Dead On Arrival

Three

Thank goodness Jagger didn’t argue with me, I thought as I sat on the chair near Lilla’s desk. She fiddled with the paperwork, and I also thought anyone who’d survived four husbands, two of whom were abusive, sure fit into this investigative job pretty well. She looked as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

I, on the other hand, sat there thinking of Sky, Jagger, Sky and Jagger, until my mind was nearly mush. Damn. Why couldn’t I get a job with less-attractive guys around me? Way less attractive. Something about that Texas drawl had piqued my interest.

Then it hit me that I’d openly agreed to fly on a helicopter.

I rested my head in my hands and thought for a few seconds, and then I prayed the rest of the time that I wouldn’t get assigned any helicopter runs. After all, I wasn’t an EMT or a trained nurse in airovac.

“Pauline. Pauline.”

“Hmm?” I looked up to see Lilla looking at me. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“I have some paperwork-release forms, chéri-for you to sign so you can do a ride along.”

“Ride along?” I figured that meant a test drive in an ambulance, since Jagger and I were obviously going to do our investigative work as if on orientation. Surely we weren’t going out alone? I laughed at the stupid thought.

“With Monsieur Sky.” She leaned back in her seat with the paperwork in her hand.

I got stuck on Monsieur Sky until it hit me-the ride along was a fly along!

“No way!” flew out of my mouth just as Sky and Jagger approached from the office behind Lilla.

“No way what?” Sky asked.

Lilla started to say, “Pauline does not-”

Damn that drawl. “Thanks, Lilla. I’ll explain.” I chuckled to fill in the gaping hole in the conversation and to buy myself time to make up a lie. I stunk at lying. When I looked at Jagger, I saw that he knew very well that I was trying to come up with a fib.

And damn it all, but he just stood there-silently.

I decided to wave my hands, as if that would erase everyone’s current memory and said, “So, this should be fun. A ride along, I mean,” as I got up, pushed past traitor Jagger and stood next to Sky. “You are going to be careful, aren’t you?” I did my best hooker eyelash fluttering and turned back in time to see Jagger shaking his head. Once. Thank the good Lord; however, once was bad enough.

I couldn’t help but glare at the metal container I was about to enter and wondered if there was more than one bolt that held on the blades sticking out of the top. I’d heard there wasn’t.

Sky and his buddy pilot, who’d been introduced as Mario Fortunato, were doing some kind of preflight check of the chopper. I held my breath and prayed they wouldn’t miss a loose bolt or the loose bolt, but since Jagger sat inside as if nothing bothered him (and it didn’t), I didn’t want to sound girly scared.

“It’s a go,” Mario said and winked at me.

I laughed. “Tell me, Fortunato, are you going to bring good luck our way?”

He laughed. “None needed with Sky at the controls.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding since signing my life away on Lilla’s release form and let Mario guide me toward the open door of the helicopter, which sat so innocently on the helipad.

Jagger had obviously set this up. The guy pulled more strings than a marionette operator.

I ignored the bright red color of the helicopter (originally thinking blood here), telling myself it would be easier for other aircraft to see us in the sky. On top were the blades. Two blades-actually it looked like one really long one. I’d have felt better with about six instead, and again prayed that more than one bolt held them on.

The chopper was much shorter than I’d imagined and had what looked like three tails (one could only hope three tails offset one blade). All in all, not exactly a menacing figure-until I thought about getting inside.

As I readied to turn and run, Mario reached inside and pulled out a helmet, which he handed to me without even asking my size, then ran through instructions like walking low so the blades wouldn’t…you know…and that there were earphones and a microphone inside the helmet to communicate with the pilots.

Great. I’m sure my soft, shaking voice would come out loud and clear over the roar of the swirling blades.

Then again, at least with the microphone off they might not hear me screaming.

Before I knew it, I was strapped into a seat next to Jagger (good if we had to evacuate) and with my eyes shut (figuring he couldn’t see because of the helmet) we were above the ground.

Above the ground.

And, not on a smooth direct flight path. Oh no. Sky, obviously living up to his birth name, was maneuvering through Hope Valley as if in a video game and we were the targets.

Today’s breakfast rose up my throat.

I grabbed Jagger’s arm. Then let go as quickly as the idea flashed into my head that I seemed like a real “girl” doing that. Wouldn’t set right with him.

I blinked, thinking that might help and knowing it wouldn’t do shit, until I took several long, slow, deep breaths-and reminded myself that vomiting next to these three hunks would not be in my best interest professionally or sexually.

Sitting much straighter, I refused myself any more feelings of nausea (as if that were some mental luxury) and took several deep breaths. The phrase I am a professional became my mantra. I heard some static and that soothing, sexy Texas drawl. “So, ma’am, how you doing?”

