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CHAPTER 1

Boston, Halloween night, Present day

Rick's senses were on high alert though no one would know it to look at him. His internal controls — honed as an Army medic — kicked in the second he left his apartment. It was the same every time. One foot in front of the other, fighting to ignore the sights and sounds others considered part of everyday living. Hypervigilance, a VA shrink once diagnosed.

Flashing lights and sirens made people stop and stare as they navigated the rush hour streets of Boston, but Hauser pushed on. He was more concerned with the path directly in front of him. Alley on the left. Tree and trashcan on the right. Guy reaching into his coat ...

His chest constricted as he stared at the man's hand movement. When the guy pulled a cell phone out and began talking, Rick forced himself to stand down. Not fast enough as the memory of a suicide bombing triggered in his brain. Burning flesh. Faces of the injured and dead. Soldiers. Civilians. Rubble. Screams.

And then it was gone.

With a curse, he tried to focus on the present, approaching his destination with a deeper sense of determination. This was his unit now. His latest attempt to make a difference in a messed-up world. Ambulances already lined up two deep in front of the ER entrance of Massachusetts General Hospital. Tonight's shift was sure to be crazy. Halloween in a city filled with college kids, tourists, and rowdy locals, all celebrating the macabre holiday hard.

"Rick," a female coworker at the Information Desk called out when he passed through the whooshing glass doors. "Welcome to hell, handsome." She topped it off with a suggestive wink.

Merely nodding in reply, he watched the woman shove Halloween candy into her mouth before snatching up an incessantly ringing phone.

Hell? She had no idea.

"Good evening, Dr. Hauser."

"Hey there." Rick managed actual words for the lady pharmacist — Deirdra something — who always said hello. Quiet as a mouse, she never uttered more than a few words, yet she was pretty and pleasant. He wondered what she'd done to deserve this shift.

A quick glance at the packed waiting room told him the freak show had already begun. Zombie with a neck brace, some sort of furry thing in a wheelchair, and a bunch of dudes in togas and plastic gladiator armor, looking like they were about to puke everywhere. And those were just in the first couple of rows. Few seats remained open beyond them.

"My main man," Rick heard as he attempted to slip past the Admissions Desk undetected. "What do you think of my costume?"

Rick cracked a wide grin for his friend, Tyrese. A guy the size of a linebacker, his "costume" was scrubs topped off with a pirate hat, dreads, and an eye patch.

Tyrese chuckled and waved a stuffed parrot. "How'd you get stuck workin' tonight, Doc Hauser?"

"Guess I'm just that lucky." Though Rick knew he wouldn't have it any other way. Work — even on a night like this — was the only thing keeping him relatively sane.

"Like I said ... identification? An insurance card?" Carla, the other person working triage with Tyrese, repeated herself in Spanish.

"I'm trying to explain," a polite feminine voice responded. "I don't have any such things. You see, I was forced to flee when ... Well, when the man I was with ... It's very hard to explain. Perhaps if you'd let me speak with a doctor."

Carla shook her dark-haired head and pushed a clipboard at her. "I can't let you see anyone unless you answer my questions. If you won't talk to me, fill out the paperwork. We'll go from there."

Rick skirted the desk ready to tap his ID card when he paused. The woman asking to be seen was a knockout. Face of an angel, with long blonde curls, and expressive eyes. She met his stare. Perfect pink lips formed a silent "Oh" before she quickly looked away.

Rubbing his stubbly jaw, he suddenly wished he'd shaved before leaving the apartment. His dark hair was longer than usual. At least his white coat was freshly laundered. Who was he kidding? Chicks like her didn't waste a second look at guys like him.

"People are waiting," Carla urged.

"I ... I ..." the blonde in the costume stammered, putting a trembling hand to her throat. Her white glove was spattered with what he guessed was fake blood. She eased the clipboard back. "If I may just speak with someone."

Unable to resist, he gave her a longer, more thorough perusal. Done up in an old-fashioned blue dress and hat, all this Little Bo Peep needed were some sheep. However, one sleeve of the dress was torn. It was then he caught sight of the head wound, a dark stain near the hairline, marring her otherwise porcelain-smooth face.

The clipboard dragged across the counter again. "Bring it back when you're finished. Then take a seat and wait like everybody else," Carla snapped.

Surprisingly, Bo Peep gave Rick a long look, her eyes shining with moisture. He nodded encouragingly. She stiffened, squared her chin, took the clipboard, and strode away. He shook his head, wondering what the hell her story was. Probably some rich college kid and a frat party gone way wrong. Hopefully, she wasn't an assault case. That would suck.

"Woo hoo," Tyrese exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts. "We got a knife fight comin' in. ETA one minute. Apparently, someone brought an axe, and it's stuck in a guy's chest. Only on your shift, Hauser."

"Roger that." Rick was on the move, disappearing into the ER without another thought to the beautiful blonde.

