She doesn’t remember her name

But she knows her child is in danger...

When Remo DeLuca stumbles on a mysterious, injured woman, the EMT springs into action to save her. Celia Poller doesn’t know who she is—the only thing she’s sure of is that she and her child are in danger! With so many unknowns between Remo and Celia, it’s no time for love, especially when someone wants them both dead and gone...

Amazon bestselling author MELINDA DI LORENZO writes in her spare time—at soccer practices, when she should be doing laundry and in place of sleep. She lives on the beautiful west coast of British Columbia, Canada, with her handsome husband and her noisy kids. When she’s not writing, she can be found curled up with (someone else’s) good book.

Also By Melinda Di Lorenzo

Undercover Justice

Captivating Witness

Undercover Protector

Undercover Passion

Undercover Justice

Worth the Risk

Last Chance Hero

Silent Rescue

First Responder on Call

Trusting a Stranger

Deceptions and Desires

Pinups and Possibilities

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

First Responder on Call

Melinda Di Lorenzo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09426-9

FIRST RESPONDER ON CALL

© 2019 Melinda Di Lorenzo

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“Where do you hurt?”

“Everywhere. My leg, mostly.”

Remo tilted his head down. A dark splotch stood out on one of her thighs. It nearly blended in with her rain-drenched jeans, but staring at it made him sure it wasn’t just water.

Blood. Damn it again.

“The ambulance will be here soon,” he said, careful to keep the growing concern from his voice. “Hold my hand as hard as you want. Sometimes that helps.”

She gave him a weak squeeze. “Promise me.”

“I can’t do that.” It pained him a bit to say it.

“Xavier, Remo.”

He glanced toward the car. The engine was crumpled so badly that it was barely recognizable, the hood disintegrated. No doors. No steering wheel. An empty back seat. Except...

What was that?

Remo pulled off his glasses, gave them another wipe, then looked again.

A stuffed bear.

His gut churned. She didn’t just mean there was another person in the car with her. She meant there was a kid in the car. A kid named Xavier.

* * *

Dear Reader,

Like many of my books, the idea for First Responder on Call came to me in the form of a single vision. This time, it was that of a young mother lying on the road as a shadowy figure stood over her. From there, I built up Celia—a woman who can’t remember anything except that she absolutely must keep her son safe.

I’ve got to admit, I had a bit of fun researching the effects of trauma-induced memory loss. (Not in a macabre way! The science and psychology is very interesting!) I even got to interview someone who experienced it. And of course, I’m also excited to bring you the very dreamy first responder himself—Remo. I write a lot of police heroes, but it was great to step outside that box and bring to life this lovely EMT. I hope you enjoy their journey as much as I did!

Happy reading,

Melinda

To all the real-life first responders fighting the good fight.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

The buzz came first. A hundred—no, a thousand—bees, circling her head and making it vibrate with an indescribable pain. Next came the stinging. Over and over, the sharp points hitting her face, each one worse than the last.

If she could’ve made a noise, it would’ve been a whimper.

She tried to turn her head, to steer it away from the angry swarm. But she was clamped down. Something viselike held her in place, stopping her from even the slightest movement. All she could do was blink, and even that yielded little more than a blurred picture overhead. She wasn’t even sure what it was she could see above her. The night sky, maybe? A dark swirl of clouds, blocking out every star and barely letting through the moonlight?

Typical Vancouver.

The thought temporarily overrode the pain, probably because it was something concrete. Something that grounded her. Yes, the muted gray tone definitely embodied the city’s weather. Even in mid-July, a rainstorm like this one could be expected. It was usually a small sacrifice to make in exchange for being wedged between the Pacific Ocean and a half a dozen mountain ranges. But right now, it gave her a chill.

The rain...

It’s what beat down on her face, the source of the sting. She blinked again. A string of wires—power lines, she thought—came into focus.

The buzz...

The vicious drops were hitting the wires as well, and the zap of water on live electricity filled the air.

The accident...

A flood of memory came rushing to the forefront of her mind. It was disjointed, like the pieces of a puzzle that had been scattered across a table. But it was memory nonetheless.

The storm, rushing in from nowhere.

The road, slick beneath her tires.

The slam of...something.

Then the horrible sound of metal on metal.

And blackness.

The buzz and the sting were muted now, taking a back seat to the struggle to remember anything else. What kind of car had she been driving? What was the source of the anxious pressure in her chest? And most important...what was her name?

Oh, God.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t recall it, even though when she dropped her lids closed, she could picture her own face. She could see the swirl of her ash-blond hair and the overwhelming number of freckles that dotted her complexion. Her gray eyes and fair lashes were there, too, well above the surface of whatever blocked the rest.

Please let me remember. And please...someone help me.

As though her silent plea willed it into existence, a new noise caught her attention. Boots on pavement, approaching slowly, like their wearer was trying to disguise his steps. But whoever he was, his feet were too heavy for subtlety. And the gait had an odd, shuffling cadence, too. One that struck a familiar cord. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter.

Not good.

The two-word thought was hardly strong enough to match the abrupt increase in her heartbeat, which thrummed so hard against her rib cage that she was surprised it didn’t drown out the rain, the buzz and the footsteps. But maybe the man attached to the boots—she wasn’t sure why she was so certain about what he wore, but she was—did hear her heart. Because his movement stopped. And a gruff question, spoken from a few feet away, carried to her ears.

“Where is he?”

Both the query and the voice itself sent a thick slap of fear across her whole body. She couldn’t answer. She didn’t want to answer.

The man repeated himself, a little louder, biting off the words. “Where. Is. He?”

She tried to shake her head, but of course met with the same resistance she had before. The boots hit the ground once again. She still refused to look. She knew he was close enough to be leaning over her, because his body blocked out some of the rain. It should’ve been a relief. It wasn’t. Nor was the rush of air that came as he reached down and lifted off whatever it was that held her down. Because she still couldn’t move. And now she was exposed.

“I know you’re awake,” he said. “You might think I don’t remember what you look like when you’re sleeping, but you’re wrong. I remember everything.”

It struck her as unfair that he could claim perfect recall, while she had nothing but bits and pieces.

But maybe listening to him will help you. Maybe it will give you a clue. Maybe he’ll even say your name.

She forced her attention to his chilling ramble.

“The way you smell,” he was saying. “The way you always thought you could hide. How you believed you could get away with it. With him.”

Finally, she did move, albeit without conscious effort. She shivered. And he saw it. She knew because he laughed, a low, dark chuckle that was harsher than the weather. He followed the eerie sound with touch. Just a small one—fingers to shoulder. But it was enough to send her mind reeling. She could feel the man’s hands on her everywhere. Sometimes balled into fists, sometimes stroking her with a tenderness that made her skin crawl.

Why would the accident leave me with those memories, but take away my identity? Her stomach swirled into a tight ball of nausea.

“If you don’t tell me where he is, baby, things are going to be much worse for both of you,” the man warned.

Baby. It was the endearment that brought another name—not her own, and not the man’s, either—to the surface. Xavier.

She clamped her lips tightly to keep from crying it aloud. Somehow, she was sure that even if she could say nothing else, the name would come out.

“You’re awake,” said the man above her. “And now you’re thinking about him. Tell me. You want to. You hate lying and you hate secrets.”

The cajoling tone was just as frightening as the threatening one. It made her want to cry. She suspected that once upon a time, she might’ve given in to the tactic. And she hated the thought that she could be manipulated so easily. Especially by the man who had his hand on her now.

As if he could sense her internal suffering and wanted to make the outside match, he began to squeeze. Or maybe he just wanted to hurt her, plain and simple. His fingers tightened, and his thumb drove into her collarbone. If she could’ve gasped, she would’ve. Instead, silent, unshed tears built up behind her sealed eyelids, then stayed there, burning with an inability to fall freely.

If I tell him what he wants to know, he’s going to kill me, she thought. And maybe even if I don’t.

But then it stopped. Just like that. His hand was gone. He cursed under his breath, and his footfalls hit the ground hard and fast—fading away at not quite a run. It took only a moment to figure out why. Tires squealed on pavement. A door slammed. And a second set of feet hit the ground.

Thank you.

She didn’t care who they belonged to. All that mattered was that whoever it was had driven away the angry man with the rough hands.

