by Radclyffe
“Yes.” Ali connected a 16 gauge trocar to a 50cc syringe. The alarm on the EKG sounded. The patient’s tracing fluctuated with ectopic beats. Her blood pressure dropped to 40. “Time’s up. Let me in there.”
Since the only thing Beau could do was stay out of the way, she divided her attention between studying what Ali was doing and stealing quick peeks at Ali’s face. Ali’s dark eyes above her mask were intensely focused and unwavering. She seemed totally calm and totally in control. Beau found herself holding her breath as Ali guided the needle under the patient’s sternum and into her chest, drawing back on the syringe as she pushed the trocar toward the heart. Beau had to remind herself to suck air in and push air out. She was getting light-headed. Tension twisted her stomach into a knot. She probably ought to sit down and catch her breath but she couldn’t leave. Ali might need her.
“Watch the EKG,” Ali said without taking her eyes away from the patient’s chest. “If her rhythm gets worse, tell me.”
“On it.” Beau switched her focus to the EKG monitor, almost afraid to blink in case she missed something. She heard more voices behind her and then a woman moved up close beside her.
“What do we have?”
“Cardiac tamponade,” Ali said. “You want to take over here?”
“Oh yeah.”
Beau recognized the pregnant woman she’d seen with Ali the night before and eased farther out of the way. Ali Torveau didn’t need her help anymore, and she had no excuse to stay. Her job was stabilizing the victims in the field and getting them to the trauma unit. She and Bobby needed to return to base and re-outfit their rig so they’d be ready for the next call. This morning, though, she wasn’t in any hurry to leave. She wanted to watch Ali Torveau work, but her dizziness was getting worse. In the rush of stabilizing the patient, she hadn’t registered much of anything else. She was cold. Really cold. She looked around for her partner.
Bobby leaned against the counter, scribbling notes in their field report for the patient charts. The young boy she had pulled from the car just as the muddy water reached his chin was invisible within a ring of emergency personnel.
“How’s he doing?” she asked, wondering if her voice sounded as sluggish to him.
“Stable. How about yours?”
“Possible cardiac rupture.” The adrenaline high drained away, and Beau shivered so violently her teeth chattered. She tried to cover it with a laugh. “Good thing I paid attention in class Monday night.”
Bobby looked up from the clipboard and his eyes narrowed. “Jesus, Cross. You’re soaking wet to your tits and your goddamn lips are turning blue.”
“Yeah yeah,” Beau said, feeling the bone-deep chill more and more each second. “Come on, Size Man, let’s collect our stuff and get out of here.”
“Fuck that. I’ll get our stuff. You get some dry clothes on before we head back. I bet if we took your temperature right now they’d put you on one of the stretchers.” Bobby grasped the arm of a passing resident. “Hey. Is there a locker room down here? My partner needs some scrubs.”
“Across the hall. It’s marked.”
“Go,” Bobby said.
Beau knew arguing wouldn’t help once Bobby had his mind made up. Besides, she wasn’t just cold. She was shaky, and she needed to get her act together before she showed up back at base. “Right, fine. Keep your shorts on.”
To her relief, the locker room was empty. Scrubs were stacked by size in a narrow, open closet just inside the door. She dug out a pair of larges and emptied the pockets of her uniform onto a bench that ran down the center of the room. Her hands shook almost too much for her to work loose the few buttons on her shirt, but she finally got it off and stripped off her sodden undershirt. The effort was enough to wind her and she leaned with one arm against the lockers to steady herself while she caught her breath. Christ, she was dizzy. Just like that, her legs quit on her, and she felt herself going down.
Chapter Four
“Nice job, Doc,” Ali said as Wynter aspirated blood from around the patient’s heart. “Her blood pressure is coming up. EKG looks good too.”
“Thanks.” Wynter, her satisfaction evident in her voice, threaded a thin catheter through the trocar and into the pericardial space to evacuate any further accumulation of blood.
“You got it from here?”
Wynter straightened and arched her back, sighing softly. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“It’s just getting a little hard to get up to the table. I’m fine.”
“Okay then. She’s yours.” Ali turned to the second patient on the adjacent table. Jeff Weinstein, the pediatric surgeon, was assessing the boy with Tony. “Everything under control?”
