Hearts Afire. Marta Perry

      She glanced out the window. They were making the turn into the hospital driveway. This wasn’t over. Once they were inside, she’d find out how the child had been injured, one way or another.

      Jeff cut the siren and pulled to a stop. By the time she’d opened the back doors, he was there to help her slide the stretcher smoothly out.

      They rolled boy and stretcher quickly through the automatic doors and into the hands of the waiting E.R. team.

      Terry flashed a grin at Harriet Conway. With her brown hair pulled back and her oversized glasses, Harriet might look severe, but Terry knew and respected her. The hospital had been afloat with rumors about the new head of emergency medicine, but no one seemed to know yet who it was. All they knew was that the new appointment probably meant change, and nobody liked change.

      She reported quickly, in the shorthand that developed between people who liked and trusted each other. Harriet nodded, clipping orders as they wheeled the boy toward a treatment room. This was usually the paramedic’s cue to stay behind, unless the E.R. was shorthanded, but Terry was reluctant.

      She bent over the child. “This is Dr. Conway, Juan. She’s going to take good care of you.”

      She looked around for Manuela, and found the girl near the door, her arms around her mother. Two men stood awkwardly to the side, clearly uncomfortable with the woman’s tears. One, the father, turned a hat in work-worn hands, the knees of his work pants caked with mud from kneeling in the tomato field.

      The other man was the crew chief, Mel Jordan. He’d driven Mr. and Mrs. Ortiz. He’d know if Juan had been working in the field when he was injured, but he wouldn’t want to admit it.

      Manuela came back to the stretcher in a rush, repeating Terry’s words to her little brother. Taking in the situation, Harriet jerked her head toward the exam room.

      “Looks like you’d both better come in.”

      Good. Terry pushed the stretcher through the swinging door. Because she didn’t intend to leave until she knew what had happened to the child.

      The next few minutes had to be as difficult for the sister as they were for the patient, but Manuela hung in there like a trouper, singing to Juan and teasing a smile out of him.

      Finally the wound was cleaned, the stitches in, and Harriet straightened with a smile. “Okay, good job, young man. You’re going to be fine, but you be more careful next time.”

      Manuela translated, and Juan managed another smile.

      Harriet headed for the door. “I’ll send the parents in now. Thanks, Terry.”

      This was probably her only chance to find out what had really happened at the camp. She leaned across the bed to clasp Manuela’s hand.

      “How was your brother hurt? What happened to him?”

      Manuela’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand.”

      She bit back frustration. “I think you do. I want to know how your little brother cut his head. Was he working in the field?”

      “What are you trying to pull?”

      Terry swung around. The crew chief stood in the door, Dr. Conway and the anxious parents behind him.

      “No kid works in the field. It’s against the law. You think I don’t know that?” Inimical eyes in a puffy, flushed face glared at her. Jordan had the look of a man who drank too much, ate unwisely and would clog his arteries by fifty if he had his way.

      Dr. Conway pushed past him, letting the parents sidle into the room with her. “What’s up, Terry? Is there some question about how the boy was hurt?”

      “I’d like to be sure.” Ignoring the crew chief, she focused on Manuela, who was talking to her parents. “Manuela, what was your little brother doing when he was hurt?”

      Manuela’s father said something short and staccato in Spanish, his dark eyes opaque, giving away nothing. How much of this had he understood? Why hadn’t she taken Spanish in high school, instead of the German for which she’d never found a use?

      There was a flash of rebellion in Manuela’s face. Then she looked down, eyes masked by long, dark lashes.

      “He was playing. He fell and hit his head on a rock. That’s all.”

      She was lying, Terry was sure of it. “When we were in the ambulance, you said—”

      “The girl answered you.” The crew chief shoved his bulky figure between Terry and the girl. “Let’s get going.” He added something in Spanish, and the father bent to pick up the boy.

      “Wait a minute. You can’t leave yet.” They were going to walk out, and once that happened, she’d have no chance to get to the truth, no chance to fix things for that hurt child.

      “We’re going, and you can’t keep the kid here.”

      The mother, frightened, burst into speech. Her husband and Manuela tried to soothe her. The boy began to cry.

      Terry glanced to Dr. Conway in a silent plea for backup. But Harriet was looking past her, toward the open door of the exam room.

      “What’s the problem here?” An incisive voice cut through the babble of voices. “This is a hospital, people.”

      “The new E.R. chief,” Harriet murmured to Terry, the faintest flicker of an eyelid conveying a warning.

      Terry didn’t need the warning. She knew who was there even before her mind had processed the information, probably because that voice had already seared her soul. Slowly she turned.

      She hadn’t imagined it. Dr. Jacob Landsdowne stood glaring at her. Six feet of frost with icicle eyes, some wit at Philadelphia General had once called him. It still fit.

      He gave no sign that he recognized her, though he must. She hadn’t changed in two years, except to gain about ten years of experience. Those icy blue eyes touched her and dismissed her as he focused on Harriet.

      Harriet took her time consulting the chart in her hand before answering him. Terry knew her friend well enough to know that was deliberate—Harriet letting him know this was her turf.

      Well, good. Harriet would need every ounce of confidence she possessed to hold her own against Jake Landsdowne.

      Harriet gave him a quick précis of Juan’s condition and treatment, giving Terry the chance to take a breath.

      Steady. Don’t panic. You haven’t done anything wrong.

      “The paramedic questions how the child was injured,” Harriet concluded. “I was about to pursue that when you came in.” She nodded toward Terry. “Terry Flanagan, Suffolk Fire Department.”

      She couldn’t have extended her hand if her life depended on it. It didn’t matter, since the great Dr. Landsdowne wouldn’t shake hands with a mere paramedic. He gave a curt nod and turned to the group clustered around the child.

      “The kiddo’s folks don’t speak English, Doc.” The crew chief was all smiles now, apparently smart enough to realize his bluster wouldn’t work with Landsdowne. “Manuela here was saying that the little one fell and cut his head. Shame, but just an accident.”

      She wouldn’t believe the man any farther than she could throw him, but Landsdowne’s face registered only polite attention. He looked at Manuela. “Is that correct?”

      Manuela’s gaze slid away from his. “Yes, sir.”

      “Then I think we’re done here. Dr. Conway, I’ll leave you to sign the patient out.” He turned and was gone before Terry found wits to speak.

      Quickly, before she could lose the courage, she followed him to the hall. “Dr. Landsdowne—”

      He stopped, frowning at her as if she were some lower species of life that had unaccountably found its way into his