For readers of Lisa Gardner, Tess Gerritsen, Iris Johansen, and Debra Webb:
Hart and Drake Thrillers #1
Dr. Cassandra Hart is fighting a war. And losing. A deadly drug epidemic, a killer stalking her hospital...meet the ER doctor who never gives up.
Cassie's Pittsburgh ER has been deluged by young patients who have overdosed on a new drug, FX. After Cassie discovers that the source of the FX on the streets is her own hospital, her best friend is killed, and Cassie's life is threatened. She is forced to place her trust in Detective Mickey Drake.
Drake's irascible charm eventually penetrates the barriers Cassie has built around herself, and their relationship progresses from professional to passionate. After Cassie discovers the truth behind the thefts, she and Drake must confront a killer. In the end, their only weapons are their new-found love and the courage it gives them.
Other books in the series
Sleight of Hand (A Hart and Drake Thriller #2)
Face to Face (A Hart and Drake Thriller #3)
For readers of Lisa Gardner, Tess Gerritsen, Iris Johansen, and Debra Webb:
Hart and Drake Thrillers #1
Dr. Cassandra Hart is fighting a war. And losing. A deadly drug epidemic, a killer stalking her hospital...meet the ER doctor who never gives up.
Cassie's Pittsburgh ER has been deluged by young patients who have overdosed on a new drug, FX. After Cassie discovers that the source of the FX on the streets is her own hospital, her best friend is killed, and Cassie's life is threatened. She is forced to place her trust in Detective Mickey Drake.
Drake's irascible charm eventually penetrates the barriers Cassie has built around herself, and their relationship progresses from professional to passionate. After Cassie discovers the truth behind the thefts, she and Drake must confront a killer. In the end, their only weapons are their new-found love and the courage it gives them.
Other books in the series
Sleight of Hand (A Hart and Drake Thriller #2)
Face to Face (A Hart and Drake Thriller #3)
Hardcover
-
PICK UP IN STORE
Your local store may have stock of this item.
Available within 2 business hours
Related collections and offers
Overview
For readers of Lisa Gardner, Tess Gerritsen, Iris Johansen, and Debra Webb:
Hart and Drake Thrillers #1
Dr. Cassandra Hart is fighting a war. And losing. A deadly drug epidemic, a killer stalking her hospital...meet the ER doctor who never gives up.
Cassie's Pittsburgh ER has been deluged by young patients who have overdosed on a new drug, FX. After Cassie discovers that the source of the FX on the streets is her own hospital, her best friend is killed, and Cassie's life is threatened. She is forced to place her trust in Detective Mickey Drake.
Drake's irascible charm eventually penetrates the barriers Cassie has built around herself, and their relationship progresses from professional to passionate. After Cassie discovers the truth behind the thefts, she and Drake must confront a killer. In the end, their only weapons are their new-found love and the courage it gives them.
Other books in the series
Sleight of Hand (A Hart and Drake Thriller #2)
Face to Face (A Hart and Drake Thriller #3)
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781939038265 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Edgy Reads |
| Publication date: | 06/02/2015 |
| Series: | Hart and Drake Medical Thrillers , #1 |
| Pages: | 428 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 8.60(h) x 1.70(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Sikorsky helicopter thundered through the icy February night, its blades chopping against wind gusting off the Ohio River. In the rear-facing passenger seat, Dr. Cassandra Hart swallowed hard to keep down the chilimac she’d eaten earlier. Wishing it was only motion sickness, she tugged at her safety harness. There was no room to breathe, not enough air.
Motion sickness she knew how to fix. Irrational claustrophobia was another story. A curse, a weakness she refused to reveal, forcing her to mask her panic.
The view outside Cassie’s window wasn’t helping. The helicopter’s blades tore into the low-hanging clouds, shredding them into tattered, ghostly remnants. Rain pelted the scarred Lexan windows, ricocheting like shrapnel.
Typical of Pittsburgh, a city constantly teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, few of the buildings they passed were lit. The ones that were, such as the Cathedral of Learning and PPG Place, stood like sentries in the dark, guarding against a pre-dawn invasion.
She bit down against another wave of nausea, her pulse drumming through her ears in time with the rotor blades. Across from her, Eddie Marcone, her flight paramedic, lounged in his seat, playing a hand-held computer game, oblivious to her distress and their impending doom.
A blast of wind catapulted the Sikorsky skyward. Cassie’s restraints tightened against the sudden motion, squeezing against her chest. Gravity yanked them back down with a jolt strong enough to snap her jaws together.
“Weather’s moving in fast,” Zack Allan, their pilot, said. His voice reverberated through her headset. “Might have to turn back, doc.”
