Too hot to sleep Page 3

  “Sure.”

  After letting the admissions clerk know she’d be away for ten minutes, Georgia wrote “break” beside her name on a dry eraser board. “How are things in the nursery?”

  Toni looked heavenward. “Please tell me what possessed me to transfer up to the fourth floor.”

  “You love babies, and you have the hots for the new head of obstetrics.”

  Her friend frowned. “Oh, yeah.”

  “And how’s that little ploy going, by the way?”

  “Well, he calls me ‘Terri.’”

  “Oh.” Georgia hid her smile and led the way into the staff vending room. Two med students sat at a corner table, one studying, one asleep sitting up.

  Toni threw up her hands. “My question is, how did the man get through anatomy if he can’t remember names?”

  Georgia poured them both a paper cup of coffee, then handed Toni a packet of sugar. “He’ll come around.”

  “I hope so. I was planning to have snared a doctor by now. No offense, Georgia—I’m not as enamored with the nursing profession as you are. I’m here to get a husband. A rich husband with talented hands.”

  Georgia laughed. “Liar. You’re a good nurse, Toni. By the way, how was Stacey feeling this morning?”

  “Not so good, but she’ll recover.” After glancing at the med students, she leaned forward. “So I’m dying here. Did you call Rob and…you know?”

  Feeling a blush climb her neck, Georgia blew into her cup.

  “What, what, what?”

  “Yes.”

  Toni squealed. “I knew you could do it if you just let go. Did he like it?”

  She pursed her lips, reliving flashes of last night’s erotic conversation that still sent stabs of desire to her stomach. His responses had been unexpectedly enthusiastic and sensual—a side of him she’d never seen but had hoped for. “I think so.” She lowered her voice and added, “It was fabulous.”

  Toni grinned. “You vamp, you.”

  Basking in her awakening, Georgia lifted her chin and smiled. She’d misbehaved and she hadn’t been struck by lightning. She hadn’t grown horns. And she hadn’t been tempted to ogle strange men on the bus this morning. She had her unfettered hormones perfectly under control.

  “I take back what I said about Rob being a bore. The man’s obviously a sleeper.”

  “A sleeper?”

  “You know, unassuming. Awakens unexpectedly.” Toni wagged her eyebrows.

  “Ah.”

  “When will you see him again?”

  “I told him to call me today.”

  Slurping her coffee, Toni said, “Let’s hope he didn’t get all Republican at the light of day.”

  Georgia’s smile fizzled. “What do you mean?”

  Toni crinkled her nose and pulled an innocent face. “Nothing.”

  “Oh, no, what do you mean?”

  A sigh escaped her friend. “The whole buyer’s remorse thing. I just wondered if it was the same with phone sex as it is with real sex. You lose one out of three guys to morning-after malady, you know.”

  Doubts crowded her previous good cheer. “You mean you think he enjoyed it last night, but he doesn’t respect me this morning?”

  Toni tossed her half-empty cup into the trash can and wiped her hands together in a “that’s that” motion. “Forget I said anything.”

  She frowned. “I’ll try.”

  “When do you get off?” Then she winked and poked Georgia in the ribs. “Again?”

  “Oh, you’re a riot. I clock out at three.”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll call. Ta ta.”

  Georgia pushed aside her nagging concern and threw herself into the chaos of the afternoon. But every E.R. triage nurse typically experienced at least one day a week during which she questioned her decision to become a nurse in the first place, and today turned out to be hers. Her adolescent dreams of fixing people’s bodies—and, thus, their souls—seemed ludicrous in the wake of stomach flus, food poisonings, puncture wounds and other less palatable ailments. No dramatic lifesaving procedures today. She blamed the heat for the elevated tempers. Every patient tested her patience, bickering about the wait, second-guessing the treatments she offered. As her shift progressed, Georgia’s anxiety level increased. And as her anxiety level increased, her confidence waned. And as her confidence waned, she felt less and less good about her recent foray into the world of the sexually assertive.

