In Too Deep: Station Seventeen Book 3

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “She says, ‘I didn’t mean to hit you earlier. I was frightened and really dizzy.’” He paused to process the rest of what Elena was saying, to make sure he was getting the translation just right. “‘I wanted to get your attention, but I didn’t realize you were so close. I’m sorry.’”

  “That’s okay,” Quinn said directly to Elena, who met the words with an apologetic smile. “I know you didn’t hit me on purpose. I’m just glad I could help.”

  Again, Elena signed, and Luke translated directly, the way he’d learned to ages ago. “‘Thank you very much for taking care of me.’”

  Quinn’s cheeks pinked in a blush that made him thank his lucky goddamn stars he wasn’t the one having his vitals monitored. “Oh. Of course. You’re welcome,” she said to Elena. “Now go ahead and rest, okay? Your body has been through a lot. I’ll re-check your blood sugar in a few minutes.”

  The second finger stick showed some greatly improved numbers, and after a snack, a once-over from Parker, and a sapling’s worth of paperwork, Quinn removed Elena’s IV.

  “Okay. Your blood sugar is ninety-six, and you’re obviously feeling better,” she said.

  Elena nodded, sitting up taller against the back of the gurney as if to prove it. “‘Yes,’” Luke relayed. “‘I feel much better.’”

  “Good. Take it easy for the rest of the day, and be sure to monitor your blood sugar again in an hour. Do you have a test kit with you?”

  “‘Right here in my purse.’” Luke bit his tongue. Direct translation might be the accepted norm with deaf people, but that didn’t mean it didn’t get awkward from time to time.

  The smile Quinn had folded between her lips told Luke—and probably Elena, too—that she’d heard the humor, loud and frickin’ clear. “Then you’re all set. If you feel light-headed or if your re-test levels dip below seventy, you need to call nine-one-one right away, though. Okay?”

  “‘I promise,’” Luke translated. Elena turned toward him, but rather than accepting the hand he’d offered to help her off the gurney, she squeezed his forearm and began to sign again.

  You saved me today.

  His breath stuck in his windpipe, and he cleared his throat even though he wasn’t going to use the damned thing. Quinn and Parker did all the work.

  Elena’s brows traveled up, likely in a bit of surprise that he wasn’t also speaking the words. Excluding Quinn from the conversation when she was right there across from him was borderline rude, Luke knew. But she was right across from him, and he was already going to have a hell of a time playing dodge ball with the topic as soon as Elena was safely on her way.

  He couldn’t air out anything else. Especially not anything personal.

  Not that Elena was about to let him off the proverbial hook. Damn, she was fierce. Quinn and Parker took good care of me, yes, but so did you. You were on my side. You heard me. Thank you, Luke.

  The words might not have been spoken, but God, they nailed him to that ambo bench just the same. You’re welcome, he signed, although steadying his hands to get the reply out smoothly took effort. I’m glad you feel better, Elena.

  Parker reappeared around the back of the ambulance then, reaching up to help her to the pavement. With one last wave, Elena turned toward the friend who had offered to come get her and take her safely home for some rest.

  Luke braced for impact in three, two, one…

  “I had no idea you knew sign language.” Quinn’s tone was far from accusatory, but her stare held enough interest to tangle his gut like a ninety-foot string of Christmas lights.

  Tactic Number One. Right fucking now. “I’m sure there are lots of things I don’t know about you.”

  “Well, yeah, but…”

  Followed by a healthy dose of Tactic Number Two. “Do you need me to help with anything else? Paperwork or cleanup or anything?”

  Luke tacked a polite smile over his face to knock the diversion all the way home. His gut tightened slightly when Quinn seemed to buy it—which was weird as shit, considering that it meant his duck and cover was actually working. But after a blink, she sent her gaze on a tour of the back of the ambo, and he let out a great, big lungful of mission accomplished.

  “I need to do a little bit of housekeeping before we head back to Seventeen. Just some quick sterilization in case we catch another call right away,” she said, gesturing to the gurney between them. “But sure. I’d love a hand.”

  “You got it.”

