Deliver Them From Evil
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 In book two of the Camille Delaney Mystery series, a mother turns to Camille for help investigating a top Seattle doctor after tragedy strikes the delivery room.

Seattle attorney Camille Delaney is cash-strapped and struggling to balance the demands of her new solo legal practice with raising her three daughters. But when an emergency C-section goes wrong and a baby dies in the delivery room, the mother, Helene Anderson, shows up at Camille’s office asking for help. Facing the challenge of a legal system where child-loss verdicts are limited by the dollar value placed on a child’s life, Camille considers a quick settlement for the family. But Helene insists: her child’s life had value, and Camille needs to prove it in court. 

Camille agrees to take the case to trial. The defendants are Dr. Jessica Kensington, one of Seattle’s top doctors and beloved volunteer and society hostess, and her medical practice partner, her father, the glad-handing, high-profile Dr. Kip Davenport. Dr. Kensington is respected in the community and stellar on the stand. But Camille and her friend PI Trish Seaholm begin to uncover what happened in the delivery room—and what lies behind Dr. Kensington’s seemingly flawless facade. Unstable behavior at work, flagrant breaches of care, and clues about a dark family past that lead to a high-security psychiatric facility are just some of what they unearth about Dr. Kensington. But pieces of the picture are missing: how could the doctor treat Helene and her baby so irresponsibly?  

As the case builds toward trial, and as she grapples with the deep inequities of the justice system, will Camille be able to uncover the evidence she needs to convince a jury of Dr. Kensington’s guilt? And can she offer some semblance of peace to a grieving mother?  



Publié par
Date de parution 07 mars 2023
Nombre de lectures 0
EAN13 9781954854703
Langue English
Poids de l'ouvrage 3 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0400€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.


This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2023 by Amanda DuBois All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Girl Friday Books™, Seattle
Produced by Girl Friday Productions
Cover design: Emily Weigel Project management: Sara Spees Addicott
Image credits: cover © Wikimedia Commons, Shutterstock IMG ID# 110134574
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-954854-69-7 ISBN (e-book): 978-1-954854-70-3
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022905927
First edition

For Philip

Chapter One
Jessica Kensington tensed as the rickety plane shimmied up off the iridescent Caribbean. She squeezed her eyes shut as a hand slid along her thigh. His doughy fingers made her skin crawl. She forced herself to put her hand tentatively over his, staring at the tiny island disappearing over the horizon.
Jessica dreaded reentering the chaos that was her life. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, she told herself firmly and piled her thick auburn hair up on top of her head. She stiffened as she felt his lips on her moist neck.
The dirty hustle of the Miami airport was as far from the sandy beaches of Grand Cayman island as Jessica could imagine. Her connecting flight was scheduled to depart in twenty minutes. He guided her quickly and efficiently through the crowded terminal, his soft arm tight around her waist. She was trapped, but then again, the situation was entirely of her own making.
“I’ll see you soon,” he whispered.
She extricated herself from his grasp and entered the Jetway. Alone.

