sloppy kiss and hug before running for the elevator.

  “Thanks, Coleman. I owe you one!”

  “Three! You still owe me three!”

  Which I will never collect on because I pity the poor asshole for even having kids when we all know that doctors need only one thing to make their lives liveable: More sleep, not less.

  “Love ya!”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, as I grab her charts from the nurse’s station and start making her rounds. My life blows, yes?

  It’s coming up on done by the time I finish my list of to-dos and shuffle my sneakers down the hallway to the last patient of the day, one Belinda Kerns, a socialite I vaguely remember from one of the scandal sheets I read months ago.

  According to the paper, she spent three months in a rehab center being monitored because the married man she was boffing, a local politician or something, refused to leave his wife for her.

  Call me jaded, but if a man is willing to break the bonds of marriage to screw you, you better believe whatever is coming out of his trap is lies. And more lies.

  Whatever. I’m just glad this chick is in a coma after being in a head-on collision with a truck because no-way, no-how could I have a meaningful chat with her while thinking of her the way I do.

  I’m just turning into the room, rubbing at my bleary eyes as I scan her chart, when I look up to see a figure fiddling with her machines.

  “Hey!”

  Stupid move on my part and I know it, even as I bark at him to stop him from pulling the plug on her respirator. What happens next can only be called my own doing because, yeah, I fully admit to being stupid as a result of sleep deprivation.

  The man, I can’t see his face thanks to the lack of light in the room, whirls around and charges at me full steam. I open my mouth to scream anything, as he jumps my way, brings up his fist, and ploughs it into my cheek with enough force to knock me head-first into the wall.

  The impact is stark, harsh, and painful as I fly back, and I have one of those weird slow-mo moments, where I see and feel everything as if it’s all a dream.

  I fly back, literally, since my body goes airborne and my feet leave the ground. I catch a peek at his face just before my skull crashes into the wall behind me.

  Lights out.

  ***

  “Her vitals are steady. Look, she’s coming around. Doc? Coleman? You okay?”

  “Shit! Of course she’s not okay, asshole! Some animal attacked her. Look at her freaking face. I think she’s gonna need stitches.”

  I recognize those voices and groan when I blink one eye open to see Fineass Bates staring down at me with a concerned expression, Number Two so close I can see the unnatural amount of eye liner rimming her green eyes.

  “Kerns?”

  “She’s fine. Nurse Yards got her respirator back on in the nick of time when she heard you yell. You okay, Coleman? What the heck happened here?”

  I don’t exactly know. My head is damn-near pounding with the force of a jack hammer, and my wrist feels like someone drove a truck over the bastard. Repeatedly.

  “Someone, I think, someone was trying to unplug Kerns,” I mumble, blinking rapidly to stay conscious as my vision starts blurring and winking again.

  “No shit. You get a look at him? The cops should be here soon, and I know they’re gonna want to talk to you, seeing as she’s a high-profiler.”

  When Bates goes to help me up, I don’t even complain or make rude comments about his filthy mitts, or what he’s been touching lately. And I definitely want to cry my thanks when my knees buckle and he catches me, swinging me into his muscular chest. Dammit, now I get what the nurses see in the man. Meeeeeowza, he’s built, and, goddamn, he smells nice.

  “I’m gonna get her checked out and order a CT, Yards. Tell the chief and the cops when they get here…and get some security on Kerns’ door, would ya.”

  “You betcha.”

  I hate being a patient, and I hate even more having to be grateful to slutty Fineass. But I am damn grateful to the ass when he helps me through the scans. Dammit, I hate the cloying sent of fear that comes from my skin when they put me into the drum. Claustrophobic.

  By the end of the half-hour ordeal, I’m stitched, in a bed, and only slightly concussed, when the chief and two detectives come hustling into the room, their faces serious and harsh as they take in the massive shiner to my right eye and the cast on my left wrist.

  “Coleman.”

  “Chief,” I mumble, swallowing nausea when one of the detectives takes my hand and introduces himself and his partner.

  “We’re really sorry, ma’am. I told my chief that Kerns needed round the clock security, but we’ve been short staffed ourselves.”

