by Radclyffe
“Great,” Dara said. Angie was a young trauma attending, capable beyond her years. “I’ve got a meeting—call me if anything comes up.”
“Will do.”
Dara continued down the hall and said to Sawyer, “If you want to take a break—”
“I’m good,” Sawyer said.
Dara laughed, a peculiar lightness chasing away the ghosts of doubt and sadness. “You certainly are. We were lucky to have you in there. I couldn’t have gotten that line in faster myself.”
Sawyer grinned. “Now, there’s a compliment.”
“True.” When Sawyer laughed again, the lightness in Dara’s chest expanded and she had an inkling of the high some people chased with drugs. For a minute, she floated, absolutely certain she’d never felt so good. Oh yes, she could get used to that sensation. Too bad the chances of that were slim, considering what was ahead. Neither of them was likely to be laughing much. Despite the grim forecast, her second wind was coming back, and with it, the elation of the win. At least, she hoped it was a win. They’d done their part and gotten the GS patient off the table and on the way to the OR in stable enough condition for Wen to have a chance at repairing the damage and keeping him alive. “We won that round.”
“Yep,” Sawyer said. “That just shows why we’re flying into a firefight with a fully equipped trauma bay in the belly of a Black Hawk. The save rate is ninety-seven percent if we get them to the field hospital alive.”
Dara slowed. “Huh. Those stats are better than ours—if multiple trauma patients make it to a level one alive, their survival rate is a little shy of ninety percent.”
“Bet they’d be better if you age-matched the samples,” Sawyer said, hitting the door release on the wall. The double doors swung open into the main hospital corridor. “Remember, our patients are young, in peak condition, and usually suffering from major blood loss—either amputation from IEDs or penetrating trauma. We’ve got blood in the Black Hawks now.”
“So you’re a jump ahead of us,” Dara murmured. “I wish sometimes—”
“No,” Sawyer said quietly, “you don’t.”
Dara shot Sawyer a look. Sawyer’s ability to know where Dara was going with a thought was disconcerting. She’d never been obvious to anyone in her life. “How do you know what I was going to say?”
Sawyer shrugged, not looking the least bit repentant. “You’re a trauma doc. You like the challenge. You want to be tested, don’t you?”
“I want to be the best,” Dara said.
“More ways than one to get there,” Sawyer said. “You don’t need people shooting at you.”
“No—I guess a hurricane will do just as well.”
Sawyer grimaced, a ghost of something flickering in her eyes again. This time Dara couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen it. “What?”
“Nothing,” Sawyer said quickly.
And there was the denial again, so automatic maybe Sawyer had come to believe it herself. And none of Dara’s business. “At least we know we can work together when we need to.”
“Looking that way.”
Dara lifted a brow. “Surprised?”
Sawyer shrugged. “I might’ve been, if we hadn’t had that little chat beforehand about who’s in charge.”
Dara shook her head. No way was she going to believe they wouldn’t cross swords at some point when a crisis arose. Sawyer was used to being in command, just like her. “Probably the first of many little chats, since we both like to be in charge.”
“I guess we’ll take it as it comes.”
“Good plan,” Dara said. “How about we get that cup of coffee, if you still want to stay for the ERT meeting.”
“Like I said, I’m here for the duration, one way or the other.”
As they neared the exit, Penny came through the stairwell door. “Hey—coffee run?”
“Yep,” Dara said. “Want anything else?”
“Bagel with cream cheese if he’s got any left. And decaf for me.”
“Right. Everything okay upstairs?”
“The patient was good when Wen took him back. He’ll call down when he’s finished. Jeremy’s guy okay?”
“Yes. Two for two.”
“Gunshot wounds in broad daylight.” Penny shook her head. “Can’t wait till the sun goes down. It’s a full moon.”
Dara frowned. “Really?”
Penny nodded.
“Crap,” Dara muttered and glanced at Sawyer. “You see the same thing—people going crazy on the full moon?”
Sawyer shook her head. “That’s about the only time we relax a little. Terrible conditions for an ambush.”
Dara tensed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not the same.”
“Not so different.” Sawyer shrugged. “Except for the bullets.”
Dara’s stomach tightened. “Except for the bullets. At least, most of the time.”
“Is now the time for me to ask why you’re here, Colonel?” Penny asked.
“Perfect timing. A hurricane is gonna wallop the Keys and maybe parts of south Florida. Evacuations have started.” Sawyer nodded toward Dara. “You all are our medical command center. I’m coordinating the military response.”
Penny glanced at Dara. “We’re in for a deluge, then.”
“That’s a perfect word for it. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to adjust the call rotations until this is over. As soon as I’ve finished getting emergency response protocols geared, we’ll start working on it.”
“Okay,” Penny said steadily.
“Are you okay?” Dara asked.
“Absolutely. Go.” She made shooing motions. “Go get some food while you still can.”
As they headed toward the exit, Sawyer murmured, “Some problem there?”
“I don’t think she’d mind me telling you,” Dara said. “She’s pregnant. She had preeclampsia last time and had a pretty tough go of it.”
“She’s good.”
“The best.”
