you’re being a bit harsh.’ Harriet frowned, but Ciro stood unmoved.
‘I have worked with many athletes, and with their parents, too. Believe me, Mrs Harrison doesn’t want to hear anything that might compromise her daughter’s chances of performing next week, whatever the cost.’
His arrogant assumption annoyed her, and Harriet let it show, her forehead puckering into a frown, her mouth opening to speak, but Ciro got there first.
‘I don’t want them to leave the department.’
‘We can’t force them to stay—’ Harriet started, but Ciro halted her with a stern gaze, his voice clipped when he spoke.
‘I was not exaggerating earlier, Harriet. I will call Community Services if I have to. If Alyssa goes home, I can guarantee she will be back at the bar first thing tomorrow, rehearsing for her performance. And, from my clinical examination, it is my belief that that child is in danger of collapse and possibly sudden death if she exerts herself.
‘So, I repeat—I do not want her leaving this department!’
As Ciro called over the porter and handed him the bloods to take directly to Pathology, Harriet stood stock-still at the desk, pen poised over the notes she was writing, her eyes shuttered for a moment. It wasn’t Ciro’s ominous warning that caused her eyes to close in horror, but the use of the word ‘child’.
They were talking about a fifteen-year-old child, and she mustn’t lose sight of that fact. It was their duty to protect her, especially if Ciro’s educated hunch proved to be correct.
‘What was all that about?’ Charlotte nudged her, putting a massive pile of drug charts in front of Harriet that needed to be checked.
‘The patient in cubicle four,’ Harriet murmured, her mind ticking over. ‘Alyssa Harrison…’
‘The head injury that’s here with her mother?’ Charlotte checked. ‘I thought she was being discharged.’
‘Not any more. Ciro doesn’t want her to leave the department. I’m going to ask Security to keep an eye on them.’
‘But what if the mother wants to take her?’
‘Then a simple head injury will become incredibly complicated.’ Harriet gave a thin smile. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. For now just keep an eye open and let me know straight away if they show signs of leaving.’ The emergency phone trilling loudly interrupted the conversation and had Charlotte practically dancing on the spot with anticipation. When the red phone rang, everything stopped! A direct line to Ambulance Control, it was used to warn the staff about any serious emergencies they could expect, and sometimes, if the situation merited it, an emergency squad of nurses and a doctor would be sent out.
Harriet answered the telephone calmly, listening patiently to Ambulance Control and shaking her head as Susan came over swiftly, with Ciro following closely behind, clearly wanting to find out what was coming in, or whether the squad needed to go out.
‘Just a plane about to land with one engine,’ Harriet said easily, and Susan gave a dismissive shrug, before wandering off. Even the easily excited Charlotte managed a rather bored rolling of her eyes and went off to answer a call bell.
Only Ciro remained, his expressive face clearly appalled at the news.
‘One engine!’
‘Yep,’ Harriet answered. ‘I’ll just let the nursing coordinator know.’
‘And then what?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Then what?’ Ciro barked, clearly frustrated by her obvious lack of urgency. ‘Am I to go out to the airport? Should we start moving patients out of the department?’
‘Ciro…’ Putting up her hand, Harriet stopped him. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘Tell that to the poor souls flying thirty thousand feet in the air,’ he started, and somewhere deep inside, something flared in Harriet—a twitch of a smile on her lips, a small gurgle of laughter building within, a tiny flash of mischievousness at the realisation that she could prolong his agony, a glimpse of the old Harriet, the old, fun-loving Harriet, that seemed to have been left behind somehow. Ciro responded to it.
‘What?’ His lips were reluctantly twitching into a smile, too. ‘What is so funny? I am overreacting, no?’
‘Yes.’ Harried grinned. ‘You obviously haven’t worked in an emergency department that covers an international airport before.’
‘No.’
‘Those poor souls won’t even know there’s a potential problem. This type of thing happens all the time. Ambulance Control alerts us as a courtesy, to be ready in case…’
‘Then shouldn’t we be doing something, getting ready?’
‘Ciro, we are ready,’ Harriet answered. ‘The mobile emergency equipment was all checked at the beginning of the shift, we’ve got a major disaster procedure plan in place, ready to be implemented at any given moment. This is a fairly regular occurrence. Planes can and do land perfectly well with one engine. However, as a precaution, the airport emergency crews will all be ready to meet the plane and if, if, a disaster were to eventuate, we’d commence the major incident plan. But for now it’s way too soon to do anything.’ He didn’t look particularly convinced. ‘Ciro, if they had rung to say a plane was going to land with no engines, we’d be moving. This time next month you’ll barely turn a hair at the news. They’ll ring soon to say it’s landed safely.’
He gave a relieved nod and she should have left it there, should have ended it with a swift smile and got straight back to work, but she didn’t.
‘Unless, of course, the wheels get stuck in the undercarriage.’
‘Now you are teasing.’
‘Yes.’ Harriet smiled, but somewhere in mid-smile it wavered, somewhere in mid-conversation the witty responses ended and all she could do was stare. Stare back at those mocha eyes that held hers, stare at that full, sensual mouth. He smiled back at her and the terrible realisation hit that she was flirting.
Oh, not licking her lips and hand on hips flirting, but there was a dangerous undercurrent that was pulling her. A rip in the ocean that was slowly but surely dragging her in, this seemingly light conversation peppered with dangerous undertones. Surely, surely she shouldn’t be noticing the tiny golden flecks that lightened those velvet eyes, surely she should no more than vaguely register the heavy, masculine scent of him. But instead it permeated her.
Harriet could feel her own pulse flickering in her throat and from the tiny dart of his eyes Ciro registered it too, and for a slice of time the department faded into insignificance, for a second it was only the two of them, not two colleagues sharing a light-hearted joke, but instead a man and a woman partaking in that primitive, almost indefinable ritual. A ritual that somehow acknowledged mutual attraction, that managed, without words, to voice a thousand questions. Never had she been more grateful for the sharp trill of the emergency phone ringing, dragging her back to reality, a mental slap to her flushed cheeks, a chance to regroup, to pull back, a chance to stop something that must never, ever be started.
‘It
