Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)
Tina Reber
We all have skeletons in our closets.
Doctor Erin Novak was only sixteen when she was accused of a crime she didn’t commit. Since that moment, she has made it her life goal to pursue emergency medicine, pouring her heart and soul into assuring another innocent life isn’t lost to the hands of the wicked.
We all have secrets we’ve never shared.
Detective Adam Trent has lost control of everything, starting with losing his partner to a punk with a gun and then everything else to the crushing guilt. Now a member of the elite Auto Theft Task Force in Philadelphia, it’s his job to be one step ahead of the criminals stealing expensive cars in the city. Too bad the television cameras keep getting in the way of his investigation.
We all have pasts that we can never escape.
A stolen car, a tragic chase, and a traffic stop crosses the fates of these two, tying them together in ways that are unimaginable. As their love and trust grows, so do the enemies that threaten their survival, testing the strength of their commitment. Can true love endure half-truths, past pains, and secrets never meant to be shared?
Some things are just out of our control.
This book is dedicated to all of the first responders around the globe who, despite how dire the situation, how hopeless the outlook, always make their presence known and give their all. Whether you are a professional or volunteer, you are our first line of defense, performing your duties without second thought or personal regard, serving and protecting others in their time of need. We are all forever in your debt.
A portion of the proceeds from the sale of this novel will be granted to the following: The Sweeney Alliance, a non-profit, Texas-based organization, provides training programs and educational material relating to grief, post-traumatic stress, and suicide prevention for the emergency response community and their families in North America. We promote a mentally healthy work environment through cooperation with local, state, and national fire service and law enforcement agencies and organizations. We make available local grief support groups and electronic newsletters and bereavement resources globally for the public in general.
For more information, please check out their support blog website: http://grievingbehindthebadgeblog.net/
MY HANDS TREMBLED under the hot water as I rinsed the blood off Cal’s wedding band. A few hours ago his ring was pristine, unmarred by the ugliness of life. Now it was blemished with deep scratches scored into the gold, preserving their horrific moment for all eternity.
My colleague, Doctor Bayshore, had to surgically remove it as the lower portion of Cal’s arm had been crushed beyond repair.
I watched the red swirl at the bottom of the stainless steel wash sink while trying not to envision what they had gone through—the terror, the crash, the agonizing pain—how in an instant lives are changed forever.
Anita, one of our ER respiratory therapists, gave my shoulder a quick squeeze as she hurried past. I took the gesture for what it was—a silent “hang in there” between friends that broke the ghastly images plaguing my mind.
I didn’t know it was Cal at first when the Life Fight paramedics gave us their ETA. All I knew was that my trauma team was prepped and ready to receive the fifty-eight-year-old male coming in via helicopter at ten minutes to midnight from a multi-vehicle crash on the Schuylkill Expressway. University was the closest hospital with a Level One trauma center, so it was commonplace for us to receive the critical accident victims that resulted from the congested traffic conditions around Philadelphia.
I saw the packing where part of the patient’s left arm had been unceremoniously amputated, overheard the Life Flight paramedic inform the nursing staff of the patient’s name and vitals, looked up at his bloodied face under the oxygen mask, and froze.
Soon after that, my ex-boyfriend and fellow med school graduate, Doctor Randy Mason, locked his arms around me and physically carried me out of the trauma bay.
I think I yelled, but for some reason, I can’t remember.
I’d tended to thousands of patients during my residency and had assisted in about every type of trauma one could imagine. I had seen things and dealt with things made from the depths of people’s worst nightmares, but this was the first time I’d lost my hold.
I’d managed to pull myself together enough to call my parents, though keeping my voice steady and clear had been damn near impossible. I glanced up at the large clock on the wall again. I’d made that call forty-two minutes ago. Cal’s golden hour of survival had been up well over an hour ago. I was praying he’d make it out of surgery though the odds were stacked against him.
Sherry peeked around the doorframe and pocketed her stethoscope. “You okay?”
I tossed my soiled gloves into the biohazard bin. “No.”
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”
I buried myself into her welcoming arms.
Sherry rubbed my back. “Reception just took your parents to the private waiting room.”
I wiped my cheek. “Okay, thanks.”
She gripped my upper arms. “I know this is tough but you’re tougher. You know that, right?”
I nodded, though not fully convinced.
“Your mom isn’t handling things well. She insisted on seeing them and then demanded to see you. She probably could use a sedative but I think they’ve got her calmed down for now. Do you want me to go with you? You don’t need to do this on your own.”