“Holy hell.”

In spite of the fact that the voice was gruff, and the two words a curse, relief washed over her. Something in her gut told her this man harbored her no ill will. The feeling increased as he dropped to the ground and placed a hand directly on the spot that the first man had squeezed so relentlessly. His touch was warm and gentle and imbued with concern.

“Miss, are you with me? Blink if you can hear me.”

She fluttered her lids. A set of dark-lashed, bright blue eyes stared down at her from behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. His gaze filled with relief.

“Thank God.” He ran a hand over his damp jaw and breathed out.

From under her lashes, she watched as he leaned back on his heels and yanked a phone from his pocket. He dialed without looking, then spoke in a low voice. Was he doing it for her benefit? Maybe to keep her from worrying? She thought maybe he was.

After a few moments, he dropped the phone from his mouth and said to her, “Sit tight for one second, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

He stood up and strode away. Panic threatened, but she fought it. She could still hear his feet sloshing over the wet ground, and only a heartbeat passed before he came back into view, dangling a white, mostly shredded purse from his fingers. He spoke into the phone again, this time loudly enough for her to hear.

“She’s got a bag here. Just gonna make sure she knows I’m opening it.” He held out the purse, and she blinked her assent.

“Okay,” he said. “No medical card and no driver’s license. But I’ve got a Port Moody Public Library card. Name on the card is Celia Poller. That’ll have to do.” There was a pause. “Okay. Yeah. I have to. See you as soon as you can get here.”

He hung up, then crouched down beside her again, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. “Miss Poller? Celia?”

She turned the name over in her head. Was it familiar? She honestly wasn’t sure, but she had a feeling she should lay claim to it. She blinked again.

“Okay, Celia. If you had to get into a car accident right here, right now, then I’d call you about as lucky as can be under the circumstance. My name is Remo DeLuca, and I’m a paramedic with BC Ambulance Services.” He paused and met her eyes before he went on. “What I’d like to do is keep you very still. Unfortunately, I can’t do that right now. There’s a downed power line just over there, and with the way the puddles are growing, we’re right in range for a solid electrocution. So, Celia...I need your consent to go outside of normal protocol.”

As if to punctuate his statement, a flash of lightning and an accompanying boom ruptured the air.

And she blinked as hard as she could.

* * *

Ten minutes earlier, Remo would’ve said the storm overhead suited his mood perfectly. A twelve-hour shift on a Friday night was pretty much his least favorite thing. He didn’t know if he’d ever been so thoroughly glad to have a workday over with. A recent new article in the Vancity Gazette claimed that EMT service wasn’t what it should be. As a result, rowdy drunk calls and calls about broken washing machines and calls about heart attacks all got an equal amount of attention. The former two both got in the way of the latter—the ones for people who actually needed his help.

Now, though, his sour thoughts had pushed themselves to the far corners of his mind. The immobile woman on the side of the road commanded his full attention. He could tell she was near shock. Unaware of her surroundings and oblivious to the danger that skirted the edge of her body. Adding to the problem was the part he hadn’t told her about. The other local EMTs were tied up at a house fire, and he was going to have to wait at least fifteen minutes for the backups to arrive. Her slate-gray eyes were fixed on him and him alone, full of both hope and fear. He didn’t want to let her down.

“Another quick second, all right?”

He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then pushed to his feet. His eyes flew over the scene, filtering out the things he already knew were there—the devastated car with its crushed front end, the cracked pole and the downed wires—in search of something he could use as a stretcher. As easy as it would be to scoop up the pretty blonde and carry her out of harm’s way, he knew better. He couldn’t see any external afflictions, and he suspected—based on instinct, mostly—that distress was what kept her from moving rather than an injury, but experience and training had taught him not to rely on gut alone. Some of the most heinous injuries were invisible to the naked eye. So what he needed to do was keep her as still and straight as possible.

Then he spotted it. The car’s windshield, sitting on a patch of grass a few feet away. It was miraculously intact, and he suspected that somehow, the impact had dislodged it and sent it flying. It might even have been the thing that saved the woman’s life. With the windshield missing, she’d had a clear path out the vehicle. He could almost picture the sequence of events.

Incredible.

Remo glanced down at her. Did she have any clue just how lucky she’d been? He doubted it. Not at the moment, anyway.

With a disbelieving head shake, he slipped off his glasses, wiped them with his T-shirt, then stuck them back on his face and headed up the road. There, he positioned himself in front of the glass. He bent down, closed his hands on the slippery edges and lifted. It came up with surprising ease, and it took him only a second to get it stable enough to cart it back over to Celia. Careful to keep it from hitting the ground with any kind of force, he eased it down beside her. Then he took a breath, pushed his knees as flat as they would go, stiffened his arms and positioned the windshield against her body.

“Okay, Celia. Here we go.”

Moving as slowly as he could and being extra cautious in keeping her head and neck stable, he inched the glass underneath her. In spite of the rain, he could feel sweat beading along his forehead and his upper lip. He ignored it. By the time he got her into position, he couldn’t see a damned thing. He was dripping, his glasses were completely fogged up, and the sky had darkened even more. Breathing heavily, he dragged the windshield and its passenger out of range of the sizzling power lines, then knelt down beside the makeshift gurney.

“You still with me, Celia?”

She blinked, then inclined her head. He was relieved to see that she was no longer frozen, but he still didn’t want to take any chances.

“Try not to move around,” he cautioned with a smile. “Hard to say if anything’s broken, and I’d like to retain the role of hero for a little longer.”

One corner of her mouth tipped up and she breathed out. His relief was short-lived. As quickly as her little show of amusement came, it left. Her whole face drooped and her eyes dropped shut.

Damn, damn, damn.

Remo dragged his hands up and clasped Celia’s face. She was cold.

Because it is cold out here, he told himself.

He clasped her wrist and pressed his head to her chest. Her pulse was strong and steady, and her breathing was slow and even, and that was something.

“Did you faint on me, Celia?” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face.

He leaned back and studied her for a second. Her skin had a hint of a tan, but mostly it was a connect-the-dots palate of freckles.

More than pretty.

She had that clean-faced, granola-girl feel that made it easy to picture her hiking up the side of the Grouse Grind. Remo liked it. Which made him sigh and question his sanity.

“Obviously even more tired than I thought,” he said.

Checking out a girl—a patient...sort of—was very low on his list of priorities. Right below the washing machine emergencies. Remo gritted his teeth and told himself to stop before he even got started. Except as soon as the self-directed order made its way into his mind, her hand lifted and found its way into his palm, and a shot of heat cut through the chill.

He looked down in surprise. “Celia?”

Her eyes opened wide. “Xavier.”

For a second, he thought she’d mistaken him for someone else. “Sorry, honey, I—”

She cut him off. “Please, Remo.”

“What do you need?”

“Xavier.”

“Where is he?”

“The back.”

“The back?”

Her eyes flicked toward the shattered car. She couldn’t possibly be saying there’d been someone else inside. Could she? He looked down at her, hoping he’d see a hint of delirium in her gaze. Instead, he just saw faith. She didn’t know him at all, and she still believed in him.

“I’m not even wearing the uniform,” he muttered.

“Help him.” Her fingers tightened around his.

Remo inhaled. “I don’t think Xavier’s here, Celia.”

“He is. In the back.” Her eyes closed for a second. “I hurt.”

“Where do you hurt?”

“Everywhere. My leg, mostly.”

Remo tilted his head down. A dark splotch stood out on one of her thighs. It nearly blended in with her rain-drenched jeans, but staring at it made him sure it wasn’t just water.

Blood. Damn again.

“The ambulance will be here soon,” he said, careful to keep the growing concern from his voice. “Hold my hand as hard as you want. Sometimes that helps.”

She gave him a weak squeeze. “Promise me.”

“I can’t do that.” It pained him a bit to say it.

“Xavier, Remo.”

He glanced toward the car. The engine was crumpled so badly that it was barely recognizable, the hood disintegrated. No doors. No steering wheel. An empty back seat. Except...

What’s that?

Remo pulled off his glasses, gave them another wipe, then looked again.

A stuffed bear.

His gut churned. She didn’t just mean there was another person in the car with her. She meant there was a kid in the car. A kid named Xavier.

