Dark Heart (DARC Ops Book 3) (16 page)

Mr. Awadi stood his ground. “What can I help you with, sir?”

Dr. Wahl gave him a little smirk as he entered the room and attempted to walk past him. “Are you him?” he was talking to the prince, now. Jasper turned away again, hiding his face. From behind him, he could hear Jackson doing his best to impede the doctor.

“Excuse me, Doctor,” said Jackson. “Would you mind coming back later?”

Jasper had finished working on Saif, but preferred to stay at his side. He tried making small talk, as best as he could without garbling too much, about the prince’s heart condition, how many pacemakers he’d gone through. But it was clear the prince was more concerned with this strange American doctor trying to boss his way into the room.

The doctor that was beginning to be a problem.

Jasper had assumed the threat was from the outside. But something about this doctor had, from day one, piqued his attention. The prince didn’t seem to like him, either. He kept making faces whenever the doctor spoke. And when Dr. Wahl left, it was Awadi who made his intentions clear.

“That man is not to be allowed in the operating room,” said Awadi.

Jasper had finished with the prince and was back in his chair by his laptop. He barely had time to write a few cursory notes about the prince’s exam before Awadi’s voice shook him out of medical mode.

“That man . . .” Awadi trailed off.

“What’s the problem?” asked Jackson.

“He’s a butcher,” said Awadi. “He was our main concern coming here.”

“A butcher?”

“He’s no good, Jackson. We don’t want him anywhere near the prince. Can you arrange that?”

Jackson was nodding but it didn’t look very convincing. He was clearly deep in thought.

“Or do we have to bring in our people?” said Mr. Awadi. “We will use whatever force necessary to keep him away.”

“Let’s talk to Clarence about this,” Jackson finally said. “I think this is something he should deal with.”

There was a sound behind the men, a tight groaning noise coming from the prince. Jasper raced back to his bedside, grabbing his wrist and checking his pulse. The man’s face had turned red. And for a moment, he struggled to breathe.

Jasper kept his eyes on the prince, but spoke to Jackson. “We need to get moving on this.”

“I know, I know. We’re moving.”

The prince spoke very quietly. “It will pass, it will pass.”

Jasper didn’t need his stethoscope. He could feel the heart beating quickly and almost randomly under his hand. It felt like a frog stuck in a box. “How often does this happen?”

“Many times a day,” said the prince, wincing. “But it will pass. It always passes.”

“Soon you won’t have to worry about that.”

The prince nodded, winced again, and then relaxed.

“I’ll be right next to you, okay?” Jasper pointed to his bed. “That’s my bed. We’ll stick together.”

“Thank you, my friend.” He turned to Awadi and spoke in Arabic while pointing to Jasper. “This man here, we, can trust him.”

Awadi looked at Jasper. “He said he trusts you.”

The prince said something else in Arabic. This time it came too fast and quiet.

Awadi said to Jasper, “He wants to know if he can help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t every day that Jasper was offered “help” by a Saudi prince. He thought carefully.

“He likes you,” said Awadi. “He’s impressed by your Arabic.”

“Do you like to travel?” The prince asked Jasper. “Perhaps Saudi Arabia? I can find you good work.”

Jasper thanked him kindly, but declined. And then an idea popped into his head, and he asked, “What about the oilfields?”

The prince’s head tilted to the side. “You want to work in the oilfields?”

“Not me,” said Jasper. The mental pictures of Kyle and his family flooded his mind again. “My brother. He could work with the Americans.”

“I see.” The prince smiled. “I see . . .”

S
he wanted
to check on the elderly man in 413. Just a quick driveby to make sure he was still in his bed, that he’d not, for whatever reason, returned to a crumpled mess on the floor. She had already made a mental note of him, adding his name to the list of “wanderers,” the patients who could barely walk on their own yet still insisted—at any odd time and for any odd reason—on getting up and going like they were still some strapping twenty-year-olds.

It was somewhat understandable, getting up in the middle of the night for a bathroom visit. For that reason, the hospital had a contingency plan, nurses on call 24-7 who could attend to their patients’ every need with one press of the nurse-call button. But it wasn’t always so simple. Fiona’s list of wanderers included those who would not only forget about the location of the bedside button, but also the bathroom. And voilà, a downed and confused geriatric.

She took a quick peek in his room. Her patient was not only safely in bed, but he had Wendy by his side. She was doing something with his pillow, smiling and nodding while the man was babbling away happily.

Good. Everyone was safe and well cared for. Marva was alive. The emergency was over.

As she turned away from the room to walk, she heard Wendy say, “Oh, wait.” And then, more pleadingly, “Fiona?”

She paused before turning around slowly. “Yes?” She was in no mood for any extra duties.

But Wendy’s smile seemed too warm to portend any orders. “Great work,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Good job in there, with Marva.”

“Oh, yeah . . .”

