The Doctor's Defender (Protection Specialists Book 3) by Terri Reed Page B

away the lethargy. His nose and throat stung. He shook his head to clear his mind. He fought for clarity. They’d been in the operating room. A hissing sound. The smell of bleach. The fine mist of gas flooding the room.
    Brenda!
    He’d lost her.
    He yanked off the mask and pushed himself upright. Blood rushed to his head. His vision narrowed then slowly cleared. He was on a bed behind a curtained wall. Standing took effort. The world wobbled then righted itself.
    Brenda. He had to find her.
    He pushed back the curtain. The emergency room buzzed with energy.
    A nurse hurried toward him. “Sir, you really shouldn’t be up yet.”
    Ignoring the nurse’s admonishment, Kyle grabbed the nearest police officer. No doubt the incident in the operating room had brought the police in force. “Dr. Storm? Have you seen her? Is she okay?” Oh, please God, let me have gotten her out in time.
    “Sir, are you all right? You don’t look so good,” the officer said.
    An older man dressed in a brown suit stepped to Kyle’s side. “Mr. Martin, I’m Detective Lebowitz, the lead on this case.” He frowned. “You should sit down before you fall down.”
    Kyle cut the air with a frustrated hand. “No, I have to find Dr. Storm.”
    “She’s being looked after by Dr. Landsem.”
    “I need to see her.” Kyle wouldn’t be at ease until he saw for himself that his client was safe. “Where is she?”
    “This way.” Lebowitz led the way down a hall.
    Kyle kept a hand on the wall, fighting the dizziness camped out at the edges of his mind. They stopped at a private room. Lebowitz pushed open the door.
    Brenda lay stretched out on a gurney, an oxygen mask covering her face.
    A man dressed in a lab coat hovered at the side of the bed. Not Dr. Landsem. The killer come to finish off what he started?
    Stark panic slammed into Kyle, wrenching his senses to high alert.
    “Get away from her!” Kyle roared.
    He grabbed the guy in a sleeper hold with his arm across the man’s throat, creating a triangle, pressing on the carotid artery. Kyle spun him away from Brenda. The man’s hands clawed ineffectively at Kyle’s arm as the oxygen supply to the man’s brain diminished. Kyle knew the guy’s brain was going fuzzy just as his was from the residual effects of the gas.
    “Mr. Martin!” Lebowitz had his gun drawn. “Step away from the doctor.”
    “He could be the one trying to kill her,” Kyle ground out.
    “Kyle?”
    He lifted his gaze. Brenda stared at him from above the mask. Relief swamped him. She was alive.
    “Let him go,” she said in barely more than a hoarse whisper. The scratchy sound of her voice twisted Kyle up inside. The effects of the gas. A little longer in that room and her throat would have completely closed as the gas tore into her trachea and lungs, choking her. Killing her.
    “Please, Kyle. It’s Sam,” she choked out.
    The plastic surgeon who had a thing for Brenda.
    Kyle eased the pressure on the guy’s neck; he could still be her would-be assassin. He quickly patted him down. No weapon.
    “Let. Me. Go,” Sam croaked.
    Kyle released him.
    Lebowitz holstered his gun with a glare at Kyle. “That was not necessary.”
    “Can’t take any chances,” Kyle shot back, not caring that he’d acted swiftly. He’d rather apologize than have his client dead.
    Sam clutched his throat and glared at Kyle. He wore a lab coat over pressed slacks and a pale pink button-down shirt. The name tag on his right breast pocket read Dr. Sam Johnson.
    “Who are you?” Sam demanded to know.
    “Someone who wants to keep Brenda safe,” Kyle said.
    “I wouldn’t hurt her,” Sam declared, clearly affronted by the suggestion.
    Relegating Sam to a low-level threat category, at least in a physical, one-on-one match even with his brain fuzzy, Kyle shifted his attention to Brenda. “Hey, Doc.”
    She focused on his face and reached up to pull the mask off herself.
    Sam crowded in. “Hi, Brenda.”
    Kyle held his ground, an