“I need to culture this wound right now,” Tory said as the ambulance screamed east on Route six toward the nearest hospital, which was in Hyannis. “Get me a prep tray and some instruments.”

The redhead’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he voiced no objection. He handed her sterile gloves and prepared to assist her. Tory removed the dressings on Reese’s arm once again, carefully prepped the area with antiseptic solution, and snipped out several of the sutures she had placed the night before. When she gently squeezed the area, Reese moaned, thrashed weakly on the stretcher, and tried to pull away. Tory did not look at her face.

“I don’t see any pus in there, do you?” The EMT asked as he peered over her shoulder.

“No. It’s too soon for an abscess. This is a soft tissue infection.”

“Strep?” His concern was evident in his tone. “Jesus, do you think it’s necrotizing faciitis?”

“I don’t know,” Tory said distractedly as she pushed a sterile culture swab into the depths of the wound. Reese stiffened at the swift jolt of pain, and Tory’s stomach clenched. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“S’okay,” Reese mumbled before she faded away again.

“I don’t have my cell phone with me. Can you connect me to the hospital?” Tory questioned.

“Sure.” He tapped on the sliding glass panel between the front cab and the treatment section in the rear. “Ken, pass me the radio.”

He handed it to Tory and pointed to the button on the side. “Push to talk, let go to receive. I’ll get someone in triage for you.”

After he gave the person in the emergency room their ETA, he handed the transmitter to Tory. She did as directed and spoke firmly, with no hint in her voice of the terror she felt. “This is Doctor Victoria King. I have a septic patient coming in. I need an infectious disease consultant and a surgeon standing by.”

An eternity later, they careened into the ambulance bay of the regional hospital. Within seconds they were inside and a swarm of nurses and ER doctors descended upon them. By the time Tory was done giving a synopsis of the injury and presenting symptoms, Reese was hooked up to monitors and additional IV lines. Throughout it all, Tory never left her side.

“I’m Jill Baker,” a short, trim African-American woman in a conservative blazer and slacks said as she approached the bed. “Infectious disease. What have we got?”

“Victoria King.” Tory repeated the details of the previous night and morning.

“Foreign body punctures while in a salt marsh. Jesus. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned dog bites.” The infectious disease specialist surveyed the monitors and frowned. As she reached for Reese’s injured arm, she asked, “No hypotensive episodes? Nothing to indicate shock?”

“No.” Tory’s throat was dry, and she suddenly felt light-headed. “I’m sorry. I need to sit for a second.”

“Here,” a deep alto voice said from behind her as a firm hand took her arm. “There’s a seat right behind you.”

“Thanks,” Tory mumbled, fighting a wave of nausea as she settled onto a stool. She was struggling so hard not to pass out she barely heard the swift intake of breath from the woman beside her.

“Tory?”

When she could look up without her vision dimming, Tory found herself looking into the face of a stranger who had once been her whole world. She was Tory’s age, still fit, and still roguishly attractive. She’d been a lady-killer when they’d been lovers. And undoubtedly she still was. “Hello, K.T.”

“Are you all right?” the dark-eyed, dark-haired woman asked, her expression one of concern and surprise.

“I’m fine,” Tory said, chancing an upright position. “What are you doing here?”

“Moonlighting. I’m the surgeon on call. What’s going on?”

“I think it’s Vibrio,” Jill Baker said as she walked over to them. “She’s got a rip-roaring cellulitis that’s climbing up her arm, GI symptoms, and mental confusion. It all fits with an acute marine bacteria infection.”

“Does she need to be debrided in the OR?” K.T. O’Bannon asked curtly.

“Probably.” Baker lowered her voice. “If it’s the vulnificus variety, it can be fatal if you don’t cut out the involved tissue right away.”

Tory’s head pounded, not with dizziness, but with mind-numbing fear. She walked away from them and went to Reese’s side. “Hiya, Sheriff,” she said when she saw that Reese’s eyes were open, and thankfully, clearer again.

“Hey,” Reese said hoarsely, holding up the hand with the IV taped to it. “How you doin’?”

“I’m okay,” Tory said, her throat tight with tears she would not shed.

“What’s going on? I don’t remember much of how we got here.”

“You’ve got a bad infection in your arm. How do you feel?”