She had to be mistaken. She had to be confused. There was no car seat. No other sign that a child had been there. Yet there was that horrible instinct again, telling him he’d read the situation correctly.

“Celia?”

But her eyes were still closed, her breathing even and slow once again. She had a small crease between her brows, like her worry carried over into her lack of consciousness. Remo freed his hand from hers and smoothed his fingers across the wrinkle. It faded for a second, then reappeared. He sighed.

“All right, honey,” he said. “I promise. If there’s a kid around here named Xavier, I’ll do my best to find him.”

He stood and stepped woodenly toward what was left of the car. The rear seat was shredded, its leather split and its foam exposed. Rain thumped down on the remainder of the roof, then poured down onto the remainder of the floor.

“Xavier?” he called softly.

There was no answer.

“You there, kid?”

He took another step and called out a little louder.

“Xavier? I’ve got a lady here who’s pretty worried about you.”

Still nothing.

He swiped the rain off his chin and squinted through his glasses, considering whether both Celia and his gut feeling were off. He tossed another quick look her way. From a few feet back, she looked smaller and more vulnerable.

Shouldn’t have left her lying there.

He moved to go back to her, but sirens cut through the air then, startling him so badly that he jumped. He stumbled a little, trying to catch his footing. He wasn’t quite successful. Cursing his own overreaction, he put out a hand to stop himself from doing a face-plant. The new position—one knee on the ground, body bent over—gave a different perspective.

Between the split cushions of the car seat was a gap that led to the trunk. And inside that gap was an unmistakable object. A small, limp hand.

Chapter 2

The sirens he’d been counting on and the flashing lights that accompanied them became secondary. Remo raced over the puddle-drenched ground, desperate to free the child from inside the trunk.

The trunk. What in God’s name was he doing in there?

He brushed off the question as secondary, too. Something he could deal with later. He reached the rear end of the car just as the first emergency vehicle arrived. Vaguely, he noted that it was an ambulance. A good thing, because he would likely know whoever rode in it.

He stared at the tiny hand for a tenth of a second before deciding two things. One, he shouldn’t wait for anyone else, and two, he shouldn’t try to go in through the trunk itself. He dropped to his knees, stuck his own hands into the crack and pulled. At first, he met with resistance. Then the seat groaned. It creaked. And finally, it cracked and sprung forward. Soaking wet pieces of fabric and shards of plastic flew out, and a chunk of foam smacked Remo directly in the forehead, then stuck there. He brushed it away, straightened his glasses, then bent down. His breath burned at what he saw.

The little boy was splayed out on his back, his legs spread wide, the one arm flung near Remo, the other tucked up on his chest. He had his thumb jammed in his mouth, which hung slightly ajar, and his eyes were wide-open.

For a moment, Remo feared the worst. Then the boy—Xavier, he reminded himself—blinked slowly. He pulled his thumb from between his lips and reached out his arms. The needy gesture tugged at Remo’s heart, and without thinking it through, he bypassed protocol. He leaned deep into the trunk, slipped his hand under the kid, then scooped the boy to his chest.

“You’re okay, Xavier,” he said gently. “I’ve got you, kiddo.”

He pushed to his feet, spun, and just about smacked straight into one of the first responders. He recognized him immediately—a senior EMT known for his by-the-book standards. Of all colleagues, this man was his least favorite. The one he’d least want to run into, even under normal circumstance.

He forced himself to back up and nodded an acknowledgment. “Isaac.”

The older man blinked. “Remo?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Lucky coincidence.”

Isaac glanced down at Xavier. “What are you doing now?”

“Saving this kid’s life.” His voice was embarrassingly thick with emotion.

“You moved him?”

“Had to.”

Isaac’s eyes went from the boy’s small body to a spot over Remo’s shoulder to the shattered vehicle. He opened his mouth. Before he could speak, though, a thunderous rattle came from all around. Something popped. And from the corner of his eye, Remo spotted the source.

The electrical pole.

A crack as wide as his arm split the damned thing down the middle. Its two pieces shuddered, then tilted. One went backward, but the other came forward, and as they watched, it fell fast and hard. Straight into the car.

Remo wished he could feel smug. Instead, he just felt relieved. Maybe a bit stunned. He swung back to Isaac, but the other man didn’t acknowledge the fortuitous result of his rule breaking.

“Guess you moved the woman, too?” he asked.

“She would’ve been electrocuted otherwise.”

“Fine. What’s done is done. I’ll get a gurney over here so you can put the kid down.”

Xavier buried himself in Remo’s chest, his small hands gripping his shirt tightly.

“I don’t need a gurney. I’ll hold him in the back.”

Isaac blinked. “What?”

Remo shook his head, not buying the ignorant act for a second. “You heard me.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “You want to keep ignoring protocol?”

“Done it twice in the last twenty minutes. Saved a woman and a kid. Think I’ll stick to my own rules for just a little while longer.”

“I’ll have to put it in the report.”

“Go for it.”

Isaac’s expression didn’t change, but the tightness in his jaw told Remo he was annoyed. The irritation rolled off him, and the seconds ticked by with neither of them backing down. Finally, the second EMT—a younger, part-time kid named Tyler—called out, breaking the tension that radiated through the air.

“Isaac! Need a hand over here, please!”

The older man twitched, then spun to offer his assistance. Remo didn’t bother to gloat. All he cared about was keeping his promise to Celia and making the kid feel safe. He stepped over to the ambulance, murmuring that Xavier’s mom would be fine, and explaining that he’d made sure himself that she’d be safe.

“It might be a little scary in the ambulance,” he said, “but it’s just science, and there’s nothing really scary about that, right?”

For the first time, Xavier pulled back and looked up into Remo’s face. His eyes were the same unusual shade of gray as Celia’s, and he had a smattering of freckles that matched hers, too. There was no doubt that the kid was her son.

“Science?” he repeated in a small, curious voice.

“Science,” Remo confirmed. “Do you like science?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too. Do you want me to take you inside so you can see?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay. Let’s get in before they bring your mom around, okay?”

Xavier nodded, and Remo used his height—six foot four, and sometimes an inconvenience but right that second an advantage—to propel them up together.

“One,” he grunted. “Two.”

“Three!” added the little boy, quiet, but almost gleeful, too.

“Wow.” Remo put some extra awe into the exclamation.

“What?”

“You can count.”

“Yeah.”

“I dunno. Are you old enough to count?”

“I’m five!”

Remo suppressed a chuckle and let out a whistle instead. “Holy cow.”

“How old are you?” the boy asked.

“Old.”

“That’s not a number.”

“Maybe I’m so old that I don’t remember.”

“A hundred?”

“Hey, now. Do I look like I’m a hundred?”

Xavier leaned back and studied Remo’s face like he really had to think about it. “I dunno.”

Remo suppressed a grin. “Is my hair gray? Or falling out?”

“No.”

“Is my face wrinkly?”

The kid lifted a hand and pressed a finger to Remo’s forehead. “A little right here. The same kind of wrinkly my mom gets when she worries about me.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit of a worrier myself.”

“Do you have a boy like me at home, too?”

“’Fraid not.”

“How come?”

“Well. For starters, I don’t have a wife.”

“My mom doesn’t have a husband.”

Remo couldn’t quite block out a trickle of interest at the statement. “No?”

Xavier shook his head. “My dad isn’t in the picture.”

It had the ring of something oft-repeated, and this time, Remo couldn’t stop a smile. “Well. I guess that makes you the man of the house, hmm?”

“That’s what my mom says, too.”

“Glad she and I agree.”

The little boy’s gaze flicked toward the open doors at the back of the ambulance. “Is she okay?”

Remo considered the question and how to answer it. Over the course of his career, he’d learned more than a bit about how to read people. Some wanted a gloss-over. Others wanted the worst case scenario presented in black-and-white. A kid, though, was a bit of a curveball. Protectiveness was a reflex, spurred on by the solemn, needy gaze zeroed in on him. No dad in the picture. Celia could be all the boy had. But Remo’s own history made it hard to tell a lie. The kid didn’t deserve it. Especially not if things took a bad turn.

So he chose his words carefully. “She could be hurt, buddy. Car accidents are tricky. But those guys out there are experts. Do you know what that means?”

