He was nodding slowly. It was one of the first things that Callum had asked him. It was one of the most immediate priorities for the DPA: to try and determine the source.
“I need you to look over the rest of the evidence the contact tracers have collected. I have to phone Evan Hunter in the next half-hour. It’s my professional opinion that this isn’t a terrorist act.” Her voice was wavering slightly. This was one of the most crucial decisions she would make in her lead role for the DPA.
Everything she was saying made sense and he knew that she would have read and analyzed the evidence to the best of her abilities. But time was pressing. If there was any threat to the general population, they had to know now.
He understood what this meant to her. And he understood why she was asking him.
It wasn’t just that he’d told her to delegate. It was that this could impact on everything. The actions and reactions the world would have to this outbreak.
She had to be right.
She had to be sure.
If Callum had been here, this would have been on his head. But even then, he would have had Callie to bat things back and forth with. To agree with his decision-making.
She didn’t have that.
She didn’t have anyone.
So she was asking the one person here who might have those skills.
He laid his hand over hers. “I’ll make the phone call. It will take two minutes and then I’ll close this office door and look over all this information. If I have even a shadow of a doubt, I’ll let you know.”
Her shoulders sagged just a little. As if she’d just managed to disperse a little of their weight. “Thank you,” she said as she walked out the door.
Sawyer watched her leave, trying not to look at her rear view in the pink scrubs. He couldn’t work out what was going on. One minute she was driving him crazy. The next?
He slumped back in the chair a little, the mound of paper in front of him looking less than enticing. His phone slipped from his pocket and clattered to the floor.
It was like an alarm clock going off in his head.
Violet. He really needed to contact Violet.
His sister worked at the DPA and must be going crazy. She would have heard his name bandied about by now and know that he must be in the middle of all this.
His phone had been switched to silent for the last few hours and he glanced at the screen and cringed. He’d known as soon as he’d called the DPA that his number would have been logged in their system.
It made sense that she’d tried to get in touch with him—after all, he’d changed his number numerous times in the last few years—only getting in touch when he could face it.
He really didn’t want to know how many missed calls and text messages he’d had from her. It just made him feel even guiltier.
When his wife had died and he’d walked away from the DPA, he’d also more or less walked away from his family.
It had been the only way he could cope.
He couldn’t bear to have any reminders of Helen, his wife. It had been just too much. He’d needed time. He’d needed space.
On occasion—when he’d felt guilty enough—he’d send Violet a text just to let her know that he was safe. Nothing more. Nothing less.
She deserved better and he knew that. He just hadn’t been in a position to give it.
The one saving grace was that no one in the DPA knew they were related. She’d started just after he’d left. And the last thing any new doctor needed was to live in the shadow of the family black sheep.
He turned the phone over in his hands and looked at his watch. The mountain of paper on the desk seemed to have mysteriously multiplied in the last few minutes.
He would phone Violet. He would.
But right now time was critical. He had to do this first.
* * *
Callie was mad.
But she was trying not to show it.
Everything he’d said was right.
The doctor who was apparently bad-tempered and temperamental was making her feel as if she was the problem and not him.
The worst thing was he’d sounded clear-headed and rational. He was right, she did need to delegate. No matter how alien the concept seemed to her.
So she’d delegated the most obvious duty to him. Evan Hunter would have a fit.
But she was in charge here. Not him. And since Callum wasn’t here, she had to rely on the one member of staff who had some experience in this area—whether Evan Hunter liked it or not.
“Callie?”
She’d reached the treatment room. One of the second-year residents was emptying the refrigerated container of vaccines.
“What is it?”
“How many of these do you want me to draw up?”
She shook her head. “None—yet.” She glanced at the face of the resident, who was obviously worried about doing anything wrong. A few years ago that would have been her.
“Have you used the ring vaccination concept before?”
The resident shook her head.
In the midst of all this madness Callie had to remember she had a responsibility to teach. To help the staff around her learn their roles. To lead by example.
The words started repeating to a rhythm in her head.
“Ring vaccination controls an outbreak by vaccinating and monitoring a ring of people around each infected individual. The idea is to form a buffer of immune individuals to prevent the spread of the disease. It’s a way of containment.”
“And it works effectively?”
Callie gave a small smile. “We thought it did. Ring vaccination was held as essential in the eradication of smallpox. For the vast majority of people, getting the smallpox vaccine within three days of exposure will significantly lesson the severity of the symptoms.”
“What about people who were vaccinated before against smallpox? Aren’t they already protected?”
Callie shook her head. “It’s a common misconception. Why do you ask?”
“One of the men in the waiting room said he’d had the vaccination as a child and he wouldn’t need anything.”
