First Responder On Call. Melinda Di Lorenzo

at least fifteen minutes for the backups to arrive. Her slate-gray eyes were fixed on him and him alone, full of both hope and fear. He didn’t want to let her down.

      “Another quick second, all right?”

      He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then pushed to his feet. His eyes flew over the scene, filtering out the things he already knew were there—the devastated car with its crushed front end, the cracked pole and the downed wires—in search of something he could use as a stretcher. As easy as it would be to scoop up the pretty blonde and carry her out of harm’s way, he knew better. He couldn’t see any external afflictions, and he suspected—based on instinct, mostly—that distress was what kept her from moving rather than an injury, but experience and training had taught him not to rely on gut alone. Some of the most heinous injuries were invisible to the naked eye. So what he needed to do was keep her as still and straight as possible.

      Then he spotted it. The car’s windshield, sitting on a patch of grass a few feet away. It was miraculously intact, and he suspected that somehow, the impact had dislodged it and sent it flying. It might even have been the thing that saved the woman’s life. With the windshield missing, she’d had a clear path out the vehicle. He could almost picture the sequence of events.

       Incredible.

      Remo glanced down at her. Did she have any clue just how lucky she’d been? He doubted it. Not at the moment, anyway.

      With a disbelieving head shake, he slipped off his glasses, wiped them with his T-shirt, then stuck them back on his face and headed up the road. There, he positioned himself in front of the glass. He bent down, closed his hands on the slippery edges and lifted. It came up with surprising ease, and it took him only a second to get it stable enough to cart it back over to Celia. Careful to keep it from hitting the ground with any kind of force, he eased it down beside her. Then he took a breath, pushed his knees as flat as they would go, stiffened his arms and positioned the windshield against her body.

      “Okay, Celia. Here we go.”

      Moving as slowly as he could and being extra cautious in keeping her head and neck stable, he inched the glass underneath her. In spite of the rain, he could feel sweat beading along his forehead and his upper lip. He ignored it. By the time he got her into position, he couldn’t see a damned thing. He was dripping, his glasses were completely fogged up, and the sky had darkened even more. Breathing heavily, he dragged the windshield and its passenger out of range of the sizzling power lines, then knelt down beside the makeshift gurney.

      “You still with me, Celia?”

      She blinked, then inclined her head. He was relieved to see that she was no longer frozen, but he still didn’t want to take any chances.

      “Try not to move around,” he cautioned with a smile. “Hard to say if anything’s broken, and I’d like to retain the role of hero for a little longer.”

      One corner of her mouth tipped up and she breathed out. His relief was short-lived. As quickly as her little show of amusement came, it left. Her whole face drooped and her eyes dropped shut.

       Damn, damn, damn.

      Remo dragged his hands up and clasped Celia’s face. She was cold.

      Because it is cold out here, he told himself.

      He clasped her wrist and pressed his head to her chest. Her pulse was strong and steady, and her breathing was slow and even, and that was something.

      “Did you faint on me, Celia?” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face.

      He leaned back and studied her for a second. Her skin had a hint of a tan, but mostly it was a connect-the-dots palate of freckles.

       More than pretty.

      She had that clean-faced, granola-girl feel that made it easy to picture her hiking up the side of the Grouse Grind. Remo liked it. Which made him sigh and question his sanity.

      “Obviously even more tired than I thought,” he said.

      Checking out a girl—a patient...sort of—was very low on his list of priorities. Right below the washing machine emergencies. Remo gritted his teeth and told himself to stop before he even got started. Except as soon as the self-directed order made its way into his mind, her hand lifted and found its way into his palm, and a shot of heat cut through the chill.

      He looked down in surprise. “Celia?”

      Her eyes opened wide. “Xavier.”

      For a second, he thought she’d mistaken him for someone else. “Sorry, honey, I—”

      She cut him off. “Please, Remo.”

      “What do you need?”

      “Xavier.”

      “Where is he?”

      “The back.”

      “The back?”

      Her eyes flicked toward the shattered car. She couldn’t possibly be saying there’d been someone else inside. Could she? He looked down at her, hoping he’d see a hint of delirium in her gaze. Instead, he just saw faith. She didn’t know him at all, and she still believed in him.

      “I’m not even wearing the uniform,” he muttered.

      “Help him.” Her fingers tightened around his.

      Remo inhaled. “I don’t think Xavier’s here, Celia.”

      “He is. In the back.” Her eyes closed for a second. “I hurt.”

      “Where do you hurt?”

      “Everywhere. My leg, mostly.”

      Remo tilted his head down. A dark splotch stood out on one of her thighs. It nearly blended in with her rain-drenched jeans, but staring at it made him sure it wasn’t just water.

       Blood. Damn again.

      “The ambulance will be here soon,” he said, careful to keep the growing concern from his voice. “Hold my hand as hard as you want. Sometimes that helps.”

      She gave him a weak squeeze. “Promise me.”

      “I can’t do that.” It pained him a bit to say it.

      “Xavier, Remo.”

      He glanced toward the car. The engine was crumpled so badly that it was barely recognizable, the hood disintegrated. No doors. No steering wheel. An empty back seat. Except...

       What’s that?

      Remo pulled off his glasses, gave them another wipe, then looked again.

       A stuffed bear.

      His gut churned. She didn’t just mean there was another person in the car with her. She meant there was a kid in the car. A kid named Xavier.

      She had to be mistaken. She had to be confused. There was no car seat. No other sign that a child had been there. Yet there was that horrible instinct again, telling him he’d read the situation correctly.

      “Celia?”

      But her eyes were still closed, her breathing even and slow once again. She had a small crease between her brows, like her worry carried over into her lack of consciousness. Remo freed his hand from hers and smoothed his fingers across the wrinkle. It faded for a second, then reappeared. He sighed.

      “All right, honey,” he said. “I promise. If there’s a kid around here named Xavier, I’ll do my best to find him.”

      He stood and stepped woodenly toward what was left of the car. The rear seat was shredded, its leather split and its foam exposed. Rain thumped down on the remainder of the roof, then poured down onto the remainder of the floor.

      “Xavier?” he called softly.

      There was no answer.