“Tory, I need someone to sign an operative consent,” K.T. said quietly. “I don’t think she’s competent. Do you know how we can reach her next of kin?”

“I have medical power of attorney,” Tory said quietly. She leaned against the aluminum guardrail that stood between her and Reese like the bars of a jail cell, her left hand curled tightly over the top rung, her right softly stroking Reese’s forehead. She didn’t look at the surgeon standing next her.

“You do?”

“Yes. She’s my lover.”

There was a moment’s silence, then K.T. said flatly, “Fine. I’ll get the papers.”

“No. Not yet.” Tory turned and met K.T.‘s eyes. “Her vital signs are stable. She just got the loading doses of chloramphenicol an hour ago. I want to wait until Jill has had a chance to look at the gram stain.”

“Why?” the surgeon asked impatiently.

“Because this might be a limited infection, and another dose of antibiotics might bring it under control without surgery.”

“And if we wait, and it isn’t a mild form of the organism, she could lose her arm. She could die.”

“She’s a sheriff and a lieutenant colonel in the Marine Corps. She needs the use of that arm to be who she is,” Tory said as a wave of agony passed through her. “I have to be sure.”

“I’ll be as conservative with the resection as I can,” K.T. insisted.

“Can you promise me that you won’t resect the extensor muscles in her forearm?” Tory said sharply. “Because if you do, she’ll never hold a gun again.”

“You know I can’t promise that. It depends on what it looks like.”

“Yes, and you can’t always tell if the tissue is healthy or not just by looking at it. And surgical teaching says when in doubt, cut it out. I lived with you through your surgical residency, remember?”

“God damn it, you’re letting your emotions affect your judgment.” K.T. took Tory’s elbow and moved her several feet away from Reese’s bedside. “You’re not thinking like a doctor. You shouldn’t be making this decision.”

“I am a doctor,” Tory said sharply. “And I’m her lover. I’ll let you know after I’ve talked to Jill.”

“Jesus,” K.T. cursed. “You’re just as stubborn as ever.”

“And you’re—”

“Tory!” Bri called as she hurried across the room.

Tory looked over at the handsome youth in leather motorcycle pants, black jacket, and white tee shirt. An inexplicable wave of relief washed through her. Maybe it was simply the fact that Bri had always reminded her of Reese in her single-mindedness and her uncommon sense of valor. She held out her hand, which Bri took. To her surprise, Bri leaned close and kissed her on the cheek. Oh, Bri. You’ve grown up, haven’t you?

“Thanks for coming, Bri.”

“I left as soon as my dad called me. He said he’d be here soon.”

“This is Doctor O’Bannon, one of Reese’s doctor’s.”

Bri nodded briefly in the direction of the woman by Tory’s side. “How is she?”

“She’s in and out. She’s sleeping right now.” Tory squeezed her hand. “I called Jean and Kate, but they must be away because I only got their answering machine.”

“I’ll call my dad in a few minutes. He can probably track them down.” Bri glanced at the stretcher. The sight of Reese in the hospital bed sent a jolt of terror straight through her. Carefully, she kept her expression blank. “Can I…is it okay if I…”

“Go talk to her for a minute,” Tory said gently. “She won’t answer, but she’ll hear your voice. I need to hunt down one of the other doctors.”

Bri studied Tory’s drawn face, her eyes darkening with concern. “Have you had anything to eat this morning?”

“What?” Tory asked in confusion.

“You haven’t, have you?” Bri put her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and hunched her shoulders slightly. “Look, I’ll bring you something from the cafeteria. Toast or something. Is coffee okay?”

The sight of Bri, so very much like Reese, searching desperately for a way to take care of her brought a sudden flood of tears to Tory’s eyes. With a shaking hand, she brushed away the few that escaped before she could contain them. She cleared her throat and smiled. “I guess I should skip the coffee. But some juice and toast would be great. Thanks, sweetie.”

Bri blushed and ducked her head. “I’ll be right back.”

K.T. watched Bri walk away. “She’s hot.”

“She’s a child,” Tory said acerbically.

“I don’t think so.” She gave Tory a speculative glance. “Still living in Provincetown?”

“Yes. Bri’s father is the sheriff there and Reese’s boss.”

“Why did the kid ask if coffee was okay? Is something…wrong? Are you ill?”

“No.” Tory hesitated. “I’m pregnant.”

K.T.‘s gasp of surprise was audible. “Jesus Christ, Tory. Stop fooling around then. Let me operate and make sure your partner’s around to see the baby.”

