I Know Who Holds Tomorrow Read Online Free PDF

“Wes Reed. Where is he? He was airlifted from an accident on Stemmons.”
    â€œAre you a relative?” she asked, peering quizzically up at him.
    â€œI—”
    â€œI heard you admit you’re not hurt. You’ll have to move that truck,” the security guard interrupted from beside Zachary, his wide-legged stance belligerent.
    Zachary ignored the man. He couldn’t get the sounds of Wes’s painful moans out of his mind. “Please, where is he?”
    â€œSir—”

    â€œLook, Ms. Johnson,” Zachary said, cutting her off after reading her name tag. Intimidation worked best if you had a name. “I know you have a job to do, but in case you aren’t aware of it, Wes Reed is a very famous newscaster and he’s highly respected and well liked in this city and across the nation. If anything happens to him while you stand there wasting time there’ll be hell to pay. I personally guarantee it. So, where is he?” The last words were snapped out. Zachary was used to giving orders and people jumping.
    Uncertainty moved in the woman’s eyes. She glanced over her shoulder to the two other women in the small cubicle with her. The oldest one, a black woman with shoulder-length braids, stepped forward. “Isn’t he Madison Reed’s husband?”
    Zachary thought Wes would have hated that reference, but right now it might help. “Yes.”
    â€œCubicle six. Down the hall to the right. It’s marked on the side of the door.”
    â€œThanks,” Zachary said, taking off in that direction, this time going slower because the hallway was crowded with people, hospital beds, and equipment. His hand was shaking when he pushed open the door to cubicle six. He couldn’t see Wes because of the number of people surrounding his bed. Then one moved to grab something from a metal tray. Zachary saw Wes and came to an abrupt stop.
    His expensive suit had been slashed from his body, a body that was badly bruised and bloody. A large gash ran at least eight inches on his left thigh. But what made Zachary’s stomach roll was the blood coating Wes’s chest. Blood that also stained the garments of the people working frantically on him. Zachary’s unsteady hand brushed across his own bloody shirt. How much blood could Wes lose and survive?
    It had happened so quickly. Zachary had been only minutes behind Wes on the freeway. Zachary had been kidding Wes on the cell phone about getting his hands dirty changing a tire. He’d thought Wes’s curse had something to do with the tire until Zachary heard the screams and the sickening sound of metal again metal that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
    â€œBlood pressure dropping.”
    â€œDammit. More suction.”

    â€œWhat’s the heart rhythm?”
    â€œSinus tach at one-fifty.”
    â€œBlood pressure ninety over fifty and dropping fast.”
    â€œHe’s bleeding into the pericardial sac.”
    Transfixed, Zachary watched as a long needle plunged into Wes’s chest. His stomach rolled again. Wes hated needles. They both did.
    â€œBP ninety-eight over fifty-two. One-oh-two over sixty.”
    â€œLet’s move it, people, and get him into surgery.”
    They moved as one unit. Positioned at the foot, head, and side of the gurney, they started toward him. Automatically Zachary moved back. But as they passed he was unable to keep from calling Wes’s name.
    â€œWes.” There was no response. Zachary hadn’t expected any. There was a tube down his throat and taped to the sides of his mouth. Wes always had energy to spare. Now he was still, and pale. “Wes.”
    Long, sooty eyelashes flickered in a face so bruised it was almost unrecognizable. Swallowing, Zachary reached for Wes’s hand. “You’re going to be all right. Hang in there.”
    â€œMove!” snapped the middle-aged man who had worked frantically on Wes as he’d