Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

friend’s laugh came over the line. “Headed home?”
    “One more stop.”
    “Jeez, Myst, it’s almost nine o’clock. Can you say workaholic?”
    “Right…and where are you calling from?”
    “Okay, busted,” Tania said, an eye roll in her voice. “Big contract, you know. Gotta get the specs in.”
    “What does your boss do again?” she asked, knowing her friend’s job was as heavy as hers was. A landscape architect, Tania was working her way up from the bottom of the totem pole, putting in long hours, hoping to impress the suits and ties to land that elusive promotion.
    “This is my baby. I’m on point.”
    “Good luck with that. Woolsey is going to stick his nose in for sure.”
    “Got him handled,” Tania paused, her worry echoing all the way from Seattle. “You’re going to try again, aren’t you?”
    Myst bit her bottom lip, wondering how much to tell her friend. She appreciated the concern—she really did—but Tania was a worrywart. She’d stay up all night, agonizing over the fact that Myst’s late-night mission might land her in trouble.
    Silence swelled on the line.
    Tania sighed. The sound was like the ocean tide, sucking at Myst’s will to resist. “You shouldn’t be out there alone.”
    “I can’t let it go, T. She’s missed three appointments. Something’s wrong.”
    “What if he comes back?”
    “All the more reason to go…Caroline can’t hold her own against that guy.” Just thinking about it made her mad. The abusive jerk. Okay, so he’d never actually hit her patient, but she’d heard him talk to her—belittle her—and it wasn’t pretty.
    “You’ve got the local cops on speed dial, right?”
    “The paramedics, too.”
    “Crap, I hate it when you do this,” her friend said, anxiety making her tone short.
    Myst didn’t answer. What could she say? That she would turn around and come home? That Tania’s worry was more important than a patient in trouble?
    “God, I’m sorry. You know I’m a worrier and—”
    “A pain in the butt,” Myst said, tone teasing to lighten the mood.
    “Right back at ya, hotshot.” Tania huffed, the beginnings of laughter coming through the line. “Okay, look, call me when you get out of there. And take care of you.”
    “I will…promise.” Myst hit the end button and threw her car into gear.
    As she drove out of Sal’s lot, headlights shining on the blacktop, her mind stayed on Caroline Van Owen. Eighteen and pregnant. Man, the girl didn’t stand a chance. Not with a less-than-average education and an unsupportive partner. Myst saw so many like that. It broke her heart every time.
    Her colleagues would say it was none of her business, that she should do her job and stay out of the personal stuff. But no matter how hard she tried, she took it personally when one of her own got hurt. Stupid, maybe, but her clients were more than just patients. They were people she cared about. She’d sat in their kitchens, shared coffee over croissants, listened and talked and advised about more than just their medical concerns.
    The hospital liked to think she provided a service. And she did, for the most part. But what had started out as a way to keep foot traffic in the facility down and the administration’s bottom line trimmer had become so much more.
    Way more than she ever expected.
    She pulled into the Van Owens’ driveway. More road than entrance, the long lane twisted through huge red cedars and white pines. Tufts of grass grew in the middle, snaking between the rutted tire tracks. As her headlights swung around the last bend, she leaned over the steering wheel and peered ahead. She breathed a sigh of relief even as apprehension knotted her stomach.
    Someone was home. The kitchen light was on.
    The question now? Was it the jerk? Or Caroline?
    Myst hoped it was the latter. She needed to see the girl for herself. To make sure everything was okay and get her back on track. Eight months along and dancing with gestational diabetes, Caroline couldn’t afford to fool around. She’d missed her recent blood tests, and her last one hadn’t come out clean.
    The anomaly with her blood platelets wasn’t one Myst had seen before. The lab was working on it, but so far, the techies didn’t have a clue.
    Parking next to an old tractor with flat tires, she tossed her keys into the cup holder and, grabbing her bag, headed for the front porch. The old Cape Cod looked strange sitting in the middle of a West Coast forest: faded yellow