Tory’s face lost the last remnants of color, but she refused to give in to the sudden wave of dizziness. “You never could see the shades of gray, could you? I’m going to find Jill Baker and see what she thinks. I’ll give you my decision after that.”

Than she walked to the bed, leaned over, kissed Reese on the lips, and strode away without looking back at the astonished surgeon.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Tory found Jill Baker in the pathology laboratory, bent over a microscope, a frown of intense concentration wrinkling her smooth forehead.

“What have you found?”

Without looking up, the infectious disease specialist answered, “It’s a gram negative, just like we expected. At least we know the antibiotics are correct.”

“Is there any way to tell if it’s the virulent form or the self-limited variety?” Tory tried to keep her voice even and hoped that her rising panic wasn’t evident. As each second passed, and the clock ticked down on the chance of keeping Reese out of the operating room, her anxiety escalated.

“No, I’m sorry. Not from this. We need to wait for the culture and sensitivity results to come back.” Her eyes were sympathetic, but her tone held the matter-of-fact delivery of every physician who knew that only the truth would suffice.

“How long?” Tory asked, although in her heart, she knew.

“Twelve hours at best, more likely twenty-four.” Baker shrugged. “Bacteria grow at their own pace.”

“If it’s Vibrio vulnificus, she doesn’t have twelve hours, does she?” Tory put one hand on the counter, determined not to let anyone see her falter.

“If that’s what it is, she doesn’t even have six.” Baker’s gaze slid from Tory’s tormented green eyes to the scrolled gold band encircling her left ring finger, the exact match to the one on the sheriff’s hand. “What would you say if you didn’t know anything about her except the medical facts?”

Tory looked away, attempting the impossible task of keeping Reese’s face from her mind. But she was a doctor, and after a moment, she succeeded in assessing, categorizing, calculating the timetable, and reviewing the sequence of symptoms. She took a deep breath. “I’d say that everything points to the rapid onset of cellulitis which was most likely produced by an ocean-borne pathogen. In all likelihood, there was systemic spread almost immediately, which accounts for her toxic presentation and gastrointestinal symptoms. I can precisely pinpoint the time of infection, and considering that it’s been almost twelve hours, the progression is not escalating particularly rapidly.”

“Very good,” Baker said with a small grin. “And your conclusion?”

“It’s more likely to be the nonfulminant variety, because if it were anything else, by now her condition should have deteriorated to the point of shock and system failure.” For just a second, her voice shook. “There’s no evidence of disseminated intravascular coagulation on her last blood panel, and the local spread of the infection seems to have stabilized.”

“Want a job? We could use another ID attending around here.”

“No thanks,” Tory said with a weak laugh. “What if we wait on the surgery, and I’m wrong?”

“Being cautious is the sign of a good physician. Second-guessing yourself, though, is dangerous.” Jill Baker’s expression was solemn. “Let’s try a little old-fashioned medicine. Let’s look at the wound. If the cellulitis hasn’t progressed, and she still looks stable, I say we sit on it for another couple of hours.”

“O’Bannon’s going to go crazy.”

Joe lifted one elegant shoulder. “Let her. Her ego can take it.”

Tory took a deep breath. “Okay.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

K.T. was gone when Tory and Jill returned, having been called away by an emergency in the trauma unit. Bri was sitting by Reese’s bedside, perched on a tall stool, a tray bearing English muffins and cardboard cartons of juice balanced on her knee.

“Look who’s here,” Bri said happily as Tory approached, inclining her head toward the bed.

Tory leaned over the stretcher and gazed into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “Hello, sweetheart,” she murmured, her heart aching at the shadows of pain that lingered in Reese’s face.

“Hi, love. Sorry I keep…fading.” Reese turned her head slightly. “Bri says she has breakfast.”

“Yes,” Tory said with a smile. “But not for you just yet. Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” Reese grimaced. “I’m just happy not to be heaving. You should eat.”

Tory petted her hair, stroked her face, unable to bear not to be touching her. “In a minute.” She glanced to the side as Jill joined her at the bedside. “Honey, this is Jill Baker. She’s an infectious disease specialist. She needs to look at your arm.”

“Okay,” Reese said weakly. “Just looking, right, Doc?”

“No sharp instruments, Sheriff,” Jill replied with a smile.

Reese kept her eyes on Tory’s face as the other doctor unwrapped her arm. She would be able to read the answer in her lover’s eyes. When Jill gently probed with a gloved hand, Reese winced and immediately saw Tory’s eyes darken. “I’m okay, Tor. It doesn’t hurt too much.”