Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 03 - Writing Can Be Murder Read Online Free

left her.

 
    So sorry to
leave you tonight, of all nights. My pager went off for a severe head trauma
case and I didn’t want to wake you. I hope to be home in time to serve you breakfast
in bed, but I’ll call if I’m running late.
    Love, J.
    P.S. Thanks
for saying yes.

 
    Jo sighed, missing him already. They had so much to discuss.
However, to be honest, she was relieved to have some time to herself to sort
out her feelings.
    She looked at the clock and saw it was 1:16 a.m.
    Hearing Caddy scratch on the closed bedroom door, she slipped her
shorts and t-shirt back on and padded over to the door to let her in. Caddy
trotted in and, without waiting for an invitation, climbed up into their bed.
Cleo followed suit and curled up next to the warmth of the retriever.
    Jo laughed. “All right, you two. Just for tonight. Guess I’m too
wound up to sleep anyway, so I might as well finish painting John’s office. A
good way to work out my nerves, right?”
    ***
    John arrived at the hospital and quickly slipped into a set of
scrubs. When he hung up his sweatshirt, he caught a whiff of Jo’s perfume that
clung to the fabric from the last time she had borrowed it. He sighed and
closed the locker door.
    As he prepped for surgery, the emergency physician peppered him
with the case details. “We’re in Trauma 2. Patient’s name is Rick Wilson. Male,
age twenty-one. Shot a little over an hour ago. Entry wound is to the left
occipital lobe, with the exit wound just above the left eye. The bullet’s path
appears to be limited to the left hemisphere.”
    “We may have caught a break there, if the bullet avoided the large
blood vessels down the middle and didn’t ricochet around the skull. What are
the vitals?”
    “As stable as can be expected. Blood pressure is at 150, heart
rate is 100, temp is at 100.7, respiratory is at 25.” The emergency physician’s
face was grave as he gave the final statistic. “The ICP is 21.”
    “The intracranial pressure is at 21?” He shook his head. “Well,
first order of business is to get that down.” John snapped on a pair of gloves
and pushed his way through the operating room doors with his forearms.
    John’s day had begun.

 
    Chapter Five

 
    Hyatt Hotel, Minneapolis
    September

 
    C HIP
AWOKE AT THE HYATT in a tangle of sweaty sheets with
disturbing images from a dream in which he was being pursued by a killer who
did not like his books. He felt exhausted rather than rested, unsettled and
anxious. The events of the previous day had taken their toll, and he was unsure
of what this day would bring. He called Jane again.
    “Morning,
sweetheart. How did you sleep?” he asked.
    “Crappy,
I missed you. How was your night?”
    “Ditto
for me.”
    “I
got a text message from Sven. Seems you scored with your dinner last night. He
said it was ‘ridiculous.’ Oh, and Ingrid asked when you were coming home. She
wants you to help her with her English essay.”
    “Wow,
that’s huge, right?
    “Yes,
I think she is finally coming around. It’s been harder for her than for Sven.
So, when are you coming home?”
    Chip
crawled out of bed and headed toward the bathroom, cell phone in hand. He was
longing to clear his head and revive his energy with a steaming hot shower.
    “I
have to meet with the homicide detective and then I plan to head out of town.
I’ll be home for supper. Oh, and Jane, last night I wrote a chapter you’ll
like. Jo was painting a room and John came home and proposed to her.”
    Jane
laughed. “It’s about time. For some reason I want Jo and John to be as happy as
we are. Was Jo painting the walls tomato red?”
    “No,
she settled on green.”
    “Well,
the red in our kitchen is growing on me. We’ll see what you think when you come
home. I’ll throw a roast in the slow cooker before I head to the clinic, so we
can have a nice dinner tonight. Love you.”
    “Thanks,
sweetie. Love you, too.”
    Chip
still got that newlywed rush when he heard those words,