by Mina Carter
"Very good at what you do,” he breathed, his pupils dilated and his breathing ragged. Obviously the kiss had affected him as much as it had her. “So who's this Ray Borne? Your boyfriend, lover or pimp?"
Rae gasped as the implication of his words hit her like a sledgehammer. He was serious, he thought she was a prostitute!
"None of those things.” She gritted her teeth and pushed at the broad expanse of his chest. “Get away from me, you bloody oaf!"
"So who is he? I'd like to have a word with him.” He backed off, amusement in his eyes as he looked her up and down. “Perhaps hire your ‘services.’”
"The only thing you'll be getting from me is a knee where it hurts.” She marched past him and yanked the door open so hard the bell on the back rang madly, almost dancing out of its curled bracket. “Now, leave. Or I'll be calling the police."
He grinned, a smile of amusement crossing his face. Rae just wanted to slap it off. Repeatedly. She took a deep breath, reining in temptation. She didn't need a charge of assault against her. And much as she'd like to, she knew there was no way she could charge him for assault on that kiss. Not when she'd enjoyed it so much herself. She was one sick puppy, probably needed therapy. Lots of it.
"I thought you needed a name to call them? Tell me where Ray is and I'll give you my name.” He adjusted the fit of the leather gloves on his hands and speared her with a direct look.
"You're looking at ‘him.’ Raelyn Borne. I'd offer my hand, but you're just leaving Mr...?” She trailed off, her head tilted in curiosity as she waited for him to supply his name.
"Fyre. Logan Fyre."
She felt the blood drain out of her face. This was Fyre? Of Jensen and Fyre? It had to be. There was no way it couldn't be with her luck.
"I'd like you to leave, Mr. Fyre. Now.” She lifted her chin to look straight into his eyes. “And please don't come back. I have nothing to say to you or anyone from your company. Any further contact will result in a charge of harassment."
His lips, surprisingly sensual in the very masculine face, quirked as he started for the door. He paused just next to her, looking down into her face, his eyes flicking over her features.
"You could try, but be careful who and what you threaten ... Because if you try to play games with me, Raelyn, you're going to need a shit-hot lawyer or you'll get burnt."
"Haha. Fyre, burnt. Cute.” She picked up the pun and made fun of it. That was her problem—when backed into a corner she got sassy. “Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. I don't do first aid."
Then he was gone, Rae closed the door on his broad shouldered form as quickly as she could, throwing the lock as well for good measure. She leaned back against it with a shudder, her knees weak.
Thankfully, the absent Mr. St. James was her last appointment of the day, so she could fall apart in peace now. Turning, she watched through the frosted glass as the form of a car left the tiny car park in front of the gatehouse. Even the indistinct form looked expensive and threatening.
Letters asking her to sell and meetings with her bank manager over the state of her finances were one thing. She could handle those. She had business plans and forecasts. Charles Bennett, her bank manager, wasn't daft; he could see she had solid projections and a sound plan. She just had to get over this sticky patch and she'd be fine, whatever the Jensen and Fyre people alluded to.
But seeing these people, one of these people, in person made it all the more personal. More real almost, as if her money worries weren't real and immediate to begin with. Rae sighed and pushed away from the door. As if she needed more pressure on top of her financial troubles, it now seemed Jensen and Fyre were into harassment.
Her thought was cut off by the screech of brakes outside and a horrendous bang. Without thinking, she turned on her heel and wrenched the door open. Living near a main road she recognised the sounds of a car accident when she heard one.
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Chapter 2
Concern lent wings to Rae's heels as she sprinted over the two space ‘car park’ and round the corner onto the path. Skidding to a halt, she drew in a quick breath. It was worse than she'd feared. The black car—Logan's car—protruded from the hedge, the side mangled and scraped. A huge dent in the driver's door made her wince. Nearby a smaller car rolled to a halt, its front end bent and twisted.
