There was a moment of stunned, horrified silence. Of comprehension.
Brannigan came back all business in an attempt to stay calm, to keep everyone focused. "What about the vic?"
Sean stared down to the rocks below. At the blood seeping everywhere. At the still body crumpled practically at the feet of the second rescuer who stared back at him with horror on his face.
"Say again. What about the vic?"
Sean swallowed the fear in his throat and forced his gaze-- and his mind--away from the broken body below. "Victim is still there. Stokes is swinging. Move left."
"Hang on. I'm stopping the swing."
Automatically the rescue crew gripped whatever was closest as Brannigan maneuvered quickly over the victim in mid-swing.
"Stokes is stable," Sean reported.
"Do I put the victim down?"
Sean took a deep breath. "No, let's just move him over to the clearing."
Doug broke radio silence. "Rescuer one is in bad shape. He's bad."
"Do what you can, rescue two," Brannigan said. "We'll be right back. Command, are you getting all this? We need a firefighter to disconnect our victim for us. We'll need another stokes and another med helicopter. Ben, how far out are you?"
"Ten minutes."
"Ground crew standing by. Will D.C. vic in clearing."
No one looked at Sam. He sat in silence, his face grim, shock and horror in his eyes. No one spoke as they waited for the victim to be disconnected so they could get back to their fallen crew member.
3
"THAT'S my last patient, Evelyn," Libby told the nurse with a faint smile. "It's home for me."
"Did you hear all the commotion in the ER, doctor?" Evelyn asked.
"I heard two helicopters arrive," Libby replied, "but I was too busy to check out what was going on." Two helicopters were unusual, so she'd guessed there was an accident on the highway.
"I've only managed to hear a word here and there, but it sounds like Drew Madison was climbing the cliffs out by Sea Lion Cove and fell. They called in the rescue helicopter and something went wrong."
Libby drew in her breath. "Drew? Are you certain? What on earth would he be doing out in this kind of weather? And what would he be doing on the cliffs? He knows how dangerous they are." The cliffs were extremely hazardous, fractured by huge cracks, weakened by the ever-eroding sea, rock crumbling away without warning. Even without the signs posted up and down the coastline, all the locals knew better than to risk their lives climbing the treacherous, unstable rock faces. "How bad is he hurt, do you know?"
"Orthopedic is with him now. You'll have to check with the ER docs, Libby. We've been so busy here in surgery today I haven't had a chance to really hear much."
"Thanks Evelyn. I'll go see him on my way out."
Libby tossed her gloves into a trash can and lifted a hand as she hurried down the hall toward the ER. She had known Drew his entire life. He wasn't a kid who did stupid things. He'd grown up in the small town of Sea Haven and he certainly knew the hazards of the crumbling cliffs due to the continual pounding of the sea and natural erosion. It made no sense to her that Drew would be out in the rain on a dangerous cliff when he had worked so hard to keep his leukemia in remission.
The ER was bustling with more than usual activity. The moment she set foot in the emergency room, she felt her body respond to the call for healing. Her stomach lurched and her temples began to throb. Somebody was in bad shape. Normally she didn't feel the call to heal so urgently, but this time every cell in her body began to crackle with energy. Her palms grew warm.
One of the ER nurses was Linda Bowers, a friend from high school. "What's going on?" Libby asked briskly.
"Helicopter rescue," Linda answered, "off the cliffs of Sea Lion Cove."
"The weather's horrible with the wind and rain. I heard it was Drew Madison. I can't imagine what he was thinking messing around out there. Everyone knows how dangerous it is."
"Jonas and Jackson have been in with Drew and from the small bits of conversation I'm hearing, they aren't so certain it was an accident. Pete Granger spotted him after Drew had apparently fallen or slid or maybe climbed halfway down the cliff. Then he fell the rest of the way onto the rocks."
"How bad is he injured?"
"No brain injuries, but surgery on his legs for certain. Ortho is looking at him. He's refusing to talk to his mother. He doesn't want to see her and she's totally hysterical. We even offered her a sedative." Linda frowned. "I think you should know, she's blaming you and your sisters."
