Jude gripped her arm as she went to climb into the cab. ‘I want you to get into the footwell and stay there. Understand?’
Claire did understand and she wasn’t happy about it, either. ‘So you can play the all-action hero and get us out of here?’
‘Yes.’ He grinned at her, a lazy, sexy grin that managed to slip past her defences before she realised it. ‘There’s no bigger boost to a guy’s ego than being able to save a damsel in distress, so don’t spoil this for me, sweetheart.’
‘I am not and never shall be your sweetheart,’ she shot back, hunching down so she could scramble aboard the truck without giving the gunmen an easy target.
‘“Never say never” is my motto,’ he replied, putting his hand under her backside to give her a boost up.
Claire would have slapped his face if the situation hadn’t been so dire. Not just for the cocky remark but for manhandling her as well. She shot into the cab, rolling herself into a ball so she could squeeze into the footwell. The driver was slumped in the passenger seat, mercifully unconscious. That was the one and only good point she could find about the situation, in fact; they wouldn’t have to deal with a hysterical patient when they beat a retreat. How they were going to outrun the rebels in this clapped-out old truck was anyone’s guess but they didn’t have a choice. Handing themselves over to the rebels was a definite non-starter and there was no point trying to fight when...
‘I’ll take that.’ Jude leant down and took the pistol out of her hand. He placed it on the seat then put the truck into gear, swearing colourfully when it failed to engage at the first attempt. There was a hail of shots and the windscreen exploded, showering glass all over the cab, but by that time he had managed to get the truck moving.
They shot out of the trees and careered towards the road as Claire desperately tried to wedge herself into the footwell and hold on to the driver to stop him falling off the seat. They hit a rut and she yelped when her head connected painfully with the underside of the dashboard but Jude didn’t even spare her a glance. His face was set as he steered the truck across the rutted ground and she shivered. He reminded her of how Andrew had looked that night when he had forced himself on her; he too had been determined to get his own way. It was an effort to push the memory aside as they reached the road and Jude glanced down at her.
‘How far is it from here?’
‘Five miles, give or take,’ she told him, trying to subdue the sickness that had welled up inside her. He wasn’t Andrew, she reminded herself sharply because she couldn’t afford to fall apart.
‘Let’s hope it’s more give than take,’ he muttered, jamming his foot down on the accelerator. The rear end of the truck fishtailed before the tyres got a grip and Claire bit her lip. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by letting him see how scared she was...
‘It’s going to be OK.’ Jude took his hand off the steering wheel and touched her shoulder, and there was a wealth of understanding in his eyes when she looked at him in surprise. He grinned down at her, his handsome face lighting up in a way that made her breath catch but for an entirely different reason this time. ‘We’re going to make it, Claire. Cross my heart and hope not to die!’
He laughed as he made a cross on his chest then put his hand back on the steering wheel, but Claire didn’t say a word. She didn’t dare. If she said anything then she was afraid it would be far too revealing.
Her stomach rolled and she had to force down the wave of panic that rushed up at her. For the past two years, she had felt quite comfortable around the male members of the team. They were simply colleagues and she’d never had a problem working with any of them. However, she knew that state of affairs was about to change. There was just something about Jude Slater that made her feel more aware of him than she’d felt about any man in a very long time. He might not be anything like Andrew but he could prove to be just as dangerous.
* * *
Jude could feel the sweat trickling between his shoulder blades. He was scared witless although he had done his best not to let Claire see how he felt. Maybe it was ego which demanded that he mustn’t let her know how terrified he was, but he’d be damned if he would start whimpering like a craven coward even though it was what he felt like doing.
He glanced in the wing mirror and felt his stomach try to escape through his boots when he discovered that they were being followed. There were three vehicles behind them and they were gaining on them, too. He jammed his foot down so hard on the accelerator that the engine screeched but he ignored the sound of ancient pistons being put to the ultimate test. If those guys got hold of them then he didn’t rate their chances!
‘Are they following us?’
He glanced down when she spoke, seeing the fear in her soft grey eyes. He had a better view of her face from this angle and he realised in surprise that she was younger than he had thought, somewhere in her late twenties, perhaps. The cap had been pushed back and he could see strands of honey-gold hair peeking out from under its brim. He’d always had a thing about blondes and he would bet his last pound that she was a natural blonde, too. He would also bet that she had a great figure once she was out of those appalling clothes, although if he didn’t keep his mind on the job, he might not get the chance to prove that theory.
‘Yep,’ he replied laconically, determined not to let her know what he was thinking.
‘In that case then can’t you make this thing go any faster?’ she demanded, glaring up at him.
‘If I press down any harder on this pedal, my foot’s going to go through the floor,’ he retorted, not sure that he appreciated having her demean his efforts to save them. ‘It’s not my fault if this outfit of yours is too damned mean to buy itself any decent transport, is it?’
‘If you mean Worlds Together then it’s not my outfit,’ she snapped back, bracing herself as they hit another pothole.
Jude grimaced when he heard the crunch of metal because the last thing they needed was a broken axle. He kept his attention on the road although her comment had intrigued him. ‘So you don’t work for the agency?’