"Oh hell.” Her dark eyes flicked over the carnage. She'd never been squeamish, but she hoped no one had been hurt. Oh God, there were kids in the other car—the tops of the car seats were just visible in the back window. She reached its side in seconds and peered through the window, eyes flicking over the occupants to check for injuries. To her relief they all seemed to be fine. Even the kids, if the furious squeal from the baby seat in the back was any indication. Rae had been around enough of her cousin's kids to recognise a squeal of fury.
She motioned to the driver to roll the window down, repeating her motion when he gave her a dazed look.
"Turn the engine off and put the handbrake on,” she ordered, standing up straighter to assess where the car sat on the road. It was near enough to the curb. It could be parked up here until the emergency services arrived.
"Is everything alright? Can I do anything to help?” A voice behind Rae got her attention. Another driver had stopped, pulling up a safe distance away and putting his vehicle's hazard lights on to alert other drivers of the accident. He looked at Rae, waiting for orders. It was the white therapy tunic, her uniform. Had to be. It gave her a medical appearance, and in a situation like this people obeyed medical staff by default. She seized the opportunity.
"You can.” She adopted a brisk, no nonsense attitude. “Call the emergency services. Tell them there's been an accident outside the Gatehouse on Ashton Road heading towards Newbolton near...” She rattled off her address and left him by the first car, phone in hand, as she headed over to the second car.
Logan Fyre's car.
She reached it in seconds, barely aware of sprinting over the short distance. The engine had cut out, sort of. A weird mechanical clicking sound emanated from under the hood—a wrong, tortured sound that worried her. She peeked inside. The airbags had either deployed and deflated or not gone off at all because she couldn't see them.
"Mr. Fyre, are you alright?” She kept her voice level as she called out, picking her way over the grass. The side windows of the car were out, the shattered glass spread on the ground catching the light like diamonds. Not bulletproof glass then. With his charming personality she'd have thought people would be gunning for him on a regular basis. Her calls gained no answer from the car and when Rae reached the door she saw why.
"Oh shit."
Her eyes widened at the blood. Blood splattered down the front of his shirt, scarlet on white. She took a deep breath. Everything would be fine, he wasn't dead, couldn't be dead. She'd only been insulting him a minute or so ago...
Turned away from her, Logan's head rested against the back of the seat. Scarlet trails of blood stood out against his skin, paler than a few minutes ago. Her heart lurched in her chest. Sure, she didn't like the guy, but she wouldn't have wished this on him. She wouldn't wish a car accident on anyone, not even her worst enemy.
Right at this moment Logan Fyre was her worst enemy.
"Mr. Fyre? Logan?” She kept her voice light, confident. She remembered reading somewhere that the unconscious could still hear. She hoped so.
"Everything's going to be fine. You're going to be okay,” she told him, as much to reassure herself as him. Leaning through the window she turned the key in the ignition, switching the engine off. The strange clicking noise stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief. A stray spark setting off an explosion was the last thing she needed. She shuddered, reminded that the situation could go from bad to worse in a heartbeat.
He was breathing. The soft rise and fall of his chest reassured her, so she turned her attention to the wound on his head. The purple of a nasty bruise spread its fingers across his
forehead and temple, the skin split and oozing blood in sluggish waves. She winced. That had to hurt—no wonder he'd been knocked out.
"Everything's going to be fine.” She reached in, even though his eyes were closed, to try and take his hand. Tactile contact was important wasn't it? So he knew he wasn't alone. Where the hell was that ambulance? She looked around for the guy on the phone. The phone still at his ear, he talked rapidly, his words lost over the distance. From his hand gestures he was giving details of the accident. Good, that should mean some help would be forthcoming.
A cough sounded and Logan's hand tightened around hers. Her head whipped around to see his head move, turning toward her as he blinked. His blue eyes were unfocused and dazed, as though he couldn't reconcile the view of the hedge in front of him with what he last remembered. As she watched, his eyes focused, sharpening as he looked at her.
