his forearm. A fleeting worry about scarring shot through his mind, but he dismissed it. Heâd come razor-close to losing his eyesight. He was thankful that, in all likelihood, heâd walk away from this with some scars on his arm, a badly sprained ankle and a headache.
A beep went off in Sophieâs lab coat pocket. Anxiety distorted her pretty features and suddenly her entire demeanor changed. Her motions were brusque, hurried, but exact as she tore a plastic wrapper away from a disposable hypodermic needle. She dabbed gauze with alcohol and cleaned his IV site, then took the IV line, unhooked it and cleaned both ends of the plastic connections before injecting a vial of medication into his IV. âThis will help with the pain,â she said, glancing into the hallway. She turned back to him. âThis is your call button if you need anything. I know you must be thirsty, but we canât let you have anything to eat or drink for a while. If you feel nauseous, you hit that button immediately. Do you understand?â
Jack nodded, disconcerted by her stern tone, and suddenly realized that the soothing melody of her voice had distracted him from what was going on in the rest of the ER. Sophie peered through Jackâs privacy curtain, and he heard what sounded like dozens of people all talking at the same time. Orders were being shouted. Someone was rattling off clipped, terse instructions. Rubber-soled shoes and sneakers pounded against the linoleum floor. Wheels of gurneys wobbled and screeched.
Though it sounded like pandemonium to Jack, an outsider, he knew these were professionals. He believed in this hospital and its very qualified staff. After all, it was only a few months ago, thanks to Katia Stanislausâs expertise, that he and his company had landed the insurance contract for the Indian Lake Hospital. Heâd met with President Emory Wills himself. Jack also knew cardiac surgeon Nate Barzonni personally. He was an excellent surgeon and could have had his pick of positions at Sloan-Kettering in New York, but being the altruistic man he was, Nate chose to divide his work between the Indian reservations up in Michigan and here in Indian Lake.
It eased Jackâs nerves to know that he, Owen and Aleah were in very capable hands.
Still, Jack wanted to talk to somebody who knew what had happened to him and his employees in the fog on Highway 421 tonight. Had he gone off the road? Had he fallen asleep? Was this his fault? What could have caused all this suffering?
Just considering that he could be responsible in the slightest degree was intolerable. Guilt flooded him like a tsunami, taking over his thoughts and causing more agony than his physical pain.
His whole life, heâd tried to do the right thing in every circumstance. From striving to live up to his marine fatherâs demanding and impossible expectations to taking care of his sister and mother after his fatherâs death. He chose insurance as a career to help others protect their lives and their possessions. Jack Carter was a guardian.
In the blink of an eye, he had placed the people in his charge in jeopardy.
Now Jack had to face his darkest hour.
Just then, the air was split again with screams of human pain that Jack would never have imagined, even in his worst nightmares. He heard a man, a young man, yelling for help. Then he screamed again with such agony, Jack thought he must be torn in two. Jack wanted to cover his ears, but even if he could have, he knew he would never forget that scream for the rest of his life. It was so terrifying it sounded inhuman.
But above it all, he heard the high-pitched wail of a young girlâs terror that turned his blood to ice.
âThatâs Aleah!â Jack growled as tears burned his swollen and bruised eyes.
A voice came over the loudspeaker. âCode Blue. Code Blue. Dr. Barzonni to the ER, stat.â
Sophie glanced back at Jack with pleading eyes as she burst away from