Deep Night (19 page)

But the images had also included Chris's face, his blue-gray eyes squinting with mischievous laughter, his lips full and delicious, his hands rough with calluses but gentle as they stroked her skin.

That curious molten heat spread deep in her belly. The only other time she had felt that was two days ago…in his bed. The reminder of that brought a flush to her cheeks that was so warm, she felt like she had a fever. How had she let that happen? The last thing she wanted from Chris or any man was sex. All her references to the carnal act were dirty and humiliating.

Except one. And she was horrified that she had enjoyed it. Sex with Chris had been much different from the experiences with her father. Chris's touch ignited intense, wonderful feelings. She didn't know how to deal with knowing the same physical act that had brought her so much shame had recently brought her great pleasure.

Of course her mother hadn't believed Sara at first. But it must have planted a seed of doubt, because the next day her mother sat Sara down and questioned her. Her mother had accused Sara of making it up. Sara couldn't remember all the dates, but she gave all the details she could remember. Still doubtful, her mother asked what Sara had done to cause her father's attentions. Sara denied doing anything and broke down in tears. Her mother listened quietly and must have believed at least a little of her daughter's story because she had gone pale, then run from the room. Sounds of her vomiting startled Sara. Once her mother recovered, she returned and pulled Sara into a protective hug.

Later that night, Sara had been in her room when she heard her father come home.

Her mother's accusation had cut Sara to her core…and the knife was still embedded so deep that she didn't know if she would ever be able to have normal sexual relations with any man. She dared not dress provocatively or look too sexy for fear it would attract unwelcome attention. She kept her hair short and her clothes loose. She honestly had no idea what turned men on, but she long ago determined she would never intentionally cause men to be attracted to her.

This thing with Chris was the exception to the rule. He was the only boy she had ever dreamed of marrying…although when she was a kid, she had no idea what that entailed. Now that she was grown, the fascination was still there. Now that he was a man, with the masculine appendage that had caused her nightmares since she was ten, she didn't know if she really wanted their relationship to go beyond friendship. Besides, it seemed wrong to enjoy something that was so dirty and demeaning.

Which meant their lovemaking had to be a one-time thing. She really didn't know how to deal with anything more.

Carefully, she lifted his arm that was lying over her waist and slid out from under it. She eased it down on the couch and froze when he shifted. But he just buried his head deeper into the throw pillow without waking up. Sara wrapped the robe tighter around her.
Oh God,
she wasn't wearing any panties under it.

The vague memory of him standing behind her in the shower and washing her naked body came back to her. Her face burned even hotter. She knew she had been in bad shape and, considering that she was covered in blood, bone chips and brains, she needed a very thorough cleansing. Chris had obviously done what was necessary, acting as a friend. His hands had touched her everywhere, but somehow it hadn't been inappropriate. He had treated her with great care and respect, not at all in a sexual way.

But the thought of him viewing every inch of her naked body rattled her. Had he felt desire? Had he wanted to make love to her again? Or had their one-time coupling been enough of a win for him not to take advantage of her when she was at her most vulnerable? A third possibility came to mind, and she didn't know whether to be upset or relieved. What if he had found her totally unappealing? Had she been that bad?

She locked herself in the bathroom and filled the tub with very warm water, doused liberally with bubble bath. She took a few Advil for her headache, hung the robe on the hook behind the door, took off her nightgown and stepped into the tub. She slid down until only her head was out of the water. Slowly she relaxed and let the bubbles and scented oil work their magic, calming her scattered thoughts and soothing her wounded spirit. Tonight she had to go to work and face the music. She would probably get suspended, she hoped only temporarily…which would throw all of her plans into turmoil. She had budgeted every penny of her salary and couldn't afford to be unemployed.

At least she had a roommate. That was both good news and bad news. No matter what came of all this, she liked having Chris here with her. She thought she'd be cool with him bringing other girls home, but she had to admit now that it would crush her. The true issue was that with all her heart, she wanted Chris…but she had no idea what to do with him.

He woke to the smell of bacon and coffee. After spooning with Sara on a couch that was several inches too short for his six-foot-two-inch frame, he had been hoping to wake up to something quite different.

It took him a minute to straighten and stretch out all the cricks in his neck and back.

“Oh good. Just in time,” Sara called to him cheerfully. She was fully dressed and appeared to have recovered from yesterday's trauma. It was further confirmation that she was somehow able to file away tragic events in some sort of secret compartment in her mind. Chris had taken only one semester of psychology, but he knew enough to worry about what would happen when it all caught up with her.

“Smells great. Need any help?”

“You can set the table.”

“Give me a minute.” He went to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face and finger-combed his hair. They were on shift tonight, so he'd have to shave later. But his growling stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten dinner last night. He had meant to make some soup for himself, but he'd been too concerned about Sara.

“Are you worried about tonight?” he asked her.

“Very.”

He wished he could offer her some words of encouragement, but he was worried for her, too. She had clearly crossed the line, but her actions had been for all the right reasons. He only hoped the chief would see it that way.

Sure enough, the minute they arrived at headquarters that night, there was a message for Sara to go see the chief.