‘No. I work with them but not for them.’
He wasn’t sure he understood the subtleties of that distinction but it didn’t seem the most propitious moment to ask her to explain. The rebels were gaining on them and he grimaced when he heard shots being fired. ‘How much further is it now?’
‘About a mile, maybe less,’ she told him, peering over the edge of the dashboard.
‘Get down!’ He pushed her head down as a bullet whined through the cab. He could hear more shots pinging off the chassis and hunched over the steering wheel, hoping that none of them would hit him. He groaned. Yesterday he had been sitting in an upscale London restaurant, enjoying dinner, and today he was in a beat-up old truck about to get fried. Talk about the difference a day made!
‘Will you stop ordering me about! I’ve been here a lot longer than you and I know the drill.’
He risked another glance at her when he heard the anger in her voice and felt his heart give an almighty lurch. Her cap must have been dislodged when he had shoved her head down and now all that honey-gold hair was spilling over her shoulders. It was so thick and shiny that he physically ached to run his fingers through it. It was only the thought of them careering off the road if he gave in to the urge that kept his hands on the wheel.
‘In that case, what do you suggest?’ He raised a mocking black brow, not sure if he appreciated feeling so ridiculously aware of her when the sentiment obviously wasn’t reciprocated. ‘I could stop the truck and ask them nicely not to shoot at us any more, but somehow I don’t think they would be keen to cooperate, do you?’
‘Oh, ha-ha, very funny. It must be wonderful to have such a highly developed sense of humour, Dr Slater.’
‘I’ve found it very useful at times,’ he replied blandly, then ducked when another
volley of shots rained over the cab. The rebels were just yards behind them now and they were gaining fast. He had to do something although his options were seriously limited.
‘Here, grab hold of the steering wheel and hold it steady,’ he instructed. ‘The road’s relatively straight from here on, so all you need to do is hang on to it.’ He grabbed her hand and clamped it around the base of the steering wheel then picked up the gun.
‘But I can’t see where we’re going!’
‘Just hold it steady—that’s all you need to do,’ Jude said shortly, leaning over so he could see out of the window. He had a clear view of the vehicles that were pursuing them and smiled grimly. Raising the pistol, he took aim and squeezed the trigger—
Nothing happened.
‘There aren’t any bullets in it.’
It took a whole second for the words to sink in. Jude pulled his head back into the cab and stared, open-mouthed, at the woman in the footwell. ‘What did you say?’
‘The gun’s empty.’ She glared up at him, her previously soft grey eyes like shards of flint. ‘We’re in the business of saving lives, Dr Slater, not taking them. That’s why there are no bullets in the gun.’
A dozen different retorts flew into his head and flew back out again. There was no point asking how or why or even giving vent to his frustration. Jude took the wheel from her and rammed his foot flat on the accelerator, forcing the truck to formerly undiscovered speeds. They rounded a bend and he let out a sigh of relief when he saw the town up ahead. There was an army patrol stationed just outside it and he stamped on the brakes when the soldiers flagged him down. The woman scrambled out of the footwell as the soldiers approached them with their rifles raised.
‘We’ve an injured man on board!’ she shouted out of the window. ‘We need to get him to hospital.’
The soldiers obviously recognised her because they immediately raised the barrier and waved them through. Jude felt his spirits start to revive a little as he drove along the road. Not only had he managed to outrun the rebel faction, but he would get their patient to hospital as well. Not bad going for his first day in the country, all things considered.
‘Take a right at the end of the road and drive straight across when you reach the crossroads. Sound your horn in case anything’s coming but don’t stop.’
Jude frowned as he glanced over at her. He would have expected her to be pleased at having got back to the town but she looked almost as edgy now as she had done when they were being pursued.
‘You can relax,’ he said, injecting an extra-large dollop of honey-coated reassurance into his voice. It was a trick he employed when dealing with particularly nervous patients and it always worked. He was confident that it would work just as well now too. ‘We’re perfectly safe now.’
‘I hate to disillusion you, Dr Slater, but we won’t be safe until we’re at the hospital.’ She smiled thinly as she pointed to a gang of men standing on the corner of the road. ‘See those guys over there? They’re just waiting for someone like you to come along.’
‘Someone like me?’ Jude repeated, unconsciously slowing down.
‘Keep moving!’ She tapped him sharply on the knee so that his foot hit the accelerator and sent them shooting forward. ‘You never, ever slow down when you’re driving through the town. And it goes without saying that you never stop. Those guys will have this truck off you before you can blink.’
‘Oh, come on! You really think I’m just going to hand it over to them?’ he scoffed.
‘If they hold a gun to your head then yes I do. You’d be a fool not to.’ She looked him straight in the eyes and he could tell immediately that she wasn’t simply trying to alarm him. ‘Vehicles of any description are worth a fortune here. They’re far more valuable than a human life and I suggest you remember that.’
She didn’t say anything else but she didn’t need to; she had said more than enough. Jude’s heart plummeted as he drove through the town. He had known it wouldn’t be a picnic working here, but he had never imagined it would be this bad. By the time he pulled up in front of the hospital, he was beginning to wonder if he should have got onto the plane twelve hours or so ago.
