Page 86 of Tulips and Lost Time

“Ambulance three, acknowledged.” Dispatch crackles and calls in trucks. Police. They create their fleet of first responders while Mitch and I scramble onto the dock, and I make a beeline for the back of the bus. Mitch runs for the driver’s seat. “Victim is reported as a six-year-old female,” dispatch continues as I yank the doors shut. “Hit by a motor vehicle.”

“Dammit.” I hold the walls of the ambulance when Mitch starts the engine and zips across smooth concrete. “Just a kid!”

“She’s alive,” he responds. “Alive is good. Alive is wonderful.”

“Alive is a temporary fucking existence, especially when you’re six years old and have been mown down by a one-and-a-half ton vehicle.”

“Two minutes out.” Mitch brings us around a tight corner, racing other sirens toward Third. “We’re gonna be looking for internal injuries. Lots of little bones, Luca.”

“Yep.” I don’t even have time to sit. I don’t bother with my seatbelt, though official protocol says I’m supposed to. I balance in the back, my hands on the ceiling and wall, and the moment we come to a screeching stop, I burst through the doors and unsnap the stretcher to bring it out with me.

Mitch slams his door and bolts toward a woman screaming and covered in blood.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” I toss a med bag on top of the stretcher, and the straps atop that, so they don’t get caught up in the wheels. Then I start toward the sweet baby girl plastered to the road. Her leg bent unnaturally to the left, and her arm folded the opposite way. Gashes on her forehead practically spray blood and make the scene so much more disturbing.

But for me, the absolute worst fucking horror in my eyes, is the torn and bloodied blanket clutched in her hand.

“This one’s gonna sting.” I set the brakes on the stretcher and snag the med bag, then I kneel by the girl while Mitch deals with the woman. “Hey there, Sweet pea.” I release a shaking breath when her lashes flutter and her eyes crack open. She’s too calm. Too broken. But she clings to me with glittering, silver eyes. “You’re awake. That makes me so happy, baby girl. Can you tell me your name?”

Her eyes swell in an instant, filling with tears as her face screws up. “I want my mommy.”

“Oh god.” Jess looks at her girls and breathes too heavy. Too wounded. “I know this case. I know what story you’re about to tell us.”

“It became the talk of the town,” I acknowledge with a dip of my chin, holding Billy just that little bit more closely. We have to get up soon. Get dressed. Consume something other than coffee—me, not her—then head over to the hospital. But it’s still early, and I’m not quite ready to move yet. “It definitely became the talk of our family, since that was Kari’s first day on the job.”

“The similarities were too much,” Jess murmurs. “It was too close.”

“But it was handled.” I firm my jaw and refuse to allow anyone else to question that day. Kari already questions too much. “It was handled really fucking well.”

Mitch and I burst through the emergency department doors, little Cleo strapped to our stretcher and my heart thundering in my throat. But instantly, like she knew I was coming, and like I knew she’d be the first thing I see, my eyes stop on Kari’s as her cheeks turn sheet white.

But we’re working now. We have too much responsibility sitting on our shoulders for me to do anything except the job.

“Six-year-old female with a sustained head injury and loss of consciousness for less than one minute, according to witnesses. Alert and oriented now, though she complains of a headache.” I release the stretcher as Mitch steers the girl into an emergency bay, then I stop in front of Kari and block her view. For just a second. Just long enough to prepare her. “No nausea or vomiting. Two-inch laceration above her left eyebrow. Suspected fractured left leg. Suspected fractured right arm. Not open.”

“Why are you standing in my way?” She doesn’t spit her words at me like she so often does lately. She doesn’t shoulder barge and try to get past me. She stays with me, studying my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Home invasion.” Mitch steps up and hurries through his report. “Mother was home with her daughter. Father was at work. Perps helped themselves to the family home and attacked the mother.” He waves over my shoulder as the next ambulance and set of paramedics roll in. “GSW to the stomach, but that’s not your case.”

“H-home invasion?” Kari’s eyes widen and search mine. “But she was hit by a car, right?”

“She ran out of the house to get help.” I step to my left when Kari glances that way. “She’s okay. And Mom will be fine, too. But now you gotta do the job.”

“I don’t…” Instead of moving toward the little girl, she looks at the mother, wailing and filling the ED with her cries of anguish. “Luc, I don’t?—”

“Bear.” I grab her chin—wildly inappropriate inside this building—and force her eyes back to mine. “Do the job. The girl is yours. The mother is someone else’s. What are your next steps?”

“I want my mom,” Cleo sobs. She attempts to move on her stretcher, leaning toward her mother’s screams. “I want my mommy!”

“Kari!” I catch her eyes and snarl, “What’s the fucking job?”

“Move her.” She takes a long, heady breath and releases it with a shudder. Then she nods and turns toward the girl. “Let’s transfer her across to our stretcher, then hook her up. I want to hear her heart, then I want all her vitals.” She waves to another nurse. “Let’s get started.” She stalks toward her patient and leans over the little girl, a kind smile on her lips, though her eyes scream a thousand traumas. “Hey there, cutie.” She flashes a penlight in the girl’s eyes and checks for dilation. “Can you tell me your name?”

“C-Cleo.” Cleo’s chin and cheeks quiver, smattered in blood and smudged with tears. “I want my mommy.”

“I know, honey.” Kari had wanted her mommy, too. Way back when she was almost the exact same age and terrified, I bet she’d have done anything to see her mommy one more time. “My name is Kari.” She stows her penlight away and goes to work inspecting the deepest gash on the girl’s forehead. “And I would be so lucky if you agreed to be my friend. My other friend told me you were six.”

“Let’s go.” Mitch comes up on my left, tapping my arm. “We gotta go, Lenaghan. We’ve handed her off.”

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