“A strike?”

“No. But signs, banners… bad PR for the hospital.” Walt nibbled on the peanuts as he talked.

The thought of that kind of support put a smile on Trent’s face. “How many people do you think will participate?”

“Nearly all the ER staff, those who aren’t working that is, techs from radiology, lab, the trauma surgeons, and then there are the guys from fire.”

“Wow. Does Monica know about this?”

“I don’t think so. Like I said, the union is holding off until the preliminary legal crap is over. I’m not sure of their logic. Seems to me that the sooner we put this shit behind us the better. I’d really like to know why the hospital is pursuing this.”

“Monica’s boss doesn’t like her.”

“Pat’s not loved right now.”

“Was she ever?” Trent asked, remembering the name from Monica’s conversations in the cave.

“Managing independent-thinking nurses isn’t easy. Especially when you have management on one side pulling on you to cut costs, nurses on the other hand telling you they’re understaffed, and unions mandating what you can and can’t do. The average length of employment for an ER nurse manager is less than five years.”

“How long has Pat been there?”

“Nearly six.”

“Past due.”

Walt shrugged. “So how’s Monica doing?”

Trent could only replay their last encounter, but if he let Walt think he was lying about staying with her, Trent wouldn’t get his ride. So he bullshitted with educated guesses based on what he’d learned from Jack at lunch.

“The deposition knocked her back. But her lawyers are brutal. Jack put his top guys on her case. When they’re done, the hospital and anyone slandering her are going to run away with their tail between their legs.” His voice rose as he spoke.

“It’s so wrong. And the shit about working outside her license? What a bunch of crap. We try to protect our nurses with every contingency. Give standing orders for patient care. Not every scenario is thought of. Hell, there wasn’t enough of anything to carry out all our orders. Not quite enough medicine, not quite enough hands, not quite enough room to put the patients… the bodies.” Walt shuddered, took another drink. “Not quite enough of anything.”

Walt sat through another beer and nursed his one drink while they talked about Jamaica before turning their conversation to sports to avoid the memories.

The ride to Monica’s apartment complex wasn’t long. Once there, Trent thanked his driver and offered to drive the next time they went out. Walt drove off with a wave and Trent walked over to the mailboxes. Only last names were listed on the boxes. He was damn happy her last name wasn’t Gonzalez or he’d have been knocking on doors half the night.

He found her name and apartment number with a grin. Between here and Seattle, Trent had turned into quite the investigator.

If the airplane thing doesn’t work out, I have new skills to exploit.

It was just before nine at night and the apartment complex was relatively quiet. He heard music playing from one of the upstairs units and more than one TV cluttering up the quiet. But there weren’t any obvious parties going on or loud fights spilling into the street.

He found Monica’s apartment and sucked in a deep breath before knocking on the door.

He heard the volume on the TV from inside go down. Good, she’s home.

When he didn’t hear her walking toward the door, Trent knocked again and stood back so she could see his face through the peephole.

“Go away, Trent,” she said through the closed door.

Damn. It didn’t occur to him that he’d find her only to be sent away.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Monica leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes.

“I shouldn’t have run off,” he said through the door. “Let me explain.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations.” And she’d just bullied her sister and Katie into leaving an hour before. Emotionally, she was exhausted. It didn’t help that last night’s wine reminded her of why she didn’t drink that much. “Just go.” She turned away from the door, ready to follow through with what she needed, which wasn’t to hash out anything with Trent tonight.

“Her name was Connie.”

Monica stopped.

“I’d flown her over to see me, to meet my parents since I thought I loved her enough to marry her. She was furious. Didn’t want to meet my family. And then she told me there was someone else.”

Monica brought her hand to her mouth. His words soaked in.

“I had no idea. I asked my parents to fly her back home. They never made it, Monica. The plane went down—”

Monica grabbed the door and opened it wide, stopping his painful flow of words.

Trent stood with his hands poised on either side of her door, his head down.

She tugged him inside her apartment, glanced around the outside to see if anyone had witnessed Trent’s explanation, and then closed the door.

He stood in place staring at her. The usual smile on his face was absent. “When John told me you were engaged, I ran.”

It took very few words to bring to light his swift departure and give Monica a reason to open the door of communication.

She tilted her head to the side and sighed. “Can I get you something to drink?”

He smiled now. “Coffee would be nice.”