The Lost and Found Series Read online

  lost and found series

  Amanda Mackey

  LOST AND FOUND SERIES

  Copyright © 2018 by Amanda Mackey.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: December 2018

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-475-4

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-475-6

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  TRUE IDENTITY

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  TRUE SACRIFICE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  TRUE BEGINNINGS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter One

  Mackenzie

  My two week break officially ended the moment I walked through the doors of University Hospital in Ann Arbor, Michigan. My place of employment was in pandemonium. There would be no easing into the day. It went from zero to chaotic in ten seconds flat without giving me time to take a much needed deep breath. I worked in ICU, which on a good day, bordered on mildly chaotic. Today would be much worse.

  I likened it to stepping into a tornado. Outside the doors lay the eye of the storm. Eerily calm, yet ripe with tense anticipation of the impending carnage. You know you have to go through it, but falter at the threshold nonetheless, wondering what lies within its clutches.

  Doctors and nurses blew through with critical agendas, speaking in codes only reserved for the medical profession. My brain switched into high gear, adrenalin providing me with the kick I’d need to function at warp speed as the doors to outside normality shut behind me.

  “Mac! You’re back. Tell me later about your holiday. Right now we’ve got a Code Blue in room five. Throw your bag into the nurse’s station and let’s go.”

  I could have about turned and stalked out, pretending I still had another week of vacation left, but it wasn’t in my nature as a nurse to turn my back on sick patients. Code Blue had everyone running. Death loomed. Days like this tested us to our core. We’d all trained for it. It was a buzz like no other.

  Flashes of blue uniforms scurried past us like roaches to food scraps. Charlotte, my fellow nurse and friend, looked stressed as I tossed my bag on the bottom shelf of the oblong work desk amongst the other clutter, and hurried down the hall, seizing the stethoscope she held out.

  “An old guy. Brought in yesterday. Unconscious. Found by his wife, slumped on the lounge chair. At first he appeared asleep, but as time went on, she tried to wake him. When he didn’t respond, she called 911. It’s not looking good.”

  She puffed as she spoke, attempting to give me a rundown. I struggled to keep up as we forced our way past a food trolley and a doctor pushing a middle-aged man in a wheelchair.

  Lucky for me I’d dressed in my navy scrubs prior to leaving home. Some staff changed here and kept clothes in their lockers. I found it easier to be prepared. On days like today I didn’t need to waste valuable time.

  I followed Charlotte into the patient’s room, where two doctors and nurses hovered.

  Chase Andrews and Chris Hartley had the paddles out. Chase situated them on the sunken, bony chest of the elderly man. Chris set the voltage. The two nurses, Debbie and Jacinta, glanced at us with grim faces. Jacinta scribbled something down on a clipboard while Debbie, whose shift I took over, stood by and watched, waiting on further instruction if needed. There were too many people in the room, but with a Code Blue, it didn’t matter. Everyone available assisted.

  “Clear!” cried Chase as he administered the voltage, the patient’s saggy torso arching off the bed.

  The heart monitor had flat-lined and the single drone of the machine echoed a sound we were all used to, but one we all loathed.

  I whispered to Charlotte, “Where’s his wife?”

  “She went home last night to rest so she could return a little later. We’ve called her and she’s on her way.”

  Chase barked out again and gave more voltage to the man. The whine of the machine remained unchanged. Mortality stared us all in the face.

  Inching over to Jacinta, I held my hand out for the clipboard and scanned it when she gave it to me.

  Mr. William Morris. Aged 87. History of angina. In 2010 he’d had a quadruple bypass. Everything else appeared normal.

  It all seemed cut and dry to me, but Chase didn’t look ready to call it yet. My heart went out to his wife, whom if Mr. Morris didn’t pull through, would never get to say her goodbyes. No matter the age, it always left a traumatic scar. I’d consoled many family members after they’d received the devastating news. Not an easy task, but part of our job. I tried not to take it home with me, and most times I could distance myself. Children were the hardest thoug
h, and they were usually the ones I lost sleep over.

  I’d spent twelve months in the children’s ward. For the most part it remained upbeat and fun with clowns and other entertainers calling in to brighten the sick kids’ days. Then there were the times after car accidents, fatal diseases, or domestic violence attacks when the weight of my job really dragged me down. Young lives taken too soon. Shattered parents and siblings. The defining, horrific moment of impact when lives changed irreparably. Questions unanswered. What ifs. It all came with the territory.

