Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(29)
Finally. My current patient, a sixty-eight-year-old woman who came in complaining of hip pain after sustaining an in-home fall, was getting antsy. I entered my password into one of the terminals along the main corridor and checked the status of an open bed upstairs, avoiding the flickering lights from the arriving ambulance.
Just as the two EMTs wheeled the patient through the double doors and down the main chute, shouts and obscenities started flying. It was so loud I couldn’t tell who was shouting at whom. I peered down the hall, instantly infuriated that a damn camera crew had stormed in right behind them.
Either something monumentally horrendous had happened in the outside world or the local news channels were sinking to a new low: chasing ambulances. It was bad enough they were all over me when I got pulled over this morning, but now this?
One of the EMTs tried to stop the cameraman from entering through the restricted entrance but the news crew was already upon the patient, invading his rights. Carl Tanners, one of our onsite security officers, came running so I followed him.
I turned to one of the interns loitering nearby. “Call for additional security. Now.”
I pinned the shorter blond male accompanying the cameraman with my angriest glare. Strange, they both looked familiar—especially the short one in the ball cap. And then the shock registered, casting that nervous warmth throughout my skin.
As soon as I saw the face of the patient on the cot, everything dimmed. Firm lips, gorgeous face, incredible eyes staring back at me…
Officer Trent, I think I breathed, though my mouth surely moved.
“You,” he said, just as breathily. He appeared just as surprised by our unexpected reunion as I was.
“Turn that camera off right now! You cannot be in here,” Carl yelled, trying to bring chaos to order. “Shut it down.”
The fact that Adam had been injured snapped me back into the urgency of the moment. His left hand was bandaged like a catcher’s mitt.
He tried to move but was strapped down to the transport cot. “Christ, Ritchie. We’re in a hospital. Give me a break.”
As soon as we locked gazes again, something inexplicable came over me. It was instant and alarming—a potent mix of protectiveness and familiar ownership.
The blond guy removed one headphone from his ear. “Sorry, Adam. We’re instructed to keep filming. You know it’s in your contract.”
These men were irritating. He’d been hurt and I needed to get his care underway. “He goes into exam room six.” I pointed, needing the EMTs to wheel him away.
Two men dressed identical to Adam joined in the fray with our hospital security, but the camera crew kept on insisting they had the right to keep filming.
I was astonished and angered by their blatant disregard for hospital policy. “You two—what TV station are you with?” I blocked their view of Adam when they ignored my question. “I cannot believe you would have the audacity to film an injured police officer or any patient for that matter in my hospital.”
The cameraman that answered to the name Ritchie took a step back, then returned to squinting his eye in the viewer of his camera. He looked to be in his mid twenties, lanky as hell, unkempt brown hair, wearing skinny jeans and an olive green winter parka.
His partner, the shorter blond guy, moved his headset away from one ear. “We have full clearance to keep filming him, wherever he goes.”
“Hey!” Ritchie pulled his face away from the camera. “You’re that woman that we—”
“Ritchie!” Adam bellowed from down the hall, pegging him with an “I’ll kill you if you finish that sentence” glare while being wheeled away.
“Henry says we’re supposed to keep rolling,” the short blond guy said.
“I don’t think so.” The hall was filling with onlookers. I reached for the camera to push it away. “You are violating patient rights.”
I felt his presence right before I felt his hand cross my stomach. One very pissed off cop slid me out of the way.
“Turn that f*cking thing off, now,” Adam commanded.
Behind them, a huge wall of intimidating black man dressed head to toe in black police attire strolled in. I instantly recognized him too.
“You two *s are done here.” He palmed both of the camera crew by their shoulders and spun them, hauling them toward the ambulance bay doors.
I stepped up to Adam’s side, knowing I had to calm him down and get him back into his room. Stress was making things worse. “Officer—”
“Detective,” he corrected, pinning me with those fierce eyes again.
“Detective,” I repeated, hoping he’d concentrate on me instead of the craziness. My years of dealing with the anxiety that accompanies medical emergencies kicked in. “Let’s get you squared away.” I hoped the quiver in my throat didn’t come out with my words, as it was hard to hide my nervousness.
Adam sat onto the hospital bed. “Sorry, Doc.”
I doubted Detective Hottie, with his spiky, short brown hair, perfectly aligned jaw, and wide shoulders ever allowed a moment of weakness show through. Still, I had to reassure him. “It’s okay. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Sarah, who, after getting an eyeful of my current patient, volunteered to be my triage nurse. She nudged Sherry out of the way and commandeered her portable computer.