A dozen knives and not a single pen. He ran back to his car. As he opened the trunk to search his bag, he stopped, head going up as he heard it—the wail of sirens in the distance, coming closer. Then the flash of red lights appeared down the road.
He’d never seen anything more beautiful.
Ian jumped into the truck ahead of Tommy and Dave. “Get your asses in gear,” he snapped back at his EMT and his driver. “We ain’t gonna be last on-site.”
Dave ran for the front of the truck, slammed in, and revved the engine before peeling out the instant Ian secured the door behind his panting partner.
“Christ.” Tommy collapsed on the bench running along one wall. “We’re off in twenty!”
“That means we’re off in twenty. Not now.” Ian had taken the jump seat behind the driver, facing the rear. He leaned forward to get a better view out the back window and grinned. Yes! First out. Three units and two engines were answering this call, because that was what they had available, and because there was no good intel on the situation. Two down in a front-end—that was all they’d heard and the phone call had been dropped, so no current info.
Still, just knowing the crash was a front-end gave them some idea of what to expect: chest trauma and crushed femurs. Ian surveyed their equipment. The team took pride in their readiness. Nothing to do but hang on while Dave raced them to the scene.
After what seemed like an hour, but was closer to fifteen minutes, the truck slowed. Their station at the edge of the city responded to calls in the more rural areas, and this certainly qualified. They were way the hell out on a state road with few other cars in sight at this late hour.
Ian had the door open before they’d come to a full stop behind a sedan with headlights pointed at the scene.
A man waited for them, presumably the Good Samaritan who’d seen the accident and called it in. Ian let Tommy and Dave take charge of unloading the equipment, and jumped out ahead of them.
The guy started talking before Ian had a chance to ask a question, his hands waving for emphasis. “I’m a doctor. We’ve got two vics, most critical is a closed pneumothorax. Rib went into the left lung. Needs to be aspirated now.” A couple of inches shorter than Ian, the blond guy was bouncing up to his toes to look over Ian’s shoulder as if searching for tubing. He seemed ready to climb into the truck to find it.
Ian held up a hand. “Hang on, Doc. I got it.”
Pulling out supplies took only a second, but Blondie was already waving him to follow as he ran back to the driver’s side.
“Another vic by the passenger door,” the man called to the second unit. “Broken humerus and scalp lacerations, possible concussion.” He dropped to his knees beside the driver. “Damn it, I can’t see well enough—”
“What’s he doing on the ground?” Ian demanded. “Did you move him?”
Blondie glared back. “He fell on me when I opened the door. Don’t you think I know better than to jar his spine?”
“If he’s cracked a disc—”
Then Tommy and Dave were there to place the cervical collar and oxygen while Harry and Elaine from the second unit recorded vitals.
And Blondie was still hot because Ian had yelled at him. “Idiot wasn’t wearing a seat belt,” he insisted.
“Okay, okay. Jeez.” Ian stuck the stethoscope in his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to that strident voice, and examined the patient. “Decrease in left lung capacity.”
“That’s what I said.” Blondie rolled his eyes and then squeezed them shut with a gasp as the floodlights set up by the firemen clicked on, turning the dark night into day.
Ian heard Tommy’s startled curse even with his ears plugged. He snatched out the earpieces and followed Tommy’s stare to an eight-footer thrashing in the cage fastened to the truck bed. “Huh. Nice one.”
He squinted back at the screechy guy to see how he liked the gator, but having been in the dark longer than him, Blondie was still blinking as his sight adjusted. When they opened, stormy gray eyes as expressive as his hands snapped back to Ian with an expression that said Get a move on.
He’d probably already come across the gator. Most likely he’d assessed it and dismissed it with that sharp professionalism that could only come from years of experience dealing with emergency situations.
“You an ER doc?” Ian asked.
“Yep,” Blondie confirmed with an annoyed look at Tommy, who was trying to nudge him out of the way. He pointed to the thigh gash. Deep, but no arterial laceration. “You can wrap his leg,” the doc said to Tommy and then turned his glare on Ian. “And you’re wasting time.” He frowned at the decompression needle Ian was unwrapping. “I can place a tube.”
