Chapter Eighty

To Leah, it seemed as if she had just fallen to sleep when she felt his lips on her bare shoulder and his hands…. A faint smile appeared across her lips. What wonderful, gentle hands. How could a man possibly know the rapturous delight those tender touches, those feather-light traces over her skin could evoke? When she rolled into him their lips met, their arms held each other tightly as their legs tangled together.

"Good morning," he said in a low, velvety voice.

With her eyes still closed, she answered sleepily. "It can't be morning."

Chuckling, he rubbed her nose with his. "It is. Open your eyes."

She leaned her head back, stretched and yawned, then snuggled back into him, tracing a line down his lips and chin with her forefinger. "Hasn't anyone ever explained to you that you're not twenty-five anymore? I'm not either. If you keep this up, you'll break both of us."

Moving his head back, his mouth opened in disbelief. "Are you…complaining?" An eyebrow arched.

"Do not misconstrue veneration for complaint. The truth is I'm amazed at your seemingly infinite prowess and dexterity."

After one more tight hug and long kiss, Trapper asked, "Shouldn't we be getting out of this bed?"

"Can't we stay here for a little while longer? We don't have any set plans today, do we?"

"That's all right by me if you're up for it."

"I should be asking you that question," she replied, giggling as he rolled into her with a voracious smile.

"So what did you two end up doing this weekend," asked Gonzo as he opened his milk carton. Trapper and Leah set their breakfast trays down on the table in the hospital cafeteria considering the question an invitation.

"We went to a sidewalk art and antique fair Saturday, and we got some exercise Sunday," Leah said, winking at Trapper.

Gonzo looked up with a wounded frown. "What kind of exercise? Did you go running without me?"

"It was more like a marathon," answered Trapper just before he filled his mouth with eggs. He looked at Gonzo, chewing, and then moved his eyes back to Leah trying to stifle a smile and chew at the same time.

Leah stirred a bowl of oatmeal, glancing up at Gonzo. "You should see the Japanese screen Trapper bought. It's beautiful. It's made out of cinnabar."

"What? You bought cinnabar?" asked Gonzo, turning back to Trapper.

"It's not a set of tea cups. It's a screen. No one's going to be touching it. What'd you do this weekend?" asked Trapper as he bit into a piece of toast.

"As if you didn't know, I had a shift to cover both days, so I was here."

"Anything interesting happen?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact it did. I have a Korean woman with muscle weakness, shortness of breath and difficulty swallowing."

"Neurological?"

"I did a CBC and sent some spinal fluid to the lab. It could be a stroke. She's pretty old. We're checking for Guillain–Barré and myasthenia gravis, too."

Looking at his watch, Trapper said, "I have to get going." He wiped his mouth, dropped his napkin on his plate and stood.

"I do, too. I have another call with Angela today, and I've got to get her the ten-year savings numbers. Trapper, do you want to listen in?" He nodded. "Come up at two then."

Before Trapper turned to go, he said, "Gonzo, let me know how those tests go."

"I will," he said, louder than normal since Trapper had already turned to walk away. Looking up at Leah, he said, "I really wish you'd called me. A run would have been a nice break."

She stood and picked up her tray. "Who said anything about running?"

"Trapper said something about a marathon."

"Yes, he did, didn't he," she said, smiling mischievously as she left the table.

Gonzo knocked, but didn't wait for an answer as he entered Trapper's office. Trapper glanced up over his glasses, but continued writing and asked, "You have some test results?"

"Yeah. It's not an autoimmune problem," answered Gonzo, reaching for his newly beeping pager. Moving to the side of the desk, he picked up Trapper's phone. "This is Dr. Gates. All right. I'll be right there. Call the nurse's station on that floor and ask them to get a ventilator in that room." Hanging up the phone, he said, "Our Korean patient is in respiratory distress. Care to join me?"

Trapper dropped his pen and rose. "After you," he said, motioning to the door.

When they entered the room, the bed had already been raised, and Jackpot had already started a tube. As he worked, he spoke. "She stopped breathing, so I went ahead and started without you."

"All right, keep going," said Gonzo. "We'll get her stabilized, and then we'll figure out what's next."

Gloria ran into the room. "I need one of you in the waiting room. Her husband just collapsed on the floor."

"Jackson, you got this?" asked Gonzo.

"Yeah, go," he replied.

Trapper had already left, but Gonzo was on his heels. The man was on his side on the floor, so Trapper turned him to his back, and flashed a light across his eyes. "Pupils are unresponsive, respiration shallow. You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, glancing up at Gonzo.

"Yeah, whatever this is, it's environmental."

"Gloria, find a room and order a CBC." Trapper stood and looked around. "Is this stuff his?" he asked, pointing to a table near where the man lay.

"I think so. He was eating something," said Gloria.

Picking up a container from the table and smelling it, Trapper wrinkled his nose. "Gloria, tell the lab to look for clostridium botulinum. And then send a fluid sample from his wife and tell them to look for the same thing."

"What is it?" asked Gonzo, nodding to the container.

Trapper exhaled and frowned. "Looks and smells like kimchi. Probably homemade." Taking a deep breath, he twisted his mouth in antipathy. "We have to call the CDC. I'll go talk to Arnold," he said, closing the container and heading for the elevator. "He's not going to be happy about the CDC crawling all over his hospital. For that matter, neither am I."