"What? How could we be responsible for Drew going out onto the cliffs? Kate owns the property, but the cliffs are clearly marked unsafe and there's a fence surrounding the bluff with warning signs posted everywhere. She can't blame Kate--or us for that matter."
"Apparently she asked you to cure Drew."
Libby pressed her hand to her stomach. The need to act was becoming far more urgent. Someone was in dire straights and it wasn't Drew with his need for surgery. She felt the pull toward her left and even took a step in that direction before she could stop herself. "I can't cure Drew. I told her that. My sisters went with me and we worked on him to buy him more time in the hopes that research will be more aggressive."
Libby worked at staying focused on the conversation. It was important to her, but the continual draw toward the room to the left was strong. She could see through the glass partition someone hooked up to machines. Whoever the patient was, his life was ebbing away.
"Irene thinks Drew tried to commit suicide."
That caught Libby's attention. "That's just not possible. He's battled leukemia for years. He's always been determined to live."
"She put him in an experimental program with some new drug with the hopes of a complete cure. She blames the drug as well, says a side effect is depression."
That caught Libby's attention. "Not PDG-ibenregen?"
Linda nodded. "That's the drug. Why? What have you heard?"
"I warned Irene to be careful of that drug. Drew fell into the age group where preliminary reports showed problems with depression. I didn't think the drug was ready for human trials and I told her as much." Libby rubbed her pounding temples, trying to resist the pull toward the patient in the next room. "Why in the world didn't she listen to me? She asked me about it and I've done a lot of research on it. I was interested because the drug was based on the original work of someone I went to school with, but in the first phase of clinicals, there were two teens with problems and that raised a red flag to me. You might remember the original researcher, Tyson Derrick; he actually lives here on and off with his cousin, Sam Chapman. A few years ago he received a Nobel Prize in medicine for his studies in wound-healing cellular regeneration."
"Well, he won't be winning any more Nobel Prizes for anything. He was the rescuer that went down the rope. His safety harness failed and he fell. Major head trauma, internal injuries. The scans are bad. They're sending him to San Francisco, but I doubt he'll live through the night."
Libby sucked in her breath and pressed her hand to her suddenly churning stomach. "Tyson was the rescuer?" She turned her head toward the glass partition, trying to see the face of the patient. "Are you certain? He's a biochemist. A renowned researcher. He's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Jonas mentioned only last night that Ty worked for the forestry, but I didn't think . . ." Her voice drifted off.
"His parents died a couple of years ago and left him more money than everyone in Sea Haven has put together. Sam will most likely inherit everything. This must be awful for him. They're very close and Tyson's his only relative."
"That's why he worked with the forestry. Sam's a firefighter." Libby couldn't pull her gaze away from the glass. "I can't believe this happened. Who worked on Ty?"
"I'm sorry, Libby, I can see you're upset, but Dr. Shayner did a thorough workup on the patient. Tyson was intubated immediately and the doctor ordered a CT scan as well as a head and spinal scan. His pupils were blown and his corneal and
gag reflexes as well as ocular movement were all unresponsive. He's comatose."
"I want to see the scans."
Linda led the way into the room without comment. "Dr. Shayner is arranging to fly him to San Francisco. He's consulting with neurological."
Libby's heart dropped as she studied the scan. "The mortality rate for diffuse anoxal injuries is high," she murmured aloud, her frown deepening. The brain had been jarred too hard with the fall, causing the anoxals to tear. "The only method for treating is stabilizing. He has both subdural and dural hematomas." Libby continued to talk to herself.
Tyson was bleeding both on the brain and underneath. The brain was swelling. Libby closed her eyes briefly. She couldn't look at him. She had to leave while she could. Walk out the door and not look back. Her legs felt rubbery. Her body swayed slightly and she steadied herself with one hand against the wall, leaning forward to take deep breaths.
"Libby, are you okay?" Linda put her hand on Libby's back to stabilize her. With a little cry she lifted her palm to her mouth. "You're burning up, Lib." Her fingers felt scalded and sore.
