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explained, imagining the poor woman’s struggle. She’d been too far gone to protect her airway. “Someone said the drive from her house to the hospital must have taken at least fifteen minutes.”
    “Let’s hope she was getting air for most of that time.” Andi squinted down her patient’s throat, laryngoscope in one small hand, endotracheal tube in the other. “Brain’s compromised enough already, and . . . Here we go, folks.” She threaded the plastic tube deftly, removed the scope, and then nodded to the respiratory therapist to inflate the balloon that would seal it against the woman’s trachea. “Looks good. Let’s have a listen to her lungs.”
    “Don’t tell me to wait outside. I need to see her!” a too-familiar voice shouted outside the code room. “What arethey doing to her? Get the doctor out here. I’ve got to talk to   —”
    “Mr. Harrell, sir.” The chaplain’s voice. “If you’ll come this way . . .”
    Taylor shot Macy the dreaded uh-oh look. They both knew that it didn’t take long before fear and panic turned to hostility. They’d seen it countless times. Fortunately Andi also had great skill when it came to her patients’ families.
    “All righty then . . .” Andi Carlyle rose on the toes of her Crocs to stretch farther over the gurney as she finished listening to her patient’s lungs. “Let’s get that portable chest,” she said calmly. “I’ll write the orders for the labetalol. After it’s onboard   —and we slip in that Foley cath   —we’ll get this lady down to the CT scanner.” She reached for the white coat she’d hung over an IV pole. “Meanwhile, I’ll go out and talk with Darlene’s very worried son.”
    “Be sure you have security with you,” Macy advised, remembering those few seconds when the man poked his finger toward her face. He’d apologized, but   —“Best to play it safe.”

    “Good going, Houston. You sure know how to pick ’em.”
    Fletcher responded with an offhand shrug as a fellow deputy exited the popular south Sacramento grill. There was laughter as the man joined his partner outside the door. This was about the thirtieth time since his shift began that someone felt the need to point out his obvious stupidity.
    “It’ll die down. Stay cool.”
    California Crisis Care chaplain Seth Donovan swiped hisfingers across his lips, catching a stray shred of purple cabbage from his taco. “You’re fresh meat, Fletcher. Everyone new starts off as a slab of rump roast in butcher paper. Maybe worse for you, since you’re a lateral transfer. Didn’t go through the academy here   —and didn’t get a copy of the local who’s who. Not likely you’d know that Elliot Rush is the brother-in-law of a sitting US senator . . . who’s tight with the county higher-ups.” His brown eyes were warm despite rugged features and a world-weary manner that sometimes belied his age   —just nearing his fortieth birthday. “I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
    Fletcher shoved his carnitas plate aside. “Rush was drunk behind the wheel. I’d bet my badge. He was a risk. If there hadn’t been a sniper on the freeway, I’d have proven it.”
    “And your sergeant would still have gotten that phone call.” Seth reached for his coffee cup. “Look, I believe you. Given the circumstances, I’d probably hand those keys to the nurse too. But our senator has been a big supporter of law enforcement.” He raised his hand. “I voted for him. And consumed more thank-you-for-your-service pastries than I care to admit. The man’s a good guy. Anyone asks me, I’ll say you are too. Bottom line: no formal complaint was lodged. As far as we know, Mr. Rush and the Sacramento Hope ER nurse got home safe and sound. Plus, no one died on that freeway last night. I’d call that a win.”
    Fletcher thought of Macy, her stubborn defense of Elliot Rush. And her clear dismissal of him. “It doesn’t feel like that.”
    Seth was quiet for a while, then