“We need to warm him up and complete the neuro eval.” Jeff, a rangy guy badly in need of a shave, wore rumpled scrubs and shapeless tennis shoes. He peered through red-rimmed eyes at a chest X-ray on the view box on the wall. “Haven’t found anything surgical. Looks like they got him out of the river just in time, though. He’s still cold and pretty shocky.”
“Tony,” Ali said to her trauma fellow, “you stick with Jeff until this boy is ready to go to the PICU.”
“Okay.” Tony leaned down to murmur reassurance in the boy’s ear. The patient didn’t appear to hear him, but no one really knew what the unconscious mind absorbed.
Satisfied things were under control, Ali looked around for Trish and her much-needed coffee. With luck, maybe she’d get a few minutes’ break to finish up this batch of paperwork before the next round started. She wanted to thank Beau for the assist too, but she didn’t see her anywhere. The stab of disappointment surprised her, and she chalked it up to the missed teaching opportunity. Her interest in the paramedic was purely professional. She was a TER-OPS instructor, and Beau was in her group. Nothing beat on-the-job training.
The other paramedic hadn’t left yet, and he didn’t appear happy. He stood frowning into the hall, clipboard dangling from one hand.
“Problem?” Ali asked. The husky blond shook his head, but the muscle jumping along the edge of his jaw triggered Ali’s bullshit radar. “What’s going on?”
“Fucking Cross,” he muttered. “Always has to play the goddamn cowboy.”
Ali’s chest tightened. “What are you talking about? Where is she?”
“Locker room. She should have been out by now. Goddamn it, I knew she wasn’t right.”
“Not right?” Ali hadn’t noticed anything wrong, but she hadn’t really been paying much attention to Beau either. The tightness in her chest escalated to alarm. The sensation was foreign and frightening. She wasn’t used to being unsettled by any kind of crisis. “Is she hurt?”
“Didn’t look too steady. She was in the water a long time.”
“Stay here,” Ali snapped, keeping her voice low. “I’ll check her.”
Ali confirmed both patients were still stable, then hurried across the hall to the locker room. She stumbled to a halt just inside the door, unprepared for the sight of Beau, half naked and slumped on the floor with her back to the lockers and her head on her knees. Ali’s pulse spiked and she shot forward.
“Cross!” Ali knelt beside Beau and cupped the back of Beau’s neck. Her hair was wet, her skin cold and clammy. “Jesus, you’re freezing. Beau? Can you hear me?”
“Sorry.” Beau’s voice was slow and slurred. When she tried to raise her head she sagged against Ali, her cheek coming to rest against Ali’s shoulder. Her eyes were unfocused, her lips tinged with blue. “Just…a little dizzy.”
“A lot more than a little,” Ali muttered, trying not to think about the fact that she was on the floor with Beau Cross in her arms. Beau’s breath against her neck was warm, in sharp contrast to her icy body. Ali pulled her closer, instinctively wanting to warm her, and Beau’s lips brushed her neck. Ignoring the flutter in her stomach, Ali rested her fingertips against Beau’s throat. Her pulse was barely palpable, her body wooden. She was freezing but she wasn’t shivering. She was too cold
even to shiver. Dangerously cold. Ali rubbed her palm up and down Beau’s back. “We need to get you warmed up.”
“Just gimme a minute,” Beau said.
She looked and sounded lethargic. Nothing like the high-intensity woman Ali had met earlier in the week.
“And then what?” Ali asked. “You’ll just get on your white charger and ride on out of here?” Ali shook her head. Cops and firefighters. Please, someone save her from the urban knights. She slid one arm behind Beau’s shoulders and gripped the waistband of Beau’s trousers with the other. The material was soaked. “Come on, let’s get you standing. Put your arms around my waist.”
Beau draped an arm around Ali’s middle and Ali pushed upright, tugging Beau with her. Beau swayed unsteadily, leaning into Ali and resting her forehead on Ali’s shoulder. Ali couldn’t help but register the press of Beau’s breasts against her chest and flushed hot as her nipples tightened. Her body liked the contact—a lot—but her mind clanged with a warning bell so loud her ears hurt. Gripping Beau’s shoulders, she pushed her gently away. “You need a shirt and dry pants. Unzip.”
