Nurse Michele rushed into the room. So did several other nurses along with the resident doctor. While I explained what Tracy Reynolds was attempting to accomplish by stuffing a pillow over my employer’s face, the doctor made an emergency check on O’Connell’s pulse and heart rate.
“He’s fine,” the young Asian doctor said, the relief evident on his smooth face. “He’s still passed out from the heavy sedation is all. You must have caught her during the first few moments of her attempt at killing our patient.”
“Michele,” I said, “you reached the APD?”
“That detective you told me to ask for,” she said. “He’s on his way.”
Blood had hold of Tracy’s wrists. He was holding them behind her back, and she looked quite uncomfortable. She issued me the nastiest of looks. Thank God looks can’t kill.
