Tropical Heat (Heat #1)

1. One

One

M organ

As the sun came up, the dark blues and mottled grays above the Florida Straits gave way to golden yellows mixed with a fiery orange. Somewhere in the distance, a gull screeched. A gentle breeze blew in from the ocean side. The salty air had the slightest hint of hydrogen sulfide, signaling that sargassum season had arrived early this year. Out on the Overseas Highway, a delivery driver shifted gears and headed south through town.

The time and temperature sign in front of Suncoast Bank showed it was already seventy-two degrees. There had been eight inches of snow on the ground in Pittsburgh when Doris Paulson called to offer me the position at Turtle Key Medical Center. But it was not the weather which drew me to the opportunity.

I understand all too well how important quick access to a Level I trauma center is for those who are critically injured. It can literally be the difference between life and death. The next closest facility of its type is in Miami. One hundred and fifteen miles to the north.

I looked at my watch. There was another hour until shift change, and I hoped it would be as uneventful as the previous nine. An empty Frito bag fluttered across the parking lot. I chased it down and stuck the trash in the pocket of my white coat. Despite having only arrived in The Keys a week earlier, I already knew the vital role The Reef plays in the local economy.

After another moment to savor the sun on my face, I turned to reenter the hospital. But before I got to the door, the siren of an approaching ambulance pierced the tranquil morning, signaling someone needed my help. I hurried to the EMS entrance.

By the time I got there, the man I had nicknamed HB, short for Hot Butt, and another paramedic, were already offloading the gurney from the rear of the unit. HB smiled and then gave me the rundown. His lips were plump and looked soft. You know the type of lips I'm talking about. Lips that with one kiss would ruin you for all other lips.

“Patient is Dixie Higgs. a 29-year-old female. When we arrived on scene, at Jasper’s Qwik Mart, we found Ms. Higgs in the backseat of a parked car. She was unconscious and unresponsive. Items in the vehicle and previous calls involving the same individual indicated a likely fentanyl overdose. We administered naloxone in the field. After confirming her vitals were stable, she was loaded into the unit for transport.”

Growing up in rural West Virginia, and a year of residency at Pittsburgh Mercy Hospital, meant I had seen firsthand the damage caused by opioid abuse. It is a crisis created by the greed of a few powerful pharmaceutical companies, and made worse by misguided members of my profession.

The woman strapped to the gurney was my age, but looked twice as old. Dark circles around her sunken eyes and a broken nose, which had never been properly set, marred an otherwise unremarkable face. Dirty bare feet and soiled pink shorts, a size too big for her shrunken frame, suggested she might be unhoused. “Any sign of injury?” I asked the paramedics. “The bloodstain on her shirt looks recent.”

“It's not her blood.” I looked up just in time to see a police officer step out of the ambulance. He held a bloody cloth wrapped around his forearm. “The bitch bit me.”

This roused Ms. Higgs, who pulled at her restraints. “Serves you right, motherfucker. You had no right to kill my high. I’m gonna sue every one of you bitches.”

“Shut up or I’ll put the cuffs back on.” The officer reached towards his utility belt with his good arm and the woman began to cry.

She looked past me towards the cop. “You should have just let me die.”

“Not on my watch, sweetheart.” His smile turned to a snarl. “Too much damn paperwork for that shit.”

Realizing he was not interested in calming the situation, I took the woman's hand and gave it a soft squeeze. “It's going to be okay. We'll take care of you.” I asked the paramedics to put the woman in exam room one. Then turned to the cop and asked him to follow me to exam room five. After pulling the curtain closed, I introduced myself. “I’m Doctor Morgan Lewis. What’s your name, officer?”

“Deputy Sheriff Dante Garcia. You must be new.”

I saw no need to explain to this man it was my first week on the job. “Well, Deputy Sheriff Garcia, we need to get your shirt off so I can look at your wound.”

“Can't you just give me a Band-Aid and call it good? I've radioed for another unit to meet me here, so we can transport my prisoner to lock-up.”

“The patient voiced suicidal thoughts. She won’t be going anywhere until she is examined by Psych.”

“What do you mean, suicidal thoughts?”

“She stated, in front of multiple witnesses, that she wished you had let her die.”

“That's bull crap and you know it. She assaulted a police officer.” He gestured to his arm. “She needs to be locked up.”

“What she needs is help, not punishment. Drug addiction is a disease, Deputy.”

“Just what we need around here, another liberal bleeding heart from up north.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“This is not up for debate. As long as she is in my ER, Ms. Higgs is my patient and my responsibility.” My gaze locked on his deep brown eyes, long enough to make sure he got the message. “Now let's have a look at that arm, shall we?”

