of chemical warfare firsthand.
“Hop to it,” Tyler commanded.
The intern spun on his heels and hurried out the door, pulling it tightly closed behind him.
“Well now, Jane,” Tyler crooned, stepping up to the gurney. “Just what have you gotten yourself into?”
Jane Doe did not respond.
He studied the heart monitor attached by electrical wires leading to conductive gel pads on her chest. Normal sinus rhythm. A good sign. Apparently the mystery chemical hadn’t affected her cardiac functioning.
Hang in there, Jane. He mentally willed her; determination a solid fist in his gut. I’ll take care of you.
The emotional intensity of his thoughts startled him. He wanted to help all of his patients, but there was something special about this woman and he did not know what it was or why. He just knew that he felt committed to her case in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.
Peeling back the covers, he allowed his gaze to rove over her while his fingers investigated. A smattering of first-degree contact burns carpeted her arms and legs. Tyler sucked in his breath and shook his head.
Her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. Her body was lithe, supple. Her firm musculature told him that she worked out often and her lack of a tan meant she was either conscientious about the use of sunscreen or spent most of her time indoors. Her breasts were high and firm. Her abdomen was flat.
Tyler registered these things and tried hard not to be moved by them. He was a professional. A doctor. He’d seen thousands of unclothed women and had never been aroused. He was a surgeon, and because of his stint in the first Gulf War, also something of an expert on chemical exposure. Apparently, that was why the intern had called him in to consult on the case.
Curiously enough, considering she’d been exposed to a potentially harmful chemical, her respirations were deep and unlabored. Color good. Her blood pressure was low but he could put that down to the internal bleeding from her spleen, not from the chemical.
Tyler made a mental note to get her lab analysis as soon as possible. Until he knew what he was up against he was not taking any unnecessary chances. She needed surgery but anesthesia at this juncture might be risky. He would not operate until he knew what he was dealing with or until her physical circumstances deteriorated, forcing his hand.
She moaned when he pressed the right-upper quadrant of her abdomen where her spleen was located. He glanced up and saw her eyelids flutter open.
Their gazes met.
The woman looked like a delicate doe startled in the woods by the sound of a hunter’s gun.
Something stirred inside him. Her vulnerability reached out to him, strumming a chord that was far too familiar. In a flash, he saw a loneliness inside her that matched his own, a sense of desolation that ran as deep as the pain he had harbored for so long.
The connection was instantaneous and frightening in its power.
For God’s sakes, Fresno, stop it.
She was his patient, he was her doctor and even if she weren’t his patient, she deserved much more than a damaged man who’d lost his ability to love.
“Miss?” he said, purposefully denying the heavy thump, thump, thump of his heart. “Can you hear me?”
“Marcus,” she mumbled.
“I’m Dr. Tyler Fresno, and you’re in the emergency room at Saint Madeline’s Hospital in Houston, Texas. You were involved in a motor vehicle accident.” Tyler leaned closer and touched her shoulder. “Can you tell me your name?”
She shifted away.
“Are you in pain?”
She didn’t answer or meet his gaze again.
Tyler pressed the button on the electronic blood pressure cuff—88/62. Her BP was up. Excellent news. Perhaps her spleen wasn’t bleeding as profusely as he had feared.
“Can you tell me your name?” he repeated.
“Marcus.”
“Your name is Marcus?”
“Marcus.” Her lips puckered in a whisper. She stirred. “Where are you?”
Was Marcus her husband? Tyler glanced at her ring finger and saw that it was bare. A woman as beautiful as this one was no doubt married or engaged or at least had a significant other. Somewhere, somebody, probably this Marcus fellow, was worried about her.
A twist of pain stabbed through him as he imagined how frantic her husband must be. If she were his wife…
No. She wasn’t his wife. She was a patient. She meant nothing to him beyond the healing of her injuries. That detached attitude had kept him sane and functioning for the last six years. It was the only attitude he could entertain.
“Miss,” he said, “we need to take you to surgery. You’ve suffered internal injuries and your right leg has a hairline fracture.”
Her eyes were closed again. She did not move.
Tyler shook her. “Is there someone we can call? A family member? Your boss?”
Her eyes flew open and he noticed they were as blue as the ocean outside his beach house on Galveston Island. “No,” she snapped. “There’s no one.”
At least he had gotten a response. “What’s your name?” he repeated.
Fear flitted across her face. She paused a moment before saying hesitantly, “I don’t know.”
He had the oddest notion that she was lying, but it wasn’t that unusual for patients to suffer temporary amnesia following a major trauma such as a car accident. So maybe he was imagining things.
“Can you tell me what chemicals you were transporting? It’s important.”
“Chemicals?” Her voice went up an octave and she dropped her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There were no chemicals in my car.”
“The paramedics found broken glass vials and a damaged empty lockbox in your vehicle.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jane Doe repeated, but she still refused to meet his gaze.
“It’s important. Your life might depend upon this.”
“I’m sorry,” she insisted. “I don’t remember anything about any chemical.”
“Where were you going?”
She shook her head. “I can’t recall. Are the paramedics okay? Did they come into contact with these chemicals?”
Something flickered in her eyes. Remorse? He knew now that she was lying but he had no idea why.
“Possibly.” Two could play this withholding information game. A little guilt might