Wendy cocked her head. “Come on, Girl. You saved her.” Then she laughed and said, “It’s okay to take a compliment once in a while, especially when you save someone’s life.”

Fiona worked out a meek smile. “Not when I almost caused it to end.”

“How’s that?” Wendy said before her face soured with deep frown lines splitting up her jowls. “With the insulin pump? You were only trying to make her happy. And comfortable.”

Fiona watched their patient, who appeared to be nodding off. “That doesn’t necessarily make it right.”

“You’re a nurse. It’s your job to make them comfortable. That’s all we can do sometimes.” Wendy checked on the patient one last time before quietly sneaking away from the bed, walking slowly toward the doorway. “And by the sound of it, she’d probably rather die in one fell swoop than by a thousand needle pricks. And
she’s alive. And you
saved her. So what the hell are you complaining about?”

Jasper saved her. Not Fiona. If anything, Fiona just made the situation more chaotic. And more dangerous, with the addition of the trial technology. The experiment. She was tempted to complain about all of that, to maybe even confess that it was Jasper who did the real work, and that she was indeed a terrible nurse—drug addiction or not.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to Dr. Wahl,” Wendy said as she walked with Fiona out of the room. “On your behalf.”

“No, you don’t have to.”

In the hallway, they moved to one side as a gurney raced by, Wendy waiting until they were alone again to resume. “I don’t have to do anything, when it comes to sticking my nose in someone’s business. But today I will. I’m sick of it.”

“Then just ignore it.” Fiona could feel herself wince. “Please,” she said more softly, taking hold of Wendy’s arm. “Thank you.”

“I won’t get you in trouble,” Wendy said.

“I know you won’t.”

“I just want all this to be done with. I’m vouching for you.”

“And I appreciate that,” Fiona said. “But let’s just ignore it. Let’s just . . .” She lost her train of thought. It happened sometimes when she saw Jasper. He was walking up to them, behind Wendy, grinning.

Wendy’s expression was the opposite. “That’s fine, then. I won’t say anything.”

“But I really do appreciate it.” She watched as Jasper’s magnificent body slowed its long strides.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Thank you.” She watched as he pretended to busy himself with his phone, looking down at it.

“So can you do me a favor?” said Wendy.

“Sure,” Fiona said. “Anything.”

“Miss Waitsfield needs her bag emptied. I was going to have you do it while I talked to Dr. Wahl, but now . . . Maybe I’ll just go have a smoke. Would you prefer that?”

Fiona snickered, just happy to be done with the interaction. “Yes, that sounds wonderful.” And happy, too, to finally hear what Jasper had been smiling about. He was leaning against the wall, and then bouncing off it after Wendy walked away, his grin widening as he approached.

“Hey, stranger,” he said, one of his typical lines from back in the day. Did he call everyone that?

Were all the women he slept with strangers?

“What,s wrong?” he asked, his smile fading.

“Nothing. My head’s just . . .”

“Headache?”

“It’s just been a really . . . A real fucked-up kinda day.”

He shrugged like he’d seen a lot worse. Fiona was sure he had.

“What are you so smiley about?” she asked.

“You.” He was looking her up and down. “You busy?”

“Aren’t you? Isn’t there some kind of prince here that needs—”

“When’s your break?” he interrupted.

She thought of Miss Waitsfield and Wendy and everyone else. They could all wait. “Right now,” she said.

“Where?”

She could almost feel his breathing on her, how it seemed to have quickened. She could almost imagine the new tent that had been created, the bane of bed-bath nurses everywhere. She smiled and said, “Somewhere near a computer.”

He looked a little crushed, like some boy who’d just had a dream stomped out of him, or like some horny nerd who wanted to do anything else but homework. “What do we need a computer for?”

“I need to check on something, er, need
you
to check on something. You wouldn’t happen to know how to hack the hospital, would you?”

He waited, expressionless, as if he expected more from Fiona. “What do you need?” he finally said.

Fiona made sure they were sufficiently alone, and said, “Test results from the lab.”

“You can’t just head down there?”

“They ran a drug test on me.”

He erupted with laughter. “What?”

She was looking away, at her hands, her shoes. “A urine sample. That’s what they’re testing.”

“Is it positive?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you to look into it.”

His eyes widened. “Do you
expect
it to be positive?

“No! But they seem to think otherwise.”

“Why?”

Fiona cleared her throat. “I’ve had some bad luck.”

“Bad luck . . .”

“And, my mind has been on a lot of things, most of them having nothing to do with the hospital. And so I’ve been a little careless, maybe.” She frowned. “I’m still not sure I even did what they think I did. But, now they think I’m a heroin addict.”

He laughed until he snorted.

“I’m serious.”

“Well, you did some good work today. They’ll like
that.
”

“So do you have to get your laptop or . . .”

He gave her a confused look.

“For the sample,” Fiona said. “Even if you can just find out the sample number. I can go down there and look for it.”