He grudgingly removed his uniform shirt. I had been so busy showing him who was in charge; I had missed how well built he was. But bare chested, it was impossible not to see that from his broad pectorals down to insanely developed abdominals; he was ripped.

But he was also a major jerk. So why were my nether regions sending unwanted thoughts to my brain? Before he could see me flush, I turned to the cabinet, which held general supplies. The irrigation kit I needed was in the bottom drawer. When I stood back up and faced him, I noticed an annoying smirk on his face. Had he been checking out my ass? Did I want him to check me out? Absolutely not.

I focused on his wound, reminding myself he was a patient. “I'm going to give you an injection to numb the area before I clean it out.”

“No drugs,” he said emphatically

“It's just lidocaine.”

“I realize you're new, so I will say it again. No drugs.”

“Suit yourself, but this is going to hurt.” He watched as I cleaned his wound. I knew he was in pain, but he never flinched.

“You're much prettier than the last doc who treated me.”

I ignored the compliment. “When was that, and what were you treated for?”

About a month ago. A fractured finger on my right hand. Some knob put a rat trap in my mailbox. I was on desk duty until earlier this week.”

It sounded like Deputy Garcia had a way of pissing people off. “Did they find the person who did it?”

“No. But I've got my suspicions. Florida has more than its fair share of stupid criminals. And it's my job to enforce the law. Sometimes that pisses people off. Like the woman today.” He shook his head. “It would have never happened if Zak had just listened to me. I told him to let me cuff her before he gave her the NARCAN. But the guy never listens. Always thinks he knows best.”

“Which one is Zak?”

He smirked. “The one you were making dreamy eyes at.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Even as I spoke the words, I could feel my cheeks flush.

“No judgment on my part. He’s a good-looking man.”

I told him I don’t date patients or people I work with and he dropped the subject. After applying antiseptic ointment to his injured forearm, I covered it with a gauze pad, which I taped loosely at the edges. “I didn’t suture it because I'm worried about infection. You'll need to change the pad twice a day. Is there someone at home who can help you with that?”

He nodded. “My roommate.”

“Good. I’m writing a prescription for antibiotics. Make sure you take them. A nurse will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork.”

“I'd like to buy you dinner to show there are no hard feelings.”

“I just told you I don't date patients.”

“You also said I was being discharged, which means I'm no longer a patient.”

I had to at least give him credit for trying. “I've been looking over your chart, and given your history, I think it's safe to assume you will be a patient again real soon. Now if you'll excuse me. I need to check in on Ms. Higgs.”

“You know you can’t help her, right?” His tone gentle and his voice softer. “Even if she agrees to go to rehab, six weeks after she gets out, she’ll go right back to using again. I see it all the time.”

I understood where he was coming from. Our chosen professions meant we interacted with people at the worst times of their lives. It’s enough to make anyone cynical if you let it. “It doesn’t mean you stop trying.”

“You’re right,” he agreed with little conviction and put his shirt back on.

Dixie was sleeping peacefully when I looked in exam room one. I checked her chart and saw no one had been down from psych yet. My shift ended twenty minutes earlier, but I was in no rush to go back to my room at the Paradise Fishing Lodge. Which was neither paradise nor lodgelike, but thanks to the motel’s proximity to the docks, there was a constant fishy smell.

The woman in administration, who arranged my temporary housing, had apologized for the lack of amenities but said it was the best they could do on short notice, what with it being tourist season and all.

I went to the nurses' station and called up to the fourth floor again. The man who eventually answered sounded out of breath. I inquired when they would send someone down to examine my patient. He huffed and said it would be as soon as possible, then hung up. I got the feeling the Psych department had a different interpretation of ASAP than I did. Still holding the phone, dumbfounded, I looked at Elenora. “Is it always this hard to get a consult?”

“Not always.” The nursing supervisor gave me a sympathetic smile. “Most of the hospital is still understaffed. We’re lucky to have Dr. Paulson. She’s made recruiting a priority since taking over the ER. But then, I don’t have to tell you that.”

She returned her attention to the computer on the counter in front of her. Hoping something new had come on the market since I last looked, I took out my phone and scrolled through the real estate ads.

Buried in student loan debt, I ignored the properties listed for sale, but even rentals in Turtle Key were expensive. The hospital was only paying for a month of temporary housing, so I needed to find something soon. Apartments in my budget were scarce and got snapped up as soon as they were listed. I was starting to think I might need to find someone looking for a roommate.

“Don't you ever leave here?” a voice behind me asked. I turned around to see HB standing there with a smile on his face and looking damn sexy. I’ve always been attracted to guys in uniform and his fit him well. Like it had been custom tailored for his broad chest and narrow waist.