‘They wouldn’t touch you, though, those sorts of people—would they? Especially not with a TV crew... That would just be drawing attention to themselves.’
Ryan shrugged, pouring a handful of peanuts into his big hand as the clouds fluttered past their window. ‘You never know what they’ll do, but let’s just say our carefully made runways are as good for transporting illegal drugs as they are for shifting real medicine. You wouldn’t want to see the wrong thing by mistake.’
‘Do you ever get scared?’
He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, popping the nuts into his mouth, running a hand over his dark stubble. She studied his lips as he chewed. She’d bet he had a million women after him. She wondered if he’d ever asked anyone out who wasn’t some sort of celebrity...
‘I wouldn’t say I never get anxious,’ he replied eventually. ‘But if we don’t take these risks, Madeline... Maddy...we risk a lot worse. We risk thousands of people dying unnecessarily. Sick people take risks when they hear about us. They walk for days, even weeks, to get our help in these places. If we suddenly decide we’re too afraid we’re failing them and we’re failing ourselves. You can write that down, too.’
Madeline put her pen back on her notepad, realising with dismay that her handwriting was worse than a child’s.
‘So, is there anyone you need to stay in touch with while we’re away?’ Ryan asked her. ‘You know there’s no signal in the Amazon? Rio might be your last chance to check in for a while.’
‘I’m single. My boyfriend and I broke up,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and trying not to let the anger register in her voice.
She’d bypassed the emotional phase a couple of weeks ago and transitioned smoothly into fury—an emotion that reared its head like a lion whenever she thought of Adeline’s face. She wished she hadn’t checked out the other woman’s Facebook page now. It was worse being able to picture her.
‘He started seeing someone else while I was away working on my last book. He didn’t exactly stop once I got back.’
Ryan was silent. When she looked up he appeared to be fighting a smile.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, straightening his face quickly. ‘But I actually meant for this book—do you need to send things to your editor while you’re away?’
‘Oh.’ Madeline’s cheeks were on fire. She kicked herself internally. ‘Not for a while,’ she managed. ‘I just have to make sure we get our interviews in—and I’ll shadow you, if that’s OK.’
‘However you think it would work best,’ he said, resting his arm on the armrest and brushing hers accidentally. She moved as far away from him as she could, crossing her legs away from him.
‘I really am sorry about your boyfriend,’ he said quietly. ‘It hurts to lose someone you’re close with, however you come to part ways.’
Madeline closed her eyes. Something in his voice spoke volumes of his own loss.
‘These things happen for a reason,’ she said, as firmly as she could manage. She picked up her pen again. ‘It’ll be interesting to see your work with my own eyes. I’ve watched most of your shows—you really do amazing things for people.’
‘Thanks...we try.’ He nodded appreciatively. ‘You’re a trained nurse, as I recall?’
Her heart sped up. ‘Yes, well remembered.’
‘Why did you quit?’
She opened her mouth to reply, but shut it again quickly. She found it hard to vocalise exactly what had happened. She’d thrown herself into her writing instead; it was what her counsellor had told her to do.
‘It’s OK—you don’t have to tell me.’ Ryan put a hand on top of hers for a moment.
Two seconds, maybe three, of skin-on-skin contact and her heart was a kangaroo. She yanked her hand back—maybe too quickly. What had happened in the hospital almost poured out of her, but she bit her tongue. He was a relative stranger. And she was in no mood to go into the details of her past life—that was what it felt like sometimes anyway.
For the next few hours Ryan plugged himself into an action movie and left her to read her book. She couldn’t help the odd glance in his direction, just to confirm she wasn’t dreaming. And she was almost entirely certain he was sneaking a few at her. The next few weeks accompanying him and his Medical Extremes team were going to be ‘extreme’, to say the least.
RYAN STUDIED HIS face in the mirror. He liked to think he didn’t really suffer with jet lag any more, but the truth was he probably threw himself head-first into every new time zone without giving his body the chance to react. This mission was going to be a particularly tough one—not least because he’d have Madeline Savoia on his trail.
He rested his hands on the sink, leaned closer to the glass and frowned at his reflection. His eyes looked tired. Madeline had distracted him from sleeping on the plane.
She looked a lot like her. The first time she’d all but ploughed into him in the studio he’d almost jumped out of his skin. His reaction had been poor, he knew. Angry... The way he always acted when confronted with something he really had no clue how to handle. He’d felt as if he’d seen a ghost.
Josephine.
The name popped into his head like a gunshot. He swallowed hard, jerked the cold tap on and ran his hand under it. Then he said it out loud, straight into the mirror, watching his lips make their way over the word in a way they hadn’t for a long time.’
‘Josephine.’
He rarely let her name past his lips. Every time he so much as thought of her the guilt crashed over him like a tsunami. It had smothered him and almost made him tumble when Madeline’s hands had pressed against him to steady herself. She hadn’t realised, of course, but she’d kind of been holding him up at the same time.
Ryan splashed his face with cold water. The more he tried not to think about this, the more he did. It was something about Madeline’s eyes. And her pursed lips. And the way she’d crossed her arms defiantly over that coffee stain she’d clearly been so embarrassed about. The way she’d lowered her head just slightly when she’d asserted herself, indicating her vulnerability.
A knock on the hotel room door made him jump again. Dammit.
‘I’m coming,’ he called, wiping his face on the towel and running a hand through his hair. It was getting long at the front again. He frowned at the few stubborn greys now making a permanent home in his stubbled chin.
Nothing he could do about it.
Salt and pepper looks better on you than on my French fries.
#DrRyanTobias
A fan of his had tweeted that the other day. He mentally rolled his eyes—such gushing usually went straight over his head. He had quite enjoyed that French fries reference, though. He liked to think years of torment hadn’t marked him physically...at