‘Stay here while I find a porter,’ the woman instructed, jumping down from the cab.
Jude took a deep breath as she disappeared inside, determined to get himself back on even keel. Maybe the situation was far worse than he had expected but he would cope. He had to. Quite apart from the fact that he had been warned at his interview that there was only one flight per month in and out of Mwuranda, he had a lot to prove, didn’t he?
When he had left the NHS he had been completely burnt out. The pressure of working the kind of hours he had done, added to the daily struggle to find sufficient qualified staff to allow a scheduled surgery to go ahead, had ground him down. Every time he’d had to explain to a patient that an operation couldn’t take place, it had taken its toll on him. It had seemed nothing short of cruel to raise someone’s hopes only to dash them.
He’d had such high expectations when he had gone into surgery, too, a genuine desire to help those who had needed it most, but he had become disillusioned. Nevertheless, he would have carried on if it weren’t for Maddie, but her death had been the final straw. He had left the NHS and gone into the private sector. It had been either that or give up medicine altogether which he couldn’t quite bring himself to do. He had always believed that he had made the right decision, so why did he feel this need to vindicate his actions?
‘Right, let’s get him out of there.’
Jude swung round when the woman opened the cab door and felt his heart jerk like a puppet having its strings pulled. In that second he realised what was happening and bit back his groan of dismay. It was no longer enough that he proved his worth to his old mentor. Neither was it enough that he proved to himself that he could still hack it. For some inexplicable reason he needed to prove to her that he was a damned good surgeon!
CHAPTER THREE
‘WE’LL HAVE TO use the triage bay. Resus is full.’
Claire guided the trolley past the queue of people waiting to be seen and elbowed open the door to the triage room. Myrtle, one of the cleaning staff, had just finished mopping the floor and Claire smiled at her. ‘Thanks, Myrtle. Can you see if Dr Arnold is anywhere about? We could use his help in here if he’s free.’
‘I will go and find him for you, Sister.’
Myrtle left the room at her usual sedate pace. None of the local staff ever hurried and they seemed to find it highly amusing when they saw the foreign doctors and nurses rushing around. Claire had found their attitude frustrating when she had first arrived in the country, but she had grown used to it by now. She didn’t turn a hair when Benjamin, the porter, took his time positioning the trolley beside the bed although she could tell that Dr Slater was impatient to get on with the job.
‘On my count,’ she said quietly, determined not to let him know how unsettled she felt by his presence. She grasped hold of a piece of the blanket then checked that he and Benjamin had hold as well. ‘One. Two. Three.’
They transferred the injured driver onto the bed and then Bill Arnold arrived.
‘You were supposed to be fetching us back a new surgeon not another patient,’ he grumbled as he came into the room.
‘Stop complaining,’ Claire retorted, well used to the middle-aged Yorkshireman’s dry sense of humour. ‘I could have left the surgeon and just brought you the patient!’
‘In other words, count my blessings, eh?’ Bill laughed as he came over to the bed and held out his hand. ‘Bill Arnold. Nice to have you on board, Dr Slater. What have we got here?’
The two men shook hands before Jude briefly outlined the man’s injuries. ‘He’ll need a CT scan for starters,’ he concluded. ‘Once I have a better idea what I’m dealing with, I’ll want an MRI scan doing as
well to check the full extent of soft tissue damage...’
‘Whoa! Steady on.’
Bill held up his hand and Jude immediately stopped speaking, although Claire could tell that he wasn’t pleased about being interrupted. He was probably more used to people hanging on to his every word, she thought cynically as she began to remove the patient’s clothes. Some surgeons seemed to think they ranked second only to God in the pecking order and if that were the case, Jude was in for a nasty shock. The surgeons on the team were treated exactly the same as everyone else, i.e. they were expected to knuckle down and get the job done without a fanfare.
‘Is there a problem, Dr Arnold?’ Jude asked coolly.
‘It’s Bill. I dispensed with the formalities a couple of years ago when I retired,’ the older man told him. ‘And yes, I’m afraid there could be a problem in so far as we don’t have access to the equipment you mentioned.’
‘What do you mean that you don’t have access to it?’ Jude demanded. ‘Is the radiographer not on duty today?’
‘Oh, the radiographer’s here all right,’ Bill explained easily. ‘The problem is the equipment. We don’t have a CT scanner or a Magnetic Resonance Imager in the hospital.’
‘You don’t have them,’ Jude repeated, looking so stunned by the news that Claire almost felt sorry for him. Obviously it had come as a shock to him to learn that the hospital wasn’t equipped with all the usual technology, but had he really expected that it would have been? Deliberately, she whipped up her indignation, not wanting to fall into the trap of sympathising with him.
‘No. We don’t have a CT scanner or access to MRI or PET scanning either, Dr Slater,’ she repeated coolly. ‘Mwuranda has undergone years of civil unrest and there’s no money available for equipment like that. It’s difficult enough to maintain an adequate supply of basic drugs, in fact.’
Reawakened by the Surgeon's Touch Page 3
