Trouble Don't (File Two of The First Responders Files)

Chapter Seven

Nolan swallowed hard. "No," he admitted with a small shake of his head. "Not for a few days. I asked Sylvie to give me a call when the guys got back from Oregon, but I haven't heard a thing."

Jack frowned in concern. "I understand your worry," he said. "But keep your head in the game here, too."

"Heard," Nolan nodded as he opened the door, already planning his opening statement for the next day.

***

"Thanks again for agreeing to ride along this first time, Brett," Greg called over his shoulder as he finished the report on the last house they had dropped by.

"Oh, happy to help," Sylvie smiled. "You seem like you've got it under control, though."

"Well," Greg grinned at the driver, "I had someone who was very happy to help out."

"It's a good idea, boss," Mouch chuckled as he maneuvered the ambulance down the streets. "I knew Hawkins Senior back in the day. I knew his son must have a good head on his shoulders if he had this kind of idea for Chicago. I'm excited to keep working on this."

"I'm happy to have a partner," Greg nodded. "Mikami and Mackey opted out because of their microbrewery . . . and you can imagine what excuses Jason's guys gave me when I asked them about potentially helping out."

Sylvie laughed loudly. "Oh, yes, I can!"

"Hey, I came onto Molly's late," Mouch grinned as he pulled up to the next house. "This, I'm now a part of from the inception . . . or as close to the inception as I can get."

"It's the maiden paramedicine voyage," Greg smirked as he unbuckled his seat belt. "Consider this the inception."

Mouch grinned in delight as he hopped from the driver's seat, and Sylvie climbed out after Greg. "You're really making his day with this," she told him.

"Mouch is a great guy," Greg said sincerely. "I'm glad he's got my back."

"Alright," Mouch rubbed his gloved hands together as they approached the house. "Who's next?"

"This is Joan," Greg answered as he checked his tablet with all their patient files. "She has early indication of dementia, but so far she's been responding to – " He realized Mouch and Sylvie stopped in their tracks, and when he saw what they did, he paused. "Medication," he finished grimly when he saw the open door into the house.

"She live alone?" Mouch asked in concern.

Greg checked his information again. "Says here she has a sister a couple houses over."

"I doubt she'd leave the door open, though," Sylvie murmured, then she jogged up the steps and knocked on the door. "Joan?" she called.

Greg stepped through the entryway, and his eyes widened when he saw the elderly woman lying down on the floor. "Got her!" he rushed forward.

Sylvie ran to join him, hastily putting her bag down on the floor. "Joan?" she shook the woman's shoulder. "Can you hear me?"

"Lieutenant!" Mouch pointed to the table.

Greg's gaze zeroed in on the open pill bottles, and he leaned over Joan to snatch one up and examine the medication. "Oh," he scowled. "These are expired meds for neuropathy."

"There's the problem," Sylvie sighed.

Greg placed his thumb inside Joan's wrist, concentrating hard. "Her pulse is weak," he murmured, then he carefully pricked her finger to get a blood sample. "Blood sugar is good."

Mouch looked up from where his stethoscope chest-piece was against the blood pressure cuff he had wrapped around Joan's other arm. "Blood pressure's low."