“Good friends?”
Dara nodded. “The best.”
“Double bonus, then.”
“Yes.” Dara weaved through the midafternoon crowds. Most dressed in shorts, breezy tops or tanks, and exuding tourist from every pore. How many people just like these were only now beginning a hurried exodus from the Keys, rushing to get airline tickets, gas for their cars, and new reservations somewhere on higher, safer ground? “I feel like I should be doing something more than going for coffee right now.”
“You are.” Sawyer halted by the open-air coffee kiosk as Dara got into line. Colorful signs announced a dozen different blends and coffee concoctions, along with sandwiches and pastries. “I’ll have what you’re having?”
“Double caramel soy latte with whipped?”
Sawyer chuckled. “No. Large dark roast, light on the cream. And one of those sandwiches—surprise me.”
“That’s annoying, you know?”
“Which part?”
“The psychic part.”
“I would take credit, but I saw an empty coffee cup in the break room with your name on it.”
“And you remembered?”
“Coffee choices say a lot about a person.”
“Oh? And what did mine say?”
“Practical, professional, and unfussy.”
Dara narrowed her eyes. “Is unfussy code for boring?”
Sawyer’s gaze grew just a little heavy, and her mouth quirked at the corner. Just a little. “Anything but.”
Dara blushed. She felt the heat and could practically see her skin brighten. Oh my God. I am so humiliating myself. “You’re getting turkey, Swiss, and sprouts, like it or not.”
“Sounds great.”
Dara gave Sawyer the eye. “Sprouts?”
“Love ’em.”
Laughing, Dara turned away to order. Oh yes, Sawyer Kincaid could be addicting all right.
3:35 p.m.
Emergency Medical Command Center
Miami Memorial Hospital, Miami, Florida
&nbs
p; Sawyer’s phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her pocket, checking the text under the edge of the table as men and women, in suits for the most part and a white coat here or there, filed into the room. When she saw the secure link, she punched in her access code and orders scrolled down the screen.
Central Command to Kincaid, Col. Sawyer, ANG.
EVAC support orders—establish forward operations staging center Homestead Air Reserve Base. Charlie Squadron to proceed 2000 hours to Key West International Airport in relief capacity, Key West Memorial Hospital. Hospital to hospital transfer, Miami Memorial.
Sawyer acknowledged and sent out a quick alert to Charlie Squadron to report at 1900 hours for preflight briefings. Homestead was thirty miles south of Miami—close enough to coordinate relief and rescue with Dara. Sawyer slid her phone away and Dara caught her eye, one eyebrow raised in question. Sawyer, sitting on Dara’s right at the end of the table farthest from the door, leaned close. “Orders. Patient transfers out of Key West Memorial Hospital.”
Dara nodded and Sawyer returned to watching the members of the ERT as they entered. Body language, who paired off with whom, could often reveal a lot about how a team would come together, or not. She’d seen it time and time again in tents and mess halls and ready rooms. Who played cards with whom around a makeshift table by the glow of a lantern in the middle of the night, who picked which side to join for an impromptu game of football on a dusty parade ground, who sat alone reading and writing letters, who drank alone. Who stared into the dark, contemplating drifting outside the wire.
This was different, of course. These people didn’t depend on each other to survive, at least not yet. That might happen before this was over, and when it did, it was always good to be forewarned about who to trust and who not to. More importantly, she needed to know who might break, and who would stand.
When she’d first met Dara, she’d known only one thing—Dara was well trained on paper. She’d attended excellent schools, from a private girls’ preparatory school through university and finally medical school. Her emergency medicine residency at Jackson Memorial was one of the best in the country. All top-tier, and now at a young age, head of her own division. That told her a lot—Dara was smart, most likely driven, and either very hardworking or very well positioned. Her bio had been bare-bones, and judging from Dara’s heated reaction to Sawyer having read it, probably held only a fraction of what really lay in Dara’s past. The same was true for her, and she respected Dara’s privacy. What she’d read in Dara’s bio, though, was at odds with what she’d learned of her, which only made Dara more intriguing.
Sawyer’d grown up not far from Miami and had hung out on the beaches and along the strip as a teen whenever the confines of the tiny house she shared with her mother and three sibs started to feel like a prison. She knew who the Simses were. It would be hard not to when a boulevard, a few parks, and even a pier carried their name. If that’s all she’d known about Dara Sims, the heiress to the Sims fortune as some tabloids referred to her, she’d be way off course. The Dara Sims she’d met and seen in action was confident, cool in a crisis, a little competitive—no, actually, a lot competitive—and maybe most important of all, proud. Proud of what she did, proud enough to want to do it better than anyone else. Pride and sense of duty counted for a lot, and the kind of stubbornness that often went with it could also be a pain in the ass. She ought to know, since Rambo accused her of it on nearly a daily basis.
A slim brunette in a tailored suit, a red silk power shirt open at the throat, and a few well-placed expensive-looking gold bracelets faced off against Dara down the length of the table. The woman’s gaze slid over Dara’s, pausing just long enough to be assessing, then landed on Sawyer. Interest flared in her eyes, and she unapologetically took her time appraising Sawyer.
