The man scoffed. “It’s not your age.” He nudged his son forward, narrowing his eyes, a scowl settling in on his face. “Go on, now, Mitch. Your mother will get you later.”
Mitch ran to the cubbies, and his father turned on his heel and headed out the door. Annika stood frozen to her spot. Not her age? He couldn’t possibly have meant... No, that didn’t happen. Not in this day and age. Not to her.
She was shaking, her body understanding fully what her mind was trying to wrap itself around. That it wasn’t her age, it was her skin color. She hadn’t thought it possible, but for the first time she could feel the brown of her skin, as if brown was something less than and something dirty. Rage at this man boiled inside her, intense and sharp. She raged even more at the fact that someone could even for a second make her feel less than she was. Being brown,being Indian, was a part of her. She squared her shoulders and fought the hot tears that came to her eyes, clogging her throat with a hundred things she wanted to scream at that man. Not the very least of which wasWhat are you teaching your son?
She pulled the plastic strip from her pocket. Her name and birthdate were typed on it, along with other numbers she still did not understand. She inhaled, as if she was infusing courage from the air. She squeezed the hospital band and placed it back in her pocket, where it had been for the past five months.
Mitch. Her first day. She had a class to teach. She fought back fiery tears and swallowed hard at the lump of anger. She plastered a smile on her face and readied herself for class.
She turned and clapped a short rhythm. She did it again, this time clearing her throat. Her gaze landed on Mitch, and he clapped back at her, copying her rhythm. Her heart swelled and she grinned, focusing on the smiles of the children, as she repeated the clapping pattern again. This time, a few children joined Mitch in answering her. She walked to the edge of the circle, continuing the game, until all the children had joined her.
“Good morning, class. Do you remember my name?” She paused, then allowed her heart to be light at the chorus of “Ms. Mehta” that came to her from her students.
“That’s right.” She floated her gaze around the circle at each child. “We’re going to have a wonderful year.”
That’s a promise.
CHAPTER TWO
DANIEL
DANIELLAYDOWNin his room at base, shoes still on his feet. The helicopter was clean, equipment ready to go, all paperwork up-to-date. He’d earned himself a bit of a lie-down. He closed his eyes, and the image of Annika Mehta, twenty-seven, popped immediately into his brain. It had been five months since he’d cared for her in the ER, but every time he closed his eyes, there she was, in all her beauty and pain.
He had unwittingly memorized the emergency address she left. He should just go down there and see how she was. Irrational. Stalker, much? Definitely losing it. He relaxed all his muscles and attempted to clear his mind so sleep would come. Just as he hit that place between sleeping and waking, an intense and insistent buzzer jerked him awake. Immediately alert, he grabbed his belt and helmet as he quickly but calmly entered the hallway.
“Base” was where the flight medics and pilot waited for cases to come their way. Daniel’s room was one of three in the house, with a bed, small desk and a chest of drawers. They had a fully stocked kitchen and three bathrooms. Shifts were twenty-four hours, so base was Daniel’s home a couple of days a week. His own apartment in Baltimore was simply a place for him to sleep between shifts on the helicopter and shifts in the ER.
“Gunshot wounds at a bar. EMTs are already there, but the patient needs to get to Hopkins.” Crista rolled her eyes as she donned her helmet. “When will they learn that alcohol and guns don’t mix?”
Daniel followed Crista outside to the helipad. The downwash had churned up fallen leaves, and Daniel squinted to avoid flying debris as he bent over at the waist and followed his partner onto the helicopter. Crista shivered in the unexpected fall chill despite the fact that they each had on an extra layer. When they’d gone up in the afternoon, it had been decidedly warm and muggy. More August than early September.
The pilot was already gearing up. Daniel sat with his back to the pilot and fastened his five-point harness. Crista took the seat that would be next to their patient. He plugged in his helmet so he could communicate with the pilot and donned his night-vision goggles just as the roar of the blades and engine reached a peak and the chopper lifted off.
Daniel cleared his mind, the intense vibrations of the chopper just part of his background. This wasn’t that different from being a nurse practitioner in the ER, in that you never knew what you were facing until you were facing it. Both jobs were intense in different ways, keeping his mind from wandering to painful things.
A few minutes into the flight, the pilot spoke to Daniel through his helmet. “Daniel?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need an open field to land near 131 North Charles.”
Daniel knew these parts like the back of his hand. And he knew that address. His heart leaped. “Repeat that address?”
“It’s 131 North Charles.”
How the hell was Annika Mehta’s emergency address a bar? That made no sense. Why would she give a bar address as her emergency contact?
“Daniel!” The pilot was waiting on him. “Any ideas?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Daniel mentally shook himself and told the pilot about a high school football field about half a mile from that location. He closed his eyes and pushed thoughts of Annika Mehta out of his mind. If the EMTs had called for the chopper, he was going to need to focus.
A few minutes later, the pilot landed them smoothly in the field. Daniel and Crista grabbed their gear bags and ran for the red flashing lights of the fire truck that would serve as their ride to the site. Daniel barely even registered the siren as they approached the bar. Blue-and-red flashing lights became visible—at least two cop cars as well as an ambulance were parked as if thrown in a semicircle in front of the bar.
“Phil’s Place,” Crista chuckled.
“What?”
She shrugged. “It’s the bar. Kind of place I’d go to.”