  Charlotte disappeared and returned with a syringe of epinephrine, which she began injecting into the cannula. I felt helpless standing there watching but no one had asked me for anything. I guess I acted as a backup, if needed.

  Everyone waited with bated breath for the familiar beep, beep of the machine, but it never came, and Chase called it twenty minutes later at 8:17 a.m.

  A thick blanket of morbidity covered the room while we inhaled, and then we were all being given orders on the exhale. Emotions had to be kept in-check. We all had to do it in order to cope with the death we witnessed daily. Our psyches acted accordingly. It hadn’t always been easy. First weeks and months on the job were sink or swim for some. The toughest survived. At the end of the day we were all human, and I’d be lying if I said each and every doctor and nurse hadn’t been affected greatly by at least one incident while working.

  “Mackenzie, can you call down to the morgue and let them know they have a pickup? Char, hang around for when Mrs. Morris arrives, and take her to the lounge and get her a cup of coffee and anything else she needs. Call other family if you have to.”

  Chase covered Mr. Morris with an overly starched sheet and began walking out as if a man hadn’t just lost his life. Chris cleared away the paddles and followed Chase into the hallway. Debbie shook her head and walked out silently with her eyes downcast, and Jacinta began removing the cannula, adjusting the sheet so she could access his arm without disturbing his covered face.

  I made my way back to the nurse’s station and called the morgue. Back to business as normal. Cue, the very real life of medical staff. With Debbie now being on vacation and me taking over from her, I had a new patient to take care of. I wasn’t sure who I had yet, but when I saw her loitering just shy of the nurse’s desk, I closed the gap.

  “How you holding up?” I asked. She’d only been with us for six months. Her ability to disengage from loss wasn’t as well-formed as mine. After completing her training and internship, she’d started with us as a full-time employee. Being young, she had a lot to learn, but everyone loved her friendly personality.

  We would miss her while she visited her ill mother in Canada.

  Her eyes were glassy, but there were no fallen tears. “I’m all right. I try not to let death get to me, but it’s hard, you know? Especially with Mom being diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.”

  Resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, I squeezed. “I do know, and if you want to call me tonight before you leave in the morning and chat about it, I’ll be home.”

  Her mom was in her mid-fifties and had MS. Her motor skills were failing, so Debbie wanted to go and help her. While she was there, she would organize home nursing to make it easier. My heart went out to my colleague. I’d seen my fair share of the debilitating effects of advanced MS. Some patients went downhill rapidly after diagnosis, and others lived with it more tolerably for longer.

  Smiling, she said, “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Nothing a good bottle of wine and my boyfriend giving me a neck massage won’t fix.”

  I scoffed in jest. “Half your luck! Nick’s never given me a massage. I’ve hinted often enough, but I think he has selective hearing.”

  We’d been dating and living together for two years. As an investment banker, he worked a lot. Actually a lot was too mild. He always worked. If he wasn’t at the bank, he worked from home after hours. It had almost always been that way, and listening to Debbie tell me about her attentive partner drove home the very real fact that Nick and I hadn’t been intimate for the last couple of months. With my shifts changing regularly and Nick always too tired, sex just didn’t happen. It had become routine to both of us. I had day shifts for the next couple of weeks, but then I’d have to wait for the new roster.

  Handing me a file and drawing me to the present, Debbie replied, “You need to walk away, Mac. There are plenty of guys out there who would be only too willing to dote on you.”

  I’d had this conversation with her and Charlotte before, but to be honest, Nick was comfortable. I’d grown used to the way things were, even if I did secretly yearn for more. The unknown frightened me. At twenty-seven, I shouldn’t have been such a wuss, but sometimes better the devil you know, right?

  “Pfft. You’re just saying that because you’re my friend. Why haven ‘t any ever shown up in my life?”

  “Well, your new patient is a hottie.” She pointed at the file. “He’s been in an induced coma, but girl, mmm, he’s fine. I wish he’d open his eyes so I could see what color they are, but judging by his ebony hair, I’m guessing a rich brown. Hopefully he’ll wake up soon. He’s being weaned off the drugs.”

  And just like that, Debbie had forgotten about her grief over losing old Mr. Morris. She now blushed.