"Don't do first aid huh? Just moral support? What happened? Are the people in the other car okay? Ahh, shit—” A hiss of pain escaped him as he tried to shift in his seat and sit up. His gaze flicked to hers, something stirring in the depths. Fear. Fear that made her heart slam in her chest.
"What is it? What's the matter?"
"I'm trapped, and I can't feel my legs.” The fear disappeared under the cool facade even as she watched. “Get someone to call an ambulance."
Rae gritted her teeth at the order, snapped in an imperious tone.
"Already done. We're not stupid in this neck of the woods, despite what you might think.” She managed to keep her tone calm. Not responding to his arrogant manner in any way, shape or form, even if the temptation to slap him rose again. She needed a medal for this.
"The people in the other car are okay ... Well, apart from possible hearing loss. Apparently the baby didn't think much of your reckless driving.” She was unable to resist the last dig. Bloody men and their super-cars, no doubt he'd been speeding.
He chuckled, leaning his head against the seat again, watching her through half-hooded eyes. “Regular angel of mercy, aren't you? Wonderful bedside manner you have, sweetheart."
Rae frowned again. “What do you mean?"
"Oh nothing, just the fact that you assumed the accident was my fault."
She snatched her hand out of his, but didn't relinquish her position against the side of the car. Sirens wailed in the distance. The ambulance would be here soon and her job would be over. She couldn't wait; he was easier to get on with unconscious.
"Wasn't it? Car like this, you sure you weren't speeding?” Her chin lifted, her eyes alight with challenge.
He laughed again, a laugh which turned into a cough. He winced, his hand coming up to hold his ribcage. Rae watched in concern, her hand on his shoulder until the spasms subsided. He must be more injured than she'd realised. Horror stories of people hitting their chests on the steering wheel in accidents came to mind. People who seemed fine as they bled to death inside.
After what seemed like an age to Rae he opened his eyes, their blue clouding again as he spoke. “They hit me in the side, Ms. Borne ... Not me ... That was speeding.” His voice trailed off at the end of the sentence, his eyes closing as his head dropped back again.
Guilt slammed into Rae as she remembered her view of the car as she'd approached. He was right. The other car had hit him. His door was all smashed in, traces of red paint scarring the side. They must have hit him at high speed to cause this amount of damage.
"Hey no! Stay awake, stay with me!” She reached in to grab his hand again but it was limp. He'd slipped back into unconsciousness. “Crap, don't you dare die on me, you awkward bastard!"
"Miss, we're going to need you to move out the way for us please. What's his name?” A firm voice broke across her worry. Rae turned, sighing with relief when she saw the paramedics. The ambulance had arrived.
She stepped back, clearing the way for them to check Logan in the car.
"His name's Logan, Logan Fyre. He was awake and talking up until a moment ago but then he...” She broke off, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. Tears threatened, obscuring her vision. What if he died? What if she'd been the last person he'd spoken to in this life and she'd been nasty to him? She couldn't cope with that, couldn't live with herself if that happened.
The paramedic, an older man with kind, faded brown eyes, smiled and reached out to squeeze her arm in reassurance as his partner moved in to check Logan.
"We'll look after him love, do you want to sit in the ambulance until we have him out?"
* * * *
Doctor Marissa Davies sighed as she left the trauma room. She rubbed the back of her neck as she headed to the nurses’ station in the middle of the Emergency department. It had been a long day, but thank the lord it was almost over. Her last patient had turned out to be a fairly simple one, which she had been grateful for. Head injuries had a habit of turning nasty in the blink of an eye. Marissa shuddered, she'd seen too many of those to want to see any more. But she would; it was the nature of the job.
This one had been kept talking though, only slipping into unconsciousness just before the paramedics had arrived. It always helped when they knew how long a patient had been unconscious. A frown settled between her brows as she rifled amongst the clipboards on the desk for her patient's file.