  What if Toni were right and Rob had decided her forwardness was uncouth? How would she be able to face him? She’d whipped up a little fudge sauce for their plain vanilla relationship, but had it been too rich for his blood? Since his consulting assignments required that he travel, and due to the nature of her job, they rarely spoke during the day. But after she clocked out, she’d make an exception and call him to gauge his reaction.

  “What kind of a nurse are you?” a big, unpleasant-smelling man demanded when she refused to give him a physical for his medical insurance.

  Georgia put her hands on her hips. “Sir, this is an emergency room, not your family doctor’s office.”

  “I don’t have a family doctor. That’s why I came here. I figured it would be faster.”

  “Get out,” she said, jerking her thumb toward the door. “You’re taking up room for people who have legitimate emergencies.”

  Her statement really wasn’t true, at least not today, she noted with an irritated grunt as the man stalked out. Almost every person who came through the door had made a mockery of E.R. medicine, a mockery of her childhood aspirations. She woke up every morning, eager to aid those in need, eager to make a real difference in someone’s life. But even Nurse Goody-Two-Shoes had her limits. God help the next person who came in to waste her time and the hospital’s resources, because she certainly wouldn’t.

  “WHISTLING? Man, you must’ve gotten lucky last night.”

  Unwrapping a hamburger on his knee, since every square inch of his desk was occupied, Ken cut his gaze toward his partner. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Klone. I slept well, that’s all. Damn near forgot what it was like.”

  The older man grinned and proceeded to talk with his mouth full of club sandwich. “What, no hot number to keep you up all night?”

  A wrong hot number. “Man, you ask too many questions.”

  “Job hazard,” Klone said, undaunted. “You’ve been complaining about your insomnia for weeks, but I think you’ve just been up late womanizing and partying.”

  “Yeah, my life isn’t half as interesting as you lead people to believe.”

  “Well, then maybe you’ve been moonlighting.”

  “Klone, I haven’t been moonlighting.” Unless he could get paid for working crossword puzzles in the wee hours of the morning.

  “Because if you need some extra cash to fund your lifestyle, every business in town is clamoring for cops to direct traffic on their off-hours. If you ask me, the city needs to put up a few more stoplights. Where are you working?”

  “Klone, I have not been moonlighting.”

  “Well, if you ask me, it’s high time you find a good woman to settle down with.”

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  “That’s why you’re not sleeping, because you’re yearning for a soul mate.”

  Ken grimaced and looked around at their colleagues moving about. “Jesus, keep your voice down. Have you been reading Cosmo or something?” He grunted. “I’ve told you before, marriage isn’t for me.” He wanted his mind squarely on his job. His first partner out of the academy had been a good-natured fellow, top of his class, with a successful career ahead of him until he met his “soul mate,” a woman who messed with his mind so badly, he’d committed grievous errors on the job. The last time Ken had seen him, the guy was unemployed, divorced, and a tad on the bitter side.

  Ken’s own experiences were somewhat less dramatic, but he’d tired of vapid women who seemed determined to worm their way into his life regardless of his feelings on the matter. Although he was larger
than the average man, he was brighter than most women gave him credit for. Relationships in general were a giant hassle. Last night was the first time he’d had sex with a woman without worrying about whether potpourri would suddenly appear in his bathroom.

  Klone took another bite. “All I’m saying is that with a stressful job like this, you need a warm body to go home to every night. Someone to remind you that everyone in this world ain’t a criminal. Eighteen years now and Louise and me still do the deed every Friday night during The Tonight Show. Well, except for the two times she was in the hospital after the kids were born.”

  Ken was forced to listen while he chewed the overdone burger, then he swallowed. “I can’t tell you how much I didn’t want to hear that. And don’t talk with your mouth full, for Crissake.”

  Klone made a perfunctory swipe at his mouth with a wadded-up paper napkin. “I’m just concerned about what you’re doing with your life. You don’t have to get all aggravated.”

  Immediately contrite, Ken ground his teeth, then said, “Klone, I like being single.”

