Border Lines (Reachers Book 2) Read online

  “He doesn't live anywhere,” John grumbled as he went to inspect the bedroom.

  “This is his safe house,” Charlie added. “He works the border a lot. And he keeps this place as his permanent residence so he can have a London pass. Most of the time he just comes here when he needs to keep his head down.”

  When Charlie checked on his brother, he had already stripped the bed and changed the sheets. He still looked dissatisfied, but that had more to do with the mound of clothes he had created to give himself some floor space. He'd taken his shoes and his shirt off, but kept his trousers and vest on.

  “Four hours,” he told Charlie.

  “Six.”

  “Four.”

  “Five,” Charlie reasoned.

  “Four.”

  “Fine, four, but don't wake up in a mood okay.” He put John to bed, switching the light off as he left the room.

  Rachel had begun her own clean up operation and had filled several bags of rubbish, clearing room for them both to lie on the sofa.

  “If you want to sleep I can stay awake,” she offered.

  “I was going to say the same. I'm good for a couple more hours.” He settled down on the sofa beside her. Roxy's place may have been a mess but the man knew how to be comfortable.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked Rachel. “This is a bigger deal for you than it is for us. Especially considering the cop.”

  “I'll be fine. It was just a shock seeing him.”

  He reached out for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “How did he look when he saw you?”

  “Surprised, confused. He looked tired too. Do you think anything happened to him after I left?”

  “Maybe he got a promotion. He's working on this side of the border now.” Charlie paused daring himself to ask the next question. “Is there still something between you?”

  “Between us? God no. There was never anything between us. Not really. At least not for me. He was my patient. The cop medical unit was filled up and all the lower staff were shipped out to St Mary's for treatment. Mark was there and he started talking. He wasn't as much of an asshole as the others but that was it. Then the next day he shows up and asks me out. I mean what am I supposed to do, turn him away?”

  “You were worried he'd get suspicious?”

  “At first I was. I look back at it now and realise actually I would have just dented his confidence. But back then I was too scared. I allowed him to take me for a drink. It was the first time I'd ever been out around S'aven and it was actually quite fun. Then, I don't know, maybe it was the drink or just being human for a change, whatever, one thing led to another and before I know it we're moving in together.”

  She sighed, resting her head against the back of the sofa. “He isn't a bad guy. That was the trouble. Not like the others. Not like that partner of his. Mark has a heart and he honestly thinks he is helping the world being a cop. At least he did. I wonder what he thinks now.”

  “Let's hope we're not around long enough to find out.”

  She nodded in agreement. “So this wife you saw today.”

  Charlie blushed and she started to laugh. He hated being so transparent.

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Maybe not, but you are so going to hit that.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey, I'm all for it. You could do with working off some of that frustration. Now if only we could hook John up too I might actually have a stress free day for a change.” She yawned. “You know it's okay to move on.”

  She gave him a final squeeze of his hand and rolled over to get some sleep.

  21

  John thumped his brother awake. Charlie blinked in the late morning light and winced when John threw his mobile at him. It was ringing. Charlie rubbed his eyes, barely able to make out the number. He answered it and fought back a yawn.

  “Hello?”

  “Since you were all so concerned, I thought I'd let you know my surgery went exceedingly well and I'm expected to make a full recovery.”

  Charlie smirked at his brother. “Hey Roxy, good to hear you're still with us. John's been worried.”

  “Fuck you Charlie Smith. Not even a goddamn text message. Not from any of you, you worthless pieces of shit. And what the hell did you tell my mother? She hasn't even called yet!”

  Charlie closed his eyes – he knew there was something he forgot to do.

  “You bloody wanker! You utter tossing pile of monkey puke! You didn't call her did you? I can't believe it. You worthless, good for nothing—”

  “I'm sorry Rox', we had stuff to do.”

  “Oh my apologies Charlie, you had stuff to do. How rude of me. Here I am fighting for my life, hoping that someone at least has told my dearest mother that her only son has been shot, but my mistake – you had stuff to do. Stuff! Here lies James Roxton, nobody attended his final hours on this earth because they were all too busy doing stuff!”

  “Roxy you were not fighting for your life. You got shot in the shoulder,” Charlie tried to point out.

  “Do you know what they do when you have a bullet in you, Charlie? They put you under – you go to sleep and before you do they tell you there's a chance you might not wake up! Did you know that? Or were you too busy doing stuff to even care?”

  “Okay, I'm sorry. I should have called Lulu and I will. I'll call her in a minute.”

  “Honestly, I don't know why I bother. I let you shoot me. I take myself into casualty. I get Rachel a bloody job here. And what thanks do I get – really what thanks do I get?”

  “Hold up, did you say you got Rachel a job?”

  Rachel and John instantly perked up.

  “Oh now you're interested. That was what I was sent here for wasn't it? To get her in and try not to pick up some life threatening infection on the way. Well as always I have come through while you were busy doing stuff.”

  “That's brilliant. Have you got on the ward with Dr Curtis – have you met him yet?”