  Reaching for the box in the storage compartment mounted to the wall beside him, Luke snapped a pair of blue nitrile gloves into place per health and safety regs for medical cleanup. He and Quinn put some easy teamwork to gathering the discarded materials she’d used while caring for Elena—blood sugar test strips, gauze pads, and the like—placing everything into biohazard bags. Having done no less than two dozen ride-alongs and training runs with other houses in the last couple of months, Luke was already familiar with the protocol. Still, just like rope drills, even the stuff that seemed like a no-brainer needed to be practiced if he wanted to help people when they really needed it. Plus, he couldn’t deny that while this part of the job was pretty standard-issue, the view certainly didn’t suck.

  Even if he was singing an internal hallelujah for the bunker pants currently hiding his hard-on for the very set of sexy-sweet dimples that were probably going to be the end of him.

  He could think of a hell of a lot worse ways to go.

  “Hey.” The sound of footsteps on the pavement U-turned him back to the rear of the ambulance in about two seconds flat. “You two nearly done back here?” Parker asked, leaning in through the open space of the back door.

  “Yep.” Luke nodded, dishing up a double dose of his most neutral smile as he tugged the end of a fresh white sheet over the corner of the gurney mattress. God, his sanity was on a serious leave of absence. He and Quinn worked together. Just because there weren’t rules against them getting involved, even casually, that didn’t mean anything about it was a good idea. Especially since he was a rookie, and—oh, by the way—as serious as a triple bypass about not just doing his job, but doing it well.

  He’d come too far for anything less. No matter how pretty (and sexy. And smart. And sexy, had he mentioned sexy?) Luke found her.

  “Ugh.” Leaning down from her side of the bench seat, Quinn aimed a high-octane frown at the mechanism anchoring the gurney to the floor of the ambulance. “This thing is loose again. I think there’s something wrong with the lock. See? It’s not holding properly.”

  She placed a hand on the bright yellow frame and pushed, and sure enough, the gurney gave up far more movement than safety probably dictated.

  Parker pulled himself inside the back of the rig, leaning down with a frown that rivaled Quinn’s. “Again?” He reached beneath the gurney, his arm disappearing beneath the expanse of vinyl mattress pad and steel framing. “This thing has been giving us fits for—”

  All at once, the gurney lurched on its moorings, causing Parker to yank his arm back with a yell and Luke’s pulse to sit up and take notice.

  “Parker?” Quinn shifted forward, concern covering her face. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

  The guy grimaced, whipping his left hand over his right. “My hand got stuck in the goddamn mechanism trying to get it to lock.”

  “Oh hell.” Quinn blanched, and Luke was pretty sure he must have, too, because fucking ow. “Let me see it,” she said.

  Parker shook his head. “It’s fine.”

  Her look was pure are you kidding me. Judging by the blood streaming through Parker’s fingers and starting to run down his forearm, Luke was inclined to agree.

  “Don’t mess with me, Drake. Let me see your hand.”

  She’d already gloved up—damn, Luke would have to figure out how she managed to do that so fast all the time—and had one hand out in expectation. Parker must have realized arguing would get him exactly nowhere, because he forked over the limb in question even though his expression sa
id he was less than wild about the share.

  “Whoa.” Luke clamped down on his bottom lip two seconds too late. Showing emotion at an injury was a strict no-no around patients. The freak-out factor tended to make them panic. But since he was pretty sure Parker had just torn through half the musculature in his palm and maybe even a tendon or two for good measure, the reaction was sadly warranted.

  “Sorry,” Luke murmured, snapping up a pair of gloves and moving to the other side of the gurney, next to Quinn. “What can I do?”

  “You can grab a couple of four-by-four QuikClot pads, please. From the cabinet over my shoulder,” she added. To anyone else, she probably looked cucumber-cool, examining Parker’s injury with efficient movements. But Luke watched and listened way more than he spoke, which meant that after working with Quinn for seven months, he had the luxury of knowing exactly what that hard press of her mouth meant.

  Clearly, Parker had also gotten the memo. “Come on, Copeland. It’s just a scratch.”