  His partner shook his head and expelled a grave sigh. “Son, someday you’re gonna learn the hard way that we can’t always have things the way we like them.”

  Ken banked the half-eaten burger into a trash can, trying to block out the voice of Georgia the mysterious phone seductress. I’m not wearing panties. That, he liked. “Where does the Fleming burglary case stand?”

  Klone shifted in his seat, oblivious to Ken’s strategy to change the subject. He held up a smudged piece of paper with a dollop of mayonnaise on the corner. “I got a tip to check out a pawnshop for some of the missing jewelry.”

  Ken took the piece of paper, heedful of the mayonnaise and his navy uniform shirt, then pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll look into it.”

  Klone half stood. “You want some company?”

  “No, I volunteered to pull truancy duty at the mall this afternoon, and this place is on the way.”

  His partner made a face. “Better you pulling truancy than me.”

  “My good deed for the week,” Ken agreed wryly. “Catch you later.” On the way out of the station, he stopped by the locker room to brush his teeth. The small square mirror reflected sharp cheekbones—probably due to his lousy appetite of late—and his dark hair seemed more unruly than ever, despite his efforts to keep the length short enough to curtail the curl. Damned humidity.

  But for once, his dark eyes weren’t red-rimmed, and his neck didn’t have a crick in it. His persistent insomnia had affected him more than he’d realized, leaving him restless and irritable and susceptible to behavior in which he wouldn’t normally indulge.

  Such as pretending to be the deserving boyfriend of a woman who was more passionate than anyone he’d ever dated.

  He banged his locker door closed, then exited to the parking garage, whistling tunelessly in an attempt to stop himself from thinking about how he caould find the woman on the phone. After swinging into his squad car, he checked the dash equipment, then started the engine and pulled out onto a side street. No sir, he wasn’t about to consider ways he could use the resources at his disposal to find out who she was.

  Like checking the dozen or so strip joints for a dancer named Georgia.

  Like performing a computer search on the city directory database for female residents named Georgia.

  Like checking his own phone records to see from where the call had originated.

  He thumped the steering wheel in frustration, hating himself for allowing the unknown caller to get under his skin. It was no big deal, he told himself as he wheeled into the parking lot of the pawnshop. Because the woman was nobody to him and probably wouldn’t give the incident much thought even after she discovered the blunder. And because the woman was a nymphette who had more interesting things going on in her life than worrying about the schmuck who had filched a freebie. No, he really shouldn’t be concerned that the woman might be disturbed when she realized her mistake.

  So, why was he?

  With much effort, Ken blocked out the voice of the seductive caller to take care of the tasks at hand. The stop into the pawnshop proved to be fruitful. Based on the written descriptions from the burglarized homeowner, he recovered two rings and a bracelet, along with the bad Polaroid photo of the woman who had pawned the pieces. He locked the bagged articles in the trunk of his car, then slid behind the steering wheel, suddenly looking forward to truancy duty, despite the smart mouths of the hooky-playing teens he would inevitably find walking the corridors of the mall and hanging out in the parking lot. Kids could be puzzling these days, but he had a good motivator—the memory of the cop who had routed his own behind out of an arcade twenty years ago and harassed him back into high school.

  Ken eased into fast-moving traffic—drivers were always willing to let a police car merge—then turned in the direction of the mall. Out of the corner of his eye, Ken saw a small figure dart into the street directly in his path. His heart vaulted to his throat as he slammed on the brake so hard he was sure he would trigger a pileup. A sickening thunk sounded as his front left bumper made contact with a yielding body. Horns blasted all around him. Miraculously, the truck behind him stopped with no impact. Immediately Ken flipped on the blue lights, then sprang from his seat, praying every step of the way.

  Fear nearly paralyzed him when he saw blood on his car and the lifeless form on the street. Two seconds later his knees weakened with relief that he hadn’t hit a child. Still, the sight of the large dog lying beneath his bumper put a stone in his stomach. His hands shook slightly as he touched the animal to see if it was alive.