  “Charlie that man has put his hands in places I didn't even know existed. Now listen closely because I am only telling you this once. She'll be covering a doctor for the week, it's off the books, but that's not unheard of around here. I assured the doctor Rachel has a full medical licence and all she has to do is come in and not kill anyone. Can she do that?”

  “I think that's going to depend on your behaviour,” Charlie murmured.

  “The thing is she needs to get here in an hour. Which gives you plenty of time to call my mother!” He hung up.

  Charlie sighed and started dialling Lulu Roxton's number – if her son was bad she was going to be a million times worse.

  Charlie and Rachel walked to the Great General Hospital. Breaking into the Voice had helped with her nerves, but this was going to be altogether different. She couldn't be invisible and she would have to rely on her persuasion alone. If they discovered who she was there would be nowhere to run and Charlie couldn't hide the fact that he was worried for them both.

  Great General was the biggest hospital in Britain, catering to the fewest number of patients in the country. It was a sleek new building, growing in height each year. The greatest doctors in the world squandered their medical knowledge on plastic surgery and acne treatment while cashing in five figure cheques at the end of each month. Most of London could barely afford a Great General band-aid, but nobody so far had spoken out about the absurdity of the place.

  And that was where Charlie's main concern lay. Rachel could be a hot headed revolutionary when she wanted to be and he had taken her from the poverty stricken morgue stop off of St Mary's Hospital in S'aven to see how the other half lived. He wasn't sure he could keep his mouth shut about the injustice of it all so there was no chance Rachel would endure it silently.

  “I'm not about to start waving a flag and invoking a riot,” she assured him. “Look we're going to find out some dirt on the head of Great General, that's enough for me. We'll bring down hypocrisy that way.”

  He wasn't satisfied but there was no
point going over old ground. “Do nothing for today. Scope the place out and the doctor if you get a chance. Try to avoid meeting him directly, the less he knows about you the better. If you get into trouble and you need rescuing call me.”

  “Stop worrying. What are you guys going to do while I'm away?”

  “See if we can find more out about O'Connor,” he lied.

  “Good luck. I'll see you tonight. Try not to get yourself killed.”

  He waited until she disappeared into the hospital. He didn't like keeping things from her, even if it was for her own good, but this was the chance they had been waiting for. When he was sure she was gone he dialled John.

  “Okay she's in, come and pick me up.”

  22

  Rachel swallowed any nerves that were trying to surface and braved the hospital lobby. There were sofas scattered around the large open room. Patients or visitors – Rachel couldn't tell – sat and read glossy magazines, ignoring the world around them with ease. Speakers in the ceiling played out a calming, inconspicuous melody that was briefly interrupted by a soothing voice telling everyone that Great General Hospital offered the best healthcare in the world. The ambience was surreal.

  The staff at this level moved without urgency. Nobody was flat–lining, nothing bad was happening. If heaven had a waiting room it would look and feel like this – passive and tranquil and utterly benign. For the briefest moment Rachel lost herself. She watched the nurses in their brightly bleached uniforms and perfectly made up faces and felt a surge of anger. Highly trained and highly skilled professionals were here, while people on the other side of the border took their chances with inadequate butchers at St Mary's. She shook her head and remembered Charlie's warning – that wasn't why she was there.

  She looked around at the seats until eventually her eyes met another doctor making the same sweep. This was her contact. She smiled and received an impatient wave. The doctor was at least a decade older than Rachel, but her carefully applied makeup and the right amount of laser work to her eyes made her appear about the same age. She held out her hand and offered a limp handshake.

  “I'm Cara,” she said. “You're Rachel?”

  “Yes.”

  “Follow me.”

  Healthcare in Britain was a joke. Throughout the country poverty and disease was running riot. There were annual epidemics in the worst areas that would sweep across the country and threaten the tiny specks of modern civilisation. The average life expectancy fell year after year and the government had given up counting infant mortality. Hospitals like S'aven's St Mary's bore the brunt of the sick, taking in everything from burn victims to potential plague outbreaks. Patients arrived in their hundreds and left in their tens. There were never enough doctors, medicine, or beds.

  Rachel had expected London would just have everything it needed – she had a ridiculous notion that people in London got sick and then got better. But London had its own ideas about what healthcare should be and everything came at a price. Every hour, every injection, every freshly prepared meal was rung up. And if you could afford the fees you'd get the best healthcare in the world. But if you couldn't…

  They had medicoms available for every patient, with a surplus kept in stock, just in case. Each ward had a fixed number of doctors and nurses, all trained to the highest standard, where they could use their medical knowledge to monitor the machines diagnosing and treating their patients. They did so little but it was essential the wards were fully staffed. The doctors wanted to keep their shifts and to do this they had to show up on time every day. If they missed a shift they would lose it. And that was where Rachel came in.

  “The medicoms do everything anyway. We're just there to hold the patient's hand, among other things,” Cara explained. “I work recovery, it's the easiest shift in the whole hospital. I had to work really hard to get this run and I can tell you I know there are lots of doctors looking to get my spot.”

  “That's why you can't get them to cover for you?” Rachel said, following Cara higher up the stairs.