“I’m sure you can.” Ian swabbed the area.
“But—”
“You may be a doc, but this is my show, and we don’t place chest tubes in the field.” He glanced at his partner. “Steady him.”
When Tommy had the man in position, Ian popped in the needle. Aspirating the pleural cavity drew air from places where it shouldn’t be, confirming the pneumothorax and relieving some of the pressure on the lungs. He listened again, noting the deeper breaths. Elaine called out the O2 sat. Already increasing, thank God.
An unfamiliar stethoscope joined his, pressing against the man’s chest. Doc Blondie leaned forward, his arm brushing against Ian’s, his skin warm and damp. He seemed unaware of the contact as he squinted at the rise and fall of their patient’s rib cage, his eyes intent. The frown of concentration on that so-serious mouth was . . . well, cute. Cute, and annoying. He was annoying.
Blondie sat back, looping the stethoscope around his neck. “He’s stable enough to transport.”
“Gee, thanks, Doc. I couldn’t have figured that out.”
“You didn’t seem to be able to, no.”
Because he’d been distracted. Ian shook his head and gestured to Tommy, but Elaine and Harry pulled up their stretcher from the second team’s truck; Elaine moving just as fast as her partner despite a slight limp.
“We’ll take him,” she said.
“No. I placed the needle, I should—”
“You’re already on overtime, and you know how the captain feels about that.”
Ian started to protest. That was his patient, damn it.
“You think we can’t handle any complications?” Elaine raised a brow at him. Ian snapped his mouth shut. She’d been at this longer than him.
“Come on,” Tommy broke in. “It’s the twins’ birthday tomorrow. I need sleep before I can deal with a dozen five-year-olds.”
Ian helped lift the man onto the stretcher and then roll him onto the truck. Tempted to climb in after his patient, he hesitated a moment too long and had to dodge backward when Elaine pointedly slammed the doors in his face.
Standing on the shoulder of the road with his arms crossed, he stared unhappily after the unit as it pulled out, siren screaming. The doctor stood beside him, hands on his hips, scowling at the departing truck. Maybe he thought that was his patient headed down the road and felt just as annoyed at being left behind.
Tommy looked back and forth between them.
“What?” Ian demanded.
Tommy shook his head. “I’m going to pick up the equipment. You join me whenever you’re ready, partner.”
He turned away, and Ian blew out a breath, the adrenaline leaving him, allowing weariness to settle like a lead blanket across his shoulders.
The firemen had finished their examination of the vehicle and were wandering around snapping pictures and taking notes, so apparently no one was going to die in a fiery explosion anytime soon. Several deputies from the sheriff’s office had arrived and were securing the scene. Recognizing one standing by his car and talking on the radio, Ian waved at Bob Jensen. Bob returned the wave and then tilted his head to indicate the doctor with a silent but clear request: Don’t let him leave until I talk to him.
Ian gave him a nod, and Bob went back to talking on the radio. Judging by the way h
e stared at the gator the whole time, he was arranging for Fish and Wildlife to come pick up the beast.
The doc followed his gaze, evidently coming to the same conclusion. “What the hell were they doing with a live gator anyway? Why not kill it for meat or hide or whatever?”
“It’s illegal, so maybe they wanted to be someplace secure before they killed it. Maybe they had some kind of weird fight ring. Who the hell can figure?” Ian shrugged, the movement brushing his bare arm against the doc’s and sparking a wave of heat along his skin. “Sorry.” He made no move to back away, but the doc did.
“No problem. I’m drenched.” He brushed his hair aside with one hand, leaving a smudge on his forehead. “And dirty.”
And irritating. Don’t forget that one. Not to mention overconfident and impatient. In other words, a lot like every other ER doc Ian had ever met. He’d probably strangle Blondie if they ever had to spend more than ten minutes together.
He couldn’t keep calling the man Blondie. Ian stuck out his hand. “Ian Manolas.”
