And his sister? His… child?
Bile churned in his gut until his vision dimmed. He pushed down the abyss of memories always there waiting, threatening to swallow him. Turning back toward the sink, he became the surgeon again. No longer Aiden, husband, father, brother… son of a perverted criminal. For now, he would save lives.
But if anyone threatened his family, he wouldn’t think twice about once again becoming a killer.
***
She would kill for this baby.
Amelia cradled Joshua in her arms as she had through the night, rocking her nephew in the school library that had been turned into a pediatric ward. She’d never imagined such powerful protective instincts could fire through her. But her love, her bond with her nephew couldn’t be denied.
Although he slept peacefully, she wasn’t ready to let go of him yet. Pressing a kiss to his smooth forehead, she breathed in the scent of his freshly washed skin and hair. Clean clothing was in short supply, so he wore only a diaper and a T-shirt that was a little too large. Bright letters spelled out Bahamas, with a toucan and palm tree. Apparently even the good guys were looting.
Sighing, she smoothed the cotton, tugged the hem, and reassured herself in a dozen ways that he was okay. Scrapes marked his tiny limbs, but miraculously, no cuts, no stitches were needed. Only the IV taped to his arm hinted at the ordeal he’d endured, trapped under an entire hotel.
Her body ached more than she could have believed possible, but other than bruises, scrapes, and a cut on her hand, she’d come through blessedly whole as well. The medics had pumped her full of antibiotics and a tetanus booster, then freed her to go with Joshua. She hadn’t left his side since.
Two nurses—or some kind of medical techs—circulated around the room, checking on their dozen little charges, making notes on their painfully thin charts. Most of them were orphans. The rest had parents or relatives in critical condition elsewhere.
And Joshua’s parents? Her brother and his wife? Amelia’s head fell back as she tipped her face toward the open window. The first morning rays splashed a tequila sunrise across the parched dusty world outside.
The night had passed quickly as her nephew had been shuffled from the tent clinic to an elementary school that had been converted into a hospital. The library had tables stacked in a corner, the open floor space filled with tiny cots, basinets, even pallets, anything that could hold an injured child until better accommodations could be airlifted in. Blankets were hung up here and there for impromptu privacy. A battery-operated radio hummed softly in a corner.
The building ran off generators now. There was no air conditioner, but fans hummed lowly in the windows, the sounds and the morning world coming to life, so normal and yet strangely empty without the sound of Hugh Franco’s calm reassurance.
How could she have grown that accustomed to, so dependent on, his voice in such a short time?
A hand on her shoulder jarred her from her thoughts.
“Ms. Bailey?” A military nurse passed her a bottle of water. “You need to remember to take care of yourself. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“Thank you, but really, I’m only sitting.” She opened the bottle and took an obligatory sip so Nurse—she read the tag stitched onto the uniform—Nurse Gable wouldn’t worry. “I just don’t want to let him go.”
Nurse Gable knelt beside her, warmed her stethoscope against her palm, then slid it under Joshua’s shirt. A second later, she nodded. “That’s understandable, after what you’ve experienced. But we have extra nurses coming on shift, thanks to more relief efforts coming in, so whenever you’re ready, you should go to the cafeteria and get a boxed meal. Even if you bring it back here, the walk will do you good.”
“I will, soon, I promise.”
And the woman was undoubtedly right. The shower earlier had spiked her energy considerably. She plucked at the borrowed hospital scrubs she’d put on once she’d finished the lukewarm rinse-off in water pumped from a newly dug well—thank goodness for the military engineers. Her spray had been trickling and brief, but orgasmic. She’d been warned not to drink even a taste of what spewed from the faucet. The desperate urge to be clean had overridden any concerns about microbes possibly swimming through the chilly drizzle.
Yet nothing could wash away the scent of death, the fear of more bad news lurking under the rubble. Somehow she’d been calmer underground with Hugh than she was now. How could one person be so full of gratitude and grief at the same time?
If only she had some word about her brother and Lisabeth from one of those people with a two-way radio. Their names weren’t on any of the casualty or wounded lists, but the number of dead was already so horrific… Amelia cuddled their son closer as she rocked next to the playpen being used as his bed. She had to believe they were okay. Just detained somewhere. She’d hoped the fact that Aiden and Lisabeth were medical professionals would bring them to the front, make them more identifiable… if they were even alive.
But she’d been told again and again that communication was spotty. It could take days, even longer, for different rescue sites to communicate back and forth with ease.
So much had been accomplished since the earthquake over three days ago, with so much still left to do.
How could she have been down there for two whole days without realizing that much time had passed? The doctor had told her she must have been unconscious at first, a diagnosis the monster-sized lump on the back of her head validated.
Hugh hadn’t told her about the passage of time either, likely to keep her from panicking. Good call on his part. But then he’d seemed so confident throughout the entire ordeal, so in control during living hell, she shouldn’t be surprised at how he’d known just what to do. And now he was off helping someone else who needed him, offering those same words, that same comfort. She needed to realize she was just a routine mission for him.
Yet still…
Even when he wasn’t around to fill the space with his broad shoulders and strong reassurance, he occupied her thoughts… and even her dreams.
Her head lolled to the side as she drifted into another micronap, exhaustion tearing at her. Amelia indulged herself in the memory of his reassuring bass, the lingering feel of his hand. She invited thoughts of him to fill her, to anchor her through the nightmares.
“Amelia,” his voice whispered through her head, the feel of his hand on hers becoming all the more real until…