Chapter One
Click, clack.
Click, clack.
Click, clack.
Bart's quick footsteps echoed down the lonely and deserted hospital corridor. Technically, he wasn't allowed in this particular corridor. It was for hospital personnel only.
Click, clack.
Click, clack.
Click, clack.
Technicalities never stopped Bart Bass, and neither did the bulky rent-a-cop who sat at its entrance. Anyone else and the overzealous guard would have gleefully taken the opportunity to test out his new hospital-issued taser. But one cold and withering look from Bart was enough to strangle any words or thoughts of action from the guard's underused brain. Instead the guard had just nodded dumbly, letting Bart breeze through unchecked.
Click, clack.
Click… clack.
Click… clack.
His quick, businesslike pace slowed as he approached the operating room entrance and Bart could feel his breaths coming in shallow bursts. Even as he felt his pulse pounding in his ears, he left the comforting fluorescent glow of the corridor hallway for the dark shadows of the abandoned operating room. Bart stood motionless in the middle of the operating room. Though hours had passed and undoubtedly gallons of disinfectant had been scrubbed into the tiles, the room still held the faint metallic smell of blood. Bart closed his eyes and was flooded with the grotesque, blood-splattered images of his wife's last hour of life. He shook his head quickly, trying to push the images from his mind. Where had this day gone so irrevocably wrong?
Twelve hours earlier…
"Oh my," Misty had laughed until tears streamed down her face at the sight of her husband, standing uncomfortably in the entrance of the room in a rumpled set of hospital scrubs. This was why she loved this man. The exterior that he showed the word was made of steel. But his insides were made of something much, much softer. In all her years of marriage to Bart Bass, Misty knew there were three things that Bart hated: 1) the sight of blood, 2) the smell of hospitals, and 3) the absence of a perfectly pressed trouser crease. And for her, to ease her discomfort and nerves, he had faced all three at once.
For all the ridicule, Bart simply held his head a little higher and strode purposefully into the room. Even in wrinkled and worn scrubs, he was a formidable sight. The nurses quickly scurried to get out of his way as he breezed through the room, stopping only when he was at the side of his wife's hospital bed. Misty had reached her hand out to him then, grasping his hand tightly until his eyes lowered to hers. "Thank you," she had murmured quietly. A smile flickered briefly at the corners of his lips as he squeezed her hand in response. For some emotions, there are no words.
A high-pitched beep from a machine to Misty's left distracts Bart. The blood pressure cuff secured around his wife's thin arm inflated suddenly and she winced under the pressure. Bart strokes her free arm with his fingertips, trying to distract her. But once the cuff deflated, Bart's eyes move back to the red, digital numbers displayed. Instantly, his eyes narrow. "Her blood pressure is low," he barks in the direction of the nearest doctor. While Bass Industries has made a sizeable contribution to this hospital to ensure the best care available, Bart isn't taking any chances. There isn't anything worth more to him than the two people in front of him, not even Bass Industries.
"Uh," the doctor fumbles, momentarily surprised at Bart's astute comment. "90 over 50," he reads. "You're right. It's on the low side, Mr. Bass. But it isn't anything to worry over just yet. We just administered the epidural a few minutes ago. Sometimes we observe a temporary drop in blood pressure for some people. It's nothing serious, just something that needs to be monitored."
"Do you think I donated a new wing to this hospital for my wife to be treated like everyone else?" Bart growled, his voice dangerously low and threatening. "Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?" He asked but didn't wait for an answer. "Let me explain this in terms you'll understand. This is Mrs. Bass. She is not now, nor will she ever be, classified as "some people". I suggest that if you don't want to find yourself suddenly unemployed, you will keep a much closer eye on my wife. We're not playing the wait-and-see game. If something goes wrong—"
"Bart," Misty warned quietly, shaking her head as soon as his eyes connected with hers. She reached out for his hand instead, letting the warmth of his large hand seep into her chilled skin.
And that was all it took to reign in the great Bart Bass. He glared menacingly at the young doctor before returning his attention back to his wife. "I'm just making sure you're taken care of," he told her quietly, glancing up again to make sure the doctor was heeding his words.
"They're taking wonderful care of us, Bart," she assured him with a gentle smile, squeezing his hand once more to regain his full attention. "Everything is going to be fine."
If only that had been the case.