The Maverick Doctor and Miss Prim

Her face crumpled. “I don’t think so. But I can’t be sure.”

His hands landed on her shoulders and he steered her into the nearest free room. He knocked the water on with his elbows and pulled the hand scrub over, opening up a scrub brush for her. “Scrub as if you were going to Theatre and don’t stop until I tell you.”

She looked pale, as if she might keel over. But her reactions were automatic, pumping the scrub, covering her hands, wrists and forehands and moving them methodically under the running water.

He watched the clock. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four.

“Sawyer?”

He nodded. “You can stop now.”

“Do you know what it is?” She was drying her hands now.

“I think I do. I’m just praying that I’m wrong. Come with me.”

They reached the desk. Miriam had her back to them and was chatting loudly on the phone.

Sawyer leaned across the desk and cut the call.

She spun around. “What are you doing?”

“We’re closed.”

“What?” Several heads in the surrounding area turned.

“You don’t have any authority—”

“I do. Get me Dr. Simpson, the chief of staff, on the phone.” He turned to face the rest of the staff. “Listen up, folks. As of now, we have a public health emergency. The department needs to close—right now.” He pointed at Miriam. “Let Dispatch know not to send us any more patients.”

He turned to one of the security staff. “Lock the front doors.”

The noise level around him rose.

He put his hand on Alison’s arm, pulling her to one side. “I’m sorry, honey, but that isn’t chicken pox. I think it’s smallpox. And we need to contact the DPA.”

Atlanta

Callie Turner stowed her bag in her locker and nodded at a few of her colleagues getting changed. She glanced in the mirror and straightened her skirt, taking a deep breath as she gave herself a nervous smile and pulled at her new haircut—an asymmetric blonde bob.

It was meant to signify a new start—a new beginning for her. It had looked fabulous in the salon yesterday, expertly teased and styled. Today it just looked as if she was halfway through a haircut. This would take a bit of getting used to.

First day at the DPA.

Well, not really. An internship and then a three-year specialist residency training program completed within the DPA. All to be part of the Disease Prevention Agency. Eleven years in total of blood, sweat and lots of tears.

All to fulfil someone else’s dreams. All to pay homage to someone else’s destiny.

Today was the first day of the rest of her life.

She pushed open the door to the telephone hub. “Hi, Maisey.”

The short curly-haired woman looked up. “Woo-hoo! Well, look who picked the lucky bag on her first day on the job.” She rolled her eyes at Callie. “Go on, then. Who did you upset?”

Callie laughed and pulled out the chair next to Maisey. “No one that I know of. This was just my first shift on the rota.” She looked around. “It’s kind of empty in here. Where is everyone?”

Maisey gave her a sympathetic glance. “You should have been here two hours ago. They’re assembling a team next door. We’ve got a suspected outbreak of ebola.”

Callie’s eyes widened. First day on the job and she was assigned to the phones. The crazy calls. While next door the disease detectives were preparing to investigate an outbreak. She bit her lip. “Who took the call?”

Maisey smiled again. “Donovan.”

Callie sighed. Typical. The person who took the call usually got to assemble and lead the team. Donovan had a knack of being in the right place at the right time.

Unlike her.

She stared at the wall ahead of her. Someone had stuck a sign up: “NORMAL PEOPLE DON’T PHONE THE DPA.”

Never a truer word was said. The phone next to her started ringing. She bent forward and automatically picked it up. It would be a long day.

Four hours later she’d spoken to three health officials, crazy bat lady—who phoned every day—two over-anxious school teachers, five members of the public, and two teenagers who’d obviously been dared by their friends to ring up. Right now all she could think about was a large cappuccino and a banana and toffee muffin.

Her stomach grumbled loudly as she lifted the phone when it rang again. “DPA, Callie Turner, can I help you?”

“This is Matt Sawyer at Chicago General. I’ve got two kids with suspected smallpox.”

She sat up instantly as her brain scrambled to make sense of the words. All thoughts of the muffin vanishing instantly. This had to be a joke. But the voice didn’t sound like that of a teenager, it sounded like an adult.

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” He sounded angry. Patience obviously wasn’t his strong point.

She took a deep breath. “Smallpox has been eradicated. It’s no longer a naturally occurring disease, Mr. Sawyer.”

“Listen, honey, you can call me Doctor. Dr. Matt Sawyer. Ringing any bells yet?”

She frowned. Matt Sawyer? The name seemed familiar. Who was he? And why was he speaking to her like that? She put her hand over the receiver and hissed at Maisey. “Hey, who’s Matt Sawyer?”

Maisey’s eyes widened instantly, the disbelief on her face obvious. She skidded her wheeled chair across the room next to Callie. “You’re joking, right?”

Callie shook her head and pointed to the phone.

Maisey bent forward and pulled the phone away from her ear, replacing it with her mouth. “Outbreak, dead pregnant wife, disappeared off the map.”

The pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place and become vaguely familiar. Of course. She had heard of this guy. In fact, everyone in the DPA had heard of this guy. He was like a dark, looming legend. But it had been way before her time.

Her training and natural instincts kicked in. There was a protocol for this. She pushed her chair under the desk and pulled up a screen on her computer. “Hi, Dr. Sawyer. Let’s go through this.”

The algorithm had appeared in front of her, telling her exactly what questions to ask, why and when. She started to take some notes.

“You said you’re at Chicago General. Whereabouts in the hospital are you?”