Fifty-Four
Monday, March 29, 6:08 P.M. CST
Private Hospital, Roatan
Thomas didn’t exhale until they pulled under the awning at the hospital. He’d watched over his patient every minute during the frantic boat ride back, Gilberto piloting as quickly as was safe, and during the subsequent drive in the resort shuttle. As a man and woman in scrubs rolled Mel through the doors and into the emergency bay, Thomas gave them a brief history.
A handsome physician in a perfectly pressed white coat awaited them, and Eva, in a flurry of relief, addressed the man by name. “Eduardo, thanks for meeting us. Our friend Mel may have had a stroke.”
The doctor touched Eva’s arm, a look of concern on his face. “Gilberto told me everything on the phone before you arrived. I’m already warming up the scanner.”