T
urn back? Cassie rubbed her clammy palms on the legs of her Nomex flight suit. Right now the landing pad at Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers Medical Center seemed like a distant Nirvana. A Nirvana that would have to wait. The patient they were flying to retrieve, a girl found in the frigid waters of the Ohio River, couldn’t.
“Ten minutes,” she told Zack, denying the fight or flight instinct raging through her, every muscle quivering with the desire to escape. “We’ll scoop and run, just give me ten minutes.”
The Sikorsky bucked again. “They can send her by ground,” Eddie said, his glare reminding her that her decision affected all of them, not only her patient.
“It’ll take too long. This girl doesn’t have that kind of time.”
That was the problem with living in a city built around three rivers and several mountains. Tunnels, bridges and roadwork conspired against the rapid transport of trauma victims.
Zack’s sigh resonated through her headset and she knew she’d won. Hah. If you could call being locked inside this flying death trap winning.
“You’ve got five minutes,” he said.
They flew lower. The turbulence decreased from head-swimming, stomach-flipping to mere filling-rattling.
The Sikorsky shuddered then landed on the last intact slice of macadam remaining at the on-ramp of the West End Bridge. Rotor wash overturned several orange PennDOT barrels, sending them skittering across the broken asphalt. Sleet pounded the helicopter. Cassie didn’t need to look; she knew Zack was scowling.
“Hey, Hart,” he shouted over the rumble of the engine, “one second late and I swear—”
Cassie ignored him as she wrenched the door open, stepped out into the night and moved away from the rotors, ducking her head until she cleared the blades. Straightening, she turned into the westerly wind and stole a moment to breathe.
Her fear drained away, replaced with the adrenalin of anticipation. A rescue squad sat at the entrance to the bridge, its lights aimed down the embankment that led to the Ohio River. At the water’s edge two medics struggled to roll a small, pale form onto a neon orange backboard. Her patient.
Eddie joined her and they scrambled down the gravel slope. “Why do you have to always push the envelope? You know the pilot’s got the final call.”
“Zack’s a worrier.” Her gaze focused on the medics, and the girl’s unmoving body.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Not when it’s my ass on the line.” He slipped in the wet scree and fought to catch his balance. “What makes this patient so important you’re willing to risk my life?”
Cassie ignored him, rushing forward as one of the medics slipped, almost dumping her patient into the river. She reached out to help stabilize the backboard, splashing icy water over her boot tops while Eddie arranged their gear on a pile of torn-up paving bricks.
“What’ve we got?” She raised her voice to be heard above the wind whistling through the bridge girders as they sloshed their way onto solid ground. A dark, tangled curl whipped free of its barrette. She twisted it behind her ear where it joined the rest of her rain-frizzled hair dripping down the back of her neck.
“Don’t know. Could be a jumper,” one of the medics shouted.
T
he girl was maybe fourteen, fifteen tops. Her lips were blue, her face pale, her blonde hair waterlogged. For a long moment Cassie couldn’t find her pulse. There. Slow, thready, but definitely there. Good girl. Don’t give up now.
“Severe hypothermia.” Mud squished beneath her, revealing sharp rocks below it as Cassie knelt at the girl’s head. “She’s apneic. I need to tube her.”
“We don’t have time,” Eddie said.
“Just give me a second,” she muttered, her attention focused on her patient. The girl’s skin felt cold, waxen. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Cassie’s fingers parted her patient’s blue-tinged lips. It was a difficult position to maneuver in, but she slid the endotracheal tube into place in one smooth movement. She reached for the ventilation bag to force oxygen into the girl’s starving lungs.
“
Slick,” Eddie said in grudging admiration as he secured the tube with a few quick wraps of tape.
“Now or never, Hart,” Zack shouted down from the helicopter.
She acknowledged the pilot’s words with a nod but did not alter the rhythm of her hands. The February wind burnt her face as she leaned over her patient, trying to shelter the girl. Cassie couldn’t spare a hand to wipe the rain away, so she ducked her face into the shoulder of her bomber jacket.
The acrid, smoky smell of wet leather jolted through her, and suddenly she was twelve again, standing in icy water, clutching her father’s hand. She shook her head, chasing the errant memory back to its proper place.
“Slow now,” she told Eddie and the medics. “Don’t jostle her.”
Severe hypothermia, trauma from a possible fall, cold-water immersion, shock—the odds against her patient were overwhelming.
They slogged their way up the steep, muddy hill, zigzagging around broken pieces of asphalt and other debris left behind by the PennDOT crew.
“Give us a hand already,” Cassie called to the policemen huddled beside their cruiser, supposedly directing traffic through the urban wasteland of deserted warehouses and road construction. Not that there was any traffic in the predawn hours of a Monday morning.
