Racing Against the Clock

“Do we know what we’re dealing with here?”

The intern shook his head. “The vials weren’t labeled but the paramedics were able to retrieve a small sample.”

“You’re saying the paramedics were exposed?”

“Potentially.”

Tyler swung his gaze to the younger man. “We could have toxic contamination.”

The intern nodded.

“Dammit, where’s the Hazardous Materials team?”

“On route.”

“I want this side of the E.R. evacuated and this room sealed off. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And anyone else who came in contact with this patient needs to be examined. Have those paramedics admitted for observation.”

“Will do.”

He could tell the intern thought he was going overboard, but the young pup was wet behind the ears. The man had no idea what lingering effects chemical substances could have on the human body, nor did he have a clue how serious this could be for the young woman. He hadn’t seen the dark things Tyler had seen. Hadn’t experienced the devastation of chemical warfare firsthand.

“Hop to it,” Tyler commanded.

The intern spun on his heels and hurried out the door, pulling it tightly closed behind him.

“Well now, Jane,” Tyler crooned, stepping up to the gurney. “Just what have you gotten yourself into?”

Jane Doe did not respond.

He studied the heart monitor attached by electrical wires leading to conductive gel pads on her chest. Normal sinus rhythm. A good sign. Apparently the mystery chemical hadn’t affected her cardiac functioning.

Hang in there, Jane. He mentally willed her; determination a solid fist in his gut. I’ll take care of you.

The emotional intensity of his thoughts startled him. He wanted to help all of his patients, but there was something special about this woman and he did not know what it was or why. He just knew that he felt committed to her case in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

Peeling back the covers, he allowed his gaze to rove over her while his fingers investigated. A smattering of first-degree contact burns carpeted her arms and legs. Tyler sucked in his breath and shook his head.

Her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. Her body was lithe, supple. Her firm musculature told him that she worked out often and her lack of a tan meant she was either conscientious about the use of sunscreen or spent most of her time indoors. Her breasts were high and firm. Her abdomen was flat.

Tyler registered these things and tried hard not to be moved by them. He was a professional. A doctor. He’d seen thousands of unclothed women and had never been aroused. He was a surgeon, and because of his stint in the first Gulf War, also something of an expert on chemical exposure. Apparently, that was why the intern had called him in to consult on the case.

Curiously enough, considering she’d been exposed to a potentially harmful chemical, her respirations were deep and unlabored. Color good. Her blood pressure was low but he could put that down to the internal bleeding from her spleen, not from the chemical.

Tyler made a mental note to get her lab analysis as soon as possible. Until he knew what he was up against he was not taking any unnecessary chances. She needed surgery but anesthesia at this juncture might be risky. He would not operate until he knew what he was dealing with or until her physical circumstances deteriorated, forcing his hand.

She moaned when he pressed the right-upper quadrant of her abdomen where her spleen was located. He glanced up and saw her eyelids flutter open.

Their gazes met.

The woman looked like a delicate doe startled in the woods by the sound of a hunter’s gun.

Something stirred inside him. Her vulnerability reached out to him, strumming a chord that was far too familiar. In a flash, he saw a loneliness inside her that matched his own, a sense of desolation that ran as deep as the pain he had harbored for so long.

The connection was instantaneous and frightening in its power.

For God’s sakes, Fresno, stop it.

She was his patient, he was her doctor and even if she weren’t his patient, she deserved much more than a damaged man who’d lost his ability to love.

“Miss?” he said, purposefully denying the heavy thump, thump, thump of his heart. “Can you hear me?”

“Marcus,” she mumbled.

“I’m Dr. Tyler Fresno, and you’re in the emergency room at Saint Madeline’s Hospital in Houston, Texas. You were involved in a motor vehicle accident.” Tyler leaned closer and touched her shoulder. “Can you tell me your name?”

She shifted away.

“Are you in pain?”

She didn’t answer or meet his gaze again.

Tyler pressed the button on the electronic blood pressure cuff—88/62. Her BP was up. Excellent news. Perhaps her spleen wasn’t bleeding as profusely as he had feared.

“Can you tell me your name?” he repeated.

“Marcus.”

“Your name is Marcus?”

“Marcus.” Her lips puckered in a whisper. She stirred. “Where are you?”

Was Marcus her husband? Tyler glanced at her ring finger and saw that it was bare. A woman as beautiful as this one was no doubt married or engaged or at least had a significant other. Somewhere, somebody, probably this Marcus fellow, was worried about her.

A twist of pain stabbed through him as he imagined how frantic her husband must be. If she were his wife…

No. She wasn’t his wife. She was a patient. She meant nothing to him beyond the healing of her injuries. That detached attitude had kept him sane and functioning for the last six years. It was the only attitude he could entertain.

“Miss,” he said, “we need to take you to surgery. You’ve suffered internal injuries and your right leg has a hairline fracture.”

Her eyes were closed again. She did not move.

Tyler shook her. “Is there someone we can call? A family member? Your boss?”

Her eyes flew open and he noticed they were as blue as the ocean outside his beach house on Galveston Island. “No,” she snapped. “There’s no one.”