There was no getting around it. Libby couldn't leave Tyson, not with his brilliance, his incredible brain so capable of doing so much good. She couldn't walk out. She heard Linda as if at a great distance, words buzzing in her head, but she couldn't focus. Libby pushed off the wall and found her body moving automatically toward the room where Tyson Derrick lay close to death.
No! Libby, get out of there. It's too dangerous.
Elle, the youngest Drake, was a strong telepath. Libby heard the urgency in her voice, the fear building to terror, but she couldn't stop, even though she recognized the danger wasn't just to her--but to all of her sisters. They were locked together as their ancestors had been before them. The gifts might be individual, but they shared power and energy and somehow, in a way they didn't fully understand, they were bound, one to the other, in those gifts.
She heard her own sob of despair, her plea for understanding and apology to her sisters for her inability to stop. She caught the edge of the door hoping to give herself time to think, time to stop, but her feet moved of their own volition carrying her to the side of the gurney. Light spilled out of her body, burst from her fingertips as she approached Tyson.
Libby looked down at the pale, blood-streaked face. Her heart lurched. It was definitely the Tyson Derrick she remembered, although his piercing blue eyes were closed, black lashes forming two thick crescents over dark circles. His jet black, wavy hair spilled over his forehead, strands sticking in the blood. His shoulders were even wider than she remembered; his arms defined with muscle. Her breath caught in her throat and for some strange reason her heart accelerated.
Tyson Derrick was the only man who ever managed to get under her skin. Libby was used to deference and respect working in her field. She was brilliant and knew it. Only one man had ever bested her grades. Only one man talked down to her, sometimes so rudely she cried herself to sleep at night. It was silly, but she could never quite get him out of her mind. She thought about him more than she cared to admit. It shouldn't matter that he didn't respect her as an equal--but it did. She hid the knowledge away deep where no one, not even her sisters, would ever find it, ashamed that she could be attracted to a man who treated her so carelessly, one she didn't even approve of.
"So much blood. So much pain," she whispered. He looked mangled, his face gray and stretched. It wasn't right. Tyson Derrick was a man needed in the world of medicine. He saw things others didn't and he was tenacious in looking for answers.
Libby touched her fingertips to either side of his head.
Libby! Stop! Elle and Hannah yelled the command in her mind, desperation in their voices. The cries of the others-- Sarah, Kate, Abigail and Joley--echoed through her mind and faded away as the heat built in her body.
Energy crackled around her. She took a deep breath to focus. Most of the time she relied on standard medicine, but already that place inside of her, a well of energy, of light, was shifting and opening, the force coursing through her every cell, filling her up.
It was too late to pull back. A compulsion seemed to have gripped her, a need she couldn't fight, to save this one man even at the risk to her own life and sanity--even at the risk to those she loved. It was insane, but the necessity was as elemental as breathing. She let the light and energy pour from her body into Tyson's.
Pain burst over her, through her, stabbing at her head, her chest, her insides until she thought she might pass out. She forced air through her lungs, breathing deeply to ride above the pain. Heat moved through her body, down her arms to her hands and into his brain, carrying with it raw energy and light. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, streaked her face, her arms. Stones seemed to settle in her chest, crushing her lungs.
Libby began to lose focus. She stumbled back from Tyson just as he began to stir. The heart monitor leapt with activity as did the EEG. Tyson's eyelashes fluttered. He blinked rapidly, looking up at her.
Ty knew he had to be dreaming. Sometimes, when he felt completely and utterly alone, her face came to him. Libby Drake. Like now. Perfect. No one else had such perfect features. He let himself just soak her in, his gaze fastened on her oval face. Her skin glowed in exactly the way he remembered it. Alabaster pale, so soft he wanted to reach out and run the tips of his fingers over it in a caress. Her lips were full, almost pouting. Kissable lips that conjured up way too many erotic fantasies, even when she frowned at him in disapproval. He thought about her lips far too much, even during the most exciting times when he was on the trail of an elusive answer, forgetting to eat or sleep. He fixated on her, driving the pain away for a few precious minutes while he concentrated on her.