“Dr. Joshua Parker.”
Ian felt a low undercurrent of static electricity between their palms before he let go of the warm, damp hand. “What are you doing out here, Dr. Parker?”
“Josh,” he corrected. “I’m on my way to the south side of Naples. I thought I could cut around the city to avoid the traffic.”
“That’s quite a detour you took, but these guys are lucky you did.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t sure you thought so.”
Ian winced. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I was worried when I saw him on the ground.”
The doc nodded, apparently mollified.
“And you know why I didn’t let you place the chest tube.”
“It’s not usual field practice, but—”
Ian raised an eyebrow.
“Liability.” Josh sighed. “My actions before you got here are covered by Good Samaritan laws, but after you got here? Not so much.”
“I didn’t want you to think it was because I doubted your competence. I can see you know what you’re doing.”
That earned Ian a tentative smile, the first he’d seen from him, and didn’t that just light up the pretty gray eyes in a way that hadn’t seemed possible five minutes ago.
“So.” Deliberately, Ian crossed his arms, making the blue uniform shirt tighten across his broad chest and the short sleeves strain against the bulging, tattooed biceps he worked on in the station’s gym during his downtime.
All that hard work paid off the instant Josh’s eyes widened, and a slight flush darkened his cheekbones.
“So,” Josh repeated faintly and looked away.
Ian suppressed a smile. “So you’re new in town.”
“Oh . . .” Josh glanced back at him. “I didn’t say that.”
Ian’s mouth twitched. “If you were from around here, you’d know there was no need to avoid the city in the middle of the night. They roll up the sidewalk, at least in the areas away from the beach.”
“I’m headed to the beach. My condo is on the waterfront.” Josh waved a hand vaguely. “Somewhere.”
“‘Somewhere’? You mean you don’t know?”
“I just drove over from Miami, after flying in from New York today. I start a new job tomorrow.”
“Sheriff’s deputies will want to talk to you in a few.”
“Oh God.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, then let them drop. “How long is that going to take?”
“Shouldn’t take long. You going to be all right to drive after that?”
“I’ll be okay, but I’m not going to make much of an impression on my first day at work.”
“Tell them what happened. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
He looked doubtful.
“If it’s at Bayside General, I can let Doc Aguto know. You must have interviewed with her.”
“Not Bayside.”
“Not Bayside?” Ian repeated, puzzled. “There aren’t many other ERs around. Trauma is up in Lee County.”
“It’s not—” Josh started, and then took a breath.
Ian’s brow knit.
“It’s with an office.”
His jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”
“What’s wrong with that?” The doc’s voice was taking on that strident tone again.
“But . . . You’re leaving trauma to go into general practice? That’s a damn waste.”
Josh stiffened, outrage flaring in his eyes. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know that not many have the guts and experience to work an emergency room, but there are plenty of docs to see kids with colds and arthritic old ladies.”
“Langdon and Burke is not just any GP office.”
Oh, better and better. Ian straightened, dropping his arms. “No. They’re not just any GPs. They’re a bunch of suck-ups, catering to the rich to line their own pockets.”
Josh stared at him. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
“No. I don’t think,” Ian retorted. “Concierge doctors care about one thing, and that’s an easy gig with a high payout. Bootlicking sycophants, all of them.”
Josh flung up his hands. “God, you’re so quick to criticize.”
“How can you—”
“Excuse me.” The deputy walked up to them and nodded at Josh. “I’ll take your statement now, sir. I mean, if you’re ready.”
“Oh, I’m more than ready.” Josh turned his back on Ian and strode away.
Bob cast Ian an amused glance before following after Josh.
Now that’s a damn shame. A doctor with his experience selling out to cater to the rich when there were so many who needed his services. Ian trudged to his truck, kicking at every pine cone in his path. He looked up to see Tommy leaning against the side, arms folded.
“That went well.” Tommy snickered. “You get his number?”
“Shut up.” Ian took a swipe at him.
Tommy dodged it easily, laughing.
“Anyway, we don’t even know he’s gay,” Ian pointed out.