* * *

Amelia Pennington stared at the clipboard, resting in her lap. It was obvious no one would see her unless she filled out the blasted paperwork. Even the bold man — a doctor someone inferred — appeared to agree. The nerve of him, staring so brazenly, and in her time of need. He hardly looks like a doctor to me. More like a rake, pretending to be a physician.

She sniffled and focused on the words before her. Name ... the date of one's birth ... SSN? What in heaven's name is that? Primary Care Physician ... "If I had a bloody physician I wouldn't be here," she grumbled. Reason for your visit ... She pressed a hand to her aching head, knowing she'd been bloodied when trying to escape.

The memory of her attacker's viciousness caused her to shudder. Professor Lyall Whitman — better known as evil incarnate — had tortured her for weeks. Snide remarks, lewd insinuations. All while assigning her the worst tasks in the department, hoping she'd drop out. It was widely known he didn't approve of women in medical school, but Boston University was one of the best, most inclusive institutions. There were a few other women in her class, and yet he'd chosen to single her out.

Commotion drifted away as she relived the last terrifying moments with him. Whitman ... chasing her into the night. Following, until he could corner her on an empty street. He'd dragged her between two buildings and shoved her head-first into a wall. His arm coiled painfully around her neck.

"Come now, Miss Pennington," he snarled against her ear. "Let's be done with all this. Give me the stone." The sharp blade of a scalpel gleamed in the streetlight. His bare hand caught her scream.

Fighting with all her strength, Amelia pitched and kicked. The shawl she wore untangled and fell away. Shoving hard, she broke free and fled like a wild thing through the city streets. Which way? A sudden stabbing pain in her side made it impossible to run, yet she skirted Boston Common, praying to lose him.

The entrance to the Park Street Subway Station materialized out of the mist before her. The gaping mouth of a monster. The lair of Lucifer. Her only hope.

Ignoring the warnings and construction signs, Amelia limped past barriers and down granite steps. Dim electric lamps offered barely any light, only an eerie amber glow. The platform ended, and she scrambled to the tunnel's earthen floor. Approaching footfall sent her deeper into the blackness. Rock and steel gave way to wood and gravel. Stale water dripped from braced walls. The air smelled of disturbed soil, making it seem as if she'd been dropped into an open grave. Likely, her own as she reached the end of the line.

A wide, rough beam hid her as she fought to still her ragged breaths. Rodents, rustling beneath her skirts sent a scream to her lips, but she stopped it with her hand. Something warm jostled in her glove.

The rune stone!

She'd slipped it in there to keep it safe. Such a tiny thing, and yet it hummed against her skin with powerful magic.

"I know you're here." Whitman's chilling voice sent terror slicing through her. "Stupid girl, you cannot escape me. I will find you. When I do I'll cut that pretty throat and laugh as the life drains from your body. Then I shall have the stone."

No! Amelia wanted to scream, to fight back, yet she kept to the shadows. Those she loved most — her family and best friend, Rose — would never know what happened. Her mind swirled in a million directions. She needed to survive, but she was trapped. There was only one way out. Unthinkable, and yet ... She squeezed the rune stone tight in her fist and whispered, "Take me to someone who can save me."

Blinding light filled the tunnel as pain sliced through her shoulder.

* * *

A child's cry shocked Amelia back to where she sat in the crowded hospital waiting room. She rubbed her sore shoulder, fingering the ripped sleeve, and cut below. Whitman had found her. A split second before pure white light overpowered the darkness. She squeezed the stone, still in her glove. Its dark magic had worked, landing her here. Wherever here is.

Staggering from the Park Street Subway Station — or what appeared to be the station — Amelia made her way back to where she'd started. Lord knew she wouldn't recognize the place if not for the electric lights blazing "Massachusetts General Hospital." Injured, disoriented, she sought medical assistance. And here she sat.

She glanced around. Strangers. This horrible, foreign place. Large black numbers on a wall calendar. Over 120 years into the future!

Perhaps it's all a nightmare, a hallucination ... "Or I'm dead," she muttered. Hadn't Mother always said wicked people went to hell?

Her sensible mind chimed in. No, I am no silly-nilly girl to suffer delusions or fits of panic. No doubt, my head injury is graver than I thought.

Yet there was that odd pain in her right side again. Cold sweat dampened her brow, and her normally steady hands trembled. The sight of her gloves — covered in blood and filth — punctuated her sorry state of affairs. She stood and made her way past the others to wait in the long line before the desk again. When she heard the word "next" she stepped forward and forced a pleasant smile.

The woman behind the counter groaned and held out a hand for the clipboard. She scanned it quickly. "This isn't complete."

"If you'd but allow me to explain —" "Next," the worker called, looking past her.

"I demand attention," Amelia snapped. "I'm not leaving this spot until I get it. I know enough about medicine to recognize I need care. I was in the new subway tunnel, you see, being hunted by a madman when there was a bright light."

"We need a psych eval on this one." The woman motioned to the mountain of a man beside her.

