Her Firefighter Under the Mistletoe. Scarlet Wilson

      Callum looked around him. The major incident report was going to be a nightmare. It would probably take up the next week of his life.

      He grabbed hold of the guy next to him. ‘Any other problems?’

      The guy shook his head. ‘Just waiting to lock and load the last two kids. The clean-up here will take hours.’

      Callum nodded. ‘In that case, I’m going to Parkhill with the ambulances. I want to find out how all these kids do. I’ll be back in a few hours.’

      He jumped into the back of one of the other ambulances, where the paramedic and nurse were treating the other hypothermic kid. ‘Can I hitch a ride?’ He glanced at the nurse, who was balanced on one leg. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’

      The paramedic nodded.

      ‘Ride up front with the technician. We’re going to be busy back here.’

      The nurse grimaced, looking down at her leg. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. Let’s just get these kids back to Parkhill.’

      Callum jumped back down and closed the doors, sliding into the passenger seat at the front. Within seconds the ambulance had taken off, sirens blaring. Great, the paediatrician had ended up in the Clyde and the nurse had injured her ankle. The major incident report was getting longer by the second.

      It wouldn’t take long to get through the city traffic at this time. He pulled his notebook from his top pocket. It was sodden. Useless, soaked when the minibus had tipped and he’d landed in the water.

      ‘Got anything I can write on?’

      The technician nodded, his eyes never leaving the road, and gestured his head towards the glove box, where Callum found a variety of notebooks and pens.

      ‘Perfect. Thanks.’ He started scribbling furiously. It was essential he put down as much as could for the incident report, before it became muddled in his brain.

      The number of staff in attendance. The number of victims. The decision to call out the medical crew. Jessica. The descent down the incline. The temperature and depth of the water. Jessica being called onto the minibus. His first impression of the casualties. The way the casualties had been prioritised. The fact that Jessica had landed in the water.

      The feeling in his chest when she’d disappeared under the water.

      He laid the notebook and pen down in his lap.

      This was no use.

      He wasn’t thinking the way he usually did. Calmly. Methodically.

      He just couldn’t get her out of his head.

      It seemed that after thirteen years of immunity Jessica had reclaimed her place—straight back under his skin.