Anne Brontë Nightwalker

Chapter 22

Inside the ER, Santos and I are immediately shown a room, one of the perks of his being in uniform. Dana has refused to move from the truck. Even the lure of Dr. Webb can't entice her inside with her ex. Santos edges onto a hospital bed and when I look around for the nurse to give my report, Dr. Webb is standing right beside me. Santos is certainly getting uncommon attention.

Webb extends a hand and I place the report in it. His brow creases. All that is upon it is a name and a pulse rate.

"Sergeant Santos, what seems to be the problem?" I start to leave, but Dr. Webb stops me with a hand on my arm. I look at him, astounded by the presumption, but he ignores me and turns to examine Santos' knee. Two men have touched me in one day. I have become too familiar to them. It's definitely time to leave.

While I wait, I gather my composure. Webb will not intimidate me. The room is freezing and I could choke on the sharp scent of antiseptic, which comes from the war Dana says that Webb has waged on MRSA. I can't smell a single bacterium anywhere.

"I threw out my knee jumping a fence. Listen, Doc," Santos says, his voice turning warm with a charm I didn't know he had. "Can we forgo the x-rays? We're riding short out there." He nods his head, indicating the street. "And I'd really like to get back into service."

I try to inch away, but Webb stops me.

"Bell, wait. There's something I need to say to you." My heart drops. I think of the hunter and all the things I did to him after Webb's proscription. Damn! Why didn't Dana make this patient transfer? I've really had it with her. She's the rookie. I'm the supervisor. I have about as much control over her as a panic attack.

Webb touches Santos' knee, and before the officer knows what's coming, slides his knee into place with such ease it's almost like he's showing off. My eyes widen in disbelief. So much for his protocols.

Santos lets out a deep sigh of relief.

"You're free to go," Webb says, slapping him on the shoulder. Santos tenses, then gingerly slides off the bed, testing his knee when his feet hit the floor. He bends his leg a few times. Puts weight on it, then looks at Webb.

"Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it."

"Professional courtesy," Webb says. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Bell and I have some matters to discuss."

Santos' cell rings. He answers it and walks out without the slightest hitch in his stride. For once in my life I want him to stay.

With a hand lightly against my upper back, Dr. Webb steers me into the hall. Struggling to hide my fury, I pull away from him. My composure is cracking. Stay cool, Anne. Calm and cool. I push my glasses higher up my nose.

We are almost eye to eye and his edge is back, yet he speaks in a low, intimate voice. "I just thought you should know, I'm filing a complaint with your supervisor regarding the trauma patient last night. You blatantly disobeyed me and acted way outside your scope of practice. You violated your agency's protocols against my specific instruction."

"Did he live?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"The boy. Did he live?"

"That's beside the point."

"That is hardly beside the point."

"Whether he lived or died is irrelevant. You acted irresponsibly. Just because you got away with it today doesn't mean that tomorrow you won't find yourself out of your depth. If paramedics start performing surgery in the back of their ambulances, there are legal ramifications for all of us. It only takes one time to screw up. Believe me, I know."

I study him through my glasses. Why does he dislike me so? Most physicians are happy to have my help. And if not at first, they eventually come to respect my ability. But for Webb, my proficiency is a great affront.

"Listen," he says, "we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I'm not your enemy. I appreciate your talents. I simply want you to follow your protocols. I'm the doctor. You're the paramedic. We all have our assigned roles to play. I'd rather work with you than against you."

My eyes narrow. "Hard now that you've filed a complaint against me, endangering my job and certification."

"I haven't filed it yet. I'll withhold it if you'll admit your mistake and agree to stay within your bounds."

"How is saving him a mistake?" I throw up my arms in frustration.

Anger flits beneath his gaze. His voice is low, soft. Anyone witnessing our conversation would think it personal, even intimate. "You have absolutely no regard for my authority. You think you can do whatever you like. This conversation is over." He turns to leave.

"Wait!" I reach out and grab him. Surprised, he stops. I release him as if I've been burned. How hot I feel. I've just grabbed a physician. "I hear you, Dr. Webb. You needn't file that report. I'll follow the protocols. No problem."

He pauses for what feels like an eternity. I stare down at his shoes, ashamed I can't hold his gaze. He's wearing expensive leather loafers with tassels on them. My boots look a wreck in comparison. Finally, I look up.

"Okay then," he says, trying to read my face hidden beneath my cap. "I see you restrained yourself with your last patient. I appreciate that."

"I could have saved him the trip. Saved you the time." Not that Santos would have let me, but Webb doesn't know that.

"Not without risk. If anything had gone wrong or the sergeant complained, your position would not protect you. Let me protect you. Let me incur the risk. I restrain your actions, Anne, not because I think you're not capable, but because I want to protect you. While I'm here, I will not allow you to continually put your career at risk. You know how litigious this society is. If I came on strong, it was only because I was trying to scare you straight."

"I don't need to be scared straight."

"There's no other way to get through to you. Your history makes that all too evident."

"How do you know my history?" How does he know my first name? "You don't know me at all. You've only been here a few weeks."

"Your reputation precedes you. I'm a good judge of character and I know an intractable idealist with tendencies of martyrdom when I see one. I have no doubt you would sacrifice yourself for one of your unworthy patients. There are plenty more where they came from and only one of you. You are too skilled for me to allow you to fall on your sword."

Now he's flattering me. Who is this man and why does he care what I do? "I've survived this career for a long time, Dr. Webb, without your protection."

"The world is changing, Anne. Our patients will hang us out to dry before we even get our gloves off."

"Then why fight so hard for them? You cracked a child's chest open to save him."

"Because when you have the power to ward off death as I do, it pisses me off when God intervenes."

"So you believe in God?" I ask, off balance.

"Yes, but I prefer Him to stay in heaven where He belongs and leave those on earth to me."

I'm silent. What is there to say to that?

Webb gives me a gentle smile. "I'm only here for three months. As you know, I'm filling in for Dr. Fisher. All I ask is that you obey me for three months."

At the word "obey," I bristle.

He sighs at my reaction. "Wrong choice of words. All I ask, Anne, is that you accept my offer of protection and stay within the bounds of your license."

I've never witnessed such arrogance in my life and yet his confidence tugs at me. His skill. I remember my early years as a nurse—how raw I was—and the pleasure that came from submitting to a brilliant doctor who burned with blood and experience.

Webb reminds me of my first mentor.

I gaze at him, then turn my back and walk out.