Free Code Triage by Candace Calvert Page A

taken him back. He’d tried so hard. Sam took a long swallow of the wine, remembering his gut-wrenching remorse. He’d told Leigh the truth immediately afterward, begged her forgiveness, asked the police chaplain to intervene when she wouldn’t accept his pleas. He’d slept in his car outside their house for days, left messages, sent texts. And kept it up. All but ripped out his heart and left it thumping on that Victorian’s painted doorstep. And his wife’s response? A threat of a restraining order if he didn’t leave her alone. Telling him she’d complain to his superiors, essentially ruin his career. Cold, heartless. Still, he’d probably have persisted and risked his badge if the chaplain hadn’t intervened again. Just days before she packed up and left the city without a word.
    Sam watched Elisa add a yellow block to her LEGO castle, light from the modest chandelier splashing over her curls. She wondered what it would be like to have a man pursue her with such single-minded fervor as Nick did Leigh. To be wanted that much. Elisa’s father would never have done that, even if he hadn’t been married. Sam shook her head. Despite all the education, the privileged upbringing, and that starched white coat, Leigh Stathos was a stupid fool. And Sam had never been more grateful for anything. The doctor may have been shocked at their meeting today, angry as the devil, but she was nothing more than a wimpy quitter. Sam saw it in her eyes: she didn’t have the guts to keep trying. Even for a man like Nick.
    She picked up her wineglass and walked to the foyer to flip the porch light on in case Nick changed his mind and came by. His visits had been infrequent over the past year: brief stops to see Elisa, fix a faucet—nothing else. He’d made it clear he couldn’t offer more. But Sam wasn’t giving up. He had to be tired of the pullout bed at the police chaplain’s cramped apartment. Nick was a man who wanted a home, and at one time her brother’s house had been as much a home to him as the one he’d shared with Leigh. She’d taken over this lease knowing that—counting on it. What she and Nick had together, even for a few grief-shrouded days, had to mean something to him. He’d be back. She’d do whatever it took to make that happen.
    Sam set her wineglass on the dining room table before joining Elisa on the floor. She tousled her daughter’s silky curls and smiled. “Mommy will help you finish the castle. Then we’ll sit at the table and make a macaroni butterfly for our handsome prince.”
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    Kurt Denton slouched down in his car when the porch light went on, grateful he’d parked beside the bushes. The Child Crisis investigator wouldn’t be able to see him, and even if she did, she wouldn’t know who he was. He was being paranoid, jumpy again. He hated the feeling; being high—flying, invincible as Superman—was so much better. And right now that know-it-all, controlling witch made him want to . . . He sniffed, rubbing his nose across the back of his hand. His pulse hammered in his ears as a grim smile stretched his scab-dry lips.
    It would take like thirty seconds to sprint across that investigator’s lawn, pound down her door, and show her what a real “crisis” was. She’d never know what hit her. And she deserved it for convincing Kristi to take out the restraining order and keep him from seeing his kids. He hadn’t seen them in months. Not without hiding behind bushes and buildings. Sneaking around like vermin.
    He swore, thinking of how he’d watched the apartment these last weeks, seen Kristi leaving for the night shift, her scrawny, clueless girlfriend coming in to babysit. And then last Sunday—his teeth clamped together so fast, he snared his tongue and tasted blood—he’d seen Kristi coming out of a church, smiling and talking with a guy. That jerk with a smile like a toothpaste commercial, wearing a sport coat and carrying a Bible. Looking down at Kristi like she was