  “Tell me about. I’ve been pulling sixteens for the last three weeks myself, Detective.”

  “Yeah. Been there too, lately, Doctor Coleman. Nothing cranks my switch more than seeing someone as dedicated as you are being hurt on the job. I’m sorry about this and sorrier to have to do this to you right now, but is there any chance you can ID the man who did this to you?”

  I snort and manage a little head shake that sets my head to pounding again, as the other detective comes in closer and sits at the foot of my bed.

  “I remember little bits. Some of it’s spotty though. I know I saw his face. I remember seeing his face, but it’s just a blank every time I try to picture him.”

  Chief Jakes shakes his head and sighs. “She’s concussed and seems to be suffering from—”

  “Yeah, yeah, Chief. I’m a doctor too, ya know,” I mutter, rubbing at my aching head.

  The man blushes and chuckles at my snipe. “Sorry, Coleman. It’s hard to see you as a doctor while you’re wearing a johnnie.”

  “Anyway. This is real important, Miss Coleman. See, Miss Kerns was coming in to see the DA just before she had her accident. We strongly suspect that someone tampered with her brake line—”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah, shit. Someone didn’t want her talking to the DA. And from what we’ve gathered from the security footage…whoever it was that tried to unplug her was skilled enough to get in here undetected and take out the footage before he left.”

  “You mean, you can’t identify him without me?” I ask, groaning at the pain shooting though me.

  Christ. That man must have been a fucking linebacker or something, with the way I feel right now.

  “Nope. You’re currently our star witness, ma’am.”

  Hell.

  “I, I mean, maybe I’ll start remembering once the concussion is gone? I don’t know.”

  This scares me. A lot. Because it means that if someone is gung-ho enough to tamper with brakes and then come in here to try and finish off the job—

  “He saw me. He looked right at me.” I shiver, chills racing down my spine.

  Both detectives, who I swear I will know the names of once my head doesn’t feel like a split melon, exchange a look before turning back to me.

  “We suspect that the man after Miss Kerns works for her ex-lover.”

  “The mayor’s chief of staff?” I breathe.

  Oh hell. If some hotshot bigwig is trying to get rid of a woman whose made the sca
ndal pages on a consistent basis, what the hell will he do to me to stop me from identifying him?

  “We suspect. Far as we can tell, she knew something and was willing to testify at his fraud trial next month. Ma’am, we don’t mean to scare you, but this is really serious.”

  You don’t say! Me, a small town doctor, who has no one to miss her, just got caught up in the scandal of the year. Shit! How the hell am I going to go home to an empty apartment when this guy is trying, in his own inept way, to make me see that I may be in danger…?

  “So, what? You think he’ll come after me to eliminate a witness?”

  “We don’t know. Just, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to hire someone to keep an eye on you.”

  “Huh. I’m an impoverished doctor who hand washes her scrubs since my washer gave up the ghost and crapped out on me.”

  “Put a police guard on her or something!”

  Thanks, Chief. Did you not just hear the poor man say they’re understaffed?

  “Can’t. We don’t have the manpower for this.”

  “Bullshit. She was just attacked in her place of work by someone who has made a previous attempt on a star witness. Call the DA and get him to okay this,” the chief barks, his ruddy cheeks going blood red with indignation.

  I see them wince and feel for them since I’ve been at the receiving end of Jakes’ displeasure myself. The man is stern enough to have the freaking president jumping through hoops.

  “Look, don’t worry about this. You’ll be here another day at least, what with the chief insisting you stay for observation. I have a buddy I can call and pull a favor. I’ll make sure you’re safe, Miss Coleman.”

  Snort. The man looks like he hasn’t slept in days, worse than even I look right now. And he’s willing to go the extra mile?

  Someone call the freaking Herald. I think I may have just found the one cop alive who actually cares.

  “Thanks, Detective. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine. The guy got a glimpse, at best. You should worry more about Kerns anyway.”

  Yeah, because I am so ninja-fit anyone would be an ass to tangle with me?

  See, Lord, this is why I never wanted to be kind and decent! Just look where I’m at now. Ginger Sheila would have probably kicked that villain’s ass if she’d been on her rounds instead of me.