“I love flying!” I shouted, and then promptly bit my lip. Really. What the hell was I talking about? I looked out the window and the ground was a gazillion miles away. I held so tightly onto the handlebar next to me, my fingers went numb as we zoomed around.

I caught a look at Jagger out of the corner of my eye-not easy to do with the damn helmet on-and there he sat, eyes closed and, I think, snoring.

Nothing bothered the damn guy!

I sucked in some air and sat straighter, all the while telling myself that I could do this without vomiting, screaming or passing out. In other words, I had to be professional, both as a nurse and investigator. After all, I’d be transporting patients and had to devote my attention to them and not myself.

What seemed like hours flew by (pun intended since I couldn’t ignore that I didn’t have any feet on the ground) and before I knew it, Jagger was standing next to me.

Standing?

We’d landed back at the helipad and he was already out and waiting for me to come back to reality. At least my reality hadn’t involved airsickness.

I unhooked myself, stepped out and lifted the helmet off my head. Had to weigh a ton. Then I caught my reflection in the window. Geez. Ghost pale and helmet hair, and three hunks within inches.

That had to be the story of my life.

Sky stepped out and came closer. “So. How’d I do?”

I smiled, figuring he wasn’t talking to Jagger. “You did great, partner,” I said in a John Wayne cowboy accent. My attempt at Texas.

Jagger shook his head and walked toward the building.

I curled my lips at him, and then turned to Mario and Sky. “Really, it was fantastic. Do you work for TLC?”

Mario stepped closer. I felt like an Oreo. “We work for them, but since Hope Valley isn’t a budding metropolis, we cover nearby areas and transport to several of the big trauma centers in Hartford and New Haven if need be. Sometimes to New York City or Boston for private transportation. Cost a bundle in air miles.”

“Oh. I see.” I did see. TLC was making more money with this venture. Usually hospitals owned the helicopters, but in this case, it was privately owned. I couldn’t wait to meet the Sterling twins. Oh yeah, the TLC/Sterling twins.

Normally I’m not a mean-spirited person, but standing there glaring at the owners of TLC, I wanted to ask, “So which one of you is the female?”

The twins were identical. Well, identical was a misnomer, but they might have been clones and, when dressed (not that I saw the twins undressed), they were exactly alike right down to the short, cropped blonde hair, green eyes and smile that appeared painted on-kind of like a clown’s.

Since my thoughts were so uncharitable, I decided to stare at something else, but when I looked around Payne’s office, there was nothing I could look at with a serious face.

The place was like something out of the fifties, but in no way similar to my mom’s house. That at least had character. This office was a mismatch of old furniture-but brightly colored in oranges, reds and purples, as if the old psychedelic TV show Laugh-In had exploded all over Payne Sterling’s office.

But on one wall were all religious paintings (copies I assumed) that appeared to have been done by one Leonardo da Vinci.

Trying not to notice the place, I looked to my left where the door was open to the sister’s, Pansy’s, office.

Black and white. That was it. Apparently Payne had gotten the color gene. Well, at least décor was one thing they weren’t cloned in.

I heard, “Nice to meet you, Ms. Sokol,” and swung my head around. Pansy was holding her hand out to me. Short nails, more wrinkles than my Uncle Walt and bright white nail polish. I didn’t know they even made white nail polish. I mean, what was the point?

I shook her hand, thought of what a weak grip she had and said, “I’m thrilled to be working here,” hoping like hell that I sounded sincere. ’Cause looking at these two weirdos, I sure didn’t mean it.

“Since you are a registered nurse, Pauline, you’ll be assigned to our most experienced employee, who’s been here longer than us. We are a private company and may run things a little differently. Nurses are only needed on certain trips as it is expensive for the patients, but I’m sure you are aware that paramedics cannot give some medications or maybe do a treatment that is needed. When not flying, you’ll help with the ambulance runs.” The siblings looked at each other and smiled.

Ick.

Not that it was a sexual smile, but it sure was weird.

Like they cared about the patient’s wallet. The only thing these two cared about was money. I could just feel it in my intuitive brain, which had always served me well in my nursing. Often I could tell if a patient was going downhill and notified the docs ASAP. Now I was learning to trust that intuition.

“Welcome back, Jagger. You’ve been missed. The other paramedics are thrilled you’re here to help out,” Payne said.

Wait a minute! Jagger? Paramedic? Why was I not surprised? I knew he wouldn’t be pulling one of his chameleon charades at the expense of people’s lives and pretend to be an EMT or paramedic. Nope. Jagger really was a trained paramedic. Maybe from his past military days. I’d ask him later.

He wouldn’t tell me later or ever.