After half a minute or so, she smiled slightly and turned away. Opinion formed.
Sawyer catalogued her read. CEO…no, probably COO or hospital attorney. Ambitious, playing a long game, playing dirty if need be. Sawyer had sat in on enough planning sessions to know the type. The brunette might not necessarily be an obstacle but was definitely likely to be reluctant to expend resources unless necessary.
“Everyone,” Dara said without any kind of preamble, “the governor has ordered the Keys evacuated. Colonel Kincaid is commanding the National Guard’s support and relief operations. Miami Memorial is the official medical command center.”
A quick round of introductions followed.
“What does that mean?” a trim blonde in surgical scrubs asked.
“We’re first in line to receive patients,” Dara said.
“How long before we know for sure if the hurricane is actually going to create problems?” asked a slightly fidgety man in a well-cut three-piece suit designed to hide his soft midsection.
“There’s no doubt the Keys will be impacted,” Dara said. “The storm advisories out of the hurricane center are very clear on that. The only question remains exactly how big and how far the hurricane will extend.”
“So we’ve got time,” Gretchen said.
“No,” Dara said, with more patience than Sawyer would’ve mustered at this point, “evacuations have begun from at least one hospital. I’ll know within the hour how many patients we’ll need to take.”
“What about Blake?” the OR supervisor asked. “They’ve got almost as many beds as we do. They ought to have room.”
Dara glanced at Sawyer. “Colonel Kincaid, do you want to take that?”
“Right now, our evac plan calls for transport to central locations—one here in the state, and the other beyond the potential range of significant storm fallout. Between the two centers, you’re better positioned and equipped to take regional transfers. We’ll reserve transport to the Alabama hospital until numbers demand it.”
“How much leeway is there to”—Gretchen smiled at Sawyer—“massage that plan a little bit, to keep our beds free. Transferring patients from other hospitals is costly, and the reimbursement situation is a nightmare.”
The three-piece-suit guy added, “Worse than a nightmare. It’s a money-losing proposition.”
Sawyer said, “The operation is already ongoing.”
A frown formed between Gretchen’s elegantly arched brows. “I understand from a contact in the governor’s office that the evacuation orders were issued with an abundance of caution. That being the case—”
“Ms. Baylor,” Sawyer said, “the governor’s orders are clear. The Guard has been mobilized to institute a statewide support and relief plan. Our operational plan is engaged. If the ongoing situation changes, I’ll alert Dr. Sims.”
Gretchen’s lips pressed together. She looked at Dara. “Please advise my office as soon as you’ve determined how many patients we’ll be accepting in transfer. There will be paperwork.”
“Isn’t there always.” Dara shouldn’t be enjoying Gretchen’s annoyance, but she was, a little bit. Not many people disregarded Gretchen with quite the ease that Sawyer had. Appealing on one level, but a warning on the other. Sawyer was unbendable when it came to carrying out her orders. Dara could hardly fault her for that. She only hoped their duties never put them at cross purposes. “I’ll keep everyone informed as the situation unfolds.”
With some grumbling, everyone rose and filed out.
Dara let out a long sigh. “I hate these meetings.”
“The military is a lot simpler. Someone gives orders, someone else carries them out.”
“There must be someone who has to sit in a room like this and play politics. Or at least make nice to preserve peace.”
“Thankfully,” Sawyer said, “way above my pay grade.”
“Does it ever bother you, taking orders even if you question them?”
Sawyer shook her head. “If it did, I wouldn’t wear the uniform.”
“I’m sorry, that was a rude and intrusive question.”
“It was personal,” Sawyer said, “but not a question I mind answering.”
“I am a soldier,” Sawyer said quietly.
“Yes,” Dara said quietly as she rose. “I can see that. I need to call those hospitals.”
“I’ll wait while you do. I’ll need to put together a medevac team. We’re getting ready to fly south to start moving patients.”
“I want to come.”
“Not possible.”
Dara smiled. “Colonel, you’d be surprised what’s possible.”
Chapter Nine
“In this particular case,” Sawyer said, “there is no possibility.”
“Why not?” Dara said in a deceptively innocent tone.
Sawyer squeezed the bridge of her nose. Civilian, she repeated to herself mentally, civilian, civilian, civilian. “It’s a military operation.”
“So?”
“What part of that wasn’t in English?”
Dara settled a hip onto the corner of the table, folded her arms across her chest, and smiled. “I heard all the words. I’m just not sure of their significance.”
Sawyer leaned back against the doorway and checked the hallway outside in both directions. Clear. She didn’t want any unauthorized personnel overhearing them. Whatever lines of command she and Dara needed to work out were between them. When the time came to give orders, and her gut told her that time would come, they both needed to be obeyed. A united front. For now, though, she needed to inject a little reality into Dara’s inexperienced picture of just how bad things might get and why she was unprepared. “We’re flying into uncertain conditions. High winds, low visibility, unpredictable updrafts and air currents—all of which can change minute to minute. Our pilots are the best, but any flight can get into trouble. Even if it were a bright sunny day, it’s not a pleasure trip, it’s—”