“Kinda.”

“Well, just in case, I’ll tell you, all right? It means they have lots of training for emergencies just like this one. They’re going to check her over really well before they load her up in here. Then they’re going to take her to the hospital, where they’ll check her over even more.”

“Can I watch?”

“At the hospital?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably not, kiddo. The doctors like to keep things pretty private while they’re doing their job. And the hospital’s like school—it’s full of rules and bossy grown-ups.”

Xavier’s face fell. “Oh.”

Remo gave his shoulder a squeeze. “But hey. There’s always pudding to sneak. And when they’re done, I’ll make sure you’re the first one to see your mom.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Sure I will. Unless you’d rather call someone else. Grandma, or a babysitter or something?”

The kid shook his head. “I’d rather be with you.”

“Then it’s settled. You and I will steal pudding, eat it until we feel sick, then check in on your mom.”

“My mom says stealing is wrong.”

A chuckle escaped. “All right then. We’ll ask the nurses if we can have some, and if they say yes then we’ll eat it.”

A smile cracked Xavier’s face. “I like chocolate best.”

“Me, too.”

“I think they’re bringing my mom in now.”

Remo turned his eyes to the door. Sure enough, Isaac and Tyler had the blonde woman on the stretcher, which they were wheeling closer.

“You good in there, Remo?” called the younger EMT.

“Yep. We’re ready for you.”

“All right. Up we come.”

With another reassuring squeeze, he tucked the kid in a little closer and gave his colleagues room to climb in.

* * *

Because of the ring, Celia was sure she was in a dream. It sat on her index finger, catching the light and sparkling in an unnatural way, especially considering all the darkness around her. But it wasn’t the unusual contrast that made her so sure. It was the fact that the ring was her own personal trick. Something she’d learned in therapy. A lucid-dream tool. She could see it. Feel it. And use it to protect herself from the onslaught of seemingly endless nightmares.

When the counselor had first introduced the idea—a subtle implant in the back of her mind—Celia hadn’t bought the idea that it would work. In fact, she’d assumed it wouldn’t. But on the third night after the initial subliminal suggestion had been given, she’d been tossed into the throes of the familiar, terrifying dream.

It was the same as always. The pause before she realized she had to run. Then her feet hitting the floor of the long, pitch-black corridor. Dread not just pooling in her gut, but overwhelming it and making her heart thunder so hard against her rib cage that it felt bruised. And of course, the fear was warranted. Because next came the furious growl from behind her. The bellowing of her name and the warning that she wouldn’t make it out alive. She didn’t have a name for who chased her—half man, half monster maybe. All she had was the belief that she would never break free. So she ran harder. But the effort lasted only a few seconds before she had no choice but to slow down. Under her aching ribs was something that forced her legs to cease their pumping. Something huge and cumbersome—an undeniably pregnant belly. Which startled her into stumbling and brought the man-monster so close that his self-satisfied laugh cast a breath over the back of her neck.

But on that day...she’d known it wasn’t real. And while she couldn’t force herself into consciousness, the knowledge made the experience just palatable enough. It would end. She would wake. Life would go on.

Just like it would at that moment.

So in her present-day dream, Celia lifted her hand for a second to stare down at the shimmering stone and glittering gold. She acknowledged it with a resigned nod, then moved on. And it happened. The run. The never-ending hallway. The man, the baby, and the laugh. But strangely, it didn’t end in the same way it always had. Instead of the sheer terror and the awareness that her time was up Celia normally experienced, a light appeared. And the light became a door.

Startled, Celia blinked at the newly added element. Then the chill-inducing laugh came again, and she realized that she might—for the first time ever—be able to escape it. As a contraction clutched at her abdomen, she stepped forward. The movement somehow brought the door closer to her, rather than the other way around. But she didn’t stop to question the phenomenon. She simply took advantage. She reached out her fingers, grasped the handle, turned it, and flung the door open.

On the other side was a man. He had dark hair and kind eyes. And he was beckoning to her, his palm turned up and his fingers crooked.

Celia didn’t even hesitate. Squeezing her eyes shut, she dived forward, swollen stomach and all, and let the strange man enfold her in a protective embrace. Behind her, the door slammed. She inhaled. His scent filled her nose. Clean and fresh, with no hint of cologne or aftershave. The smell was so real—so distinct—that Celia felt compelled to check again for the ring. And it was there.

But when she opened her eyes, her senses were assaulted by something else entirely.

Voices, churning all around her. Frantic, mechanical blinking. Over all that, the wail of a siren. And under it, a pervading disorientation and feeling of separation from reality.

“What...” The word came out as a cracked whisper, and she knew it couldn’t possibly be heard. She swallowed and tried again, willing her voice to be stronger. “What’s happening?”

A hand found hers. It wasn’t a grip she was acquainted with, but it was warm and strong and reassuring, and Celia clutched at it, glad for its solidity. For a blissful second she felt safe. And though she couldn’t pinpoint why, she was sure it was actually the safest she’d felt in a long time. Then an odd thing happened. There was a shift—like the person was adjusting to a better position—and a face came into view.

It’s him.

And it was him. The man from her dream. Only real. Celia was certain, because their clasped hands would’ve driven the ring into her palm.

She stared up at him, held transfixed by the incredible blueness of his eyes. They were azure. Stunning. And though Celia didn’t think she knew the man, there was still something familiar about his stare. She was so enraptured by his look that Celia nearly missed the fact that his mouth was moving.

She tried to focus on what he was saying, but it seemed to be a mumble of medical jargon. It distracted her.

Was the man a doctor? Was he her doctor? Was she hurt or sick?

Of course you’re hurt or sick, said a voice in her head. If you weren’t hurt or sick, you wouldn’t be in this ambulance.

The thought jerked her attention away from the man’s blue, blue eyes, and her gaze swept back and forth. It was true. There was a narrow strip of light on the metal roof, bright red medical bags and a variety of equipment hanging from the sides. She could feel a thin mattress under her back. An IV line ran directly into the hand not held by the stranger. And when she tipped her head back a little, she also saw a blue-clad leg that she was sure belonged to a paramedic.

But...why?

She swallowed. She had no idea how she’d gotten into the back of the ambulance. And now that she was thinking about it, she realized she couldn’t remember much of anything at all. Not what she was doing before she got to the spot where she was now. Not where she lived, or what she did for a living. She closed her eyes, trying to grasp at something from her past. Anything, really. But it seemed just out of reach.

It was so frustrating. So frightening. And Celia felt a need to do something about it.

She opened her eyes and tried to sit up. Her head spun. Badly. And the blue-eyed man’s palm slid from her hand to her shoulder, and his voice filled her ear.

“You have to lie back down,” he said gently.

For no good reason she could think of, Celia fought against the soft suggestion.

“Let me go,” she said. “I have to...”

Have to what? Oh, God. Why can’t I remember?

Her heart thudded even faster, and one of the machines in the ambulance chimed an alarm. Celia squeezed her eyes shut again and willed her pulse to slow. She had questions, and if she wanted answers, she needed to be calm. She needed calmness around her so that the blue-eyed man—another paramedic, maybe?—would answer them. She breathed out, counted to ten, then opened her eyes and found herself face-to-face with that azure gaze again.

“Celia.”

He knows my name.

And it was good. It brought a very small, very recent memory to the surface. Him, holding her library card—with its distinct logo—in his hands. Her, not even knowing who she was until that moment. The wave of gratitude tempered her panic, but only momentarily. Because it no sooner washed over her than a tiny, worried voice cut through all of it, and it was the most familiar thing she’d heard, seen, or felt in what seemed like a decade.

“Mommy?”

Xavier.

She knew little else, but she knew her son. Five years old. Freckled face. Too much intense seriousness for such a little person. She loved to make him laugh. Loved it when he let go of that little frown of his and giggled so hard that he said his tummy hurt.

Celia dragged her eyes open and sought him out. There he was, his small frame tucked against the big one that belonged to the blue-eyed man. How she hadn’t noticed him first—or even sensed his presence—was beyond her. He looked scared. But undeniably safe.

And I have to keep him that way. I have to keep protecting him.

She didn’t know where the thoughts came from, but they were accompanied by another, dizzying rush of blood. It thumped through her body, up through her chest, and straight to her head. It wasn’t just fear; it was absolute terror.