With the extra manpower they were able to quickly haul her patient up to the waiting Sikorsky. Cassie jumped in and positioned herself at the head of the stretcher.
“Hang on, it’s gonna be a rough ride,” Zack announced.
The helicopter’s powerful engine revved. Cassie’s heart slammed against her rib cage as the craft shook. After an initial upward lurch, winds began to buffet them without mercy.
A coffin, she was riding in a metal coffin.
She squelched the thought, forcing her attention onto her patient. The girl’s oxygen level was marginal, heart rate low, blood pressure non-existent. Cassie slid her trauma scissors along the seams of the girl’s Pitt sweatshirt, tugging the heat-stealing sodden cotton away. A shower of small green tablets spilled from a plastic bag tucked into the girl’s bra.
She scooped up the pills, examining their unique triangular shape. “FX. Looks like it’s the real thing, too.”
Fentephex, or FX, was the drug industry’s latest “miracle” analgesia that had crossed over from hospital use to street abuse. Already this year, the drug had killed six of Cassie’s patients. She wasn’t about to lose a seventh.
Eddie finished securing the IV line. He ran his fingers over the purplish raised needle tracks lining the girl’s thin arms. “She’s been shooting it.”
“Push the Narcan. I’ll set up a drip.” There were at least two dozen pills twisted into the baggie. How had the girl gotten her hands on that much FX? Cassie shoved the bag of drugs into her pocket and reached for a syringe.
Without warning, the helicopter dropped. Gravity grabbed Cassie, tearing her away from her patient. Her stomach somersaulted, and she scrambled for a handhold. She looked up. One of the pinnacles of the PPG Tower rushed toward them. Normally, the glass tower with its fairytale spires stretching toward the sky was one of her favorite Pittsburgh landmarks.
Tonight it seemed a nightmarish dagger.
The Sikorsky lurched. “Damn it, Zack!” Eddie’s voice sounded through her headset.
Cassie couldn’t tear her gaze away from the gleaming lights of the tower. They pulled at the helicopter, a siren song beckoning them to their doom. The helicopter pitched to the right. She squeezed her eyes shut.
A blink of an eye. A split second. If anyone knew how fast a life could change, it was Cassie. Who would come to her funeral? She had no family left.
How careless of her to lose everyone like that—how foolish of her to be the last one standing.
T
he helicopter climbed, then dropped once again, engines screaming in protest. Acid scratched at the back of Cassie’s parched throat. She forced her eyes open. The tower filled her window. Thirty years weren’t enough, she decided. Not nearly enough. Her mind filled with a vision of twisted steel, smoke and fire. Would there be anything left to bury?
Focus on your patient. You’re not dead yet. Neither is she. Cassie reached for her patient’s wrist, her fingers automatically feeling for the pulse. It was stronger now that they had fluids going, but there were a few irregular beats. And the girl’s skin was still deathly cold. All this jostling around wasn’t helping her over-stressed heart.
The glass tower loomed over them. With a shriek and a final howl of its engines, the Sikorsky righted itself, swerving away from disaster.
A few minutes later, the lights of Three Rivers Medical Center came into view. Before they could land, the shrieking of monitor alarms filled the cabin.
“V-fib.” Cassie reached for the girl’s carotid artery.
“No pulse.”
“Hell.” Eddie began chest compressions.
Cassie charged the defibrillator. She forced air into the girl, squeezing the bag valve mask. The defibrillator buzzed, signaling its readiness.
“Clear!” Cassie planted the paddles on their patient’s chest. Electricity shot through the girl’s chest.
“Nothing.” She exchanged the paddles for the epinephrine and injected the heart medication into the IV.
The helicopter thudded down onto the landing pad. The doors slid open, and helping hands reached in to move their patient. Cassie took over chest compressions. She wove her fingers together and pistoned her palms against the girl’s breastbone. The wind hurled wasp-stings of sleet against her skin. Cassie ignored it, pausing only to fling her hair out of her face with an impatient shake of her head. The barrette that once restrained it was long lost, probably at the bottom of the river.
Damn it, Cassie thought in rhythm with her chest compressions. You are not going to die. Not on my watch.
