First Responder On Call. Melinda Di Lorenzo
possibly be heard. She swallowed and tried again, willing her voice to be stronger. “What’s happening?”
A hand found hers. It wasn’t a grip she was acquainted with, but it was warm and strong and reassuring, and Celia clutched at it, glad for its solidity. For a blissful second she felt safe. And though she couldn’t pinpoint why, she was sure it was actually the safest she’d felt in a long time. Then an odd thing happened. There was a shift—like the person was adjusting to a better position—and a face came into view.
It’s him.
And it was him. The man from her dream. Only real. Celia was certain, because their clasped hands would’ve driven the ring into her palm.
She stared up at him, held transfixed by the incredible blueness of his eyes. They were azure. Stunning. And though Celia didn’t think she knew the man, there was still something familiar about his stare. She was so enraptured by his look that Celia nearly missed the fact that his mouth was moving.
She tried to focus on what he was saying, but it seemed to be a mumble of medical jargon. It distracted her.
Was the man a doctor? Was he her doctor? Was she hurt or sick?
Of course you’re hurt or sick, said a voice in her head. If you weren’t hurt or sick, you wouldn’t be in this ambulance.
The thought jerked her attention away from the man’s blue, blue eyes, and her gaze swept back and forth. It was true. There was a narrow strip of light on the metal roof, bright red medical bags and a variety of equipment hanging from the sides. She could feel a thin mattress under her back. An IV line ran directly into the hand not held by the stranger. And when she tipped her head back a little, she also saw a blue-clad leg that she was sure belonged to a paramedic.
But...why?
She swallowed. She had no idea how she’d gotten into the back of the ambulance. And now that she was thinking about it, she realized she couldn’t remember much of anything at all. Not what she was doing before she got to the spot where she was now. Not where she lived, or what she did for a living. She closed her eyes, trying to grasp at something from her past. Anything, really. But it seemed just out of reach.
It was so frustrating. So frightening. And Celia felt a need to do something about it.
She opened her eyes and tried to sit up. Her head spun. Badly. And the blue-eyed man’s palm slid from her hand to her shoulder, and his voice filled her ear.
“You have to lie back down,” he said gently.
For no good reason she could think of, Celia fought against the soft suggestion.
“Let me go,” she said. “I have to...”
Have to what? Oh, God. Why can’t I remember?
Her heart thudded even faster, and one of the machines in the ambulance chimed an alarm. Celia squeezed her eyes shut again and willed her pulse to slow. She had questions, and if she wanted answers, she needed to be calm. She needed calmness around her so that the blue-eyed man—another paramedic, maybe?—would answer them. She breathed out, counted to ten, then opened her eyes and found herself face-to-face with that azure gaze again.
“Celia.”
He knows my name.
And it was good. It brought a very small, very recent memory to the surface. Him, holding her library card—with its distinct logo—in his hands. Her, not even knowing who she was until that moment. The wave of gratitude tempered her panic, but only momentarily. Because it no sooner washed over her than a tiny, worried voice cut through all of it, and it was the most familiar thing she’d heard, seen, or felt in what seemed like a decade.
“Mommy?”
Xavier.
She knew little else, but she knew her son. Five years old. Freckled face. Too much intense seriousness for such a little person. She loved to make him laugh. Loved it when he let go of that little frown of his and giggled so hard that he said his tummy hurt.
Celia dragged her eyes open and sought him out. There he was, his small frame tucked against the big one that belonged to the blue-eyed man. How she hadn’t noticed him first—or even sensed his presence—was beyond her. He looked scared. But undeniably safe.
And I have to keep him that way. I have to keep protecting him.
She didn’t know where the thoughts came from, but they were accompanied by another, dizzying rush of blood. It thumped through her body, up through her chest, and straight to her head. It wasn’t just fear; it was absolute terror.
The world swam. Celia desperately wanted to say something to her son. To reassure him that everything would be fine. But her mouth didn’t seem to be in a cooperative mood. And worse than that, her mind was slipping again, headed straight back toward the oblivion it’d just barely crawled out of before.
She blinked, trying to clear away the impinging blackness. It was impossible. But as she faded even further, she made a last-ditch effort to communicate by sending the blue-eyed man a look. A plea. And for a moment, she thought she failed. The man said something else—more indecipherable medical stuff. But then turned his attention to her son. And even though she couldn’t hear his words, Celia was sure that they were the right ones. Xavier’s eyes cleared. His tense little body relaxed. And then there was nothing.
As Celia’s eyes fluttered shut and her pulse evened out, Remo wanted to holler at the driver to go faster. He actually had to grit his teeth to keep from doing it. He knew better. Tyler—the kid at the wheel—had the sirens going, the lights flashing, and he was negotiating the streets of Vancouver at a pace that was both quick and safe. Isaac had done everything right, because that was how the older paramedic rolled. Carefully, perfectly set IV. Heart rate monitor secure. Pain meds, blankets, gurney...all as they should be. Remo was sure of it. Yet he still wished he’d done it all himself.
For no good reason.
He stared down at Celia, wondering where the unusual desire came from. The blonde woman was beautiful. No doubt about it. He’d already acknowledged that. Her physical vulnerability was a given. And Remo had been told on more than one occasion that he had a bit of a hero complex. Except neither of those things—alone or together—usually affected him. He ran into beauty and vulnerability in his job just as often as he saw the ugly side of things, and he always took it in stride. Patients were just that—patients. They needed him, and he got paid to meet those needs.
So not that, then.
Remo ran his eyes over his “patient” once more. The rush of protectiveness didn’t ease in the slightest. If anything, it grew. He watched the rise and fall of her chest—consistent but weaker than he would’ve liked—and reminded himself that she wasn’t as frail as she seemed in that moment. Underneath it, she was strong. The proof was evidenced in her determination to save her son’s life. In the pleading look she’d sent his way before she faded out. Pure selflessness. She’d sacrifice herself for her kid, and that was a hell of a thing.
And speaking of the kid...
He dragged his attention down to Xavier. The little guy was tucked right against Remo’s side, his forehead creased, his eyes closed, and one of his little hands clutching at his shirt. The sight of the small, nails-chewed-down fingers reminded Remo of something else—the kid had been locked in a trunk. Undoubtedly because Celia had put him there. And if she’d done it, then it had to be because it was the best way to keep the kid from harm.
What could be so dangerous that Celia felt the safest place for her son was hidden in a trunk?
Not what, he thought immediately.