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‘Shot?’
‘He did it to himself—his gun got all twisted. By the time we found him his leg had more larvae in it than a dead horse. We cleaned him out, worked on him a long time, but he didn’t make it. So, like I said, don’t go wandering off on your own, please.’ He met her eyes, concern shining around his pupils. ‘And watch what you do with your gun.’
Madeline realised she felt quite ill. ‘Ryan, I wouldn’t be comfortable with a gun, and I really don’t think...’
She trailed off as she caught the smile creeping onto his face and felt her cheeks flush crimson. He was joking.
‘Don’t worry—you’re safe with us,’ he chuckled, nudging her gently with an elbow.
But just as quickly as it had appeared his smile was retracted, as if a memory had snatched it back again. Something stopped Madeline asking any more questions, though a million were fizzing on her tongue.
‘I feel safe with you,’ she said instead, meaning it. ‘How could anyone not?’
Ryan leaned back against the seat, and looked past her, out of the window again. ‘You’ll be safe with me as long as you’re smart. It’s no one’s job but your own to protect yourself out here, Maddy. Can I call you Maddy?’
‘Sure.’
‘The Brazilian military uses these trips to gather intelligence sometimes, so if we have any guests you’ll know they’re on to something and it’s a sign to be on high alert.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Cocaine trafficking, illegal gold mining—it’s all going on in these parts. There were reports of drug runners in the area not so long ago.’
‘Drug runners?’ Madeline whispered quietly. ‘They wouldn’t touch you, though, those sorts of people—would they? Especially not with a TV crew... That would just be drawing attention to themselves.’
Ryan shrugged, pouring a handful of peanuts into his big hand as the clouds fluttered past their window. ‘You never know what they’ll do, but let’s just say our carefully made runways are as good for transporting illegal drugs as they are for shifting real medicine. You wouldn’t want to see the wrong thing by mistake.’
‘Do you ever get scared?’
He seemed to contemplate this for a moment, popping the nuts into his mouth, running a hand over his dark stubble. She studied his lips as he chewed. She’d bet he had a million women after him. She wondered if he’d ever asked anyone out who wasn’t some sort of celebrity...
‘I wouldn’t say I never get anxious,’ he replied eventually. ‘But if we don’t take these risks, Madeline... Maddy...we risk a lot worse. We risk thousands of people dying unnecessarily. Sick people take risks when they hear about us. They walk for days, even weeks, to get our help in these places. If we suddenly decide we’re too afraid we’re failing them and we’re failing ourselves. You can write that down, too.’
Madeline put her pen back on her notepad, realising with dismay that her handwriting was worse than a child’s.
‘So, is there anyone you need to stay in touch with while we’re away?’ Ryan asked her. ‘You know there’s no signal in the Amazon? Rio might be your last chance to check in for a while.’
‘I’m single. My boyfriend and I broke up,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ear and trying not to let the anger register in her voice.
She’d bypassed the emotional phase a couple of weeks ago and transitioned smoothly into fury—an emotion that reared its head like a lion whenever she thought of Adeline’s face. She wished she hadn’t checked out the other woman’s Facebook page now. It was worse being able to picture her.
‘He started seeing someone else while I was away working on my last book. He didn’t exactly stop once I got back.’
Ryan was silent. When she looked up he appeared to be fighting a smile.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, straightening his face quickly. ‘But I actually meant for this book—do you need to send things to your editor while you’re away?’
‘Oh.’ Madeline’s cheeks were on fire. She kicked herself internally. ‘Not for a while,’ she managed. ‘I just have to make sure we get our interviews in—and I’ll shadow you, if that’s OK.’
‘However you think it would work best,’ he said, resting his arm on the armrest and brushing hers accidentally. She moved as far away from him as she could, crossing her legs away from him.
‘I really am sorry about your boyfriend,’ he said quietly. ‘It hurts to lose someone you’re close with, however you come to part ways.’
Madeline closed her eyes. Something in his voice spoke volumes of his own loss.
‘These things happen for a reason,’ she said, as firmly as she could manage. She picked up her pen again. ‘It’ll be interesting to see your work with my own eyes. I’ve watched most of your shows—you really do amazing things for people.’
‘Thanks...we try.’ He nodded appreciatively. ‘You’re a trained nurse, as I recall?’
Her heart sped up. ‘Yes, well remembered.’
‘Why did you quit?’
She opened her mouth to reply, but shut it again quickly. She found it hard to vocalise exactly what had happened. She’d thrown herself into her writing instead; it was what her counsellor had told her to do.