In a swift scrawl she noted the patient's memory loss. Not unknown for a head trauma, like the brain resetting itself after a shock, so the doctor wasn't too worried about it. With any luck, after a good night's sleep things would start coming back to Mr. Fyre.
"All sorted, Doc?” A voice sounded behind her as Marissa bent over to add her notes to the file, her hand moving in a quick scrawl. Like most doctors, her handwriting could be nigh on illegible, especially after a long day like today. She smiled up at the senior nurse.
"Oh hey Jo, I didn't realise you were on tonight. Coming in or going out?” Marissa nodded towards the other woman's coat.
"In, more's the pity. Been here a while but got collared, haven't had a chance to take this off until now. I understand we have a head injury?” Jo shrugged out of her coat as she walked past Marissa, disappearing into the small staff room behind the station to hang it up.
"Yeah, he's been cleaned up and checked out. No fracture, but some bad bruising and concussion. Memory loss too, but I'm hoping it clears up with sleep. I'm just going to inform his wife now, any idea where they put her?"
"She's in room two, although I'm surprised you haven't seen her yet. The girls said she's been out here every five minutes asking for news, near panic because they couldn't tell her anything. They went with the usual prescription..."
Marissa grinned, unable to resist the twinkle of amusement in Jo's eyes.
"Weak tea and soggy biscuits? Okay, I'll go have a chat with her then I'll get gone. See you in the morning if you're not around when I get out,” she said by way of farewell, folding the clipboard against her chest and heading towards room two to tell Mrs. Fyre her husband appeared to have forgotten everything.
Including the fact he had a wife.
* * * *
He was going to die, Rae just knew it. She'd been nasty to him and he was going to die. She mangled the thick fabric of Logan's coat in nervous fingers. The paramedic had given it to her whilst they were waiting for Logan to be unloaded at the intake doors, along with his wallet.
"Best not leave them in the car ma'am, too many light-fingered people about. Besides, you'll probably be sitting around a bit, that's a good thick coat, that is. You might be glad of it later."
The instant he'd thrown it around her shoulders, she'd been enveloped in a masculine scent. The scent of Logan's aftershave, familiar from that kiss in her corridor. She bit her lip, nerves and guilt hitting her anew as she sat alone in the little waiting room. The tea and biscuits they'd brought sat on a plate on the low table next to her. Untouched. She couldn't have stomached anything if she tried.
A sense of foreboding crept over her. She'd sat in a room like this when her dad had had his accident. Ev
en years later the place looked the same. Didn't they say that about all hospitals? The same the world over, as though the dramas played out in them needed the familiar bland settings to operate in.
The door opened and she started, looking up into the kindly eyes of a doctor. At least Rae assumed the woman was a doctor. She had the requisite white coat and manner. In a heartbeat Rae was on her feet, Logan's coat still in her hands.
"How is he? Is he okay?"
The other woman smiled, an honest smile which did a lot to ease the ache in Rae's chest. “He's going to be fine, Mrs. Fyre, but I do need to talk to you. I'm Marissa Davies, the doctor dealing with your husband's case, shall we sit down?"
Rae nodded, sinking back onto the plastic covered chair as the doctor took one kitty-corner.
"Okay, first off, I need you to confirm Mr. Fyre's name, date of birth and home address please.” The doctor flashed her a quick smile. “Just procedure to make sure I have the right file."
"Logan James Fyre, born on the sixth of December...” Rae rattled his details off. Information she'd been asked for three times already. The sort of thing a wife would know without checking. It wasn't the sort of thing a stranger like Rae should know. She'd only met him this afternoon. But Rae had been blessed with a photographic memory, a bit of a boon in college. A quick glance at his driver's license earlier and she reeled the information off like they'd been together for years.
"Thank you.” She smiled again, obviously happy with the reply, and folded her hands on top of the clipboard.
"Okay, physically your husband has some nasty bruising and needed a couple of stitches to a cut in his hairline. It's small so it shouldn't scar too badly. Given the location, it should be barely noticeable. However...” she paused and sighed a little.