It was her he was dreaming about when he'd told Sam of his intention to date and then marry just the other night. He'd first seen Libby Drake as a woman a few years earlier across the campus and realized it was the same girl he'd known in passing as a child, all grown up. She had those eyes. Large, perfectly shaped, a brilliant, vivid green, fringed with long, heavy lashes. Every time she looked at him he wanted to haul her up against him and kiss her until neither of them could think straight. She just had those dreamy, come-take-me-to-bed eyes he couldn't seem to resist or get out of his head.
His gaze went to her hair. In his dreams it was always down in the sexy, windblown tousled style she wore so casually all through school, but today it was pulled back away from her face and twisted into some sort of intricate knot at the nape of her neck. It gleamed a deep, rich midnight black, silky soft like the rest of her. The style should have been severe, but it only enhanced her classic bone structure and showed off her flawless skin. When he dreamed, he managed to dream the right stuff. Even with his head pounding with the continual force of a jackhammer and his body pulsing with pain, he felt the familiar stirring of his body, the way it always did when he thought of her.
He wanted to lift his hand and touch her face. Just once, feel her skin, but when he tried to move his head, the jackhammers erupted in a frenzy, boring into his skull. He heard a groan escape from between his clenched teeth. He tasted blood in his mouth.
Ty allowed his gaze to drift once more over her face, noting the complete concentration, almost as if she were in a trance. Strangely the pain seemed to flow up his belly to his chest and shoulders, higher to his head until he wanted to scream with the pain. Libby's face suddenly contorted into a mask of agony.
The pain in Ty's head was gone and awareness of his surroundings crept in. His dreams had turned to a nightmare. He appeared to be hooked up to machines in a place he didn't recognize. His brain no longer felt in such a hazy fog and memory returned slowly. He had grabbed the Madison kid off the cliff and something went wrong. He remembered tumbling through the air, but that was impossible. It meant his safety harness failed. Their equipment didn't just fail. He remembered the sound of bones smashing, his skull crumbling like a rotten pumpkin shell. It had been agonizing and he shouldn't be able to r
emember.
A soft, pitiful sound caught his attention and he turned his head to see Libby Drake cowering away from him. He wasn't altogether certain she was real. Their gazes locked and they stared at one another while time seemed to slow down, until he was only aware of her, of every detail. Her face paled even more. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on her skin. Her hands trembled and she pressed into the wall to hold herself up. She looked completely ill.
Libby pressed a hand to her churning stomach, looking around her, very disoriented. Where was she? Elle? Hannah? Help me. She took another step back, away from the gurney and all the machines. Someone watched her, his eyes a piercing blue, stabbing at her, so that her breath came in ragged gasps.
Get to the door, Libby. The door. Elle's voice was very calm. You're not alone, I'll be with you every step of the way.
Libby heard her sisters talking to her, encouraging her, all from a great distance, their voices brushing around her mind. Strange, she couldn't sort them out, or hear what they were saying, other than Elle.
I'm so cold. Libby shivered as she pushed open the door and stumbled out into the hall. She looked around her, unable to recognize where she was. A hallway. There were people, some looking at her, others going about their business. A man dressed in a gray suit stood just outside the door she emerged from. He looked vaguely familiar, as if she should know him. He went to step in front of her, but she shrank back, holding up a trembling hand to ward him off. He appeared puzzled, shifting slightly. Libby blinked several times wondering if she were hallucinating.
Keep walking, Libby. Concentrate on me. Elle encouraged her. I'm holding on to you. I've got you safe. Ignore him and keep coming to me. I'm on my way.
Libby couldn't feel or hear her other sisters, except maybe Hannah. Was she weeping? If Hannah was crying then Libby had to get to her. She forced her body to move, one foot in front of the other. Two nurses were talking at the end of the hall and they turned to stare at her. Libby's vision blurred and she rubbed her eyes. Her hand came away red with blood. She blinked down at her fingers.