“Keep your chin up,” Chris told her. “You know that the outcome was worthy.”

“I know.” She managed a shaky smile and marched down the hallway to the chief's office as if she were going to the guillotine.

Chris decided to use the time to shave and change into his uniform, then loaded their ambulance and checked out the narcotics for their shift. When he finished and returned to the offices, she was still in the meeting. Now he was truly worried. What would they do to her? Surely, they wouldn't fire her. She was one of their best medics, and they knew she was going to be applying for a residency soon. Being terminated would put a blemish on her record that might hurt her chances of a choice placement.

She had tried not to show it, but she fretted about it all day. While he studied for his last exam, she had taken Riley for a walk to the park. An hour later, he had closed his notes and shut down his laptop. Ever since they'd left, he'd been distracted and not really accomplishing anything because he was wishing he'd gone along. He'd much rather be outside in the sunshine than inside studying. Maybe he could catch up with them. He put on his running shorts and sneakers and limped down to the park.

When he'd got there, he found Sara and Riley involved in a spirited game of catch. She was sitting on a bench and lobbing tennis balls into the air. The dog was amazing—he could catch three balls in his mouth at one time before returning them with a proud smile on his loose lips. She took them from him and gave him an affectionate hug. There was no denying the bond that had already formed between the two of them.

Chris walked over to them, and Riley greeted him as if he hadn't seen him in years instead of minutes. He plopped down on the bench beside her and gave the dog's floppy ears a thorough scratching.

“Did you finish studying?” she asked. She wore a pair of large sunglasses that covered the majority of damage to her face.

“My brain is completely full. I can't stuff another formula or generic name in there. I needed some vitamin D.”

She lifted her face to the sun and soaked it in. “I'm going to have to stop by the store and get some makeup to try to cover the bruises before our shift.”

“Good luck with that,” he teased.

She punched him in the arm.

He didn't make the same mistake as before and call her by her hated nickname. Instead, he covered his arm and scooted out of her reach.

“Do you think we should send Riley back to the VA?” he asked, broaching a subject he hadn't really wanted to consider.

Her horrified look was answer enough. “Do we have to?”

The dog stopped playing and sat beside her, placing his big head on her lap. She automatically stroked his shiny head. Slowly, her face relaxed.

Chris was struck by the amazing ability the dog had of calming her, just as he had been trained. Surely, an argument could be made that he was doing his job, helping her through a traumatic event. He made a snap decision.

“I think we can hold off a little longer. Maybe they'll forget about him. You know how the government is.”

Chris was brought back to the present by the sound of the chief's door opening. For a second, Sara was silhouetted against the office lights before she walked down the hall toward him. He stood, anxious to hear the verdict. Nothing on her face gave him a clue whether it was good news or bad news.

She stopped directly in front of him, but said nothing.

“So…?” he asked. “How'd it go?”

Instead of answering, she punched him on his right arm.

He grabbed his arm. “Ouch! What was that for?”

A broad smile stretched across her face. “Congratulations, probie. You're now a full-fledged paramedic.”

“You mean…?”

“The chief didn't want to talk to me about yesterday.” She shrugged and added acerbically, “Although he did give me an employee handbook and recommended that I reacquaint myself with it.” She held up the book for him to see. Then, from behind her back, she held out a white shirt with the coveted round white patch, complete with a six-bar cross and a red snake wrapped around a white staff in the middle. “Put it on. I'll tell you all about it on the road.”

With a ridiculous amount of pride, he unbuttoned his paramedic shirt and replaced it with the new one. It meant he had passed probation. It was the goal he had worked toward for the past six months. It meant that he wouldn't have to always ride with an F.I. on shift. Not that he was ready to change his current situation. He couldn't imagine working with anyone but Sara. More important, he didn't want to. Chris tucked the shirt into his cargo pants and fastened the belt.

“How does it look?” he asked, preening like a male supermodel.

“Jeez, give it up. You're not the first person to get patched.” She pretended to be aggravated, but her smile betrayed her happiness.

“I had a good trainer,” he told her, then sobered. “Does this mean they're splitting us up?”

“Not yet. The chief said there aren't any new probies to take your place right now.”

The chief's door opened again, and he joined them. He was a stocky ex-Marine who had been with the Denver Paramedics Department for over twenty years, working his way up the ranks until he earned the top job. He reached out and shook Chris's hand. “I thought I'd let your partner give you the good news.”

“Thank you, sir. It's an honor.”

“You're doing good work out there. My only concern was whether you could handle the less traumatic calls. I knew you'd do great with the blood and guts, but you had a lot to learn about the more subtle cases.”

Chris nodded. “Not a lot of little old ladies with broken hips out in the field.”

The chief smiled, then socked him in the arm on his new patch. “Welcome aboard, Wilson. Now, get to work. There're people bleeding out there.”

“Yes sir.”

The older man waved goodbye and left the building. He wasn't usually around for the Deep Night shift and now he was heading home.

Sara and Chris left the building and went to the garage to pick up their bus. Sara ducked into the locker room and changed into her uniform while Chris waited at the ambulance.

