Free Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night by Linda Howard Page A

after that redheaded Devlin whore.
    He made the fifteen-mile trip to the clinic in just under ten minutes. The parking lot was full, but he pulled around to the back door of the one-story brick building and blew the horn, then leaped out to lift Monica into his arms again. She was totally limp, her head lolling against his shoulder, and hot tears seared his eyelids.
    The back door opened and Dr. Bogarde rushed out, followed by both his nurses. “Put her in the first room on the right,” he said, and Gray turned sideways to get her through the doorway. Sadie Lee Fanchier, the senior nurse, held the door to the examining room open and he carried Monica inside, then gently deposited her on the narrow table, the sheet-covered vinyl creaking as it took her weight.
    Sadie Lee was wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Monica’s arm even as Dr. Bogarde was untying Gray’s first-aid efforts. Quickly she pumped it up, then listened through the stethoscope pressed to the inside of Monica’s elbow. “Seventy-five over forty.”
    “Start an IV,” Dr. Bogarde ordered. “Glucose.” The other nurse, Kitty, moved to follow his instructions.
    Dr. Bogarde kept his eyes on Monica’s wrists as he worked. “She needs blood,” he said. “Fast. We have to get her to the hospital in Baton Rouge, because I can’t do it here. She’ll need a vascular specialist to repair her veins, too. I can stabilize her, Gray, but I can’t do any more than that.”
    Kitty hung the clear bag of glucose on the metal rack and deftly inserted the IV needle in Monica’s arm. “We don’t have time to get an ambulance here,” the doctor continued. “We’ll take her ourselves, in my car. You okay to drive?” he asked Gray, shooting him a sharp glance.
    “Yes.” The answer was flat, unequivocal.
    Dr. Bogarde tightly taped Monica’s wrists. “Okay, that’s got the bleeding stopped. Kitty, I need a couple of blankets. Put one over the backseat of my car, and tuck the other one over Monica. Gray, pick her up again, and be careful of that IV line. Sadie Lee, call the hospital and let ’em know we’re on the way, and then give a call to the sheriff’s department so they can clear the roads a mite.”
    Gently Gray lifted his sister. Dr. Bogarde took the glucose bag in one hand and his medical bag in the other, and trotted at Gray’s side as he carried Monica out to the doctor’s four-door Chrysler. The doctor climbed in first, then helped Gray carefully maneuver Monica onto the backseat. Dr. Bogarde hooked the glucose bag on the garment hanger over the side window, and took up a position on his knees on the floorboard.
    “Don’t go slamming us around,” he instructed as Gray squeezed his long frame under the steering wheel. Dr. Bogarde was barely five foot five, so the seat was so close to the steering wheel that Gray’s chest was brushing it. He couldn’t let the seat back, though, with Dr. Bogarde on the back floorboard. “Keep it at a steady speed and we’ll make better time. And put on the emergency lights.”
    Gray had a violent thought about backseat drivers, but he kept it to himself. Following orders, he left the clinic more sedately than he had arrived, though his instincts were screaming at him to push the gas pedal to the floorboard andkeep it there. Only the knowledge that the roomy sedan, built more for comfort than road handling, would likely straighten out a curve if he pushed it the way he did the Corvette kept him at a reasonable speed.
    “How’d this happen?” Dr. Bogarde asked.
    Gray glanced at him in the rearview mirror. The doctor was a small, dapper man with shrewd blue eyes. Despite his name, he was neither Creole nor Cajun; he had to be in his mid-fifties, with graying, sandy blond hair. Gray had known him all of his life. Noelle had never gone to him, preferring an urbane physician in New Orleans, but everyone else in the family had been to see him with everything from childhood cuts to influenza to the broken arm