Surprise registered in the deepest, darkest, richest brown eyes Glenn had ever seen. Streaks of gold splintered through the chocolate, making Glenn think of sunrise over the desert, of the piercing shock of unexpected splendor in a desolate landscape. A smile rode the sunrise, cresting on Mari’s wide, full rosy lips, and Mari went from pleasantly attractive to knockout beautiful in a millisecond.
“No, I don’t think much of coffee.”
Still caught in the storm of sudden beauty, Glenn wordlessly shot a raised eyebrow. She frantically tried to envision getting through morning report without coffee. Some people drank tea, sure. On occasion she had done that herself. But coffee was tradition, and for most medical people as precious as blood. But she could deal with a tea drinker. Somehow. “Oh. Okay. Well, uh, then…how about—”
“On the other hand,” Mari smoothly went on, an amused glint in her eyes, “I particularly enjoy an espresso—especially when it’s made from a good Mexican bean.”
Glenn narrowed her eyes. “Espresso.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“That was cruel. I was imagining teabags at six a.m.”
Mari laughed. “Hardly a toxic substance. Although I didn’t realize how sensitive you were.”
Glenn grinned. “Let’s grab some coffee, and I’ll give you a rundown of the day-to-day.”
Mari frowned and glanced in the direction of the ER proper. “What about the patients? Shouldn’t we be checking on them?”
“Yeah, we should.” Glenn nodded, impressed and pleased. “And we will. But I checked the whiteboard on my way through just now, and there’s nothing urgent that needs our attention. I’ve got my radio—” She winced and patted her pants pocket. Even after years out of uniform she couldn’t get used to not having a radio and being patched into com central. “Phone. I’ve got my phone. They’ll text us if anything critical comes in. Otherwise, we’re waiting on some labs on the patients who came in before change of shift. Everyone at intake looked like walking wounded. So we’re okay for a few minutes.”
Mari cocked her head. “All that from a quick glance at the whiteboard?”
“And a fast sit rep from Bruce.”
“Oh, I met him. Is he ex-military too?”
Glenn stilled. “Sorry?”
“You are, aren’t you? Ex-military? You remind me a lot of my training instructor. He was a Navy corpsman, not this time around—Vietnam. But it’s more than just the lingo, it’s everything—the way he…you…process information, the quick-look rapid-fire assessment and fast decisions. That must be something that never leaves. He sounded a lot like you.”
Ice trickled down Glenn’s back, and she
suppressed a shudder. A lot of things never left. Habits, instincts, reflexes.
Memories. The overwhelming need to act. Quickly, while there’s still time.
Before something else, some
“Sorry, just guessing.” Mari regretted her offhand comments. Whatever she’d said had triggered a response she hadn’t intended. The carefully guarded personal space and profound reserve Glenn had initially projected right after they’d left Abigail Remy’s office had begun to thaw as they’d talked. Now the wall was back again, a clear bulletproof barrier that left Glenn visible but untouchable. Mari regretted having hurt her somehow, for the warmth she’d felt just minutes before had been swallowed by a darkness that could only be pain. Hoping to coax some of the heat back into Glenn’s expression, Mari extended an olive branch. “I could use a cup of coffee. And I would like to hear about the program.”
“Even cafeteria brew?”
Mari shuddered but nodded gamely. “Bring it on.”
“Sure, if you’re willing to chance it.” Glenn laughed, the deep chuckle a momentary breeze that blew the storm clouds from her eyes, lifted Mari’s spirits. Glenn was off again in that fluid, loping gait, and Mari hurried after her.
Trying to keep a mental map of where they were going, Mari concentrated on memorizing the series of turns and staircases before they came to a pretty typical hospital cafeteria—bustling with people moving through the coffee line, grabbing food from the racks and hot trays, and clustering at round tables filling a long rectangular room. She winced at the dark brown liquid that came from the industrial urn as she filled her cup and contemplated adding cream just to dilute the acid content but didn’t see any reason to start bad habits. She’d had plenty of bad coffee in her life. Plucking a decent-looking raspberry Danish from a tray, she paid and followed Glenn to one of the smaller tables on the far side of the room. She slowed and stared, coffee and Danish in hand. Windows. Big windows taking up half the height of the wall, and oh, the view.
Glenn sat and broke a bagel in half. “Something wrong?”