Every medic that passed him punched him in the arm in the traditional congratulatory gesture until by the time they left the garage, his right arm was bruised and throbbing. But he knew it was a rite of passage, and he would definitely carry on the tradition with the next probie who graduated.

Once they were on the road, Sara started filling him in on the meeting. “So, it was all about an evaluation of your performance. He asked me what seemed like a hundred questions about how you responded in various situations.”

“What did he say about yesterday?”

“He said he was required to issue me an official warning, but if nothing like this happens again in the next six months, it won't go in my file.”

“Cool. I'm sure you can manage not to get anyone shot for at least that long.”

“If I hadn't already punched you twice tonight, I'd give you another one.”

“How long does all the celebration punching last? I'm pretty tough, but my arm is sore.”

“Oh, just a week or two,” she answered with a completely unsympathetic chuckle. “Everybody has to have a chance to congratulate you.”

He groaned at the thought.

The dispatcher's voice broke into their conversation.
“Woman down at 407 Lipan Street. She thinks she broke her hip. Reported through Life Alert. No foul play suspected. Ambulance 25, please respond, Code 10.”

Chris was driving even though it was Sara's turn. Her swollen eye might affect her night vision, so she had taken the passenger seat. She picked up the radio and responded, turned on the lights and siren, and Chris got them headed in the right direction.

They arrived in less than five minutes and parked on the street in front of a small, old bungalow. Since they knew it would probably be needed, they unloaded the stretcher and half pushed, half lifted it up the six steps to the front porch. Chris knocked on the door, but knowing the woman's incapacitation, he didn't wait to hear a response. He tried the doorknob.

“It's locked.”

“I'll check the side door,” Sara offered, and hurried down the steps and around to the door that likely led to the kitchen or laundry room. “It's locked, too,” she called from the side of the house.

Just then, a fire truck pulled up and several firefighters jumped out.

“Bring the lock picks!” Chris shouted to them, and one of the men turned back and retrieved them from the cab of the truck.

It took the captain only a couple of minutes to pick the lock, but it seemed like forever. When they finally were able to open the door, Sara had come back and was with them as they swung the door wider. Or tried to. There was only about a three-foot gap before the door hit something.

The lights were on, and as they stepped inside, they quickly assessed the situation.

“Shit. It's a hoarder,” Sara muttered.

Chris had been on a few calls in hoarder houses, but this one was the worst he'd ever seen. Newspapers, magazines and cardboard boxes were piled in stacks that were five and six feet tall. The entire room was full, with only a narrow path snaking its way through the towers. And the stench of rotten food and feces was overpowering. His eyes started watering, and his nose began running as the smell of ammonia assaulted his senses.

“Hello. Paramedics and fire department. Where are you?” he shouted loudly.

“In here,” a weak voice sounded from somewhere to the left.

Chris and Sara exchanged worried looks. The firefighters looked around with disgust. They knew it was going to be their job to help clear a path for the stretcher.

Chris made his way through the maze and found the woman lying on the floor of her bathroom. She was leaning on one hip, propped up by the toilet, and she was completed naked except for the Life Alert lanyard around her neck. Chris grabbed a bath towel off the rack and spread it over her before kneeling down next to her. After pulling on gloves, he checked her pulse. “My name is Chris. What's yours?”

“Ellen,” she answered, obviously embarrassed by being in such a humiliating situation. It appeared she had been “bathing” at the sink because her tub was too full of garbage for her to use for its intended purpose. Some water had gotten on the tile floor, and she had slipped and fallen.

“Well, Ellen, I believe you did manage to injure your hip,” he told her, trying to keep it professional to minimize her discomfort. He wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm, pumped it up and checked the reading. “We're going to have to get you to the hospital. Do you have someone we can call to meet you there?”

“My daughter lives in Fort Collins,” the woman answered through gritted teeth.

Chris took out his cellphone. “Give me her number, and I'll call her while Sara gives you something for the pain.”

The woman gave him a phone number, and he stepped out in the hall while Sara took his place, started an IV and injected a syringe of pain medication into it. There was room for only one of them at a time in the crowded bathroom.

“Do you have a robe or something I can put on you for the transport?” Sara asked.

“There's one in my bedroom…second door on the left down the hall.”

Sara passed him in the hallway just as the daughter answered. Chris told her the news about her mother, and the younger woman promised she would leave immediately. It was more than an hour's drive, so the woman would be comfortably settled in the hospital long before then, even with the delay of clearing a wide enough path to get her out of the house.

Sara returned with a long pink robe. “Found a cat,” she whispered to Chris. “He's probably been dead for months.”

He rolled his eyes. “I'm going to try to find a shorter way out of here.”

Sara nodded and went back into the bathroom, where she replaced the towel with the robe, draping it over the woman's naked body. “My partner got in touch with your daughter, and she's going to meet us at the hospital,” she told the elderly woman, who was leaning back against the toilet with her eyes closed.

“I'm sorry for the mess,” she apologized. “I wasn't expecting company. I didn't have time to straighten up.”

Sara resisted the urge to glance back at Chris. They both knew this place hadn't been
straightened up
in years. “How long have you lived here?” Sara asked.