Page 26 of Storm

It feels like only a minute later when the driver is clearing his throat to tell me we’re at my place. I thank him, add a tip into the app, then hurry up to my apartment.

I’m not even sure if Susanna is here and I don’t check for her. I head straight to my room and fall face first on my bed before passing the fuck out.

CHAPTER 12

TATUM

“I still don’t have a pulse.”

“We’re only three minutes out,” my partner tells me as I continue chest compressions between rescue breathing.

Fuck.

Our call to the scene of an accident fifteen minutes ago was gruesome. The civilians were a young male and female who ran a stop sign, most likely due to icy road conditions, and were T-boned by a delivery truck driver. The truck driver was transported to the hospital with minor injuries, and the woman driving the smaller Honda was airlifted to a larger hospital in another town.

It fucking sucks, but the chopper can only accommodate one patient, and sadly, she had a better chance of making it as long as she got there on time. The male passenger who I’m currently supplying with lifesaving oxygen hasn’t had a pulse since we arrived. He was sitting near the impact site, and it took some time to remove him from the car.

Doesn’t mean we aren’t going to keep trying until a doctor tells us to stop.

Disconnecting from my memories, I shove them out to focus only on this young guy, both pale and unresponsive.

Our ambulance comes to a screeching halt, then doors swing open as the emergency room staff pile in to take over. Standing back, I hold my hands up and rattle off his vitals, as well as everything we’ve administered and done. He’s wheeled away and all I’m left with is monitor sounds and my heavy breathing.

Eventually, my shoulders drop and I jerk as a hand lands on my shoulder. “You good, Cadelle?” Dustin, my partner, asks, then releases me to start cleaning up and readying the ambulance for the next shift.

This was our last call for the evening. Pissed that this is how I’m ending my shift, I glare as I take in our space. I fucking hate leaving with a feeling of failure. I don’t answer him for a moment, spying a black piece of leather on the floor where the gurney was moments before. Bending over, I pick it up and turn it over in my hand.Must be the patient’s wallet.

Opening it, I peek at the contents. There are a few bills, credit cards, and appointment slips alongside a wrinkled photo of a brunette woman’s high school graduation photo. The driver was a brunette, but I didn’t get a good look at her to see if this is the same woman.

“Matthew D. Becker,” I read from the license.

Grunting, Dustin mumbles, “What’s that?”

Closing the wallet, I repeat myself. “Matthew D. Becker. That’s the patient’s name. I’m going to run this in. I’ll be back in a second.”

Jumping out the back, I deliver the wallet to the front desk, then head back silently to help with sanitizing and restocking the bus. Declining Dustin’s offer to grab a drink after we turnover, I drive back to my place without music, watching the windshield wipers clear the light drizzle every once in a while.

I typically like to rinse off before I leave the hospital, but I wasn’t feeling it tonight. As soon as I park, movement to my right catches my attention and I close my eyes in frustration.

Goddamnit, Ez… Not tonight, please.

It’s hard not to be pissed at my best friend right now. His obsession with “hunting” his latest target has moved past “normal” Ezra Hall levels. I don’t think he’s sleeping any more than Miriam is right now.

Turning my engine back on, I follow his truck across town, maintaining a distance he won’t notice. I’m home a bit earlier than normal, so I suspect he left now, thinking I wouldn’t be able to find him. I’m not obtuse enough to think I’ve gone unnoticed, but tonight he has no idea he’s been caught.

After parking, we continue on foot for the better part of fifteen minutes; me waiting at each turn until he’s moved on. Shoving my hands in my pockets to keep them warm, I peek around the corner and hold my breath so the steam when I exhale isn’t obvious to my best friend. He’s been difficult to keep tabs on, but I’ve finally figured out his pattern, and in turn, Miriam’s as well.

How the fuck he figured out her route is beyond me, but I’m not surprised. What’s shocking, though, is how chaotic her schedule is. Tracking Ezra served two purposes. I have been able to ensure he isn’t fully crossing lines in a legal capacity, but I also unintentionally have learned much more about the woman who I haven’t been able to get out of my head.

Miriam Delgado doesn’t stop working.Ever.

She’s a full-time home healthcare worker six days a week. Some patients she sees daily, some every other day, and there are extras thrown in that seem sporadic. Without access to her schedule, it’s hard to know where she’s going to be, aside from her few regulars. She works this job on average of ten hours a day, but with travel time on the bus system, she’s putting in closer to seventy hours a week.

Then, on her day off, she spends almost twelve hours at another house owned by an elderly woman where she cleans,shops, cooks, and does other chores. I don’t believe this particular job is through her company because she’s not in her uniform for those visits.

Most people would rest in the evenings, but not my Miri. She heads to the college campus three nights a week for three hours and takes classes. I learned over our cabin weekend that she’s attending night school because she has plans to become a registered nurse.

And fuck me, if she’s not working hard toward that. Her schedule isn’t technically considered full-time. But she’s only one class away from it. I have no idea how she’s keeping up with studying on top of work, or when she’s able to sleep more than a few hours each night.

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