Pansy looked at Jagger (I think she winked at him!) and said, “Everyone around here calls the guy you’ll be with ER Dano.” She laughed. “It’s been so long, I’m not even sure what his real name is.”

Brother and sister broke out into hysterical laughter.

Jagger shook his head.

And without thinking, I said, “Dan?” then swallowed back anything else that might pop out of my mouth while I contemplated the two of these jokers committing fraud.

No way.

They obviously were too stupid.

Pansy’s eyes darkened. She stepped closer to me and in a deep, husky voice said, “No kidding.”

Gulp. Okay, I took it back. My intuition said: She could be lethal.

As if holding court, darling ER Dano sat in the only comfortable chair in the room, where he managed to garner everyone’s attention-except maybe Jagger’s.

I sat across the coffee table from ER, staring. We’d settled in the lounge area where the staff of EMT and paramedics waited for calls while-I’d learned earlier-some sat in satellite stations around the town and some in designated parking lots to be ready for 911 calls nearby.

The room had a somewhat homey atmosphere, if you liked royal blue and red, but also a dreary atmosphere that said the twins were not interior decorators, to be sure. Magazines were strewn across the glass top of the coffee table, the TV was attached to the wall (as if someone might want to take the old thing home) and there were decks of cards on the tables by the window along with a Mr. Coffee machine on the counter nearby.

And ER Dano sat there as nonchalant as could be while eager EMT newbies and experienced ones hung on his every word-which seemed to annoy him.

One of the newest (obviously because of his crisp new uniform) EMTs, whom ER called Buzz Lightyear-probably because the kid looked as if he’d just stepped out of a brand-new toy box-turned toward ER. “When do you think we’ll get our next call?”

Oh, boy. Suddenly I wanted to put my arms around the kid, whose name badge read Jeremy Buttman (poor thing).

Without looking around, or at Jeremy for that matter, ER said, “Eleven fifty-eight in the morning.”

“Really?” I think Jeremy bounced in his seat when he spoke.

“You think I’m a freaking clairvoyant?” ER asked.

Jeremy shook his head, and I wondered if he even knew what that meant.

“No, sir, it’s just…I’m anxious, is all.”

Yikes.

ER’s grip tightened on his mug. He didn’t look at Jeremy, but more at all of us-at the same time-and said, “It’s not about the lights and sirens…it’s not about drivin’ fast…and it has nothin’ to do with what you want or think you might know about medicine…”

Then, when he had all of our attention he leaned back, slowly took a sip of coffee and paused dramatically.

The room hushed.

My heart beat faster, and I wondered if everyone could hear it. Poor “Buzz” looked as if he’d pass out.

ER then took a long Barney Fife kind of sniff and said, “It’s about freaking savin’ lives.”

ER Dano sipped again at his steaming black coffee from a mug with an insignia of a red devil on it, and didn’t look as if the liquid burned his mouth in the least.

Somehow that didn’t surprise me. Intrigued? Yep. Surprised? Nope.

No one made a sound. I couldn’t help but stare at him.

The guy was tall. About an inch over Jagger. I could still tell by the way he lounged in the chair. Hair a bit shorter than Jagger’s and a deep brown. More slender than Jagger, but not too thin, and ER Dano definitely worked out. A lot.

“As a nurse, Nightingale, you’ll be assigned to patients that need the special care. Mostly on transport,” ER Dano said, and I sat at attention immediately. “For now, you’re just a ride along.”

“Fine,” I mumbled. I had to chuckle at his term of endearment for me until I looked at Jagger.

He looked pissed!

My chuckle turned into a grin-a naughty grin that wanted Jagger to notice. “This is all new to me,” I said, “so riding along for orientation will work fine. I’d also like to get a feel for how the company works.” I watched him to see if there was any indication that he might be involved in any fraud, but so far, all I got was attitude. A bad attitude. The longer I listened to him talk to Jagger, the more I was convinced that ER Dano was a lifer here-but burned out worse than I’d been from my nursing career.

Clearly Dano had gone up in flames a long time ago.

“You sit here, Nightingale,” ER said, pointing to the bench in the back of the ambulance.

My first thought was of motion sickness, but when I looked at the cocky paramedic, I refused to let myself even entertain that nauseous thought. I would sit in the back and not get sick.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Jagger, grinning. He was enjoying this so, again, I had to be “big” about it and not complain-even though I’d kill to sit up front.

And believe me, between the cockiness of ER Dano and good ol’ Jagger, I’d be glad to “off” at least one of them, if not both.

I sat on the bench directly across from the empty stretcher, said a silent prayer to Saint Theresa for the power of antinausea and strapped myself in.

Suddenly the ambulance zoomed out of the parking lot and all I could think of was the ones you see in cartoons-balanced on two wheels!

ER Dano was some character.

This case might be fun…if I lived through today.