What People are Saying About This
"A perfect blend of romance and suspense. My kind of read." ~New York Times bestselling author Sandra Brown
"Tensions sizzle in this hot new medical thriller by CJ Lyons. Think you know what’s going to happen next? Guess again..." ~New York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner
"Pulse-pounding suspense and hair-raising chills...a story of danger and intrigue that defies any reader to put it down." ~New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs
"A page-turner of a story. NERVES OF STEEL is taut, gripping and nonstop. Don’t miss it!"~New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers
Additional Praise for CJ Lyons’ medical thrillers:
"CJ Lyons continues to mesmerize readers…pulse-pounding." ~Fresh Fiction
Lyons "is a master within the genre." ~Pittsburgh Magazine
"This exhilarating medical thriller gets the blood pumping …This is a terrific thriller and fans of Michael Palmer will enjoy this fine tale." —The Mystery Gazette
"A powerful and dramatic look into the frenzied world of emergency medicine...Lyons’ characters are dynamic and genuine. Readers need only shut their eyes to imagine this group on the big screen." ~Suspense Magazine
"Sure to keep readers enthralled…a suspenseful and engaging tale that comes to an exciting conclusion. Readers won’t want to miss this one." ~Romance Reviews Today
"A great fast-paced read….Not to be missed for fans of ER and Grey's Anatomy." ~4 ½ Stars, Book Addict
"Lyons delivers a breathtakingly fast-paced medical thriller." ~Publishers Weekly
"A winner!" ~Romantic Times, Top Pick
"Simply superb…riveting drama…a perfect ten." ~Romance Reviews Today
"Characters with beating hearts and three dimensions." ~Newsday
"A pulse-pounding adrenalin rush!" ~Lisa Gardner
"Tense, whip-smart medical scenes." ~Tess Gerritsen
"Packed with adrenalin. I can't recall a hospital novel that so thrilled me." ~David Morrell
"…Harrowing, emotional, action-packed and brilliantly realized. CJ Lyons writes with the authority only a trained physician can bring to a story, blending suspense, passion and friendship into an irresistible read." ~Susan Wiggs
"An intense, emotional thriller…(that) climbs to the edge of intensity." ~National Examiner
"Fantastic, fast-paced." ~Genre Go Round
"The characters are real and I'm now addicted to this series. Five stars!" ~Readaholic
"Fast-paced & exciting, the characters are compelling." ~Jenn's Bookshelves
A "gripping narrative full of suspense, complex relationships and real, honest human emotion." ~ Pittsburgh Magazine
"Adrenalin pumping." —The Mystery Gazette
"Riveting." ~Publishers Weekly
"A cinematic…high-speed thriller." ~Kirkus Reviews
A "suspenseful thriller laced with medical intrigue." ~Booklist
Interviews
Dear Fellow Booklover,
I owe my love of books to my mother, who started me reading at an early age. I skipped “see Jane run” and went straight to Agatha Christie and Nero Wolfe, the books stacked around our house like Legos.
The best present my mother gave me was when I was eight or nine and had already devoured the entire children’s section of the library. She convinced the librarian to give me an adult library card, which meant I had a whole new universe of stories to traverse. There I discovered Ray Bradbury and Robert Heinlein and Ellery Queen along with characters like Horatio Hornblower, the Stainless Steel Rat, the Saint…The only limitation was how many books I could carry to the car by myself. I remember stretching my arms as long as they would go, balancing a teetering stack of books with my chin pressed down on the top one, inhaling that scent of well-worn paper and binding glue, thinking this was heaven.
A few years later, my mother began working for a local bookstore. First, at the cash registers, but she was quickly promoted until she became their Trade Fiction Buyer. I had no idea what that meant except that suddenly I was able to get books by my favorite authors BEFORE they came out! My friends, fellow bibliophiles, were so jealous! But I shared the wealth, sneaking them the ARCs my mom gave me. The bookstore became our favorite place to hang out after school and my mom would call us in when sales reps visited, letting us look at their catalogues and asking us our opinions. I’ll never forget the feeling of pride I felt when books I told her would be hits did indeed breakout and make it to that coveted display window at the front of the store!
Through her store, my friends and I got to meet visiting authors, including the wonderful and amazing Isaac Asimov. We only spoke for a few minutes, but he made such an impression on me—not because he was a genius or talented or a rock star of the SF world, but rather because he was so very normal. Even the fact that he had taken the train from New York because he hated to fly made him seem human.
That’s when I realized anyone could write a book, if they were willing to put in the work. I’d been writing all my life, it’s my way of understanding the chaos that surrounds us in this world, but at that moment I realized I could take my little stories and really do something bigger, create an entire world with people I brought to life…and I wrote my first novel. It was terrible, as most first novels are. I was fifteen at the time, still had not made the leap of logic from writing a book to actually publishing it for others to read, much less getting paid or making a career from writing. But it was a wondrous achievement and started me on the path I’m on today.
All thanks to my mom, who was a bookseller for over two decades before she finally retired, and her love of books.
I’m very grateful that you have chosen one of my books to read and appreciate your time and attention—both in short supply these days! I look forward to hearing any thoughts you have on it.
Thanks for reading,
CJ
CJLyons.net
CJLyons@CJLyons.net