‘It’s OK—you don’t have to tell me.’ Ryan put a hand on top of hers for a moment.
Two seconds, maybe three, of skin-on-skin contact and her heart was a kangaroo. She yanked her hand back—maybe too quickly. What had happened in the hospital almost poured out of her, but she bit her tongue. He was a relative stranger. And she was in no mood to go into the details of her past life—that was what it felt like sometimes anyway.
For the next few hours Ryan plugged himself into an action movie and left her to read her book. She couldn’t help the odd glance in his direction, just to confirm she wasn’t dreaming. And she was almost entirely certain he was sneaking a few at her. The next few weeks accompanying him and his Medical Extremes team were going to be ‘extreme’, to say the least.
CHAPTER THREE (#uf50b1f41-d8e8-59d0-8c87-85462b43624f)
RYAN STUDIED HIS face in the mirror. He liked to think he didn’t really suffer with jet lag any more, but the truth was he probably threw himself head-first into every new time zone without giving his body the chance to react. This mission was going to be a particularly tough one—not least because he’d have Madeline Savoia on his trail.
He rested his hands on the sink, leaned closer to the glass and frowned at his reflection. His eyes looked tired. Madeline had distracted him from sleeping on the plane.
She looked a lot like her. The first time she’d all but ploughed into him in the studio he’d almost jumped out of his skin. His reaction had been poor, he knew. Angry... The way he always acted when confronted with something he really had no clue how to handle. He’d felt as if he’d seen a ghost.
Josephine.
The name popped into his head like a gunshot. He swallowed hard, jerked the cold tap on and ran his hand under it. Then he said it out loud, straight into the mirror, watching his lips make their way over the word in a way they hadn’t for a long time.’
‘Josephine.’
He rarely let her name past his lips. Every time he so much as thought of her the guilt crashed over him like a tsunami. It had smothered him and almost made him tumble when Madeline’s hands had pressed against him to steady herself. She hadn’t realised, of course, but she’d kind of been holding him up at the same time.
Ryan splashed his face with cold water. The more he tried not to think about this, the more he did. It was something about Madeline’s eyes. And her pursed lips. And the way she’d crossed her arms defiantly over that coffee stain she’d clearly been so embarrassed about. The way she’d lowered her head just slightly when she’d asserted herself, indicating her vulnerability.
A knock on the hotel room door made him jump again. Dammit.
‘I’m coming,’ he called, wiping his face on the towel and running a hand through his hair. It was getting long at the front again. He frowned at the few stubborn greys now making a permanent home in his stubbled chin.
Nothing he could do about it.
Salt and pepper looks better on you than on my French fries.
#DrRyanTobias
A fan of his had tweeted that the other day. He mentally rolled his eyes—such gushing usually went straight over his head. He had quite enjoyed that French fries reference, though. He liked to think years of torment hadn’t marked him physically...at least not as much as they had on the inside.
He threw on a white button-down shirt and pulled on his smartest jeans as the knock sounded out again. ‘Give me one second!’
He hopped across the patterned carpet, still doing his belt up, and pulled the door open.
‘What’s the emergency?’
‘No emergency.’ Madeline smiled. Her hand was still hovering in the air, as if she was about to knock on his face. ‘Sorry to interrupt. You said to knock before I went downstairs.’
‘What time is it?’ he asked, flustered.
He was totally thrown now. She looked entirely different somehow in this light, with her round, beguiling eyes lined with kohl and a hint of green eyeshadow. His hand found his hair again, at the same time as the other started buttoning up his shirt.
‘Almost five thirty,’ she told him, with her gaze now fixed on his exposed chest. ‘Doesn’t the drinks thing start now?’
‘Yes, yes—sorry, I got caught up. There was an issue with the supplies being delivered to Saint Elena, and I’ve been on the phone trying to fix it.’
‘Is it sorted out?’
‘Almost. I did all I could.’
‘OK. Well, don’t worry, I’m sure we can sneak you in late without anyone noticing. It’s not like you’re a VIP or anything.’
Laughter burst from his mouth as he hurried back into the room to pull his shoes out of his suitcase. The dryness in her tone tickled him. He’d always found the British sense of humour quite fascinating.
He grabbed his key card and wallet, turned the bathroom light out and let his eyes travel over Madeline’s petite yet curvy figure as he walked towards the door again. She was wearing another dress, an emerald-green one this time, tied around her waist with a paler green belt. Her hair was up now, in a French braid draped over one shoulder, and her lips were glistening in a shade of burgundy.
‘Were you writing?’ he asked, for want of something to fill the silence.