  “Nice try. Now pardon me while I call bullshit.” Taking the pads from Luke’s outstretched fingers, she pressed one to the top of Parker’s hand and the other to his palm. “The lac is deep, Parker, not to mention jagged as hell, and it’s right between the thumb and forefinger on your dominant hand. You know the drill,” she said, this time more softly.

  Parker huffed past a highly frustrated frown, but even that couldn’t cover up the wince of pain underneath or the sheen of sweat on his forehead as he looked down at the gauze pads he was already starting to bleed through. “I’m telling you, this isn’t a big deal.”

  “And I’m telling you, if the situation were reversed, you’d be hauling me into Remington Mem without question. So would you please do me a favor and let me take care of you? Otherwise Bridges is going to fire my ass for letting you go back to the house with a hand that looks like a Frankenstein field day.”

  A beat passed, then another, punctuated only by the street noise filtering in past the still-open rear door to the ambulance and Parker’s resigned exhale.

  “Fine,” he said. “Let’s get this over with, since I know better than to think you’ll back down.”

  Smart man, Luke thought, and not just because Parker’s hand really did look all sorts of Humpty Dumpty.

  When it came to caring for people, Quinn was a barracuda. When it came to caring for the people she worked with? She was a great white that would make Jaws run crying for his mommy.

  “Thank you.” Quinn’s shoulders loosened beneath her paramedic’s uniform, just slightly, but it was enough. She swung toward Luke and asked, “You know the protocol for this, right?”

  He nodded. “Place firm pressure on the wound, dress and immobilize the injured limb, transport to the ED for treatment.”

  “Perfect.” Shucking her gloves, she sent an apologetic look at her partner before jumping down to the pavement from the back of the ambo.

  “Slater, you take care of one and two while I tackle number three. I’ll radio Remington Memorial and let them know we’re on our way.”

  4

  Quinn sat in one of the two chairs across from Captain Bridges’s desk and tried with all her might not to scream. But seeing as how Bridges was a) the boss she highly respected, and b) on the phone with Dr. Keith Langston, who just so happened to be the head of the very same emergency department to which she’d rushed her partner ninety minutes ago, she bit her tongue in the name of propriety.

  And what do you know, it mostly worked.

  “Mmm hmm. I see. Of course. Well, thank you for the update.” Bridges replaced the receiver in its cradle on his desk, looking at her over the thin black frames of his reading glasses. “First things first, since I know where your head is. Parker is fine. No broken bones, his tendons look intact, and Dr. Langston expects him to make a full recovery.”

  Her sigh of relief lasted all of a nanosecond. “How many stitches?”

  “Quinn…”

  “I saw the injury, Cap.” Quinn’s gut gave up a hard twist at the freshly minted memory of Parker’s hand, sliced wide and bleeding. “For God’s sake, I treated him two seconds after it happened. I know the number isn’t one or two.”

  Bridges steepled his fingers over his desk. “Twenty-nine.”

  Right. Looked like that twist in her gut had its sights set on becoming a full-blown cyclone. “How long will he be out of work?”

  “A couple weeks, minimum, but realistically, probably three. It depends on how quickly he heals and regains his mobility. He’ll work closely with the docs, and they’ll evaluate his progress next week to give us a more specific timetable.”

  Quinn swallowed hard, but managed a small nod. God, Parker must be going crazy. Or at the very least, driving the medical staff at Remington Mem crazy.

  Cue up another corkscrew in her gut. “He’s my partner. I should be there with him. Helping him fill out the paperwork or…something,” she said lamely, but Bridges met the sentiment with a shake of his head.

  “I sent squad over to the hospital. If Parker needs anything, Hawkins will make it happen. In the meantime, we’ve got some shifts to cover here on ambo.”

  Well, hello, rock and hard place. But Station Seventeen was the closest thing Quinn had to a family—hell, it was the only thing she had, period—and she wasn’t about to let Bridges down. Especially if the guys on squad had Parker’s back right now. Hawk might talk a good game with his laid-back grin and that deep Southern drawl of his, but when things went mission critical? He was as steadfast as they came.