Amelia stepped back. "You don't understand."

The big man came around the counter and approached her with his hands out. His voice was calm compared to his guarded stance. "Come with me, miss. I'll take care of you."

"No, please let me explain." She backed away, shaking her head. "The gentleman you were with before ... You called him Doc Hauser. Perhaps he could help me?"

"He's a little busy, miss. Why don't you come with me? We'll sit together in a nice quiet room until someone comes."

"You think I'm mad," she accused, slapping his hands away. "Dear God, where am I? What is this awful place?"

"Calm down." He snagged her wrist.

Amelia kneed him hard in the groin and broke free just as a gurney surrounded by a group of men in uniform passed. She shoved her way between them and through wide doors.

"Who let this woman in here?" someone yelled.

Hauser looked up from his work station. The blonde from the waiting room was in the ER corridor, looking crazed. Without thinking, he headed straight for her.

She rushed forward when she saw him and threw herself at his feet. "Please, Doctor, help me."

Rick grabbed her under the arms and hauled her back to standing. She looped around his waist before he could stop her.

"Security," someone else yelled.

An alarm code sounded.

"I got this," Rick relayed. He captured her face and made her look at him. Wild blue eyes shot from side to side. "Hey. Eyes on me. Only me. There ya go." His voice calmed when she complied. "Tell me what's going on."

"Please," she begged in a low tone meant only for his ears. "Something dreadful happened in the tunnels."

He recognized it then, the ghost of real trauma. She'd been through something bad. "All right. You're safe with me." He relaxed his hold and felt her tremble in his arms. Her head came to rest against his chest. With a ragged sigh, she nestled into him.

A shudder of unfamiliar emotion shot through him. He hadn't held a woman in years. Heck, he hadn't even been this close to another human unless they were injured or dying.

"Tell me your name," he insisted. Still, he held her.

Bo Peep felt good. Damn good. Slim but strong, all curves and sweet, sexy woman pressed full against him. Rick's sex-starved body surged to life as if he'd been hit with paddles. Her blonde head rose, and she met his stare. Trust had replaced the fear. When she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, his resolve took a nosedive.

Sweet Jesus, what the hell? Rick cleared his throat and untangled himself from her. "I can't help unless you work with me. What's your name? I'm Hauser. I mean ...Dr. Rick Hauser."

She stood straight. "Amelia Pennington, and I need your help, Doctor." Her voice had turned steady. Steadier than his.

"That's why I'm here. Tell me what happened."

"There's a man," she began. Her gaze snapped to those entering alongside them.

Rick held up one hand to stay the guards, twitching to haul her away. "What happened with the man?"

She didn't answer. Her laser focus remained on the others.

"Well then, Amelia Pennington ..." He took her hand and drew her back to him. "You sure know how to make an entrance. But security is gonna need to ask you a few questions before I can help."

"No ..." she moaned.

"Yes," he commanded.

She looked to the other men again, appearing to size them up. With surprising strength, she shoved Rick and darted past the guards. And she fled into the night as if the devil himself chased after her.

Boston University, October 1895

"Whitman is a monster," Amelia insisted as she waded into the throng of people, navigating the busy hallways of Boston University's medical school.

Her best friend, Rose Bartlett, struggled to keep up. "Wait, are you crying?"

Amelia slammed to a halt. "Crying? I'm bloody well seething. I'll not shed a single tear over that ... that ... butcher!" Yet tears did spill from her traitorous eyes as she fought to catch her breath. "He carved up that poor, defenseless women. Her appendix burst. Life ebbed away while he stood there, lecturing like a pompous ass." She swiped at wet cheeks with her sleeve.

Rose looked around to see who was within earshot. She leaned close. "Did he truly make you scrub the entire operating theater?"

"I had no choice. He made that point abundantly clear after I questioned his methods." Amelia wrung her hands. "The memory of the woman's death shall haunt me forever. She was the same age as us, Rose. A life, snuffed out at twenty-four. It's murder, I tell you."

"Hush, keep your voice down. Professor Whitman already threatened to have you expelled. If he gets wind of what you just said he'll —"

"What? Have me cleaning toilets on my way out the door?" Amelia dropped her voice to an angry whisper when others looked their way. "He's hoping I slip up, and we all know it's only a matter of time until I do. I always do. Then he'll punish me to the full extent of his power."

Bursting through double doors, the two women emerged into bright afternoon sunlight. The beauty of the autumn day seemed to fly in the face of their dreadful conversation.

Rose squinted, adjusting tiny round spectacles on her perfectly pert little nose. "It is terrifying, the way Whitman glares at you. As if he wants to carve you up, too." She caught Amelia's arm, forcing her to stop. "I'm frightened for you. It seems even the powerful Pennington name cannot protect you."

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Excerpted from "Hellfire and Handbaskets"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Kathy Hills.
Excerpted by permission of The Wild Rose Press, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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