Dr. Jessica Kensington flattened herself against the wall, dodging the gurney carrying a moaning woman toward the OB surgery room of Seattle’s busy Puget Sound Hospital. She felt grateful to be back in the predictable world of obstetrics and gynecology —especially after the events of the past week. Her anxiety melted away as she relaxed into the comfortable scene.
“Welcome back!” A nurse pulled her mask over her face, hit the automatic door opener, and disappeared, pushing the gurney into the antiseptic-smelling C-section room with the help of a bevy of nurses in blue.
“Thanks,” Jessica answered as the doors closed behind the entourage. Nothing had changed.
The charge nurse came over to greet Jessica. “How was Hawaii?” She held her arm up next to the doctor’s. “Man, you sure tan well for a redhead. My parents were on Kauai last week and it rained the whole time. What island were you on?”
Jessica paused. “Maui,” she lied. “And it’s not a tan. It’s wall-to-wall freckles.” Jessica smiled as she reviewed the familiar grease board where the patients’ names were listed. Her eyes locked on the third name from the top. Room 313. Jessica’s heart pounded in her throat. “No one told me Helene Anderson was in labor.” Oh God. Not tonight. Not so soon. She reflexively backed away from the board.
The nurse looked at Jessica.
Why did Anderson have to go into labor tonight? Jessica tried to steady herself. Can’t I just have twenty-four hours to unwind?
“Anderson just came in. She’s still in early labor. Only four centimeters.” The nurse dumped two packets of sugar into her coffee. “So, how’s your mom doing?”
Jessica tried to focus on the nurse, resisting the urge to turn and run. “Fine . . . thanks,” she answered absentmindedly, pausing briefly to compose herself. “I’d like to augment Mrs. Anderson.” Jessica nearly tripped over her words. “See if we can kick-start her labor.” She stepped backward directly into the path of a patient pushing an IV pole, slamming the woman into the wall.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Jessica steadied herself on the patient’s arm. She looked at the nurse as she released the woman from her grip. “We have to induce Mrs. Anderson. Tonight.” She felt her chest tightening.
“Shit, Jessica, I don’t have enough nurses to induce anyone tonight. This place is a zoo. Can’t it wait till morning?”
The doctor struggled for breath, trying to calm herself. “I can sit with her myself.” She stared intently at the name “Helene Anderson.”
“You don’t need to do that.” The nurse ran her finger down the schedule posted on the bulletin board. “Let’s wait till morning. The day shift has plenty of staff to do it for you.” She drained her short Styrofoam coffee cup and put it on the counter. “Why don’t you go get some sleep? I promise we’ll wake you up if anything exciting happens.”
A prickly feeling spread through Jessica’s body. “I’ve, uh, I’ve got a full day tomorrow,” she stuttered. “First day back after vacation. You know how it is.” I said that too quickly. “I’d like to get Mrs. Anderson delivered tonight.” The clock read 1:00 a.m. “I can do it myself.” I have to. It’s up to me.
The nurse shook her head. “Whatever suits you. I’ll have someone mix up a bag of Pitocin for you.”
Jessica turned toward the medication room. “I’ll do it. It’s no problem.” She avoided direct eye contact with the nurse. “Really.” Jessica unclenched her jaw and forced a phony smile. “You go take care of business. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Can we clone you? I don’t know a doctor in the world that would sit with a patient in labor all night,” the charge nurse whined jokingly as she headed off to answer a call bell.
Jessica grabbed a bulging bag of lactated Ringer’s solution from the shelf and steadied her hands as she drew up six amps of Pitocin. Slowly, she injected it into the IV solution, then leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and took a couple of deep breaths. It wasn’t too late to back out.
A nurse rushed in and slipped her key into the narcotics cabinet. She stopped. “You okay, Dr. Kensington?”
Jessica dropped the IV bag to the floor. “Yes . . . yes, I’m fine.” She reached down and picked up the fluid-filled bag. “Just a little jet lag, I guess.” Gathering her wits, she pushed the squeaky IV pump out into the hallway.
The nurse followed her. “What are you doing? I’ll call a nurse to do that.”
“No, you guys are too busy. I’m gonna ‘Pit’ Mrs. Anderson myself.”
“You’re what?” The nurse looked at Jessica in disbelief.
“Don’t worry —if I need any help, I’ll call one of you.” Jessica winked. “But I’m pretty sure I can handle this on my own.”
The nurse shrugged. “Okay, good luck, then.”
It’ll take more than luck. Jessica stopped for a moment outside room 313. This goes far beyond the two people behind this door. Sometimes you have to sacrifice the few to protect the many. She reached into her pocket and grabbed one of her little white pills, popping it into her mouth just as she forced herself into the room.
“Dr. Kensington! I thought you were on vacation.” The blond patient was so tall that her feet hung slightly off the end of the narrow bed. “I was hoping you’d get back in time to deliver us. No offense to your partner, of course.” She pushed an escaped strand of stringy hair up into a plastic barrette.
Jessica refused to look directly at either Helene or her husband, Tim. They were merely innocent pawns in this nightmarish scene. “Let’s check and see how you’re doing.” Jessica climbed up onto the stiff bed so she could sit on the edge to reach the patient. She pulled on a glove and did a quick exam. “Yup, it looks to me like you’re going to have a baby all right.” She tried to sound lighthearted as she pointed at the IV bag hanging above the tangle of wires and tubing that snaked menacingly from the beeping pump. “I’m going to give you some Pitocin to get your labor going.” Jessica didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and readied the machine.
“Great!” Tim grinned. “Isn’t it, honey?” He gently caressed his wife’s muscular arm.
Helene looked worried. “They told us in our prenatal class that Pitocin gives you stronger contractions.”
“It’s no problem,” Jessica said, trying to reassure herself as much as her patient. “We can give you an epidural if it gets too bad.” She stuck the end of the tubing between her teeth and pulled off the cap. Glancing at the doorway, she plugged the medication into the IV. Jessica flinched as the machine let out a loud beep, indicating that it was infusing medication into Helene’s vein.
“We’re going natural.” Tim rubbed his wife’s shoulders. “Aren’t we, honey?”
“I hope so.” Helene looked down at her protruding abdomen that was encircled by the elastic straps of the external fetal monitor.
“Don’t we need internal monitors if we’re having Pitocin?” Helene asked.
“Uh . . . not necessarily.” Jessica silently cursed the overzealous prenatal instructors as she tried to distract Helene by pointing to the computerized printout. “There. See that squiggly line? That’s the baby’s heartbeat. And this line here is your contractions. Oops, do you feel that one?”
Helene grimaced.
“Breathe, honey.”
“Oooh.” Helene exhaled loudly.
Over the next hour Helene’s contractions increased both in frequency and intensity, to the point that they were literally stacked up, one after the other. Tim rummaged around in his duffel bag, pulling out various props they’d been instructed to bring along. One by one, Helene shot them down. She refused to stare at the picture of the waterfall; the fuzzy towel felt like fire on her skin; the supposedly peaceful music grated on her nerves; and she threatened her husband with immediate divorce if he ever rolled another tennis ball around on her lower back ever again. Her moans echoed down the hall.
As the contractions reached a nonstop crescendo, one of the nurses came rushing into the room. “What’s going on in here?” the nurse questioned Jes

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