“Head hurts.” Reese frowned. “My insides feel like I swallowed nails. Can’t say as I feel much in my arm.” She saw Tory pale. “Tor? You better tell me now, because I’m getting a little foggy again.”

“You may need surgery, honey. To remove the infected tissue.”

“Surgery?” Reese tried to sit up, but failed.

The sight of her normally strong, commanding lover so weak and ill scared Tory to death. Her eyes flooded with tears, and she looked away.

“Tory,” Reese said urgently, summoning all of her strength. “This is my weapon arm. You can’t let them cut pieces out of it.”

“You’re more important than any job.” Tory’s voice was rough, her eyes dark pools of anguish.

“Don’t cr…oh, fuck…I’m gonna throw…”

Tory grabbed a basin just in time as Reese vomited again. She slipped her arm beneath Reese’s shoulder and held her as close as the hospital bed would allow.

“Please,” Reese muttered when she could catch her breath. “Don’t let them operate.” Then she leaned back, closed her eyes, and slipped into darkness.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Bri looked at the clock beside her bed for the fourth time in less than ten minutes. It’s too early to call. Carre never gets up this early.

Naked, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. It was hard getting used to waking up without Carre beside her. Hell, it was hard doing everything without her. It had been weird riding the Harley with a woman pressed against her, arms around her waist, a cheek resting lightly against her shoulder, who hadn’t been Carre. She’d dropped Allie off at her apartment after they left the tavern around 1:00 a.m. Allie had said she could walk home or grab a ride with someone else, but Bri had insisted on taking her.

It was funny, but watching Allie walk away had left her with an empty feeling. And that didn’t make any sense, because she didn’t even know her. When she got home, even though it was late, she called Carre. And no one had answered.

You wanted to do this. You knew it would be hard. There’s no point in complaining now. Just suck it up, Parker.

Signing, she rolled onto her side, buried her face in her pillow, and tried to sleep. Fuck.

She got up, pulled on sweats and a T-shirt, and padded barefoot out into the living from where the only phone in the apartment was located. She slumped onto the end of the lumpy couch and reached for the phone. After seven rings, she was about to hang up when she heard Carre’s sleepy voice.

“Hello?”

“Babe? Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Bri? Hi, yeah. That’s okay.” Caroline laughed. “I’m awake now. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Bri said quietly. “I just…wanted to talk to you. I tried calling last night…”

“Oh.” There was a moment of silence, then Caroline said softly, “I was out with some of the kids from school. I…I got the scholarship.”

Bri closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. “That’s great, babe. I’m really proud of you.”

“I tried to call you, but I guess I missed you.”

“Yeah. I was with Reese.” Bri straightened her shoulders. “So listen, we should do something to celebrate. How about I’d come down next weekend, and we’ll go out.”

“That would be great. I miss you. “

“Me, too.” Bri heard a muffled voice in the background. “Is somebody there?”

“Oh. That’s James. It was really late when the party broke up last night, and he walked me home.”

“And stayed over?”

“Uh-huh.”

Bri had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. You could spit from one side of that apartment to the other. Everything was turned upside down, and all she could feel was the dark ache of loss. The words were out before she even had time to think. “Where did he sleep?”

“What? Bri!”

“Well, Jesus, Carre—what am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to think I love you. And in case you’ve forgotten, I like girls.” Caroline’s voice rose, tight with anger. “It’s pretty clear you’ve forgotten that the only girl I ever wanted was you. No wonder it was so easy for you to leave.”

“Easy?” Bri whispered, so quietly her voice did not carry over the line.

“I’m going to go now, Bri, because I don’t want to fight. I’ll talk to you later.”

Bri closed her eyes as a soft click broke the connection.

Stupid. Jesus, what’s wrong with you.

She got up and headed for the shower, determined to ride back to New York City as soon as her weapons class was over and apologize. As she stood under the hot spray, trying to purge the misery from her mind and heart, a pounding on the bathroom door penetrated her awareness. She stuck her head outside the shower curtain. “What?”

The door opened a crack and a male voice called, “Parker, your old man’s on the phone.”

“Tell them I’ll call him back,” Bri yelled, surprised.

“He says it’s an emergency.”

Heart pounding, Bri stepped from the shower and grabbed for a towel.

Tory glanced at the clock on the opposite side of the brightly lit emergency room. She couldn’t believe it was only ten o’clock in the morning. She felt like the day had been endless. She jumped, startled by the voice beside her.