Richard L. Mabry - Code Blue

"Strap in and hang on. Code Blue races through the corridors of a smalltown emergency room and the intrigue of covert revenge. Grab the rails on your gurney! You'll never see that last turn coming!"

Austin Boyd, author of the Mars Hill Classified series

"In Code Blue Dr. Richard Mabry demonstrates his expertise in the medical field, but more importantly, he establishes his skills as a medical suspense writer. This is a writer to watch."

DiAnn Mills, author of Breach of Trust and Sworn to Protect

"Rarely does a debut novel draw me in and rivet my attention as Dr. Richard Mabry's Code Blue did."

BJ Hoff, bestselling author of The Emerald Ballad series and The Riverhaven Years

Prescription for Trouble Series

Richard L. Mabry, M.D.

Medical Suspense with Heart

Nashville, Tennessee

Once upon a time, I thought writing a book was a simple process done by one person. I've since learned differently.This book has been made possible by the contributions of dozens of people, all of whom deserve my thanks.

First I want to express my appreciation to my wonderful agent, Rachelle Gardner, as well as my great editor, Barbara Scott. This couldn't have happened without you. You not only believed in me but you did a wonderful job of smoothing the rough places in my work. To the good people at Abingdon Press, thanks for letting me be on your team.

I've been the recipient of invaluable education, mentoring, and encouragement from some fantastic writers, and I want them to know how much I appreciate it. My thanks go to James Scott Bell, Alton Gansky, Gayle Roper, Karen Ball, Randy Ingermanson, DiAnn Mills, and many others who gave so unselfishly to help me along my road to writing.

To my childrenAllen, Brian, Annwho never lost faith that their dad could do anything he put his mind to, thanks for believing in me. I love you, and I'm proud of you.

The untimely death of my first wife, Cynthia, was the impetus for my starting to write. During our forty years of marriage, she was a wonderful companion who influenced every aspect of my life. I hope that influence shines through in my writing.

I'm immeasurably indebted to my wife, Kay, whose love has made life worth living once more. In my writing endeavors, she is my biggest fan. She functions as my first reader, helping and encouraging me to do my best work. I'm eternally grateful.

No sooner had I retired from medicine than God opened another door and pointed me in the direction of writing. I have no idea what comes next, but I can hardly wait to find out. To Him be the glory.

Richard L. Mabry, M.D.

T HE BLACK SUV BARRELED OUT OF NOWHERE, ITS OVERSIZED TIRES straddling the centerline. Cathy jerked the steering wheel to the right and jammed the brake pedal to the floor. Her little Toyota rocked as though flicked by a giant hand before it spun offthe narrow country road and hurtled toward the ditch and the peach orchard beyond it.

For a moment Cathy felt the fearful thrill of weightlessness.Then the world turned upside down, and everything went into freeze-frame slow motion.

The floating sensation ended with a jolt. The screech of ripping metal swallowed Cathy's scream. The deploying airbag struck her face like a fist. The pressure of the shoulder harness took her breath away. The lap belt pressed into her abdomen, and she tasted bile and acid. As her head cleared, she found herself hanging head-down, swaying slightly as the car rocked to a standstill. In the silence that followed, her pulse hammered in her ears like distant, rhythmic thunder.

Cathy realized she was holding her breath. She let out a shuddering sigh, inhaled, and immediately choked on the dust that hung thick in the air. She released her death grip on the steering wheel and tried to lift her arms. It hurtit hurt a lotbut they seemed to work. She tilted her head and felt something warm trickle down her face. She tried to wipe it away, but not before a red haze clouded her vision.

She felt a burning sensation, first in her nostrils, then in the back of her throat. Gasoline! Cathy recalled all the crash victims she'd seen in the emergency roomvictims who'd survived a car accident only to be engulfed in flames afterward.She had to get out of the car. Now. Her fingers probed for the seatbelt buckle. She found it and pressed the release button. Slowly. Be careful. Don't fall out of the seat and make matters worse. The belt gave way, and she eased her weight onto her shoulders. She bit her lip from the pain, rolled onto her side, and looked around.

How could she escape? She tried the front doors.Jammedboth of them. She'd been driving with her window partially open, enjoying the brisk autumn air and the parade of orange and yellow trees rolling by in the Texas landscape. There was no way she could wriggle through that small opening. Cathy drew back both feet and kicked hard at the exposed glass. Nothing. She kicked harder. On the third try, the window gave way.

Where was her purse? Never mind. No time. She had to get out. Cathy inched her way through the window, flinching as tiny shards of glass stung her palms and knees. Once free from the car, she lay back on the grass and looked around at what remained of the orchard, blessing the trees that had sacrificed themselves to cushion her car's landing.

She rose unsteadily to her feet. It seemed as though every bone in her body cried out at the effort. The moment she stood upright the world faded into a gray haze. She slumped to the ground and took a few deep breaths. Her head hurt, her eyes burned, her throat seemed to be closing up. The smell of gasoline cut through her lethargy. She had to get farther away from the car. How could she do that, when she couldn't even stand without passing out?

Cathy saw a peach sapling a few feet away, a tiny survivor amid the ruins. She crawled to the tree, grabbed it, and walked her hands up the trunk until she was almost upright.She clung there, drained by the exertion, until the world stopped spinning.