Page 83 of Luck Be Mine
“Cait talked to your mama while you were gone. She told Cait she’s better.”
Doogie skeptic came out. “Wish I believed her.”
“If she’s fudging the truth, Doc will figure it out.”
“There is that.”
“What’s your issue, Jack?”
Brennan’s face twisted. “My brain won’t shut off. I’ve reviewed our mission planning, scrolled through intel, and watched the replays of the mission more than is probably healthy.”
“Conclusion?” Hunt reveled in the night with his wife even more. He needed those details in a loop in his brain like he needed a shrink.
Doogie offered an explanation when Jack didn’t. “Shit happens.”
Hunt made a face and repeated what he and Cait often told each other. “Sometimes you can do everything perfect and still lose.”
Defensive, Brennan finally spoke. “We didn’t lose. Mission was a success.” He pointed between him and Doogie. “We talked on the plane home. Consensus was they were security for the factory. Crappy security. They were in a group behind the building according to drone video and not patrolling. Could be they saw us and thought they’d catch us.”
“What stopped them? The team was inside for twelve minutes.”
“Unknown,” Doogie answered. “Possibly waiting to determine what we were doing.”
Hunt stilled, musing. “That’s the basics of my report. Solid mission, solid intel, target destroyed. It’s our job to take the bullet. It’s how this works. Let’s run before I have to report to Commander Gregg.”
“I don’t like this outcome when the planning is solid,” Brennan groused.
Doogie slapped him on the back. “Time for another job then.”
The three began the long run in tandem, their pace matching in the first strides. Two miles and he still couldn’t settle. He should have rolled over and made love to Cait again. It had to be a better way to begin the day than this.
The only easy day was yesterday.
Chapter Thirteen
◊ Every Legacy Has a First Step ◊
Emergency room work pushed learning. It was why so many med students used it as a rotation. It helped them get proficient at patient care, basic procedures, and diagnosis. Cait used it for immediate access to trauma victims, and patients who would help her keep little used skills flexible for QM’s people.
Using the counter at the end of the nurse’s station, she updated the chart for her last patient and authorized release. A chaotic schedule for the last two weeks screwed with her energy level. Her husband had been home for four days, too. His silences were longer than usual, and she wasn’t ready for any sudden, urgent exits.
Several babies wailed in the waiting room, the sounds piercing. A woman screamed. A family who spoke only Korean tried to explain their mother’s condition to an interpreter. The noise level clawed at her focus, her TBI sparking with irritation. She inhaled and exhaled in careful cadence, and reminded herself that just because the area sounded like glass shattering didn’t mean it was.
“Dr. Hunter?”
Cait shut her tablet and found her calm. “Dr. Sung? Correct?” First year resident.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Can I help you?”
“I have a patient.”
“Surgical?”
“Uh, no.”
“You should talk to Dr. Day.”
