When The Right One Comes Along. Kate James

with so much concrete dust he looked nearly white. Even his eyelashes and whiskers were coated in white. While Scout licked Cal’s face and pranced around, Cal did a quick exam to satisfy himself that the dog appeared to be unharmed. He took a moment to reattach Scout’s collar, and instructed him to sit-stay.

      Because of the enlarged opening, Cal was able to shimmy into the cavity on his stomach, using his elbows to propel himself, his flashlight gripped between his teeth.

      Sweeping the beam of light around the confined space, he saw her, lying on her back. Her face was stunningly beautiful. Dark olive skin, delicate features and the long cascade of ebony hair, so much like her daughter’s. His throat clogged and he had trouble breathing. He crawled over to her to check for vitals, but he was certain it was just a formality.

      He understood why Kayla would have thought her mother was asleep; she must not have noticed—understandable with the absence of any light filtering in—that her eyes were open. She had one arm slung above her head and the other extended at her side. The way her hand was positioned and her fingers curled, Cal concluded Kayla would’ve been holding it.

      The woman looked flawless and uninjured from her abdomen up. A portion of the collapsed wall lay across her lower torso. The black jacket she wore appeared to be soaked in blood. None of it would have been evident to Kayla in the dark. Thankfully, the child would not be haunted by images of her dead mother for the rest of her life.

      There was nothing Cal could do for her. This woman would now be the responsibility of the coroner. He made another thorough sweep of the area with his flashlight, then backed out through the opening.

      He signaled to Scout, ordering him to do a quick search to make sure they weren’t leaving anyone behind. The dog didn’t give any indication that there was anyone else present.

      A light vibration had Cal bracing himself again and grabbing for Scout’s collar. The rumble passed and he exhaled.

      Back in the atrium, he strapped Scout into the hoisting harness and tugged on the guywire, signaling to the firefighter to lift him out. When the harness came back down, Cal secured himself in quickly, and gave the two tugs to let Adam know he was ready. He could hear the winch kick in and he began his slow ascent.

      He was almost at the top of the atrium, nearing the elevator shaft, when he felt what seemed to be a gust of air whoosh down the opening. Simultaneously, the building shuddered again, and Cal started to swing and twirl on the hoisting rope. With the next tremor, he was catapulted toward a solid interior wall. He leaned back to try to control his motion and was able to maneuver sufficiently to cushion the impact with his legs when he collided with the wall. The force sent him hurtling backward. Just as he was twirling around once again, another rumble came from the ground beneath and seemed to rise up to engulf him. An ominous grating sound followed.

      Cal’s blood ran cold as he watched a ceiling beam tear loose to his right. Still anchored to a column by some rebars, it crashed toward him like a battering ram.

      He thrust back and as far out as possible, and flailed his legs to increase the swing of the rope. Unable to control his spin, he was propelled in the opposite direction from the one he’d intended, right into the path of the beam.

       CHAPTER THREE

      JESSICA ACCEPTED THE scissors from Marcia and snipped off the ends of the surgical thread she’d used to suture the long gashes on the face and neck of a middle-aged man. She thought about how close one of the lacerations had come to the man’s carotid artery, and how different the outcome could have been.

      “You’re going to be fine, Mr. Bowen,” she assured him. She cleaned another cut on his left arm and applied a gauze bandage. “You’ll have some scarring unfortunately. Treating the wounds with vitamin E cream while they’re healing will minimize the effect.”

      “Fortunately, my wife loves me for more than my pretty face.” He smiled weakly as he pulled his shirtsleeve back down.

      “There’s no need for you to go to the hospital, but your family doctor should have a look at that wound in a couple of days. Nothing to worry about. I just want to make sure you don’t develop an infection. Your stitches will have to come out in a week’s time.” She gave him an encouraging look as she removed her latex gloves and tossed them in a waste receptacle.

      “Thanks, Doctor,” he said as he slid off the treatment table. Their smiles faded as they watched two paramedics carry a black body bag to a waiting transport vehicle. “I’m lucky to be alive,” he murmured.

      Yes, he was, Jessica thought. She made some hurried notes on a chart and glanced up in time to see Marcia taking a little girl from the arms of a firefighter. She felt a chill descend on her and a voice inside her head screamed, “No!” Still, she did a quick visual scan of the girl for obvious signs of trauma, and was relieved to find none.

      The girl was maybe five. She was wearing lemon-yellow shorts and T-shirt, and had a small white sneaker on her left foot and only a white sock on her right. She had long dark hair. Her hair, like the rest of her, was covered in concrete dust.

      Jessica noticed Marcia looking around fretfully, and she knew the nurse was searching for another trauma doc who could attend to the little girl so she wouldn’t have to.

      Jessica sighed. Hadn’t she vowed earlier not to let herself be protected? What kind of trauma surgeon was she if she couldn’t deal with any patient that came her way? She could feel the anxiety build inside her—tempting her to let Marcia find another doctor.

      No, she wouldn’t give in.

      “Marcia,” she called. “I’m done here. I can take her.”

      She could see the reluctance in Marcia’s eyes as she approached with the softly crying child in her arms. “Are you sure?” The worry was evident in her voice, too.

      Jessica almost snapped that of course she was sure. Knowing full well the anger was directed at herself and not her colleague and friend, she swallowed the harsh words. She hadn’t realized she was wound so tight. She understood that Marcia was trying to help...and she couldn’t deny that it wasn’t without good reason. “Yes, I’m sure,” she responded with a calm she didn’t feel. “But thank you for trying to look out for me.” She forced a cheerier tone into her voice as she reached for the young girl. “Who do we have here?”

      Marcia helped Jessica position the girl on the exam table. “Her name is Kayla. She said it’s Kayla Hernandez,” Marcia supplied when the child remained silent, staring at Jessica with large somber eyes brimming with tears. “She said she can’t find her mother, Marina Hernandez,” she added in a whisper.

      Jessica hoped the child’s mother was all right. She smoothed the matted hair back from Kayla’s forehead and did another quick perusal, still not seeing any discernible injury. “How old are you, Kayla?”

      “I’m five,” the girl said, holding up her hand with all fingers and thumb spread. Then her lip trembled, and her eyes filled with more tears. “Where’s my mommy?”

      Jessica gave her a tissue and she blew her nose, while Jessica cast a questioning glance at Marcia. The nurse indicated with a slight shake of her head that she had no knowledge of the woman’s whereabouts.

      “I’m certain people are looking for your mother, but for now I’m going to listen to your heart and check your temperature, okay?”

      She could handle this, Jessica told herself. After all, the little girl appeared fine, and she appealed to the powers that be that she wouldn’t find any sign of internal injuries.

      * * *

      THE I-BEAM HURTLED toward Cal. His trajectory, swinging from the hoist rope as he was, would put him directly in the path of that beam. He caught an interior column with his right foot just enough to shove back and marginally away from the beam as it crashed by him.

      A searing pain ripped through his right