Lori Wilde - Racing Against the Clock

“Or very stupid. My principles have often gotten me into trouble.” Hannah smiled wryly.

“So Daycon’s men left you for dead on the roadside? Why didn’t they finish you off?”

“I figure they were supposed to bring me back. Without me, Daycon can’t reproduce the formula,” Hannah replied.

“Is Lionel Daycon capable of murder?” Tyler demanded.

“I think he’s capable of hiring it to be done.” Hannah shivered. “There’s a lot of money at stake and he’s a very greedy man. Do you see why time is running out? I’m sick, and getting sicker. And right now, I’m all alone.”

“That’s not true, Hannah.”

Their gazes locked. She saw something in Tyler’s eyes that gave her hope.

“You’ve got me.”

www.millsandboon.co.uk

realized from a very young age that she wanted to be a writer. Knowing it took many years of hard work to achieve that goal, she attended nursing school to have what her family called “a career to fall back on.” As a registered nurse, she worked in a variety of clinical settings from house supervisor to dialysis to anesthesia recovery. Her years in nursing taught her the healing power of love, a subject she loves to visit in her stories. Lori retired from nursing in 1997 in order to write fulltime. Although she loved helping people as a nurse, she feels she is truly blessed to be able to touch hearts through her love stories.

To Antonio—who never races against the clock.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

When Dr. Tyler Fresno stared down at the woman on the stretcher, he had the weirdest sensation that he had met his destiny and there was absolutely nothing he could do to alter his fate.

If someone had pressed him to elaborate on his feelings he would not have been able to put it into words, but there was no denying the rush of anxiety that clutched his stomach and held fast when he gazed upon her.

“Details,” Tyler demanded of the eager young emergency room intern following at his heels.

“Jane Doe. MVA. Rollover. Found unconscious at the scene. BP seventy-two over forty-eight,” the earnest physician-in-training reeled off. “X ray reveals hairline fracture of the right femur. Minor facial lacerations. Possible ruptured spleen. Neuro signs intact.”

The woman’s eyes were shuttered closed, her dark blond hair fanned across the pillowcase. Tyler placed her age somewhere between late twenties and early thirties. There was a superficial cut over one eyebrow and another along her jaw. Those wounds wouldn’t even require stitches.

She was a beautiful woman with a proud aquiline nose that at the moment played host to green plastic oxygen tubing. Her lips were salmon-colored, her cheeks pale. Her face was slender, her complexion as flawless as a cosmetics model’s.

Tyler snapped on a pair of rubber latex gloves, slipped a yellow barrier gown over his starched white lab jacket and tied a surgical mask over his clean-shaven face. He had just stepped from the shower after a twelve-hour workday when he had gotten the phone call. He’d been preparing for dinner out with friends, but as usual, the hospital had changed his plans at the last minute. Tyler couldn’t say he minded too much. He was happiest when working and this case promised to be more intriguing than most.

And there was nothing he liked more than a complicated medical puzzle to solve.

“Go on,” he prompted the intern, his eyes focused intently on the inert woman lying so still beneath the crisp green sheet.

A strange sensation slithered over him. Something he couldn’t name. Not trepidation, but something similar. Apprehension?

But why should he feel apprehensive?

“She has what appears to be mild chemical burns scattered over her arms and legs.”

“Chemical burns?” Tyler repeated, frowning.

The intern shrugged. “The paramedics found shattered glass vials throughout her car and an empty lockbox with a biohazard sticker on it. Apparently, she was transporting some volatile drug or chemical, and during the course of the accident the lockbox clasp was damaged and the vials tumbled out.”

“Do we know what we’re dealing with here?”

The intern shook his head. “The vials weren’t labeled but the paramedics were able to retrieve a small sample.”

“You’re saying the paramedics were exposed?”

“Potentially.”

Tyler swung his gaze to the younger man. “We could have toxic contamination.”

The intern nodded.

“Dammit, where’s the Hazardous Materials team?”

“On route.”

“I want this side of the E.R. evacuated and this room sealed off. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And anyone else who came in contact with this patient needs to be examined. Have those paramedics admitted for observation.”

“Will do.”

He could tell the intern thought he was going overboard, but the young pup was wet behind the ears. The man had no idea what lingering effects chemical substances could have on the human body, nor did he have a clue how serious this could be for the young woman. He hadn’t seen the dark things Tyler had seen. Hadn’t experienced the devastation of chemical warfare firsthand.

“Hop to it,” Tyler commanded.

The intern spun on his heels and hurried out the door, pulling it tightly closed behind him.

“Well now, Jane,” Tyler crooned, stepping up to the gurney. “Just what have you gotten yourself into?”

Jane Doe did not respond.

He studied the heart monitor attached by electrical wires leading to conductive gel pads on her chest. Normal sinus rhythm. A good sign. Apparently the mystery chemical hadn’t affected her cardiac functioning.

Hang in there, Jane. He mentally willed her; determination a solid fist in his gut. I’ll take care of you.

The emotional intensity of his thoughts startled him. He wanted to help all of his patients, but there was something special about this woman and he did not know what it was or why. He just knew that he felt committed to her case in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

Peeling back the covers, he allowed his gaze to rove over her while his fingers investigated. A smattering of first-degree contact burns carpeted her arms and legs. Tyler sucked in his breath and shook his head.

Her chest rose and fell in a shallow rhythm. Her body was lithe, supple. Her firm musculature told him that she worked out often and her lack of a tan meant she was either conscientious about the use of sunscreen or spent most of her time indoors. Her breasts were high and firm. Her abdomen was flat.

Tyler registered these things and tried hard not to be moved by them. He was a professional. A doctor. He’d seen thousands of unclothed women and had never been aroused. He was a surgeon, and because of his stint in the first Gulf War, also something of an expert on chemical exposure. Apparently, that was why the intern had called him in to consult on the case.

Curiously enough, considering she’d been exposed to a potentially harmful chemical, her respirations were deep and unlabored. Color good. Her blood pressure was low but he could put that down to the internal bleeding from her spleen, not from the chemical.