  It was. Although he didn’t know much about dogs, this one appeared to be a mutt. Multicolored long hair covered its body, although its face was broad and blunt. He wore no collar. When Ken stroked its back, the dog opened his eyes and whined, then tried to stand, only to collapse, emitting painful little barks.

  “Sorry, boy,” he murmured, aware of a crowd gathering around. One of the dog’s legs bent at an odd angle, and he was bleeding badly from the hip. Gathering his wits, Ken looked around and spied the entrance to the County Hospital emergency room less than a half block away. Perhaps someone there could at least stop the bleeding until he could transport the dog to a veterinary clinic.

  Decision made, he tied a handkerchief around the dog’s muzzle to keep him from biting in his pain, then bundled the dog into the back seat of his squad car. He covered its trembling form with a blanket from the trunk, knowing the gesture probably gave him more comfort that it gave the dog. He hoped against hope he hadn’t mortally wounded the poor pooch. Ken slid into his seat, and zeroed in on the emergency room entrance. He’d find help there.

  5

  “SEE YOU TOMORROW,” Georgia called to a co-worker as she walked toward the E.R. exit.

  What a ghastly day. She removed her name badge and her pace quickened at the thought of talking to Rob. After mulling the matter for hours, she’d decided that he couldn’t have feigned his responses last night. She knew abandon when she heard it, and he’d had it in spades. He’d probably already left her a message at home.

  The service door next to the stairs burst open and a tall uniformed police officer emerged carrying a small body wrapped in a blanket. “He ran in front of my car,” he said, his chest heaving. “He’s bleeding, and I think his leg is broken.”

  Adrenaline and years of training took over and she bolted into action, waving him toward a triage room and yelling ahead as she jogged beside him. “We have a small victim who was struck by a car! Which room is available?”

  “Three,” the clerk said, handing her a chart as she passed. People parted and Georgia looked for the attending doctor as she led the way into the empty room. “Somebody get Dr. Story,” she called before the door closed, then automatically grabbed a pair of surgical gloves from an overflowing box.

  She felt a split second of sympathy for the broad-shouldered police officer who lowered his bundle gently onto the examini
ng table. His shirt was bloodstained and his face was creased with worry that pulled at her heart. This was the basis of E.R. medicine. This was how she could make a difference in the world. She felt an instant bond with the man. He, too, was in the business of saving lives.

  “Do you have the victim’s name?” she asked, stepping forward.

  “No,” the officer said, then pulled back the blanket. “He wasn’t wearing a collar.”

  Georgia froze as she surveyed the hairy mass. “It’s a dog.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  His Southern manners aside, exasperation puffed her cheeks as the bond between them vanished with a poof. She stripped off the surgical gloves and strove to keep her voice even. “We treat people here, Officer, not animals.”

  He frowned. “Can’t you make an exception?”

  “Absolutely,” she said ruefully, “if I wanted to lose my job.” She stepped to the door and yelled, “Cancel the call for Dr. Story.” Turning back to the dark-haired policeman, she pulled her most professional face. “We have health codes to maintain. You, of all people, should know that.”

  His dark eyebrows knitted and he adopted a wide-legged stance. “You could at least bandage the cut.”

  Her heart went out to the poor dog, and she crossed her arms to keep from following her instincts to heal. She also had instincts to eat, pay rent and not default on school loans, which would be difficult to satisfy if she were fired. Even after a year, she was still considered a greenhorn in emergency medicine. Dr. Story watched her like a hawk. A flagrant violation like this one could be the end of her career at County Hospital, a stain on her record. Georgia swallowed and averted her gaze. “I’m sorry—hospital procedures. The veterinary clinic on Sixteenth Street is the closest facility.”

  The officer’s anger was palpable. But instead of leaving, he turned and scanned the shelves of supplies, his big hands touching everything.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What you should be doing,” he growled, then yanked a roll of gauze from a box and unrolled several lengths.