  “Okay,” Quinn said. “I’m happy to do whatever I can to fill in the gaps until Parker recovers.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Bridges said, not skipping so much as a breath or a beat as he added, “because I’d like to put you in the lead paramedic spot.”

  “Excuse me?” Her spine did its very best rigor mortis impression against the back of her chair, but somehow, her captain remained totally unfazed. Holy shit, he was serious.

  “Temporarily, of course. Just until Parker heals up.”

  “Okaaaay.” The word stretched out with far more uncertainty than Bridges had surely been aiming for, but come on. There were so many whammies in the plan he’d just tossed out, Quinn couldn’t even process them all. “Then who would be my partner? Someone from the float pool?”

  Ugh, the thought of it sent a less than polite look over her face. Sure, it was only three weeks, but with the wrong partner? Those three weeks could turn into the third circle of hell super quick.

  Bridges surprised her by shaking his head. “Actually, I’d prefer to stay in-house to make this as easy as possible. You’ve already been mentoring Slater, and he’s expressed an interest in extending his first responder training to full paramedic status. I thought the two of you would make a good team.”

  “You want me to take lead and partner with Slater,” she said slowly, a flush spreading out over her skin, and good Lord it was hot in this office.

  Thankfully, Bridges didn’t seem to notice she was having her own personal summer. “The city is short on paramedics right now, especially lead paramedics. You’re more than qualified to take Parker’s role for the time being, and you and Slater already know each other. Plus, he’s already earned his EMT credentials, so he’s qualified to ride on ambo under your command. This would be a good learning opportunity for him, and less of a disruption for you.”

  The man had a point. Several of them, in fact. Quinn thought of how smartly Slater had realized Elena was deaf when the fact had gone so thoroughly over everyone else’s heads this morning—including her own. “Slater is a really quick study,” she agreed.

  “Moving Dempsey back to his old spot on engine and pulling a floater from the pool to cover squad would be far easier than trying to drum up another paramedic for three weeks straight,” Bridges said. “Just as long as you’re okay with the arrangement.”

  “Of course.” The answer catapulted past her lips before it had fully taken shape in her brain. But sh
e’d do anything for this fire house, just like she’d do whatever it took to care for the people who needed medical help when she was on-shift.

  Including squelching her libido’s dark and dirty thoughts of Luke Slater in order to work shoulder to shoulder with him for the next three weeks.

  “Good.” Bridges nodded, reaching for a sheaf of paperwork on his desk. “I’ve already run everything by Gamble, and he’s on board with the shuffle just as long as Slater keeps up with his firefighter training on the side. I’d like to start the new assignments effective immediately so we don’t have to take the ambulance off rotation for the rest of this shift. As long as you think Slater will be okay with that.”

  Quinn scooped in a deep breath and looked over her shoulder at the door leading back to the common room. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

  Luke sat in the back of Ambulance Twenty-Two, staring at the engine bay through the open rear doors and trying like hell to figure out what had just happened. One minute, he’d been on the couch in Station Seventeen’s common room reading The Practice and Principles of Paramedics, Volume Four, and the next, he’d been in Captain Bridges’s office, agreeing to temporarily swap his bunker gear for a T-shirt with the department’s EMT logo emblazoned across the back.

  So much for keeping Quinn at arm’s length. Now he was about to work with her, up close and personal, for three whole weeks.

  And oh, by the way, not only did he still find her as sexy as ever, but as of this moment, she was his immediate superior.

  Fucking spectacular.

  Quinn cleared her throat, pulling herself into the back of the ambulance from the floor of the engine bay. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I just wanted to check in with Parker now that he’s been released from the hospital.”

  “That’s okay. How is he?”

  “More pissed than anything else. Although I’m sure he’ll change his tune once the hi-test pain meds start wearing off. Anyway”—her chest lifted slightly beneath her uniform shirt as she paused to inhale, and Christ the next ten shifts were going to last an ice age. Each—“since you and I are going to be working together for the next few weeks, there are probably a couple of things we should talk about from the jump.”