The eerie wail of the siren filled the morning air, and as the flashing blue light sped by, people stopped to watch and wonder, relieved that the crisis had nothing to do with them or theirs. Ben settled back to keep vigil over the girl in the crimson suit, willing her to hold on.
At the hospital, the distinctive smell hit him in the solar plexus. After all the hours and endless weeks he had spent in such places, he should be used to it, or maybe that was why the very atmosphere made him shake. But that was all in the distant past, and this wasn’t about him. This was about saving the life of the first girl to attract his interest since…since forever.
He clung to her hand as they raced the trolley along a gleaming corridor. Figures in white gathered around, speaking insistently, yelling out instructions.
“Name! What’s her name?”
At first it didn’t register that the blond nurse was talking to him and he looked at her vacantly.
“Your girlfriend…”
She took his sleeve, twisting him to face her.
“What is her name? I need it for the records, you see.”
He shook his head helplessly. “I—I don’t know her name. I just…”
The nurse smiled, her blue eyes shining warmly. “I heard what you did for her, and it wasn’t just anything. Dennis told me.”
He eyed her vaguely, and she pointed toward the paramedic with the kind eyes.
“Dennis, over there, the one who was first on the scene. He said that you saved her life.”
Ben shrugged.
“Anyone would have,” he started to say.
The nurse grimaced.
“Don’t you be too sure. Anyway, I must find out her name. Do you know where she lived—or worked, maybe?”
He suddenly remembered, “There’s this.” He removed a tiny purse from his pocket. “I picked it up off the road after…when the paramedics were putting her onto the stretcher.”
The nurse smiled and took it from him, already prying it open.
“Thanks,” she said. “Now, why don’t you go and get a coffee. There’s a machine just down the corridor.”
Ben hesitated and she ushered him off.
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you informed.”
Strong black coffee hit the bottom of his stomach with a jolt, scalding his throat on the way down. He raced back along the corridor, needlessly spilling coffee in his wake, burning his fingers. Ward B, the nurse had said. His eyes scoured the signs above his head. That was it over there.
The door was closed, but he saw movement behind the glass panel. He peered through a gap. A white-coated doctor blocked his view, and impatiently he moved along. And then all of a sudden, there she was. His heart flipped over. She lay as still as death itself, her face as white as alabaster and her softly closed eyelids a pale translucent blue, but the heart monitor danced and bleeped to prove that she really was alive. He sank onto a chair to wait, sipping the scalding coffee without noticing it burning his lips.
For half an hour he sat motionless, listening to the bleeping machine, hope rising with every minute that passed. When a staccato sound filtered into his head, he glanced up, alarm bells already ringing
A man was approaching, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early thirties, with a sharply chiseled, handsome face and swarthy suntanned skin. He wore an obviously expensive well-cut navy suit, pale blue shirt, dark blue, unobtrusive silk tie. His shiny black leather shoes clipped along the corridor with purposeful strides.
“I am looking for Lucy McTavish,” he announced in a voice used to commanding attention. “I believe she was admitted this morning after an accident.”
Ben felt his whole world abruptly tilt out of focus. Lucy—the name that haunted his dreams. A familiar surge of guilt stabbed before common sense kicked in, bringing everything back on track again. There must be hundreds of girls named Lucy living in the city. He spoke her name soundlessly, rolling it comfortably around his mouth as he had done so many times before. He liked the fact that this girl was called Lucy, too.
The man stopped beside him, waiting impatiently. His jaw was set, his expression blank and he kept glancing at his cell phone as if expecting it to ring at any moment. Ben stared, mesmerized. If this man really was with the girl in the crimson suit, then how could he remain so impassive? Why wasn’t he running down the corridor, searching for her…screaming out her name?
“Mr. Lyall?” cried the blond nurse, who hurried toward him. “This way, sir. She’s in this ward just here.”
As the man turned to follow her neat, petite figure, Ben saw his dark eyes flicker over her well-proportioned backside. He felt like punching him in his arrogant face. How could he be with the girl from the park? There must be some mistake.
The door into the ward swished shut behind them, and Ben clutched the sides of his chair, fighting off a rush of jealous anger. What was he doing here, anyway, sitting in a hospital corridor in his stupid jogging shorts, watching over a girl who didn’t even know his name—a girl who obviously went for successful businessmen with smart suits and shallow eyes. He stood to leave. It was over. He had done his part, and now it was time to go.
But the glass-paneled wall drew him, making him hesitate. Before he walked out of her life, he needed one more glance at her lovely face just to reassure himself that she really was alive.
The man was half turned from the window, standing quite still, staring at the girl’s motionless figure as a doctor with a worried frown spoke to him in a low, urgent tone. The doctor lifted his stethoscope, making a point, but the man’s expression remained impenetrable and he pivoted to say something to the nurse. She smiled nervously, touching her hair, eyes flickering toward the dials beside the bed.
Ben could see the young woman’s face now…Lucy’s face. He murmured her name, recalling the laughter in her wide-spaced gray eyes, wondering what the hospital staff had done with her silly red shoes. A vivid image of them lying discarded on the cold gray pavement flashed into his mind’s eye, and all of a sudden his stupid jogging shorts didn’t really matter anymore. He would wait just a little while longer, long enough to be sure that she really was going to be okay.
The man walked to the other side of the bed and sat down heavily on a shiny black chair, his face expressionless at the sight of the slight form beneath the cream blanket. The nurse spoke to him, nodding, her eyes bright as she gestured toward the door with her clipboard. Ben stepped back from the window. Ahead of him, the endless, antiseptic corridor stretched toward an exit sign and sweet fresh air. He headed toward it, his heart in his boots.
“I believe I owe you.”
The man’s voice rang out behind him along the quiet of the corridor, deep and faintly mocking. Ben clenched his hands and slowed his steps, but he didn’t look back until the voice came again.
“They tell me you saved Lucy’s life.”
Ben took a breath, composing his face, self-consciously aware of his bare suntanned legs and tousled hair.
“I just happened to be there,” he said, meeting the hooded eyes and recognizing the ferocity that lurked beneath their outward calm.
“Well…thanks.”
The man, Lucy’s man, held out a broad tanned hand with perfectly manicured nails, and for one brief moment Ben gripped it, smiling awkwardly.
“Let’s just pray that she pulls through,” he whispered.
The man’s thin lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. “I don’t do praying,” he said. “Anyway, don’t feel you have to hang around. I’ll manage things from here.”