“And swap it out?”

“Huh?”

“Is that what you’re trying to do? Tamper with the process—”

She wanted to be upset—or at least annoyed—with him. But he was too damn cute.

“I’m only kidding,” he said bumping his hip against hers gently.

She smiled. “I know. You’re just not very funny.”

* * *

F
iona was impressed
by the ease with which Jasper navigated through the hospital security system. Impressed, also, that it could be done simply through his phone. She had always known him to be resourceful. A Jack of all trades. But hacking wasn’t exactly a simple trade. She wondered where, between saving lives on multiple continents, he’d found the time and resources to learn something that others spent a lifetime specializing in.

She watched him work in the empty patient room, wondering about all the exotic places he’d been to, all the chaotic situations, all the lives he’d saved. And now he was with her, at exactly the time when she’d needed a friend, or at least someone who could help her navigate the minefield that was hospital bureaucracy.

“I’m no expert or anything,” he said, finally looking up from his work. “And, technically, I’m not even hacking anything. Just checking a database.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“You would if it was part of one of your photo stream apps.”

She furrowed her brows at him, more out of confusion than scorn.

“No? What social media are you—?”

“Just Facebook,” she interrupted.

“Really? I don’t really see you update—” He seemed to have stopped himself. And then he looked away.

“Gotcha,” she said.

“Gotcha me what?”

“Caught you creeping my profile.”

“Alright,” he said, looking back down to his phone. “So you want your sample number or not?”

She snickered to herself as she crossed the room, grabbed a pen off the table, and put it to the back of an old receipt.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Do you have the results, or just the number?”

“Just the number,” he said, before reading off the ten-digit name of whatever vial contained her urine.

She gave a sad little sigh. “I just realized how embarrassing this is.”

“You’re clean. I believe you.”

“No, I mean, that we meet after all this time and now . . . here we are . . . talking about my urine.”

“Come on, Fiona, we’re used to this kind of thing. We’re health professionals.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, wondering how long she’d stay a health professional. She folded up the paper and slipped it into her pocket.

“I don’t get it,” Jasper said. “All this modesty. Just a little while ago you were giving me a . . . um, a bed bath.”

She watched him approach with that damned smile of his.

“You weren’t embarrassed then,” he said.

Her face was starting to warm.

“Or after,” he said.

She was starting to burn now. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Me neither.” Jasper used his fingers to pinch the cloth of her sleeve and then pulled her in to him. “That’s the best part. Not having to think.”

“Yeah, I know, but . . .” She struggled away from him. “I’ve got too much on my mind.”

“Well, let me take care of that.”

She chuckled at him. “You’re still hung up on your happy ending.”

“Or lack of.” He retreated, walking over to one of the empty beds.

“That was payback.”

“For what?” He sat hard and lazily, like he’d just hiked twenty miles.

“For what happened to me,” she said.
“
Back in the day.
I
didn’t get a happy ending.”

He put his hand to his forehead, sighing.

“I didn’t even know it was an ending,” she said.

“We graduated.” He patted the bed next to him. “And you got hired to work here. Isn’t that a happy enough ending?” Jasper made a sad puppy dog face when Fiona stood her ground, when she wouldn’t come slinking over to him.

“Don’t get the wrong idea.” Fiona started walking toward the door. “I wasn’t heartbroken.”

“Where are you going?”

She peeked into the hall, hoping not to find anyone, hoping that Wendy had indeed succumbed to her addiction and gone for a smoke break. When Fiona turned back into the room, she was glad to see that Jasper was still there. He had a bad habit of sneaking away. An escape artist. Maybe she should strap him into the bed like a psych-ward patient. Make him helpless. The thought appealed probably more than it should.

She shut the door.

“
I
was a little heartbroken,” he said.

“Sure you were.”

“Come on, I have feelings. It was hard to leave you.”

“I know,” she said, walking back into the room. “You had a good time.”

“So did you.”

She shrugged, and then pulled the curtains around his bed, blocking the view from the door if it did, for whatever terrible reason, open.

“I know you had a good time,” Jasper said.

After the curtains, Fiona stopped and stared at him from the foot of the bed. “Can I ask you something?”

He pursed his lips, moving his head from side to side in deliberation.

“What the hell were you doing back with that seizure patient?”

“What? I was saving her life.”

“I mean after. Talking to my boss. You lied to her.”

Jasper muttered something on his way down to the bed, like a falling tree, leaning back and stretching out across it, his hands reaching up and back to support his head, his entire body—even fully clothed—looking as sexy and available as ever.

“So?” Fiona said.

“So what?”

“What was that all about?”

He was scratching his forehead again.

“I mean . . .You don't have to be so . . .” So what? What was she trying to say? So annoying and hot? “You don’t have to be so nice to me.” No, that wasn’t it. It was something more than nice. What was it? Why was he—?

“It’s no big deal,” Jasper said with yawn.