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“You may have a point,” I concede reluctantly. “But to be clear, this wouldn’t be a date. This would be a friendly drink so I can get to know my partner better in a relaxed, no-pressure environment that isn't interrupted by emergency calls. Besides, we got off to a bit of a rough start, and the way I see it, you owe it to me as my mentor to dish the dirt about why you got into the job.”
Fletcher gives me the knicker-incinerating smile I’ve become addicted to over the last few weeks. “You dish yours, and I’ll dish mine.”
I bite my lip. It’s okay. I can share my reasons for wanting to be a paramedic without getting all deep and heavy about my past. I nod. “Deal.”
The tones sound before he can reply, and Fletcher and I hop into the ambulance, taking off with sirens blaring.
* * *
Eight minutes later,Fletcher pulls over at the scene. I pull on gloves and grab the jump kit containing the emergency medical supplies and drugs, slinging it over my shoulder.
As we walk toward two police officers standing on the motorway's hard shoulder, the blood drains from my face. I should have known it was only a matter of time before our paths crossed, but London is a big area, and I foolishly hoped this situation would never arise.
I hang back and let Fletcher take the lead.
“About time you showed up,” the older officer grumbles.
I glance at Fletcher, noting the tightening of his mouth at the officer’s tone.
“It was a Category 2 call-out with a response time of eighteen minutes. We got here in eight,” Fletcher states.
Category 1, the most urgent call-out, means we’re expected to reach the patient within nine minutes. Category 2 is next, with an eighteen-minute response time, and Category 3 is the least urgent and essentially means whenever we can get there.
“Grace! Long time no see.” The officer ignores Fletcher, but I can’t ignore the latent threat in his eyes as he looks at me.
“Officer Janes.” I nod abruptly.
I can feel Fletcher’s curious gaze on me, and I know he’s picked up on my unease by the way I sidle closer to him.
“We arrested this gentleman for speeding, and he reported having chest pain,” Officer Janes says.
“And you left him unattended in your vehicle?” I demand, unable to hold my tongue.
The other officer, a guy in his mid-thirties, waves a hand dismissively. “He’s faking it. Anything to get out of a speeding ticket.”
“You were concerned enough to call us,” I point out, “so perhaps you should let us decide.”
“Well, haven’t we turned into a bossy little bitch?” Officer Janes sneers, taking a step towards me.
Fletcher moves between me and the officer, his expression thunderous. If Officer Janes were three inches taller, they’d be nose-to-nose. “Speak to my colleague like that again and see what happens.”
Fletcher’s voice is low and laced with fury. It sends a shiver down my spine, but not in a bad way. I’ve never seen him so angry, and the fact that it’s on my behalf warms and thaws some part of me that froze over for a long time.
“Speak to my colleague like that again and see what happens,”Officer Janes mimics.
Fletcher’s lip curls in disgust. “Jesus, how oldareyou?”
You could cut the testosterone with a knife as the men glare at each other.
I glare at Officer Janes. “Can we just do our job and see our patient, please?”
Officer Janes holds Fletcher’s gaze for a few more seconds before finally stepping back. “Be my guest,” he says with a smirk, hauling a middle-aged man in handcuffs from the backseat of the car.
The man looks pale, his face is sweaty, and his pupils are dilated. It’s clear he’s having a coronary episode.
“How do you feel, sir?” I ask, moving towards him.
“My … my arm is numb, and my jaw hurts.”