‘In my room? A bit.’
He nodded. He’d fought the urge, on the journey, to ask her more about her books, aware that he’d perhaps been a little rude about her passion before. It was just that when Samantha had first mentioned a ghost-writer he’d imagined for some reason someone older, greyer, crinklier. Perhaps an avid cat-lover or crochet aficionado. He definitely hadn’t imagined...well. This.
He cleared his throat. ‘You look nice,’ he said.
‘Thank you—so do you.’
‘So, you recognise me OK without the Medical Extremes outfit?’ He smiled now.
‘You’re kind of hard to miss.’
‘Is that right? I thought I’d been watching my weight.’
It was Madeline’s turn to laugh now. ‘As if you need to. I meant you have presence.’
Ryan realised that her cheeks were redder than they had been five seconds ago. He hadn’t exactly intended to get himself dressed in front of her...but, then again, they were headed into the jungle. Tribal villages in the Amazon rainforest weren’t exactly renowned for their privacy.
He stepped past her, closing the door behind him, then put a hand to the small of her back as they walked towards the elevators, noting her shoes—summer wedges with green straps.
‘You’re a little better at walking in those,’ he said without thinking, pushing the button.
‘That tripping over in public thing? That was a one-off—don’t worry.’
‘I’d only be worried in the Amazon,’ he replied as the doors pinged and slid open. ‘Big black cables on the floor of the jungle have a nasty habit of not being cables.’
She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
‘Snakes,’ he explained, and she pulled a face that made him chuckle.
In the elevator, Ryan fixed his eyes on their reflections in the full-length mirror. She was at least a foot shorter than him; that was shorter than—He clenched his fist. This was ridiculous. Madeline was not her.
He was determined to count the differences.
Some of her expressions were similar, sure, but Madeline had bigger eyes, wide and unnervingly quizzical—even more so now, framed with make-up. Her hair, long and dark and shiny, was the same...but she was slimmer, perhaps. He didn’t know much about women’s sizes, but he knew when he could hold a waist with both hands without leaving too much room between his fingers.
The elevator doors swung open. The music in the hotel foyer took the edge off his discomfort slightly as he guided Madeline towards the restaurant, past a crowd of tourists in matching floral shorts, speaking hurried German.
‘I’m sure you’ve been briefed about this,’ he said, trying to regain an air of authority if only for his own peace of mind.
‘Not really.’
He frowned, looking down into her sea-green eyes, then cleared his throat again. ‘Well, this is basically a getting-to-know-you event for the new people joining us and the suppliers. We also have a new cameraman from here in Rio, and a local paramedic. It’s about building trust as a team before we get out there, you know? That’s when the real work starts.’
‘It’s a good idea,’ Madeline said. ‘So I’ll introduce myself as your ghost-writer?’
Ryan felt his brow crease. How had he forgotten her mission? He felt that tsunami again at the thoughts of having to regurgitate any of those moments he’d been trying his hardest to bury for so long—of seeing them laid bare on the pages of a book...a book he’d eventually see someday in a bargain bin, with the forgotten demons that would surely plague him for ever tossed aside by a reader who’d lapped them up and promptly let them go, in a way he never could.
His hand found his hair, swept it from his forehead. ‘About this memoir... We need everyone to feel secure in the fact that our attention is fully on the patients. Our work always takes priority.’
‘I know that.’
‘You’re there to write the memoir, of course, but we might need you to help out as a nurse from time to time—’
‘I’d really rather not be a nurse while I’m here,’ Madeline interrupted.
She paused halfway to the table, where he could see the team already waiting, chatting away. She looked nervous again now.
‘Ryan, with all due respect, I didn’t come here to—’
‘Madeline, I get your current role, believe me, but people will be needing you out there. Do you really think, after everything you’ve trained for, that you could actually walk away from someone in pain?’
She opened her mouth to respond, but shut it again quickly. Annoyance was flickering in her eyes. He was concerned that this wasn’t looking very professional; people were looking at them.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ he whispered in her ear, getting a whiff of her floral perfume as he did so. Dear God, she smelled good.
‘Ryan, my man! Good to see you—and who’s this?’
The tall, sandy-blond-haired guy approaching them in smart black trousers and a purple shirt was Evan Walker—a trusted friend and doctor from Wisconsin, and a firm voice of reason on the Medical Extremes team. Viewers loved him for his sense of humour and equally for his ability to take charge at a moment’s notice. He had his own online fan club and was also popular because of his award-winning wife’s efforts in setting up a domestic abuse helpline.
