belt she wore at her waist cinched her in, emphasising her curves.
Curves? Up until about a year ago he hadn’t even noticed she owned curves.
What the hell was the matter with him? He’d known her since she was a six-year-old in pigtails. He had no business noticing how much of a woman she’d become. How her wide-set eyes were balanced by the fullness of her lips. Or how those cute cherubic cheeks and dimples she’d had as a kid were just plain sexy twenty years later. It was just…wrong.
He banished them from his head and put his mind firmly to the job.
A few hours later Vic was in the depths of a sleep so deep that it took several insistent bangs on her bedroom door to drag her back into consciousness. She surfaced from the pillow she had jammed over her head and yelled, ‘What?’ in the general direction of the door.
Her brothers were in their senior year at high school and were currently in their exam block, which meant unless they had a test they didn’t have to be at school. This afternoon they had a biology paper and were supposed to be using the morning to cram for it.
‘Ryan’s cut his finger.’
Vic’s heavy lids battled to stay open. She’d worked her tail off last night and she was dog-tired. ‘Stick a Band-Aid on it,’ she grouched, placing the pillow back over her head.
‘I think it needs more than that.’
Vic sighed and threw the pillow away as the hesitation in Josh’s voice nagged at her gut. It had to be reasonably bad—both brothers knew a fate worse than death awaited them for trivial interruptions to her post-night-duty coma.
She looked at the clock. She’d been asleep for two hours. No wonder she felt like hell—those first few hours were always the deepest.
She opened the door and a blast of heat pushed into her air-conditioned bedroom. She looked up at her brother towering over her. She was barely five one; everyone towered over her. He was as blond as she was olive, the twins taking after their mother, whereas she had inherited the darker Dunleavy colouring.
‘There’d better be blood.’
Josh swallowed. ‘Oh, there is.’
Vic followed feeling weary to her bones but not overly concerned. She knew non-medical people often misjudged blood loss and that a small amount of the red stuff could often look like a massacre.
Her eyes felt gritty as she entered the kitchen unprepared for the sight that greeted her. For a brief moment she wondered if Ryan had been shot. Blood was splattered on the bench and congealed on the floor tiles. Her brother was standing at the sink, his wrapped hand hovering above the stainless steel.
‘Bloody hell, Ryan.’ Vic, suddenly very awake, flew across the kitchen. A metallic aroma wafted around her as she disturbed the warm air currents and she half slipped in a patch of smeared blood. ‘What on earth did you do?’
‘I told you not to wake her,’ Ryan said, turning accusing eyes on his brother. ‘I said to get some Steri-Strips.’
Vic unwrapped the wound carefully. The blood-soaked tea towel dripped into the sink. She somehow didn’t think Steri-Strips were going to do the job. ‘What happened?’ she asked, her heart slamming in her chest as her suddenly razor-sharp thought processes calculated his estimated blood loss.
Ryan didn’t look at her and a moment passed before Josh spoke. ‘The knife slipped when he was cutting through his shoe.’
Vic glared at Ryan, always the more daring of the twins. ‘Your shoe?’ she demanded.
He shrugged and winced as her unwrapping became a little rough. ‘They were an old pair.’ When Vic glared at him he hastily added, ‘The ad said you could do it with those knives.’
Vic shook her head, not sure how Ryan had ever made it to almost eighteen alive. This had to go down as the winner in the annals of dumb Dunleavy males. ‘I bet it also said not to try it at home.’
She finally uncovered the wound. Ryan’s middle finger appeared deeply lacerated, holding on by not much more than a thread. ‘A Steri-Strip?’ she said incredulously. Ryan shrugged. ‘How long ago did this happen?’ she asked.
‘About twenty minutes ago,’ Josh answered, his voice small.
Twenty minutes ago? No wonder it looked as if a massacre had taken place in the kitchen. Vic valiantly tried to recall her anatomy lessons and picture the blood supply to the hand.
What the hell they thought they were going to accomplish with a thin, weak, sticky strip she had no idea. Were they going to lasso the finger back in place and go back to watching television while Ryan slowly exsanguinated? Would she have woken to find him near death?
She shuddered at the thought. Losing her mother at the tender age of eight had been devastating. Losing one of the twins would be a blow neither she nor her father would ever recover from.
‘It’s practically severed. It’s going to need more than a bloody Steri-Strip. It’s going to need surgery.’
She shook her head at her brother. ‘Joshua,’ she said urgently, twisting Ryan’s bloodied hand upright, encircling his wrist with her thumb and forefinger to form a tourniquet. ‘Get me some clean tea towels and bring me the phone.’
Josh delved in the nearby drawer, pulling out the requested cloths and shoving them at his sister. He stalked from the kitchen and returned shortly after with the phone. Vic was re-covering the wound. He thrust it at her.
She rolled her eyes as she deftly wound the makeshift bandage in place. ‘Ring the station for me.’
Josh paled as he punched in the numbers. ‘You want me to tell Dad?’
‘No. I’ll tell him.’ She finished with the wound and tied a clean dishcloth firmly around Ryan’s wrist to stem the flow of blood to the wound.
Josh held out the phone to her. ‘Dad’s not there. It’s Lawson.’
Vic frowned. What the hell was Lawson still doing at the station? They’d knocked off over three hours ago. Vic reached for the phone. ‘Hold on a sec,’ she said into the receiver.
She directed Ryan to a nearby chair and pushed him into it. ‘You,’ she said to Josh. ‘Hold his arm up above his head like this.’ She supported her brother’s arm in the air and Josh took over.
‘Lawson?’
‘Victoria.’
Apart from her mother, Lawson was the only person who’d ever called her by her full name and, as much as she grouched about it, secretly she adored it. As a six-year-old it had made her feel very grown up and today, with her brother’s blood drying on her hands, it gave her an added dash of courage.
‘Why are you still there? Where’s Dad?’ she said, staying close to her brothers.
‘He had some meeting in Brisbane to attend. I’m covering for him until he gets back. What’s wrong?’
‘Ryan’s practically severed his left middle digit. I could drive him to the hospital myself but I
