First Responder On Call. Melinda Di Lorenzo

“I kind of thought you were about to tell me.”

      “Any idea why someone might be looking for that kid and his mother?” she asked.

      His earlier thoughts about an angry ex sprang to mind, but he shook his head. “What do you mean?”

      “Five minutes ago, I was in Emergency getting a signature from triage. A very well-dressed man pushed his way through the ten people waiting and demanded to know if a mother and son had come in, and when the nurse explained they couldn’t give out information like that unless he could prove he was a family member, he left.” She paused. “It rubbed me the wrong way. And a minute later, I overheard another nurse mention that you were outside arguing with another paramedic about a mom and her son.”

      With the term “walking lawsuit” leaping to mind, Remo quickly decided in favor of telling her his fear—that Celia was on the run from an ex-husband. As he spoke, the senior administrator studied him with unveiled concern, and he knew what was coming before she even spoke.

      “Remo...” she said. “You know I love you like a wayward nephew.”

      “Thanks, Auntie Tanya,” he replied dryly.

      “Uh-huh. And you know how close I am with your mother,” she added.

      Remo feigned a look up and down the empty hall. “Shh. Nepotism.”

      “Monthly coffee with a fellow hospital employee hardly counts as nepotism.” She smiled a sharp I-know-everything-anyway smile. “Stop deflecting. You can guess what I’m wondering.”

      “Am I letting my past cloud my view?”

      “Exactly.”

      For the briefest second, Remo closed his eyes. In the last hour, his mind had strayed to his childhood at least twice. That was double the number of times he let himself think about it at all in an average year. So he had to admit—at least to himself—that it was there, under the surface. Was it affecting his objectivity? Maybe. Was it affecting his reaction to the kid and the kid’s mom? Definitely. But it didn’t change the bits and pieces of evidence that led him to the conclusion.

      He opened his eyes and shook his head. “I might not be unbiased, but I’m also sure my opinion is sound.”

      The older woman sighed like she was hoping to hear something else. “Okay. I believe you.”

      “So what do you think? You want to call the police?” For no good reason, the idea bothered Remo, and he was thankful when she shook her head a little.

      “I don’t know,” she told him. “Nothing illegal happened. Not yet, anyway. And domestic violence...” She let out another soft breath. “It’s a fine balance here, Remo. If what you think is true, then exposing their location and identities could put the two of them at more risk, and patient well-being is my number one priority. Particularly when there’s such a large element of vulnerability involved.” Her eyes strayed toward Xavier. “But protecting the hospital’s needs is a part of my job, too. Not doing anything and them getting hurt because of it could put us in a bad spot.”

      “I’ll take responsibility,” Remo said immediately. “I’ll watch the kid. I’ll see what I can find out from his mom. And if there’s the slightest hint of danger, you know I’ll do the right thing.”

      “Do you think the child’s in danger right now?” she asked.

      “Did you see any signs of abuse?” he countered.

      She shook her head. “Considering that fact that he was just in a car accident, he’s in damned near perfect shape.”

      “So...”

      Her gaze hung on him, her expression thoughtful. She was clearly weighing it all, and he had to fight an urge to make an uncharacteristic plea. Instead, he waited with as much patience as he could muster.

      “All right,” she said at last. “But you’re going to stick like glue to that boy in there. As long as his mom’s a patient and you’re here in the hospital, I don’t see a need to involve social services.”

      Relief washed over Remo. “You’re the boss.”

      Tanya issued a nod. “I’m trusting you both personally and professionally here. You’re the best paramedic I know, and you’re a good man, too. So at the slightest hint of anything that could put anyone at risk... I expect to be informed. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that as far as the kid is concerned, it’s a legal obligation.”

      “Got it.”

      “I’ll give you a call on your personal phone as soon as I hear anything about the kid’s mom.”

      “Thanks, Tanya.”

      “And, Remo...” She trailed off, then cleared her throat. “One more thing.”

      His heart thumped an unusually nervous beat. “What?”

      “It hasn’t escaped my notice that the little boy is about the same age as your niece would’ve been now.”

      Her words hit him hard, and square in the chest, and he was thankful that once she’d said them, she simply nodded, then spun and walked away.

      * * *

      This time, consciousness slammed into Celia like a cold wave. It smacked her in the face, forcing her to open her eyes and gasp in a breath at the same time. For a moment, she was too stunned to move. Then a thought jumped to the front of her mind and forced her to act.

       Xavier.

      Her son’s name took the wave to the next level. Her rib cage squeezed a protest, while her vision fought to adjust. Trying to stay calm was an impossible endeavor, and Celia gave in to the panic. She whipped her head back and forth in a frantic search. On the periphery of her mind, she noted her surroundings. She was tucked firmly into bed. The room was dark. And quiet, too, except for a light, mechanical hum. And it was all a concern. But it was also secondary to the fact that Xavier was nowhere to be seen.

      “Where is he?” The words came out in a raspy whisper, and they were met with silence. “Where am I?”

      She tried to sit up, and met with resistance. Her fear doubled. She tried harder, and a new noise overrode the relative silence—the beep of some kind of alarm. And it was followed by the rapid thump of feet hitting the floor.

       No.

      She had to get away. She had to find Xavier and keep him away from the man who threatened the life they’d built together.

      Celia drew in another sharp, burning breath. She could see his face. See the craggy outlines of his cheeks and feel the heat of his breath.

      Then there was a zap, and the relative darkness became a soft, artificial glow.

       Nowhere to hide.

      “God, God, God.” It was a prayer and a plea and a curse.

      Ignoring the indistinct voices that suddenly filled the air, she fought against the hands that were on her now, holding her in place. Her flails got herself free. Partly. Something else gripped the back of her hand and made it sting.

       The IV.

      A rush of recall swept through her. The ambulance. The accident.

      “Remo,” she whispered as a pair of blue, blue eyes filled her memory.

      The thought of them—of him, dark-haired, rough-spoken, and protective—brought the panic down to a reasonable level. Her heart rate eased, and the decrease of blood roaring through her let the sound of a patient female voice reach her ears.

      “It’s all right,” the voice was saying. “Just breathe in and out.”

      Celia complied. It would be easier to communicate and locate her son if she was calm.

      Slow