“Thanks, I’m sorry about this,” Beau said, fumbling with her fly. “Fingers stopped working.”
Ali looked down involuntarily, and then fervently wished she hadn’t. She’d seen hundreds, thousands, of naked bodies, and while she might appreciate the aesthetics of a particularly beautiful form, her appreciation was always distant and impersonal. Her reaction to Beau Cross was anything but impersonal. Beau had an amazing body—golden skin stretched over tautly etched muscles, the hard body softened by the exquisite rise of firm oval breasts. Elegant hollows shadowed the insides of her hipbones. She would have been artist model material if it hadn’t been for the scars scattered over her chest and bisecting her long, lean abdomen from just beneath her breastbone to below her shallow navel. Scars were nothing new in Ali’s experience either, but her stomach clenched as she evaluated these. Her guess was a gunshot wound, but regardless of the cause, Beau had been hurt once, badly, and the thought of her being injured distressed Ali more than she could have imagined. She tried not to make a sound, but the hitch in her breathing was loud in the silent room.
Beau lifted her eyes to Ali’s. Her pupils were clearer now, the sea blue irises a stormy gray. “Nobody knows.”
“No one will hear from me,” Ali whispered. She dragged her eyes away from Beau’s and looked down again. She unbuttoned Beau’s pants, being ever so careful not to touch her skin, but the backs of her fingers inadvertently brushed over Beau’s abdomen. When Beau’s breath caught and her stomach rippled, Ali fought to find the place in herself that allowed her to care about—but remain unaffected by—another’s tragedy. The struggle was harder than it should have been, especially when she wanted to trace her fingertips along the length of the pale, thick ridge of scar tissue, as if that might erase it and any memory of the pain that had caused it.
She tugged on the zipper and had to bite her lip when Beau’s stomach tensed again, the vertical scar tightening between vivid squares of hard muscle. Even the damage could not diminish her raw beauty. Delicately, Ali drew Beau’s zipper down, careful not to touch her again. Then she picked up the scrub shirt from the bench. She didn’t look at Beau when she held it out. “Put this on, and get out of those pants. I want you in the treatment room next door.”
“I’m fine. Just got a little—”
“Save it. I want to take a look at you, and if you give me any flack, I’ll get on the phone and call your station house.”
“Jesus, don’t do that. They’ll bench me.” Beau sounded panicked. “I need to get back to work.”
“Then I need to make sure you’re safe, don’t I? Lives are at stake, after all.” Ali didn’t add even if you don’t care about your own, because she knew it wouldn’t matter. Beau obviously had a hero complex, and while she undoubtedly was a brave woman, she was also reckless. She didn’t know the meaning of the words safety margin. Her battered body was proof of that. So much like Sammy it hurt to look at her. Ali walked away. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Look, Ali—”
Ali didn’t stay to hear the excuses. She’d heard them all before.
*
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Beau yanked the scrub shirt over her head and pushed down her pants. She had to sit to get them off. She was still shaky. Goddamn it. She hated that anyone had seen her like that, weak and vulnerable. But that Ali, a woman she wanted to impress, had witnessed her looking so pitiful was humiliating. And Ali had seen everything. Everything she worked so hard to hide. She glanced at the closed door of the locker room. She could walk out and be in the rig before anyone knew she was gone. If Bobby wasn’t outside waiting for her, he could damn well get his own ride back to the station house. He must have been the one to send Ali looking for her. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past him to have pointed Ali at her on purpose, to try to force their stupid bet along.
Beau tied the scrub pants, her fingers shaking so badly it took her three attempts. She was a freakin’ mess. Hell, Ali had practically had to undress her. She’d come close to embarrassing herself when Ali unbuttoned her trousers. Her legs had gotten weak and she’d almost dropped. That didn’t mean anything, though. Her body wasn’t working right, that’s all it was. The trembling in her thighs and the ripple of heat in the pit of her stomach, when everywhere else she was so cold, had nothing to do with the sight of Ali’s head bent forward, strands of dark hair caressing her cheeks, as she ever so carefully opened Beau’s fly. Beau’s abdomen tightened again, imagining the brush of lips, the caress of fingertips, on her flesh. A trickle of pleasure whispered through her again, and Beau cursed. She just needed some time to get herself together. She considered her options.
