The Perfect Game by Leslie Dana Kirby Read Free Book Online Page B

be rough. Please come with me.”
    â€œWhat time is it? I don’t get off until six.”
    â€œThat’s perfect. It doesn’t start until seven. And it’s okay if you’re not there right on the button. These things usually don’t start on time anyway.”
    Lauren was exhausted and had been looking forward to crawling into bed, but she didn’t hesitate. An early bedtime would do nothing for her persistent insomnia. “Sure. I’ll go with you.”
    â€œGreat. I appreciate it. I should be there when it starts, but you just come when you can. I’ll save you a seat.” He gave her the address to the downtown hotel and she jotted it down on the back of a prescription slip.
    As they said their good-byes, the computer screen blinked in front of her and she entered her password to learn that Mr. Hanson had no drugs on board. Shoot , she thought, meth would have been easier to treat.
    Hours later, intern LaRhonda Jackson strolled in to relieve Lauren at 6:10, casually eating a bean burrito from Taco Bell. LaRhonda referred to herself as a triple threat; big, black, and beautiful. She was also bold and didn’t worry about being chastised for tardiness.
    Lauren provided the patient report as concisely as she could. “Back spasms in Bay One, slip and fall in Two, high as a kite in Four, broken arm in Six, drunk and belligerent in Seven. Have fun.”
    â€œWhy you in such a hurry tonight?”
    â€œI have someplace I need to be by seven.”
    â€œMmmm hmmmm,” LaRhonda said knowingly.
    Lauren didn’t pause to elaborate. Her naturally leaden foot allowed her to reach her apartment by 6:25, where she hurriedly changed into a little black dress, applied eyeliner and lipstick in a matter of seconds, and tried unsuccessfully to smooth the ponytail bump from her hair. She tottered back out to her car in uncomfortably high heels moments later.
    She was glad to be going against traffic on the city streets, driving back into the city as most others were headed for the suburbs. She made her final turn at 6:50, relieved that she would arrive in the nick of time. However, traffic slowed significantly as cars in front of her merged into a single lane to avoid an accident in the right lanes. Like everybody else, Lauren could not resist looking to see what had happened. Apparently, a green light anticipator had slammed into a yellow light accelerator, a Corolla T-boned by a Mercedes. The Mercedes driver paced around his car as he assessed the front-end damage, talking animatedly into his cell phone. The Corolla driver, a young woman, sat in her car, door open, crying. Emergency personnel had not yet arrived.
    Lauren fought an internal battle; most of her wanting to arrive on time to the charity event, some small portion feeling obligated to render assistance. She stopped. The Mercedes driver appeared more angry than hurt. Lauren approached the crying woman, “Are you okay?”
    â€œI think so,” the woman wailed, “but I’m worried about the baby.”
    Lauren scanned the car, spotting no child safety seat. She imagined an unrestrained infant thrown from the car in a bloody heap. “The baby?”
    â€œI’m five months pregnant.”
    â€œThe human uterus is well-insulated. I’m sure your baby is fine,” Lauren reassured.
    â€œI haven’t felt her move since the accident,” the woman sobbed.
    Lauren’s pulse quickened. She hurried back to her own car, grabbing her spare stethoscope from the trunk. Returning to the woman’s side, she knelt on the ground next to her, placing the stethoscope on the woman’s lower abdomen. Fetal heartbeats were difficult enough to find in a quiet office with a sophisticated heart monitor. It was going to be damned near impossible on the side of a busy road with only a stethoscope. Still she tried, moving the scope here and there. Each time she moved the scope, the pregnant woman became