Callie smiled. “Last time ring vaccination was used for smallpox was in the late seventies. But if he was vaccinated then, he would only have had protection for between three and five years. There might still be some antibodies in his blood but we can’t assume anything.”
“Would we vaccinate him again?”
“It depends where he falls at risk. In the first instance, we vaccinate anyone who has been, or may have been, exposed to someone who has the infection.”
“He was sitting next to the family in the waiting room.”
Callie nodded. There was so much about this that wasn’t written entirely in stone and open to interpretation. “Then we need to assess how much contact he had with the family—and for how long.”
“And that’s where all the guessing games start.”
The deep voice at the door made her head jerk up. Sawyer was standing with her file in his hand. He walked over and held it out towards her. “You’re right, Callie. It didn’t take long to review the information.” He shook his head. “There’s absolutely nothing there to hint at anything other than a natural outbreak—the very thing the DPA declared could never happen.”
The sense of relief that rushed over her body was instant. She’d been scared. Scared that she’d missed something—that she’d overlooked something important. Something her sister would never have done.
It was the first time today she actually felt as if she might be doing a good job.
She took the file from his hand. “I guess we don’t know everything, then,” she murmured.
He gave her a lazy smile and raised one eyebrow at her. “Really? You mean the DPA
hasn’t managed to find its way into every corner of the universe to see if there are any deadly diseases left?”
Her eyes were scanning the sheets in front of her. She shrugged. “It makes sense. The Keatings said that it was the first time the locals had come into contact with outsiders.”
“First contact. Sounds much sexier than it should.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Sounds like a whole can of worms.”
The resident lowered her head and busied herself in the corner of the room. In some ways Callie wanted to do that too.
She wanted to take herself out of the range of Sawyer’s impenetrable stare. It was making her hair stand on end and sending weird tingles down her spine.
She felt like a high-school teenager on prom night, not an experienced doctor in the midst of an emergency situation.
She picked up one of the vials on the countertop. “I guess I should lead by example.”
He was at her side in an instant. “What do you mean?”
“If I’m going to recommend first-line vaccination, I guess I should go first.”
“Are you sure about this?”
Callie almost laughed out loud. Was he joking? “Of course I’m not sure. But I’ve got to base this on the evidence that I’ve got, no matter how imperfect it is. If this is smallpox, I’ve a duty of care to protect others and contain the virus. You, me, the parents—anyone else assessed as ‘at risk’ should be vaccinated.”
She picked up the diluent and delivered it swiftly into the container holding the dried vaccine. Her hands rolled the vial between her palms, watching the liquid oscillate back and forth.
“I think you should wait. I think we should have a definite diagnosis before we start vaccinating.”
She nodded. In an ideal world that made sense. But this wasn’t an ideal world. It was a completely imperfect situation. If she hesitated, she put people at risk.
This was her decision. The buck stopped with her.
“There are risks attached to any vaccine but this vaccine was widely used and we’ve got a lot of data on the issues raised. I’ve reviewed our medical notes. There’s nothing in my history, your history or the parents’ that would prevent vaccination. The only issue is Alison—and she’s already told me she’s decided against it.”
There was an expression on his face she couldn’t fathom. Something flickering behind his eyes, as if the thoughts in his head were about to combust.
This man was almost unreadable.
Was he relieved or mad? Did he want Alison to have the vaccine and put her baby at risk? Or did he want her to take her chances without?
Obviously, she knew the outcome—but that didn’t help here.
Had Sawyer’s wife been in similar circumstances and avoided a vaccine because she had been pregnant? Or had she taken a vaccine—that was untried and untested on pregnant women—with devastating consequences?
It was almost as if he’d gone on autopilot. He washed his hands, lifted a syringe and needle and tipped up the vial, plunging the needle inside and extracting the vaccine. “If this is what you want, let’s do it.”
She was stunned. She’d thought he was going to refuse—going to argue with her some more and storm off. This was the last thing she’d expected.
“Are you going to get vaccinated?”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Of course.”
She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows at him, the question obvious.
“I’m working on the assumption you’re going to say that only vaccinated personnel can work with the kids. These kids are mine. They’re my patients. I won’t let you keep me out. And if a vaccine is what it takes...” he shrugged “...so be it.”
The words were stuck in her throat now.
The thing that seemed to pass her by. The people thing.
The thing she really wanted to concentrate on, but her public health role wouldn’t let her. She’d learned over the years just to lock it away in a corner of her mind.
But it was the thing that was on the forefront of his mind. And it was affecting his reactions. If only she could have the same freedom.
He was prepared to take a vaccine with known side-effects in order to keep looking after these children.
And no matter how hard she tried not to, she had to admire him for it.
There was only one thing she could do.