The world swam. Celia desperately wanted to say something to her son. To reassure him that everything would be fine. But her mouth didn’t seem to be in a cooperative mood. And worse than that, her mind was slipping again, headed straight back toward the oblivion it’d just barely crawled out of before.

She blinked, trying to clear away the impinging blackness. It was impossible. But as she faded even further, she made a last-ditch effort to communicate by sending the blue-eyed man a look. A plea. And for a moment, she thought she failed. The man said something else—more indecipherable medical stuff. But then turned his attention to her son. And even though she couldn’t hear his words, Celia was sure that they were the right ones. Xavier’s eyes cleared. His tense little body relaxed. And then there was nothing.

Chapter 3

As Celia’s eyes fluttered shut and her pulse evened out, Remo wanted to holler at the driver to go faster. He actually had to grit his teeth to keep from doing it. He knew better. Tyler—the kid at the wheel—had the sirens going, the lights flashing, and he was negotiating the streets of Vancouver at a pace that was both quick and safe. Isaac had done everything right, because that was how the older paramedic rolled. Carefully, perfectly set IV. Heart rate monitor secure. Pain meds, blankets, gurney...all as they should be. Remo was sure of it. Yet he still wished he’d done it all himself.

For no good reason.

He stared down at Celia, wondering where the unusual desire came from. The blonde woman was beautiful. No doubt about it. He’d already acknowledged that. Her physical vulnerability was a given. And Remo had been told on more than one occasion that he had a bit of a hero complex. Except neither of those things—alone or together—usually affected him. He ran into beauty and vulnerability in his job just as often as he saw the ugly side of things, and he always took it in stride. Patients were just that—patients. They needed him, and he got paid to meet those needs.

So not that, then.

Remo ran his eyes over his “patient” once more. The rush of protectiveness didn’t ease in the slightest. If anything, it grew. He watched the rise and fall of her chest—consistent but weaker than he would’ve liked—and reminded himself that she wasn’t as frail as she seemed in that moment. Underneath it, she was strong. The proof was evidenced in her determination to save her son’s life. In the pleading look she’d sent his way before she faded out. Pure selflessness. She’d sacrifice herself for her kid, and that was a hell of a thing.

And speaking of the kid...

He dragged his attention down to Xavier. The little guy was tucked right against Remo’s side, his forehead creased, his eyes closed, and one of his little hands clutching at his shirt. The sight of the small, nails-chewed-down fingers reminded Remo of something else—the kid had been locked in a trunk. Undoubtedly because Celia had put him there. And if she’d done it, then it had to be because it was the best way to keep the kid from harm.

What could be so dangerous that Celia felt the safest place for her son was hidden in a trunk?

Not what, he thought immediately. Who.

Remo’s eyes flicked from Xavier’s hand to Celia’s face, a suspicion creeping in. The kid claimed that his father wasn’t in the picture. Could be that it was by design. Remo’s heart twisted a little as he considered it. The idea that being locked in a trunk might be the better alternative to putting the kid in contact with his dad was a dark one. Darkness didn’t mean it wasn’t true. His own life was enough proof of that.

He blinked, genuinely surprised to find even a hint of his past creeping up on him. Sure, it was only in his own head. It was still an unusual occurrence. Something he deliberately avoided.

“Remo, did you hear me?”

He blinked again, this time to focus on Isaac, who was eyeing him with concern.

“Sorry, man,” he replied. “Missed it.”

The older man opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Just letting you know that we’re T-minus thirty seconds away from the hospital.”

On cue, Tyler cut the sirens and the lights, and slowed down as they rounded the bend that led to the hospital entryway. They coasted to a stop, and Isaac prepped the gurney for transport.

Xavier lifted his head. “Are we there?”

Remo gave the kid a light squeeze. “Yep.”

“Are they taking her away?”

“Only for a short bit, buddy. Doctors have to look her over, remember? Make sure everything’s working right.”

“But you said these guys were ess-berts.”

“Experts,” Remo corrected with a smile. “And they are. But their job is to get people to the hospital.”

“Because of science?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh.” Xavier’s little face sank. “I wish we could go.”

“I know it’s hard,” Remo said gently. “But you’re a brave kid. I can tell.”

The little boy nodded solemnly, but a moment later, his face brightened. “And you’re staying with me.”

“You got it, buddy.”

Tyler and Isaac finished pulling Celia out of the ambulance then, and Remo gestured to the open doors.

“You wanna go first so you can see them take your mom in?” he asked. “Or you want me to go so I can lift you down?”

Xavier didn’t hesitate. “You.”

“All right. Here I go.” Remo shot a conspiratorial wink in the kid’s direction, then hopped up and out.

Before he could turn and grab the kid, though, a hand landed on his shoulder. Startled, he turned. Isaac stood just behind him, a dour look on his face.

“Shouldn’t you be with Celia and Tyler?” Remo said in a low voice.

The other man shook his head. “Handed off the first patient. Now I’m back for the second.”

At the statement, Remo’s gut flipped uncomfortably. And when Xavier’s worried voice carried out from the ambulance, his stomach downright churned.

“Are you catching me?” the boy asked.

“I sure am,” Remo told him. “Just sit tight and give me a minute with Mr. Isaac, okay?”

“Okay.” The kid slipped back into the ambulance.

Remo turned back to his coworker. “I’ll take him in.”

Isaac shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“I want to.”

“Riding along with us was one thing. But you’re going to have to wait in the waiting area like everyone else. Tyler and I will see that the patient is taken care of, and the child care worker will—”

“No.”

“Pardon me?”

Remo dropped his voice and gestured toward the ambulance. “That kid’s scared. His mom is unconscious. He has no one else here, and he seems to like me.”

“You’re not on duty,” the other man reminded him.

“And?”

“It’d violate the rules, DeLuca. Once we get behind those sliding doors, though, you’re a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“And?” Remo repeated.

Isaac gave him a puzzled frown. “What’s with you?”

“What’s with me? Have you ever been that kid?”

“What?”

“Have you ever sat there and waited while your mother—” He stopped himself abruptly and shook his head as he realized his coworker had a damned good reason for looking confused; Remo was far from heartless, but he had no problem checking his emotions at the door. Usually. What was with him? He had no idea.

But I’m not backing down. The kid needs more than a pat on the head and a bandage.

“I’m going in with him,” he stated firmly, his words a little calmer.

Isaac wasn’t done being his stubborn, by-the-book self. “I’m running this shift, DeLuca.”

“And that means what? You’re going to fight me, to stop me from taking the kid in? Block my way into the hospital?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. But one of us sure is.” Ignoring his coworker’s irritated expression, Remo turned toward the ambulance. “C’mon, kid. I’m ready for you.”

There was a shuffle, and then Xavier appeared at the doors. He looked uncertainly from Isaac to Remo, and Remo could’ve given the other man a knock straight upside the head for making the kid worry even more.

“S’alright, Xavier,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

“Do you promise?” the little guy asked.

The plaintive question dug straight into Remo’s heart. “I promise.”

Xavier nodded, then reached out his arms, and Remo scooped him up. When he turned toward the hospital, though, he found Isaac standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. Was the other man actually going to block him out, ridiculous or not? If so, would Remo genuinely push his way through?

Only a heartbeat went by before he was saved from having to find out. One of the hospital’s administrators—one who favored Remo, thank God, but knew him well—stepped into view.

She shook her head of tightly curled gray hair and frowned at the three of them. “Are you going to stand out here all night with that kid, DeLuca, or are you going to bring him in?”

“He’s not on duty, Dr. Hennessey,” Isaac said immediately.

The woman pursed her well-wrinkled lips, moved closer, and fixed a kindly smile toward Xavier. “What do you think, son? Should we bend the rules so Remo can bring you in?”

“Yes, please,” the kid replied with barely contained enthusiasm.

Dr. Hennessey chucked his chin, then lifted her head. “You have a good rest of your night, Isaac. I think your colleague and I have it from here.”

