Fidelity (Infidelity #5)

I opened cabinet after cabinet, cursing myself for not being better prepared. I should have called one of those medical transports. Fuck, I’d spend the rest of my life in prison as long as Adelaide was all right.

The planes we contracted were top of the line: Cessnas, Beechcraft Bonanzas, and even Learjets for transatlantic flight. The service was reliable and always at the ready. The interiors of the different models varied with one common denominator—luxurious. At this second, I didn’t give a damn about luxury. We could be flying in a tin can. I just wanted to find the AED. There had to be one, didn’t there?

As I searched, I found that many of the cabinets were empty—for storage, I presumed. Near the wet bar, most of the cupboards were filled with trays containing packets of snacks, sweet or salty. They were both there. The way each one was sealed, they probably had enough preservatives to last another ten years. I continued to open each little door.

I finally found what I’d been searching for in a shiny cabinet with a gold handle under the bar. AED was printed on the exterior of a red nylon bag. “Here it is.”

As I turned back around, I gasped. Adelaide’s nightgown was opened and her breasts were exposed. Eva again placed the stethoscope against her chest. I held my breath as I watched, uncertain of what I was seeing. Was her chest moving?

Paralyzed, I remained motionless, praying that I would see movement. My feet forgot how to step as the plane glided through the night sky. I was transfixed by the vision of my own life coming to an end. Because if the woman on the couch died, I would too.

As the possibility of losing Adelaide forever began to seep into my consciousness, my own blood pressure skyrocketed. My heart pumped forcefully, ready to do the job for both of us. Regret and anger swirled within me, becoming the accelerants racing through my system.

There were too many years that we’d missed and too many apologies to ever voice. But that wasn’t what gave my feet permission to move. It was the rage growing within me. It wasn’t directed at the woman fighting for her life or even at myself. While the scene before me tinged with red, I made myself a vow. I would not rot in prison for kidnapping one of the only women I’d ever loved. Hell no. I’d walk into prison with my head held high for the uncontested murder of Alton Fitzgerald.

“Oren!”

Had Eva been speaking?

I snapped back to reality.

“Bring it here and look for an oxygen tank.”

“Is she…? Can you…?”

She extended her hand. “Give me the AED. I can’t detect a pulse.” When I didn’t move, she repeated herself louder and with even more authority. She was the doctor and taking charge.

Her tone was a technique I’d used myself, but not one I could recall having been used on me. I’d always been the one in control. Not now.

“Concentrate. Bring me the AED and look for the oxygen.”

“But you said the FAA—”

I slowly moved forward, handing Eva the bag.

“You were right. Every plane has emergency oxygen. On a plane this size…” She continued speaking as she hurriedly pulled a box with wires from the red zippered bag. “…it could be as simple as a small tank and mask. Keep looking. Ask the pilots if you have to.”

I can’t detect a pulse.

The words repeated on a loop, growing louder in my mind despite my attempt to silence them.

With shaking hands, I reached for the cabin’s ceiling. It was a futile attempt to steady myself and halt the growing nausea. Bile and acid bubbled from the depths of my stomach as Eva untangled the contents of the nylon bag. At the end of wires connected to the box she unsheathed two large pads, stickers really, and placed one on Adelaide’s side and the other above her breast. It was all happening merely a few feet away, but somehow I’d developed tunnel vision. With each second the tunnel grew longer, taking Adelaide and Dr. Rossi farther and farther away.

The box began to speak. “Assessing patient. Stand clear.”

Eva sat back on her heels allowing the AED to do its job.

“Shock needed.”

I held my breath.

As a high-pitched whine filled the cabin, the doctor’s eyes met mine. “Find the oxygen.”

I nodded, tearing my gaze away from the scene. The box’s voice joined the loop reminding me that Adelaide’s pulse had stopped. Together they were a sickening chorus, mocking my vain attempts at good.

Numbers filled the air as the pitch grew even higher. “Shocking patient.”

It was an audible zap. The muscles in my throat clinched, keeping the bile at bay as Adelaide’s body jumped. I hadn’t seen it, but I’d heard it, her weight falling back to the leather seat. It was worse than any TV show or movie as we waited for the box to reassess.