  “Exactly. Most of us contract outside of the hospital, that way nobody on home turf gets to sidle up to our bosses and steal our shifts. You're only after the week right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you're moving on afterwards?”

  “That's the plan.”

  “Roxy said you used to work in S'aven.”

  “St Mary's,” Rachel added.

  Cara stopped, “Wow, really. I hear it's pretty rough down there.”

  Rachel didn't answer. It was pretty rough pulling shards of bone fragment out of an eight-year-old's leg, especially when those fragments belonged to the child's mother. That was a typical fifteen minutes in St Mary's on a good day.

  “Normally I need to scan your medical card and all that, but to tell you the truth I haven't booked this time off. It's only the admin department that will notice that, as long as you don't kill any of my patients nobody will ask any questions. People do this all the time and Roxy said you're one of the best doctors he knows.”

  But how many doctors does he know? Rachel mused.

  “And you'll be better than the janitor covering the graveyard shift on the cancer ward. Can you believe that doctor just left a total novice in charge? They'll bring anyone in here, honestly. Do you have a valid medical licence? If they ask just say that you do, they never check.”

  Cara opened the door to her ward and led Rachel to the locker room, telling her the code she would need and where she could put her stuff. She then took her white coat off and handed it to Rachel. It was a fraction too large for Rachel, but it was the closest she had come to looking like a real doctor in her whole life.

  “You'll be bored in a couple of hours coming from S'aven,” Cara said idly. “I told the rest of the ward you were covering. A couple of them will try to move in on your patients, but they'll back off when I'm back so it's up to you what you want to do about it. Some of the old boys tip pretty well, but a few of them aren't interested at all, tight bastards. Here you go.” She pinned a temporary name tag above her own on Rachel's jacket. It said stand–in. “There, everyone will know you're with me.”

  Cara smiled and Rachel was already starting to hate her.

  “Okay, so don't be late for your shift, don't let any other doctors swap their shifts with you, and keep my patients alive. Sign in at the front desk, they'll keep you posted on everything you need to know. We'll hand over at the end of the week. Roxy said you'd do this for free, right?”

  And suddenly it was all clear. Cara would put her patients into the hands of a total stranger because it wouldn't cost her a penny. Cara checked her watch. “Oh crap – you're going to be late. Front desk down the hall.”

  There was no camaraderie at St Mary's, even the good doctors didn't want to be there. Exhausted medical staff worked together like components of a machine, only communicating when necessary, but checking that everyone was pulling together. It was a lonely hospital. As Rachel stepped onto the Great General recovery ward she was taken aback by the amount of casual chatter between the staff. With the medicoms doing the work there was no necessity for a doctor to do more than be around and look pretty, and that was all these people seemed to do.

  She wandered to the front desk and spoke to the nurse there. He signed her in, also totally unconcerned that she was a stranger. He introduced himself as Nurse Kenzie, while keeping one eye on her and the other on his gossiping colleagues. He checked her name and printed her out a little label with Rachel to attach to her stand–in badge.

  “You've got the west wing, Cara calls it the presidential suite,” he chuckled.

  How am I ever going to compete with wit like that? Rachel thought with a smirk.

  “Six patients, all in recovery. They pretty much will all need to stay here for the week, except for Mr Jeffries, his funds have expired so he'll be leaving us tomorrow morning. It's lunch time at the minute, once they've finished you're due to make your rounds. Oh, here.” He handed her a thin tablet
that blinked impatiently.

  She stared at the screen. “What's this for?”

  He paused, trying to gauge whether she was playing him for a fool. Deciding she must be joking he started to laugh. He patted her on the shoulder. “All their notes are on there. Coffee is down the hall too.”

  “Thanks,” she said and made her way to the coffee machine. It had bright buttons and too many options. It was almost as confusing as the tablet. She looked at her little square of inaccessible information and groaned.

  There was only one thing for it. As casually as she could, she strolled past the rooms. All of her patients seemed remarkably perky, tucking into their freshly prepared lunches and watching the screens in their rooms. She found the man she'd been looking for in the centre room.

  Roxy was shirtless. A large bandage covered his shoulder wound, the rest of his torso was decorated in a myriad of weird tattoos. She spied the legs of what looked to be a leaping tiger poking out of the dressing and wondered if John had actually managed to shoot the big cat in the head. Other than that he was looking good.

  “Ah, Doctor I am ready for the rectal exam I've been promised,” he said.

  She closed the blinds to his room.

  “You know I was only kidding.”

  “Here,” she said, tossing him the tablet. “How the hell do I work this?”

  He showed her how to switch it on and swipe through the various records.

  “I thought you were supposed to be a trained professional,” he said mocking her.

  “Give me a spraying artery and I'd be in my element. This isn't medicine. This is pretending to be a doctor.” She looked at his dressing more closely. “How are you doing?”

  Roxy's face glowed, it was as though he'd been waiting for someone to ask him that all his life. “Can't complain,” he said.

  “Even though John shot you?”

  “He only does those things because he likes me. What does my chart say?”

  With a bit more help she found his computerised chart. At least the information it contained was as simplified as it could be. “You've got about two months to live.”