Body Search by Jessica Andersen Read Free Book Online Page B

flush of contact. “Why did I hear about this from Mickey? You knew where to find me, and you know I’m a doctor. An outbreak specialist. Why didn’t you call me for help?”
    Churchill glanced back. “Because until three people died this morning, I thought it was under control. And because I didn’t want you coming back here.”
    Dale cursed. “Because of Trask.”
    The older man shook his head. “Because of you, Dale. You don’t belong here. You never did.”
    The SUV pulled into the motel parking lot. Anticipation, and perhaps relief, surged through Tansy when she saw an agitated, gesturing crowd gathered around a windowless Jeep. An older woman in wrinkled scrubs dashed out of a motel door and hurried to the crowd.
    The scene screamed medical emergency! Tansy’s pulse jolted. Medicine. Knowledge. She could do this.
    Here, she could be in control.
    She had the door open before the vehicle stopped rolling, HFH training kicking in when nothing else made sense. “Come on, Dale. We have work to do!” Feeling naked without her field rucksack, which had gone down with the plane, she sprinted across the parking lot to the growing crowd.
    Behind her, Churchill yelled a question and Dale called back, “Yeah. Call the FAA about the crash and call Zachary Cage at Boston General. Tell him I need more field equipment, clothes and another plane. Pronto.”
    Intent on the patient, Tansy ignored her partner and pressed through the crowd. When she saw the man at its center, she stopped dead.
    Mickey.
    She held up a hand to stop Dale, but she was too late to spare him the sight of his cousin cradling a small child to his chest. Tears ran down the lobsterman’s wrinkled, wind-burned cheeks.
    “Mick, you have to give Eddie to me now. ” The older woman in the scrubs— Tansy guessed she was Dr. Hazel—pried at the lobsterman’s fingers. “He’s in respiratory arrest. You have to let me help him breathe.”
    Dale made a low sound, almost that of an animal in pain. Hurting for him, hoping it wasn’t too late, Tansy stepped forward. Hands outstretched, she waited until Dale’s cousin focused on her. “Mickey, remember me? I’m Dr. Whitmore. We’re here to help. You need to let us help Eddie now. He needs to be on a respirator.” She refused to admit it might already be too late for the little boy who’d complained of stomach pains not an hour earlier.
    She’d missed it. How had she missed it?
    The torture in Mickey’s face clawed at her heart. The lobsterman shook his head. “I’ve got to protect him. He’s mine.”
    Then Dale nudged her aside. “I’ve got him, Mick. I’ll fix him for you. I promise. Trust me.” He reached for the limp body and Mickey finally handed the boy over.
    “He’s sick, Dale. My boy’s sick. You said nobody else would get sick once we stopped lobstering. But my Eddie’s sick.”
    “Get him inside Unit 2,” Dr. Hazel ordered, clearing a path through the murmuring crowd. “There’s a respirator in there for him.”
    Cradling his precious cargo, Dale jogged to the motel room behind Hazel. Tansy followed in his wake, her brain already churning with lists of diseases that looked like PSP but weren’t. Deadly diseases.
    Focused on the child and the need to hurry, she almost missed the small object that dropped from Eddie’s tiny hand. She scooped it up on the run. It was a dark-colored rock, the sort of thing boys picked up as treasures. Thinking he might want it back if, no when, he recovered, she shoved it in the pocket of her borrowed jeans.
    The door to Unit 1 opened and a dark-haired man poked his head out. As they rushed by, Tansy caught a flash of capped teeth and navy trousers.
    “Hey, Hazel,” the man called, seeming oblivious that Dale was giving Eddie mouth-to-mouth as they hurried into Unit 2, “is the mayor well enough to talk yet? I need to get these sales agreements signed, and—”
    Tansy slammed the door behind them, cutting him off midsentence. Big-shot