If she left without getting checked out, Ali might call the station house, but then again, she might not. Ali knew she was a trained professional. She’d probably give her the benefit of the doubt and trust her judgment. Maybe. Or maybe not. Ali Torveau obviously played by the rules, and Beau hadn’t seen anything to suggest that Ali let anyone bend them. Just the same, Beau didn’t mind betting against the odds. She’d been doing it all her life. So Ali would be pissed. Ali wouldn’t be the first woman to get ticked off at Beau for not doing what she wanted. She didn’t take orders well. She lived on the edge where guts and willpower were all that counted.
Beau rolled up her wet clothes and pushed her bare feet into her boots. When she stood up her vision got blurry for just a second but she quickly blinked the haze away. She made it all the way to the door before she remembered the way Ali’s arm had felt sliding around her body, strong and tender the way only a woman’s embrace could be. Ali’s body against hers had warmed her, deeper than just skin and bone. Ali had been careful with her. Beau hadn’t let anyone comfort her in a very long time, hadn’t wanted anyone to. Her weakness had already cost too much. Beau gripped the handle. She knew she was making a mistake, but she couldn’t help herself.
*
Ali hesitated outside the locker room, resisting the urge to press her palms to her face. She didn’t feel like herself, and she wanted to be sure nothing showed before returning to the trauma bay. What was it about Beau Cross that threw her so off course? Yes, sure, Cross was attractive. More than attractive. Gorgeous. Sexy. Fine—no point in arguing the obvious. But in thirty plus years, Ali had seen plenty of sexy women. Not many as cocky and irritating as Beau Cross, however. She just had to remember the cocky, irritating part and she’d be fine. But God, she’d looked so damn alone huddled there on the floor.
Ali focused on what she needed to do. What she was feeling could wait. Both patients were stable. The trauma nurses were packing up the mother to take her to CAT scan. Jeff Weinstein and Tony conferred with the neurosurgery fellow. The young boy, covered in warming blankets, appeared to be waking up. The paramedic Sizemore, Ali recalled from his name tag, was gone.
“Trish,” Ali said, picking up two cups of coffee from the cardboard carriers Trish
had placed on the counter, “I’m stealing one of these. Tell Tony I owe him one.”
“Sure, whatever.” Trish didn’t bother to look up from the forms, consult sheets, and scattered lab reports she was assembling with practiced efficiency.
“I’ll be in two.”
Trish stopped what she was doing and quirked a brow at Ali. “We have another patient I don’t know about?”
“Unofficial.”
“Cool.” Trish sipped some kind of caramel whipped cream chocolate covered concoction that Ali doubted had any coffee in it at all, and went back to what she was doing.
Ali carried the coffee into the hall and hesitated before the closed curtain of the treatment room. Mentally she considered the odds, making a bet with herself that Beau was not inside. She edged around the curtain and found that she’d lost. Beau sat on the edge of the stretcher, gripping the sides so hard her knuckles were white.
“Are you all right?” Ali asked.
“Yeah,” Beau said, sweat dripping into her eyes. She’d been freezing a few minutes before. Now her heart was racing and her chest was on fire. She knew what was happening. She wanted out of that sterile, impersonal space where she was nothing. No one. Helpless and powerless.
Ali put the coffee down on a stainless steel cart and opened the top drawer. Extracting a digital thermometer, she pointed it toward Beau’s mouth. “Open.”
Beau grimaced but obeyed. Ali held the thermometer in place with one hand, her fingertips millimeters from Beau’s mouth. Beau’s lips were no longer tinged with blue. They were blood red, a little puffy, full and sensuous. Ali shot her gaze to the digital readout and stared unblinking at the numbers on the small screen. When the monitor beeped she frowned at Beau.
“95.2.” Swiftly, she set the thermometer aside and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Beau’s bicep, trying not to notice the hard bulge of muscle or the small caduceus tattooed on her deltoid. “Seventy over forty. You should have been on one of those beds in there, not helping me.”