Justice Lost (Darren Street #3)(5)

I got up and walked over to the bedside. I took Grace’s hand.

“Do you feel okay?” I said.

“I feel a little strange,” Grace said, “but I think I’m okay.”

“No pain?”

“No. I feel a little woozy, but no pain.”

“We’re going to need to move you to another room,” Nurse Broyles said. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“What room?” I said.

“We’re going to move her to an operating room. When the other doctor gets here, if the baby needs to be taken out quickly, we want to have her ready.”

“This doesn’t sound good,” I said.

“It’s just a precaution. Everything will be fine.”

A couple of orderlies showed up just then, and I reached down and kissed Grace on the forehead.

“I love you, Grace,” I said. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll be waiting for you. See you soon.”

A tear slipped from Grace’s eye, and she smiled up at me.

“I’ve been waiting for months to hear those words,” she said. “I love you, too, Darren.”

She blew me a kiss, and they pushed her out of the room.

“Nurse Diaz is going to accompany you to a special waiting room while we take Miss Grace to the operating room,” Nurse Broyles said.

Just then, a large man walked through the door. He was wearing a brown sport coat, a white, button-down shirt, and brown slacks and shoes. He was around forty and had curly, dark hair and wore wire-framed glasses. I immediately noticed bloodshot eyes behind the lenses.

“Dr. Fraturra,” Nurse Broyles said. “Nice of you to join us. Jenny, would you take Mr. Street to the waiting room?”

As we started to walk out of the room past Dr. Fraturra, I stopped dead in my tracks. Jenny was in front of me, and Nurse Broyles was behind me. “You’re Dr. Fraturra?” I said. “Where the hell have you been? Have you been drinking?” I moved up close to him and pointed my finger at his nose. “You smell like a distillery.”

“Go on to wherever you were going,” Fraturra said. “I don’t have time to fool with you right now.”

“How would you know that?” I said. “You just got here. You don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

“Are you a doctor?” Fraturra said.

“I’m a lawyer, and you’re late, your speech is slurred, and you stink of booze. I’m your worst nightmare right now, you drunk piece of shit.”

I turned around and looked at Nurse Broyles. “Is the other doctor here yet? There’s no way this drunk is touching Grace.”

I felt a hand on my arm. It was Nurse Jenny. I don’t know whether she was trying to soothe me or restrain me, but neither was working. Nurse Broyles walked past us and out the door.

“The other doctor is probably here by now,” Nurse Jenny said softly. “Let’s go on to the other waiting room.”

“I asked you a minute ago where you’ve been,” I said to Fraturra. “I want an answer. “You’ve been in a bar, right? Which one? Or do you just sit at home and drink when you’re on call?”

“You’re crazy,” Fraturra said. “Get the hell out of here. Get out of my face.”

“Come on, Mr. Street,” Jenny said. “Please, there’s nothing you can do here.”

I pulled my arm away from Jenny and stepped to within a foot of Fraturra.

“You’re right about me being crazy,” I said, lowering my voice. “And if any harm comes to Grace or our baby, getting sued is going to be the least of your worries.”

“Is that right?” Fraturra said, puffing up like a toad and leaning in toward me. I desperately wanted to break his jaw. I saw Jenny out of the corner of my eye as she moved to the doorway. I figured she was ready to push a panic button or call security. Fraturra inched closer. “Are you threatening me?” he said.

I lowered my voice even more, hoping Jenny couldn’t make out what I was saying, and locked my eyes on Fraturra’s.

“I promise you this. If anything happens to Grace or the baby, I’ll cut your head off with a dull knife and bury you in the mountains.”

Fraturra took two steps back. I had his attention now. I turned back to Jenny and walked toward her.

“Where’s that waiting room?” I said, and we walked out the door.





CHAPTER 4

The waiting room where I was taken was small and isolated. I kept thinking it was the kind of place where bad news would be delivered. I walked out several times and made my way to the nursing station. Jenny wasn’t there, and neither was Nurse Broyles. The only person at the station was a thirtysomething brown-haired paper pusher whose dress looked like a denim tent and who wore the tired face of someone who just wanted to get the hell out of there and go sit in front of a television set and eat cookies.

“What’s going on with Grace?” I said to her each time I walked in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any news other than they’re working on her.”

“What does that mean?” I asked the third time she repeated the phrase. “Working on her? Do you mean they’re operating on her? Are they delivering the baby?”

“I really don’t know, sir,” she said. “I’m just a record keeper.”