for a second opinion again. I’ll be confident to make the diagnosis myself.’
He wasn’t joking. He would be confident. Sullivan had never needed to be shown anything twice in his whole career. He’d embraced the doctor’s motto of see one, do one, teach one.
Gabrielle’s gaze narrowed a little. She gave a quick nod. ‘No problem.’
* * *
The next few days passed quickly. Every time she turned, Sullivan Darcy was at her back. Or maybe it just seemed like that.
He hadn’t exaggerated. He picked up things quickly. He’d diagnosed more patients with non-pulmonary TB. He’d adjusted antibiotic regimes for patients who were struggling with side effects. He’d spent hours and hours with patients with the dual diagnosis of HIV and TB.
His only tiny flash of frustration had been with a young child who was suffering from appendicitis. They had no real surgical equipment in the field. No theatre. No way to sterilise the tools that would be needed for surgery.
The nearest hospital was four hours away across a dry and bumpy road. Finding transport was a problem. All they could do was give the child some pain relief and a shot of antibiotics in the hope it would stave off any potential complications before sending him off in the back of a worn-out jeep. As the jeep disappeared into the distance Sullivan kicked an empty water canister clean across the camp, his hands balled tightly into fists.
She watched from a distance.
There was something about him that was so intriguing. Ask him anything medical and he could talk for ever. Ask about training placements, hospitals, work colleagues and experiences with Doctors Without Borders and he’d happily share all his experiences.
But ask about his time in the army or his family and he became tight-lipped. And there was something else Gabrielle had noticed about Sullivan Darcy.
He had the same skill that she’d developed over the years—the art of changing the subject. She’d recognised it instantly. And it intrigued her.
Had he noticed the same skill in her?
It was late. The sun was starting to set in the sky. They’d stayed much later at this site. It was one of the furthest away from their camp—which meant that the people in this area rarely saw medical staff. It made sense to do as much as they possibly could while they were there.
There was a noise to her left and she looked up. The heat of the day rarely dissipated and she’d undone the first few buttons on her shirt and pulled it out from her trousers. One of the tribal leaders had emerged from behind some scrub trees and was scowling at her.
There were a few other men behind him, all talking rapidly and gesturing towards her.
She glanced around. Lucy and Gretchen were nowhere in sight. Estelle was at the other end of the site, loading their transport. In the dim light it was difficult to see anyone else. Their local translator had already left.
The tribal leader strode towards her, gesturing and talking loudly. She’d almost baulked when Gibbs had refused to leave the female staff alone on the mission. But the truth was there had been a few incidents when a traditional tribal leader had refused to allow the women access to their tribes.
It had only happened twice. But Asfar Modarres had played a vital role in negotiating access to the people suffering from TB.
The tribal leader marched straight up to her face, his voice getting louder by the second. She quickly started tucking her shirt back in. No skin around her waist had been on display, but it was clear that something was making him unhappy.
The rest of the men crowded behind the leader. She swallowed. Her mouth was instantly dry.
In the distance she could see Estelle’s head jerk up, but Estelle was too far away to offer any immediate assistance. Gabrielle had never been a woman who was easily intimidated. But she’d never been crowded by a group of angry men. The others had started to fan out behind their leader, surrounding her on all sides. Her automatic reaction was to start to step backwards, trying to maintain some distance between her and them.
Any Narumbi words that she’d picked up from the interpreter flew from her brain. ‘I’m a doctor. Wh-what do you want?’ She could only stammer in English.
The tribal leader poked her in the shoulder with one finger. It wasn’t a violent action. But that one firm poke was enough to make her stumble over her own feet and thump down onto the ground, a cloud of red dust puffing around her.
The noise came from behind. It wasn’t a shout. It was a roar. She recognised Sullivan’s voice instantly, although she had no idea what he’d just said in Narumbi.
All the men looked up immediately. She could hear the thuds and a few seconds later the men were pushed roughly aside, several landing in the dust like she had.
Strong hands pulled her up roughly. She hadn’t even had time to catch her breath. One arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder, pulling her close against his rigid muscles. The words were flowing from his mouth in fury.
She didn’t have a clue what Sullivan was saying, but it was clear that the men could understand every single syllable. The tribal leader looked annoyed for a few seconds and tried to answer back. But he was stopped by the palm of Sullivan’s hand held inches from his face.
Sullivan’s voice lowered. The tone changed. Became threatening. A kind of don’t-even-think-about-it message emanating from every pore in his body. She could feel the vibrations coming from his chest, shoulders and arms. But Sullivan wasn’t shaking through fear or intimidation. She knew straight away he was shaking with rage.
It was a whole new side of him. She’d seen the cheeky side. She’d even seen the flirtatious side. She’d seen the professional side, his willingness to adapt to a situation outside his normal expertise and practise effectively.
Now she was seeing something else entirely. This was the man who’d served in the military. This was the man who left her in no doubt about how vested he was in protecting the people he worked with. Part of her had felt a little resentful when Gibbs had told her he was sending a man to work with them. Right now, she’d never been so glad that Sullivan Darcy was right by her side.
The palm of Sullivan’s hand hadn’t moved. He was still speaking in his low, dangerously controlled voice.
The men exchanged nervous glances. It didn’t seem to matter that Sullivan was outnumbered. His tall, muscular frame and no-nonsense approach left no one in doubt about his potential.
The tribal leader shook his head and muttered, casting a sideways glance at Gabrielle again. After what seemed like an endless silence—but must only have been a few seconds—he spun around, his cloak wide as he stamped back off into the scrub.
Her chest was tight. She hadn’t even realised she was holding her breath until Sullivan released the firm grip on her shoulders and blocked her line of vision.
She jolted and gave a shudder. Sullivan crouched down, his face parallel with hers. ‘Gabrielle, are you okay? Did they hurt you?’
His hands were on her, pushing up the sleeve of her shirt, checking first one arm and then the other. He knelt down, reaching for her trouser leg.
She grabbed his
