A chorus of greetings rose up from the nurse’s station of the emergency department. Becca made her way inside and gave a round of hugs. Luckily, things were busy enough with the shift change that no one had time to linger. She headed to the staff lounge to stow her belongings.
Alison Harding came out of the lounge just as Becca reached for the door. “Oh, Becca, it’s so good to have you back,” the woman said, a hint of sadness in her bright green eyes. Becca had been subbing for Alison the day the attempted abduction had occurred, and Alison had sent more than one guilt-ridden, apologetic text. Not that Becca blamed her. It was hardly Alison’s fault that the undercover military investigation into narcotics smuggling that Becca’s father had been investigating in Afghanistan had spilled over into the United States. Or that the bad guys had been selling their heroin to the Church Gang, headquartered just across the city in Baltimore. Or that somehow the bad guys had discovered that Charlie had stumbled onto his father’s activities, leading them to grab him and attempt to grab Becca as well.
“It’s good to be back,” Becca said.
“How are you doing? Did the police ever catch the guy?” Alison asked, tucking a strand of light brown hair behind her ear.
“No, they didn’t,” Becca said, unable to share what she did know—that Nick’s team had caught and interrogated Woodson, and that Nick had threatened the man within an inch of his life. “But I’m good. Really good.”
Alison frowned. “God, it’s scary that he’s still out there, isn’t it?”
Becca’s belly did a little flip. “No, I really think he’s long gone,” she said. Marz had taken video of him spilling his guts about the Church Gang’s secrets, which Nick had promised to put in the gang leader’s hands should Woodson ever come near Becca again. Already beaten up for having failed to capture Becca, Woodson had tripped all over himself promising to stay away for good.
“Well, I hope so.” Alison gave her an unconvincing smile. “All right. I’ll see you out there.” She squeezed Becca’s arm and headed down the hall.
Taking a deep breath, Becca pushed into the room where she’d been attacked, worried that it was going to be filled with all kinds of ghosts. Instead, she found a big bouquet of balloons, a sheet cake that read, Welcome back, Becca! and a plastic-wrapped bunch of flowers lying on one of the tables. The overhead lights and morning sunshine spilling through the window near the door—the door through which Woodson had tried to drag her—made the room bright and cheery, not the scary, dark place her nightmares sometimes depicted.
Shaking her head at herself, Becca crossed to her locker and ditched her purse. She made a small corner piece of cake with a big pink frosting flower her breakfast, then found herself so immersed in patients that it was noon before she knew it—and time for the other thing she wasn’t looking forward to: an appointment with a hospital psychologist. It was standard operating procedure after the attack and the long leave of absence, but Becca wasn’t relishing being asked to talk about what had happened. And she was well aware that medical personnel sometimes made the worst patients, herself included. She was way more comfortable taking care of others than being taken care of herself.
She waited in the fifth-floor mental health services suite. Finally, the door to the waiting room opened, and a tall, attractive woman in dress pants and a crisp blouse stepped out. “Becca Merritt?”
“Yes,” Becca said, tossing the magazine she’d been skimming to the coffee table.
“I’m Dr. Parker,” the woman said. “Please, come in.”
Becca had seen her around the hospital a few times but didn’t know her well. “Thanks,” she said, slipping into the well-appointed office—all warm tones and relaxing landscape prints. She took a seat on the sofa.
The doctor grabbed a pen and folder from her desk, then sat in an armchair and smiled at Becca. “How has your first day back to work been?”
“Fine. Busy. But I’m right back in the swing of things,” Becca said, lacing her fingers in her lap.
“Good, I’m glad to hear it. You know this meeting is routine. The hospital just needs to touch base, given the traumatic event that led to your leave of absence.” Dr. Parker scanned a sheet inside Becca’s folder.
Becca nodded. “I understand.” Woodson had somehow managed to gain access to a set of hospital credentials and had posed as a maintenance man, so the hospital had been concerned that Becca would sue. But more than that, traumatic events could lead to bad decision making, which was never an acceptable risk when those decisions were of the life-and-death variety.
“So how are you doing? How are you finding being back in the hospital again?” The doctor’s expression was carefully neutral, but Becca didn’t doubt for a moment that her reactions were being scrutinized.
So she went for honesty. “I was a little nervous about coming in before I got here this morning, but once I was here, I was fine. As soon as the shift started, everything felt normal. So I think I’m doing pretty good.”
Dr. Parker nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Are you having any nightmares, anxiety, issues with panic, sleep or appetite problems?”
Becca clutched her hands tighter. “I’ve had occasional nightmares, and for a while I was jumpy if someone approached me from behind, but I haven’t had any of the other issues.” Frankly, given everything that Nick’s team had faced during their investigation into the men who’d killed her father and abducted Charlie, Becca’s issues had taken a total backseat. And she’d been fine with that. Because she had been fine. And the last thing she’d wanted to do was distract or worry Nick by making him think she was anything but fine. Not when his life had been on the line—so many times. “The whole thing could’ve turned out a lot worse than it did, so I mostly feel lucky.”
“That’s a great way to look at it.” The doctor scribbled something inside the folder. “Do you have any concerns about being back to work?”
“None,” Becca said. “I’m glad to be back.” And she was. She’d known she wanted to be a nurse since the age of thirteen, when her mother had died of an aneurysm. The feeling of helplessness Becca had experienced that night had made her determined to be able to help if something similar ever happened again to someone she cared about. She loved what she did.
After a few more questions, Dr. Parker handed her a form. “I’m happy to clear you to return,” she said. “Just sign where it’s highlighted.”