“You’re shittin’ me. I got zero gaydar, and even I could tell.” Tommy fluttered his hands in the air.
“Cut it out.” Ian smacked him again, this time connecting to the back of Tommy’s head.
“Hey!” Tommy rubbed his scalp.
“You can’t tell by that, you dumbass. He might have some Italian in him. Or Greek, like Papa. If Papa couldn’t use his hands, he couldn’t talk at all.”
Having said all that, Ian was quite sure he and the doc played for the same team. Didn’t matter though. They didn’t have enough in common to think about a long-term thing, and Ian wasn’t out to score a one-nighter so close to home. He saved those for the occasional weekend in Miami, hitting the clubs at South Beach.
“Seriously, man.” Tommy poked him in the chest. “If you can’t tell Lucia you’re seeing someone, she’s gonna set you up again.”
“Jeez, don’t let her do that. Last time was . . .” Ian shuddered. The guy his sister knew from her part-time job at the hospital hadn’t been in a medical field—he was a lawyer, for God’s sake. Ian had been prepared to overlook that because the guy was handsome enough on the surface, but after a few minutes he’d realized that underneath that attractive veneer beat the heart of a shark. In it only for what he could get out of it . . . Much like Dr. Joshua Parker.
“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. “I gotcha, bro, but it’s slim pickin’s around here for you guys.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“So?” Tommy persisted. “He’s new in town, right? He could be looking for somebody.” He grinned. “Even if he is outta your league.”
Ian’s face warmed. He looked away, fingering the two-year medallion he wore under his shirt.
With no warning, Tommy slapped him on the side of the head.
“Ouch, damn it! What was that for?”
“Now you cut it out. You know I was just fuckin’ with you.”
M
ost of the time, Ian loved having his easygoing brother-in-law for a partner. Other times, it was a pain in the ass. Ian swung into the back and called for Dave to rev it up, before turning back to Tommy. “Don’t matter anyway. He ain’t my type.”
The alarm on Josh’s phone went off at a god-awful hour the next morning. He stared at the ceiling, trying to hold on to jumbled images from a rapidly fading dream. Flashes of dark eyes, tattoos . . . “Oh hell no.” His already sour mood took a nosedive. He forced himself out of bed and staggered toward the kitchen. “Not that judgmental bastard. God, I’m hard up.”
When was the last time anyone had touched him in more than a clinical manner? Months. No wonder the first cute guy to come along had aroused a libido that had lain dormant far too long. It didn’t mean anything.
His mood soured further when he stumbled into the pristine white kitchen and stared blearily around for the coffee—then remembered he didn’t have any. And he now scarcely had time for a shower, never mind finding a Starbucks on the way to the office.
Even late as he was, he had to pause to open the drapes hiding the balcony. The last thing he’d been interested in when he’d finally found the place the previous night had been the view, but it should look out on the water.
“Oh, wow.” Sunlight sparkled along the blue-green bay. From his two-bedroom condo on the fourteenth floor, the boats heading out for the day appeared smallish, their hulls shining white; some with sails unfurled to catch the early-morning breeze. More boats of all sizes rocked gently in their moorings at the marina below him. Or was he supposed to call them yachts? Were those the bigger ones?
Shaking his head, he let the drapes fall closed again, and then headed through the high-ceilinged living room, his bare feet making little noise on the tiled floor. Smooth white tiles throughout the condo no doubt kept it cooler, but he felt like he was back doing a rotation in Surgery.
Or a hotel. That was what it felt like. A resort hotel—the kind of place in the Hamptons Marcus had booked them into for a long weekend whenever they’d been able to get away. Marcus had loved dressing in the latest Givenchy for summer, and he’d looked damn fine in it too, although God forbid he should ever actually get in the water. Of course, they’d barely left the hotel room during the first couple of trips. He caught the reluctant smile that tried to curve his lips and squashed it before it could do more than twitch at the corner of his mouth. Those days were gone, and he had other things to think about.
The Doctor Takes a Detour Page 2