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The bright orange helicopter hovered over the scene, though it was a late arrival amongst the impressive deployment of police, fire and ambulance. The tall man beside the pilot wore the same orange boiler suit of the paramedics in the back of the aircraft but the fluorescent label on his uniform bore the insignia of “Dottore” and his designated backpack contained equipment and drugs a step above those carried by even the most advanced paramedics.

It was unusual for an emergency department consultant to be aboard a rescue helicopter, but Dr. Mario Antonelli was different. As the medical director of the air rescue division of the ambulance service, this was precisely the kind of frontline medicine he was interested in.

Passionate about, in fact.

He’d done his time years ago, flying into treacherous scenes to pioneer improved methods to save lives. Now, as the director, he didn’t often fly to the scene, but this job had been so serious it warranted a call-out. A whole busload of English tourists had careened off the road and rolled at least half a mile down the side of a cliff.

Mario closed his eyes for a brief moment as the helicopter landed on the road. He was sending a silent plea to any higher powers that no children had been involved.

He would deal with it if he had to, of course—he’d learned long ago to cope with that kind of heartbreak. He’d just prefer not to ever have to do it again.

The scene commander was waiting to brief Mario as soon as he straightened from his stooped stride from beneath the still-turning helicopter rotors.

“Current situation?”

“Everyone on the bus has been accounted for. Two status two patients already evacuated. Woman trapped by a seat in the back of the bus. Injuries look serious. Leg appears to be crushed or broken. Fire service is setting up cutting gear to free her.”

“Dio!” Mario was forced then to turn his attention to getting down the steep cliff, glad of the ropes someone had snaked down the incline to ease the descent of the rescue workers. At the bottom, Mario turned to survey the devastation of the bus crash. Shards of glass were everywhere and the bus now rested on its side, the metal bent and twisted and the tires in shreds. But Mario didn’t care about the bus—his job was to save the woman trapped inside it.

“I hope they know not to shift anything until I can assess the patient. Who’s with her now?”

“A paramedic. And an English nurse who’s apparently part of a specialized rescue squad in London. Belinda someone.”

An English nurse called Belinda? It had to be a coincidence. Not that it mattered anyway, he told himself ruthlessly. How could it, when it was just a memory and there were things in the present that required his urgent attention. Work was always the best distraction.

A large window on the side of the bus must have been the emergency exit that most of the passengers had escaped from. Mario passed his backpack up and then climbed into the bust through the window. The front of the long vehicle was relatively unscathed but the rest was twisted around a tree. Seats were bent and hanging from their moorings in places, a sea of personal belongings cluttered the floor space and a clear area was slippery with blood.

The trapped patient was in a corner at the back, completely obscured by the rescue workers. Even as the fire service officers cutting through crumpled metal stepped aside for Mario, he could see nothing due to the heavy plastic sheet protecting the injured woman and the emergency workers from debris.

A paramedic appeared first as the sheet was removed. Judging by the awed expression on the young man’s face, he recognized Mario. Not that he was remotely interested in being famous right now.

“What’s the situation?” he asked the medic.

But it was the nurse who spoke—in English. “GCS is dropping. Margaret? Can you hear me?” Mario responded automatically in the same language.

“Vital signs?”

“She’s tachycardiac. Heart rate is one-hundred and forty. Tachypnoeic. Respiration rate thirty-six. Blood pressure’s dropping. We’ve given her two litres of saline already.” The nurse hadn’t turned around because she was clearly pressing on an unseen wound beneath the twisted metal, trying to control blood loss by pressure.

But she didn’t need to turn around for Mario to recognize her. If that tumble of auburn hair that gleamed with copper lights even in this dim light hadn’t been enough, that soft voice was unmistakable.

It was impossible to stop the single, shocked word from escaping—“Bella!”




chapter: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20