With entirely more relief than was reasonable, Remo exhaled and followed the wizened doctor—a woman he’d known most of his life—into the building. Sensing something was up, he let her take the lead. She said nothing as she guided him through the halls and up a flight of stairs to a relatively unused part of the hospital. She continued to keep silent until they finally reached one of the small, unoccupied family rooms. There, she gave Xavier a speedy but thorough once-over, and everything she said was related to that. It wasn’t until she’d issued a clean bill of health and set the kid up with a juice box and a colorful book that she finally asked Remo to join her outside for a moment. After making sure it was all right with the kid, Remo complied. The moment they crossed the threshold from the room into the hall, the older woman’s demeanor changed. She put her hands on her hips and issued a stern look.

“All right,” she said. “What’s going on?”

Remo blinked. “I kind of thought you were about to tell me.”

“Any idea why someone might be looking for that kid and his mother?” she asked.

His earlier thoughts about an angry ex sprang to mind, but he shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“Five minutes ago, I was in Emergency getting a signature from triage. A very well-dressed man pushed his way through the ten people waiting and demanded to know if a mother and son had come in, and when the nurse explained they couldn’t give out information like that unless he could prove he was a family member, he left.” She paused. “It rubbed me the wrong way. And a minute later, I overheard another nurse mention that you were outside arguing with another paramedic about a mom and her son.”

With the term “walking lawsuit” leaping to mind, Remo quickly decided in favor of telling her his fear—that Celia was on the run from an ex-husband. As he spoke, the senior administrator studied him with unveiled concern, and he knew what was coming before she even spoke.

“Remo...” she said. “You know I love you like a wayward nephew.”

“Thanks, Auntie Tanya,” he replied dryly.

“Uh-huh. And you know how close I am with your mother,” she added.

Remo feigned a look up and down the empty hall. “Shh. Nepotism.”

“Monthly coffee with a fellow hospital employee hardly counts as nepotism.” She smiled a sharp I-know-everything-anyway smile. “Stop deflecting. You can guess what I’m wondering.”

“Am I letting my past cloud my view?”

“Exactly.”

For the briefest second, Remo closed his eyes. In the last hour, his mind had strayed to his childhood at least twice. That was double the number of times he let himself think about it at all in an average year. So he had to admit—at least to himself—that it was there, under the surface. Was it affecting his objectivity? Maybe. Was it affecting his reaction to the kid and the kid’s mom? Definitely. But it didn’t change the bits and pieces of evidence that led him to the conclusion.

He opened his eyes and shook his head. “I might not be unbiased, but I’m also sure my opinion is sound.”

The older woman sighed like she was hoping to hear something else. “Okay. I believe you.”

“So what do you think? You want to call the police?” For no good reason, the idea bothered Remo, and he was thankful when she shook her head a little.

“I don’t know,” she told him. “Nothing illegal happened. Not yet, anyway. And domestic violence...” She let out another soft breath. “It’s a fine balance here, Remo. If what you think is true, then exposing their location and identities could put the two of them at more risk, and patient well-being is my number one priority. Particularly when there’s such a large element of vulnerability involved.” Her eyes strayed toward Xavier. “But protecting the hospital’s needs is a part of my job, too. Not doing anything and them getting hurt because of it could put us in a bad spot.”

“I’ll take responsibility,” Remo said immediately. “I’ll watch the kid. I’ll see what I can find out from his mom. And if there’s the slightest hint of danger, you know I’ll do the right thing.”

“Do you think the child’s in danger right now?” she asked.

“Did you see any signs of abuse?” he countered.

She shook her head. “Considering that fact that he was just in a car accident, he’s in damned near perfect shape.”

“So...”

Her gaze hung on him, her expression thoughtful. She was clearly weighing it all, and he had to fight an urge to make an uncharacteristic plea. Instead, he waited with as much patience as he could muster.

“All right,” she said at last. “But you’re going to stick like glue to that boy in there. As long as his mom’s a patient and you’re here in the hospital, I don’t see a need to involve social services.”

Relief washed over Remo. “You’re the boss.”

Tanya issued a nod. “I’m trusting you both personally and professionally here. You’re the best paramedic I know, and you’re a good man, too. So at the slightest hint of anything that could put anyone at risk... I expect to be informed. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that as far as the kid is concerned, it’s a legal obligation.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll give you a call on your personal phone as soon as I hear anything about the kid’s mom.”

“Thanks, Tanya.”

“And, Remo...” She trailed off, then cleared her throat. “One more thing.”

His heart thumped an unusually nervous beat. “What?”

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that the little boy is about the same age as your niece would’ve been now.”

Her words hit him hard, and square in the chest, and he was thankful that once she’d said them, she simply nodded, then spun and walked away.

* * *

This time, consciousness slammed into Celia like a cold wave. It smacked her in the face, forcing her to open her eyes and gasp in a breath at the same time. For a moment, she was too stunned to move. Then a thought jumped to the front of her mind and forced her to act.

Xavier.

Her son’s name took the wave to the next level. Her rib cage squeezed a protest, while her vision fought to adjust. Trying to stay calm was an impossible endeavor, and Celia gave in to the panic. She whipped her head back and forth in a frantic search. On the periphery of her mind, she noted her surroundings. She was tucked firmly into bed. The room was dark. And quiet, too, except for a light, mechanical hum. And it was all a concern. But it was also secondary to the fact that Xavier was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is he?” The words came out in a raspy whisper, and they were met with silence. “Where am I?”

She tried to sit up, and met with resistance. Her fear doubled. She tried harder, and a new noise overrode the relative silence—the beep of some kind of alarm. And it was followed by the rapid thump of feet hitting the floor.

No.

She had to get away. She had to find Xavier and keep him away from the man who threatened the life they’d built together.

Celia drew in another sharp, burning breath. She could see his face. See the craggy outlines of his cheeks and feel the heat of his breath.

Then there was a zap, and the relative darkness became a soft, artificial glow.

Nowhere to hide.

“God, God, God.” It was a prayer and a plea and a curse.

Ignoring the indistinct voices that suddenly filled the air, she fought against the hands that were on her now, holding her in place. Her flails got herself free. Partly. Something else gripped the back of her hand and made it sting.

The IV.

A rush of recall swept through her. The ambulance. The accident.

“Remo,” she whispered as a pair of blue, blue eyes filled her memory.

The thought of them—of him, dark-haired, rough-spoken, and protective—brought the panic down to a reasonable level. Her heart rate eased, and the decrease of blood roaring through her let the sound of a patient female voice reach her ears.

“It’s all right,” the voice was saying. “Just breathe in and out.”

Celia complied. It would be easier to communicate and locate her son if she was calm.

Slow suck of oxygen in.

Steady release out.

And again.

“Just like that,” the voice encouraged.

In. Out.

“You’re safe and sound now,” the voice added.

In. Out.

Celia at last blinked away the last of the fog and cast a careful look around, trying to get a handle on her surroundings. The nearly drawn blinds drew her attention first. They revealed that night reigned, and that a rainstorm raged.

Still raged, she thought, as she remembered it hitting the windshield of her car before she was blindsided.

But that wasn’t what she wanted to be thinking about now.

She swiveled her head, noting that the room was pale blue and lit with soft light. Her gaze finally landed on a plump, olive-skinned, sixtyish woman—the source of the voice, obviously—who was smiling at her from a safe couple feet away. She was dressed in scrubs, wore a stethoscope around her neck, and had on a name tag that read Jane. As Celia took in the woman’s appearance, she connected the dots. The soothing ambience, the tube hanging from her hand, and the nurse added up to one thing.

I’m in a hospital.

That realization provided her with some relief. But where was Xavier? In the hospital somewhere, too? Could the nurse be trusted?

And why do I have to wonder if a nurse can be trusted?

Her head ached, and Celia briefly closed her eyes to minimize the pain. From behind her dropped lids, a vision of her son filled her mind. In it, he was tucked under the blue-eyed man’s arm during the ambulance ride. Remo. She knew it was his name, even if she didn’t recall why. Was Xavier still with him? For no tangible reason, she kind of hoped so. Deciding she had no choice but to ask—trust or no trust—she opened her eyes and her mouth at the same time. But the nurse—Jane—spoke first.

“Hello, Mrs. Poller,” the other woman said, stepping closer. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“It’s Miss,” Celia croaked automatically.

“I’m sorry?”

“Miss. I’m not married.”

“Well. That’s one more thing we know about you, isn’t it? Your name and your marital status. It’s a start.”