  “You’re trouble, you know that? Go on home to that fine boyfriend of yours and don’t think about this place for the next couple of weeks. I hope your mom will be okay. Keep us posted, okay?”

  Giving her a hug, I watched her walk away before strolling to the room of my new patient.

  Chapter Two

  Mac

  I wasn’t sure what to expect when I pushed through the door into room three, but the hulk of a man with arms busting out of the generous hospital gown wasn’t it.

  Debbie had been on the mark. Wow! Impressive didn’t begin to describe him. A thick neck led to a face that could only be labeled as rugged with a hint of danger. The visible exterior held no femininity. Tanned and slightly hardened skin, as if weathered from the sun, covered a square face. His nose had character with its ruler straight bridge. A short, dark military-style cut, which looked like it had grown out some, stood at attention like a worn brush. I took pause just inside the door to stare at the masterpiece. My wandering eyes led me to covet his black, stark eyelashes that rested way too still. What lay beyond? Was Debbie correct in her assumption of deep, dusky eyes? Or would they be the color of a turbulent sea? There was no oxygen mask present, which meant he breathed on his own, so I had a front row seat to the pièce de résistance. His mouth! Lord have mercy. May I burn in hell for the instant image of those decadent lips eliciting shivers to erupt all over my skin as they trail-blazed unchartered pathways all over me. I mentally chastised myself as I shuffled closer. My heart stuttered and almost stalled in my chest. A lancing pain shot diagonally through it and into my abdomen, momentary but intense. Not an I’m having a heart attack kind of pain, but more of a stunned stupid, intrinsic reaction from every cell in my body. My hormones kicked into gear. I’d just stepped into Narnia. A fictional world within my world. No man so fine had ever appeared in my ICU, and now that he had, I bumbled like an idiot.

  Good God, I had a job to do, and it didn’t involve ogling a sick man, no matter how physically appealing he was.

  Opening his file, a nurse had scribbled John Doe as his name. The guy must have been without ID. Injuries included a single gunshot wound to the chest, narrowly missing his heart. Also internal cranial bleeding, which had stabilized. He’d been removed from assisted breathing yesterday, which proved hopeful for his recovery. Given his injuries, luck played a part in him not being in the morgue with old Mr. Morris. Perhaps his tough exterior infiltrated inwards. He looked like a man who could take a beating and then some. Battle hardened.

  I inched closer, unable to help myself, deciding to break the silence and treat him like any other patient. After all, some coma patients could hear, but not move or communicate.

  “Hi, John Doe. I’m
Mackenzie. Everyone calls me Mac because, well…Mackenzie is just too much of a mouthful.”

  My stethoscope still hung around my neck, so I proceeded to check his pulse, only to be rattled further by the smoothness of his wrist as I listened to the steady thrump of his blood being pushed through his veins. My fingers lingered longer than necessary, but I gave myself the rare luxury of indulging in the discreet transgression.

  “You don’t look like a John. You look more like a Harley. You own a motorbike?” His pulse beat normally, so I picked up his chart at the end of the bed and jotted down some numbers before placing it back again.

  Padding to stand back at his side, I afforded his face a longer glance, hoping he could at least hear the sound of my voice. “So, what’s your story, Harley? Who are you really, and what are you doing in my ICU? Surely you must have family looking for you. A girlfriend or wife? You’ve been here a week and nobody has reported you missing. Technically, you don’t exist. You’re a ghost.”

  Scrutinizing him enabled me to take in all his adequate features. “Who shot you? Are you wanted by criminals or were you in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  If I wasn’t aware of a bullet hole covered up by the blankets, I’d merely think he was taking a nap. There were no other wounds visible. He obviously hadn’t been beaten up prior to the shooting. Cranial bleeding? Maybe the back of his head had suffered blunt force trauma. I couldn’t tell front on.

  “You’re going to get sick of me rambling all day, but it helps me as much as it helps you. If you’re real lucky, I may even sing for you.”

  I adored singing. I’d been doing it since I could remember. Not in front of an audience though, just around friends and family. People remarked I should enter into talent competitions, but I had no desire to take it further. I loved my job as a nurse, and couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Plus, the thought of being in front of a crowd singing made me sick to my stomach. I’d never been an attention seeker. More of a hide in the background type girl.