She turned her arm towards him. “Let’s do it.” Her voice sounded confident, the way she wanted to appear to the outside world. Her insides were currently mush.
His finger ran down the outside of her upper arm. Totally unexpected. The lightest of touches. She heard his intake of breath before he went back to standard technique and pinched her skin.
It was over in the blink of an eye. She never even felt the bifurcated needle penetrate her skin. It wasn’t like a traditional shot and she felt the needle prick her skin a number of times in a few seconds before it was quickly removed and disposed of.
“You know this won’t be pretty, don’t you?”
She nodded, automatically reaching up and rubbing her arm. “I know what to expect. A red and itchy bump in a few days...” she rolled her eyes “...a delightful pus-filled blister in another week and then a scab.”
She washed her hands at the sink as he drew up another dose of vaccine and handed it to her, pulling his scrub sleeve up above his shoulder. She could feel herself hesitate, taking in his defined deltoid and biceps muscles. Did Sawyer work out? He didn’t seem the type.
“Something wrong?”
“What? No.” She could feel the color flooding into her cheeks. How embarrassing. He hadn’t given her arm a second glance.
Concentrate. Focus. He was smirking at her again, almost as if he could see exactly what she was thinking.
She scowled, pinched his arm and injected him, delivering the vaccine in an instant. It was as quick as she could get this over and done with, so she could turn her back to dispose of the syringe.
“Ouch.” He was rubbing his arm in mock horror. “It’s all in the technique, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She started washing her hands again. “You’re not supposed to rub your arm, you know.”
He shrugged. “Everyone does. It’s an automatic response. Being a doctor doesn’t make me any different.” His arm was still exposed, and this time, instead of focusing on the muscle, her eyes focused on the skin.
It was full of little pock marks and lumps and bumps. The obvious flat scar from a BCG vaccination. He followed her eyes and gave her a grin. “A lifetime’s work. Chicken pox as a child, then a whole career’s worth of DPA vaccinations.”
She pulled up her other sleeve. “Snap.”
His finger touched her skin again and she felt herself suck in her breath as it ran over her BCG scar. He was standing just a little too close for comfort but seemed completely unaffected.
He turned and smiled at her. “At least you don’t have chicken pox scars.” Maybe it was the lazy way he said it or the way his smile seemed kind of sexy.
“Oh, I do. Just can’t show them in public.” She couldn’t help it. The words were out before she had time to think about them. She was flirting. She was flirting with him. What was wrong with her?
That was the kind of response that her sister might have given. The kind of response that had men eating out of the palm of her hand and following Isabel’s butt with their eyes as she walked down the hallway.
But this was so not a Callie response.
What was she thinking of?
It wasn’t that she was some shy, retiring virgin. She’d been on plenty of dates and had a number of relationships over the years. But she wasn’t the type of girl who walked into a bar and flirted with a man. She was the kind of girl who met a man in a class or in a library, and
went for a few quiet drinks before there was any touching, any kissing.
She wasn’t used to being unnerved by a man. To find herself flustered and blushing around him. It made her cringe.
But Sawyer seemed immune. Maybe women flirted with him all the time? He just gave her a little wink and crossed the room. Now he was in midconversation with the second-year resident, explaining where some of the supplies were kept and how to access them.
He obviously didn’t feel heat rising up the back of his neck to make him feel uncomfortable.
She took a deep breath and moved. Out to the madness of the corridor, where the incessant sound of phones ringing must be driving everyone mad.
She picked up the nearest one as she passed. The voice made her stop in her tracks.
“Callie? Is that you?”
Evan Hunter. It must be killing him to be stuck at Headquarters instead of being in the thick of things.
“Well?” His abrupt tone was hardly welcoming.
It was beginning to annoy her. Every phone call she’d had from this man had started with him snapping at her and shouting orders. Wasn’t he supposed to be supporting her?
He knew she’d been flung in at the deep end.
“Hold on.” She set down the phone, ignoring the expletives she could hear him yelling as she walked over to the whiteboard on the wall. The DPA team was well trained. Every piece of relevant information and the most up-to-date data was right in front of her. She didn’t need to run around the department asking a barrage of questions.
She watched as a member of staff rubbed one number off the board and replaced it with another. The potential ‘at risk’ group was now at five. Not bad at all.
A list of queries had appeared around the containment facility. She would need to get onto them straight away.
The only glaring piece of information that was missing was around the plane. There was the number of passengers, with the number of contact details obtained. Three hundred passengers—with contact details for only seventy-six.
This was taking up too much of her team’s time. They needed to deal with the issues around the containment facility. It was time to delegate.
THE MAVERICK DOCTOR AND MISS PRIM/ABOUT THAT NIGHT... Page 5