Celia eyed her and tried to keep her heart from fluttering. Something in the back of her mind told her she didn’t want to be known. And not knowing why it was true was frustrating. Especially since she wasn’t sure how it affected her son. Regardless, she needed to know he was okay. She started to clear her throat, and the action brought a cough-inducing dryness to the surface. Jane moved nearer again, grabbed a cup and a straw from the bedside table, then held them up to Celia’s lips.

“Don’t drink too much, too fast,” she cautioned. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

Celia nodded and took a miniscule sip. The icy water slid down her throat and cooled the burning sensation.

“Better?” asked Jane.

“Much,” Celia replied. “Thank you.” She took one more taste, then met the nurse’s eyes and chose the direct route. “Was my son brought in, too?”

“Your son?” The blankness in the woman’s tone spiked Celia’s pulse again.

She forced herself to answer as calmly as possible. “He’s five, but on the small side for his age. Brown hair, gray eyes, and freckles. He was wearing a red T-shirt with a fire truck on it.”

Jane set down the cup, then moved to the foot of the bed and pulled a chart from a clip fastened there. She flipped through a couple pages and shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Miss Poller,” she said. “I don’t see any notes on here about your son. I can call down to Pediatrics and—”

“No.”

“What?”

Celia exhaled. Whatever it was she feared, the thought of further exposing her son made it that much worse. She had to keep the attention off him. It was a compulsion.

“What about Remo?” she asked.

“Remo DeLuca? The paramedic with the dreamy eyes?” Jane smiled.

Even though she wasn’t sure of the last name, Celia nodded. The description fit. And besides that...how many Remos could there be hanging around the hospital?

“He’s the one who brought me in,” she added.

Jane took another look at the chart, and her brow furrowed. “He’s not listed here.”

Doubt crept in. Was there a reason he’d left his own name off her admission documents? Was it significant? And did she even have time to think about it when her instincts told her she needed to get to Xavier as quickly as possible? Then, from somewhere in Celia’s mind, a full-body image of the man popped up, and in it, Remo wasn’t wearing a uniform.

He was off-duty.

Celia exhaled and made herself smile. “That’s because Remo wasn’t acting in an official capacity. He’s...a friend. Which is why I think my son might be with him.”

Jane thoughtfully tapped the chart for a second, then sighed. “Okay. Let me do a quick check of your vitals, and then I can send out a general page through the hospital. If Mr. Blue Eyes is here, I’m sure he’ll come running.”

Celia nodded, sat back, and pressed her lips together to keep from impatiently demanding that the nurse do her job as fast as humanly possible.

Chapter 4

Remo smiled as Xavier put the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle in place, then let loose with a triumphant fist pump.

“Did you see that, Remo?” the kid asked excitedly. “There were fifty pieces, and I got them all.”

“I did see it,” he agreed. “And I’m pretty impressed. Should we put this one away and start another? Or do you want to go back to coloring?”

“Another puzzle.” But the kid no sooner started to pull apart the pieces than he stopped again and lifted a hesitant look in Remo’s direction. “Do we have time?”

“You mean how long until we see your mom?”

The kid didn’t answer immediately. He just flicked his thumb over the bumps of the completed puzzle. Remo waited. For the last thirty or so minutes, the little boy had been painstakingly pressing the bits together. Though he had to be tired and scared, he’d managed to elevate keeping a stiff upper lip to a whole new level. He’d chatted about cartoons and YouTube and his friend Kevin from school. The one thing he hadn’t brought up was his mom, and Remo was sure it was on purpose.

Even though the door to the subject had been opened now, Xavier’s next sentence came out in a small voice. “She says patience is a virtual reality.”

Remo fought a chuckle. “A virtue?”

Xavier nodded without looking up. “Yeah.”

“And she’s right, buddy,” Remo told him. “But I know you’re worried, and it’s okay to talk about it.”

The little guy sighed a deep, far too adult sigh before lifting his face and asking, “They’re going to fix her, right?”

“That’s their job.”

“Does that mean yes?”

For the first time in his life, Remo wished he was better at making grand promises he couldn’t personally guarantee. Reassurance was one thing, but sugar-coating wasn’t his forte. Even when it came to children, he believed it was better to be honest. Kind but forthcoming. Something he’d always appreciated as a kid himself, but not received often enough.

Everything will be fine was the last thing someone had said to him before his seven-year-old world imploded, and he wouldn’t lay that on someone else.

So instead he said, “It means they’ll do everything they can to make sure she’s fine, buddy. They have science and medicine on their side, and from everything I could see myself, she looked good.”

Xavier’s face screwed up like he was thinking about the lacking-of-promise answer, but when he spoke, it was to ask a seemingly random question. “Why are they saying your name?”

Remo frowned. “What?”

The kid aimed a thumb toward the hall. “Over the speaker thing. Like the one they have at kindergarten.”

Remo cocked an ear. Sure enough, a second later, a crackling page came to life.

“Remo DeLuca, if you’re in the hospital, please report to room 414. That’s Remo DeLuca to 414. Thank you.”

Xavier’s face lit up with hope. “Do you think room 414 is my mom?”

Remo ruffled the kid’s hair. “I sure do. And that’s good news, because 414 is the perfect room.”

“It is?”

“You bet. Should we put away the puzzle and go?”

Xavier quickly swept the pieces into the box, then jumped up, visibly excited and truly childlike for the first time since Remo had met him. Smiling, he let the kid grab his hand and tug him into the hall. Room 414 truly was good news. It was in recovery, but not intensive care. If the medical staff had found any issues with Celia Poller’s well-being, they would’ve moved her to one of the wards that offered a better chance for one-on-one care. Knowing that lightened Remo’s own steps as he led the kid to the nearest staff-only elevator. He was gladder than would be expected of a stranger, and he was eager to speak to Celia.

What would the woman have to say about her situation? He couldn’t help but wonder just how much she’d be willing to disclose. Maybe nothing. Maybe she’d see him as no more than the stranger he was. Or maybe—hopefully—he’d get lucky, and she’d choose him as a confidant. If she and her son were on the run, then there would be few people who understood it better than Remo did. The peculiar need to continue to help her and her son only strengthened as he acknowledged that his past had to be one of the main reasons behind it.

But there’s a difference between admitting it to myself and saying it aloud to a stranger.

He cast a glance down at the kid. The sandy-brown curls were pressed to the outside of Remo’s thigh, and the easy trust made his chest compress. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t make that trust worthwhile? Not the kind of man he wanted to be, that much was for sure.

The elevator dinged then, and he started to move forward before realizing that he’d acquired a human ankle weight—the kid was standing up, but was also sound asleep. With a chuckle, he reached down and scooped the boy up. As Remo cradled him to his chest and stepped out of the elevator, Xavier barely did more than sigh. Even when someone tapped Remo’s shoulder and made him do a startled spin, the little guy didn’t stir.

“Hey, DeLuca,” greeted the nurse attached to the hand that had made him jump. “I didn’t mean to scare y—whoa! Is that Celia Poller’s kid?”

Remo looked down, then smiled and feigned surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned, Jane. Where did he come from?”

The nurse rolled her eyes. “Pipe down, DeLuca. I’m just surprised to see that the patient’s claim about you having her kid was true. I wasn’t aware that you had any friends.”

“I have you, don’t I?”

“I’m friends with your mother. You’re just the leech along for the ride.”

Remo’s smile became a grin. “Your bedside manner must be impeccable.”

Jane’s eyes crinkled, but she put her hands sternly on her hips. “No complaints yet.”

“Today or...”

“I did say pipe down, didn’t I?”

“Not sure. I’ve been told my listening skills aren’t great.” He paused, then turned serious. “How is she?”

Jane studied him curiously. “She really is a friend?”

Remo forced a casual-sounding evasion because it seemed odd to admit that not only was she not a friend, but that he didn’t know her at all. “Not on duty, so she can’t be a patient.”

“Right. Well. Your friend is doing just fine. Worried about her kid and a little groggy and understandably confused, but aside from that, she’s all right. CT scan came back normal, so...” She shrugged. “You know the drill. And I won’t tell anyone if you wanna sneak a look at her chart.”

“Thanks, Jane. Room 414?”

“You got it.”

He started to turn away, but the nurse’s voice stopped him. “Remo...”

He braced himself for a comment similar to the one made by the hospital administrator. Something about the kid’s age or size. Instead, Jane met his eyes, bit her lip, and shook her head.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just glad to see you’re not as friendless as I thought.”

Remo swallowed. He tried to muster up a joke about Jane getting soft in her old age, but he couldn’t quite manage it. So he just nodded, then finished his turn, and made his way toward room 414.

* * *

If Celia hadn’t been stuck in her bed and attached to an IV, she would’ve paced the room a hundred times over. Maybe a thousand. It felt like a millennium since the page for Remo DeLuca had come through the speakers. Where was he? Did he have Xavier with him?

Please, God, let him have Xavier. Because if he doesn’t...

The thought trailed off. She closed her eyes. She refused to let her thoughts go to any kind of dark place. The blue-eyed paramedic would have her son. He’d bring him in. And then she’d take him far away from the hospital and whatever unknown danger it was that lurked on the frustratingly dim periphery of her mind.

“Hurry up, Remo,” she murmured.

“Don’t want to go too much faster or I might drop him.”

The unexpected reply—spoken in a slightly dry, slightly familiar masculine tone—made Celia’s eyes fly open. And even though she was expecting him to be standing there, seeing the dark-haired, blue-eyed man in the doorway made her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. When she’d seen him before, she’d been out of it, and he’d been either crouched down or sitting. Now that she was a little more lucid, and he was on his feet, she couldn’t help but note a few things. One, he was tall. Six-five, probably. Two, he was intimidatingly broad-shouldered. And three, he was breathtakingly handsome. The kind of man who would draw the attention of every woman within a three-mile radius. And his looks were so distracting that it actually took Celia a few heartbeats to clue in that what he’d said actually meant something—the “him” he’d mentioned was her son. Held tightly against his wide chest, his sandy-colored lashes fluttering against his freckled cheeks.

“Xavier,” she murmured, her voice breaking with the one word.

The big man stepped into the room, then to the edge of the bed. “You want to wake him?”

Celia exhaled, then shook her head. She had no idea what time it was, but it was definitely well into the wee hours of the night. Xavier needed his rest. Especially since they were going to have to be on the move again. Soon.

Swallowing against the ache in her throat, Celia met Remo’s eyes. “Could you maybe put him on the bed?”

“Sure can,” replied the blue-eyed man.

With more care than his big frame ought to have allowed, he leaned down and gently settled Xavier into the small space between Celia and the guardrail. She tried to offer him her gratitude, but she was too overwhelmed to speak. Her son’s body was warm and soft, and he gave off just a hint of baby powder scent that she recognized as the fabric softener she used in his laundry. The relief at knowing he was okay made her want to weep. But she knew there was no time for indulging. She gave Xavier a brush of a kiss, then peeled off her blankets and eased sideways.

A strong hand abruptly took hold of her elbow, stilling her movement. With the contact, a zap of heat slid along her arm. She looked up, startled. The big man was staring down at her with his eyes fixed on her face. She stared back for a moment before her gaze slid to the spot where his palm met her skin. Seeing his large fingers wrapped around her elbow did nothing to change the peculiar little zaps she felt. Warmth continued to radiate from his touch—maybe it even heightened—and Celia couldn’t pretend that it was unpleasant. Then Remo seemed to notice the extra attention she was giving their position, and he quickly dropped his hand back to his side and stepped a little farther from the bed.

“Hang on there,” he said softly, glancing toward Xavier and dropping his voice even lower. “Are you trying to get out of bed?”

“He’s a sound sleeper,” she replied in a normal voice. “And I’m not trying. I’m doing.”

He took a small step forward, his hand coming up again. Celia tensed with the anticipation of another touch, but he stopped just shy of reaching for her, and a strange stab of disappointment pricked at her for a moment.

There’s no time for this, she told herself. Even if I don’t really know what “this” is.

She gave her a head a little shake, then pushed the blankets down even more. She put her hand on the guardrail opposite her son and pulled her body down the bed.

“Okay,” said Remo. “That’s not happening.”

Celia frowned up at him and continued her shimmy. “What’s not happening?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re not getting out of bed.”

“How is it your business?”

“For starters, I’m a medical professional, and I don’t think you’re well enough to be going anywhere.”

“Are you my doctor?” She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, pretending that a rush of dizziness didn’t accompany the motion.

His eyes hung on her bare knees for a moment, and Celia fought a creeping heat in her cheeks. Apparently, finding her pants was the first order of business.

Remo cleared his throat, his gaze back on her face. “I’m not anyone’s doctor. But I was there immediately after you sustained your injuries, and even if you weren’t hooked up to an IV, I could tell you from what I personally saw out there that you’re not in any shape to be up and moving around.”

“You said that already.”

“Because it’s true.”

“But you’re not a doctor.”

“No.”

She took a breath and formulated what she hoped was a believable lie. “Look. I don’t like hospitals, I have terrible insurance, and I feel all right.”

“Celia.”

She was surprised to hear genuine worry as his voice wrapped softly around her name. And she responded without thinking. “Do I know you?”

His dark brow furrowed, making his already oh-so-blue eyes appear that much more vibrant. “You don’t know if you know me?”

Celia fought a wince. “Of course I know.” And she did. Or she thought she did. Hadn’t she been thinking of him as the blue-eyed stranger? She blew out a breath and muttered, “It doesn’t matter.”

But apparently it did matter to Remo. His long legs brought him to the end of the bed in less time than it took to inhale again, and he quickly grabbed her chart and began reading it. Celia watched as his tense expression eased, then hardened, then eased again. What did he see? What would make his face change like that?

Who cares? Why are you just sitting here, staring at him, anyway? You’re supposed to be moving!

She tried to shake off whatever it was that held her pinned to the spot, but Remo lifted his gaze, and she was immobilized again. Held by the intense mix of emotion in his eyes.

“You didn’t suffer a head injury,” he said.

“You’re making that sound like a bad thing,” she replied.

“I’m concerned that you’re experiencing memory loss.”

“Did I say I was experiencing memory loss?”

“You asked if you knew me.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” she argued.

“So tell me what you did mean,” he said.

“Maybe I meant that as a pickup line.” Her face warmed, but she ignored it. “As in...haven’t we met somewhere before?”

He didn’t smile, or even bite on her lame attempt to deflect. “Did you tell your nurse about the confusion?”

She shook her head and lied again. “I didn’t tell her because there was nothing to tell.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Tuesday.”

“Do you know what year it is?”

“Yes! And I’m not going to tell you. The nurse already went over all of that.”

“So it’s just me you don’t remember?”

“It doesn’t matter if I say yes or if I say no... Either way, you’ll take it how you want.”

She started to move again, but he stepped closer once more, and this time, he did put his hand on her.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low, urgent, and earnest, all at the same time. “We don’t know each other. But to reiterate. You were just in a pretty serious accident. You lost a lot of blood. You’ve had a transfusion, you’ve been stitched up, and you’re on some intravenous antibiotics. All of that—combined with common sense—should be enough to keep you in that bed.”

As logical as his words were, Celia couldn’t quite concede. “And if I don’t agree?”

“Then I’ll call the nurse—whose name is Jane, and who I’ve known for twenty-five of my thirty-one years—and I’ll ask her nicely to sedate you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I sure would.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“Then you’d better give me a damned good reason for that,” he replied. “And it better be more believable than a hospital phobia, too.”

“My son...” Celia felt tears well up, and as she dropped her gaze and fought to either hide them or hold them in, whatever further lie she’d been about to issue got lost completely.

Remo spoke again, his voice gentle. “Xavier is only going to be in more danger if his mom’s too weak to help him.”

She lifted her head in surprise. “How did you know he was in danger?”

The big man’s expression shifted subtly, and Celia realized her mistake even before he pointed it out.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But now I do.”

She pushed her lips together and looked away. After a second, Remo let out a sigh.

“I want to help you,” he told her. “But if you’re going to keep lying to me, I can’t do it, Celia. I need a little trust here.”

She echoed his words back to him. “Then you’d better give me a damned good reason for that.”

His jaw ticked. She waited for an argument. But what she got instead was his story.

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