Sharon Archer - The Man Behind the Badge

Tom leaned low and growled at her, ‘This scene is not safe.’

‘Then please organise it for us, Sergeant.’ She sounded pleasant but remote. Her attention was fixed on her patient and she didn’t look up.

Tom smiled grimly as he braced his hand on the top of the door and reached across her towards the steering column. At least she knew who he was. ‘I have organised it, Doctor.’

‘Well done.’ The casual, dismissive praise rankled as he watched her twist further into the car and dig her hands down either side of the man in front of her. ‘Any pain anywhere, Andy?’

‘M-my ankle.’ The slurred words were accompanied by a belch of stale alcohol. Tom could smell it even though he wasn’t directly in its path. Kayla didn’t flinch.

‘Okay, I’ll have a look.’

Tom gritted his teeth as his fingers found the key in the ignition. It was in the off position. ‘We need to get Andy out. Now. There’s—’ His train of thought dried up abruptly as Kayla shifted to the right and the bare skin on her shoulder brushed the sensitive skin of his inner arm. Electricity sizzled along his nerves, making his fingers fumble with the car key. He forced his thoughts back into line. ‘Kayla, there’s petrol vapour, a hot exhaust, tinder-dry grass. The danger of fire is extreme.’

She glanced around at him then and gave a quick, short nod. ‘Of course. I understand. We need to move him.’

Instead of shifting back, as he’d expected, she leaned further into the car. Tom tightened his lips to stop himself from yelling at her. She was doing her job, and doing it well, but that didn’t stop him wanting to pull her out of the car, get her to safety.

‘Andy, can you move your legs?’ Not by the tiniest quiver did her voice betray any concern.

‘No.’ The word was more of a moan. ‘It hurts.’

By the time Tom strode to the other side of the car and wrenched open the passenger door, Kayla had her arm pushed down into the well beneath the dashboard.

‘Can you feel that, Andy?’

‘Y-yes.’

‘Where am I touching you?’

‘Leg. Shin.’

‘That’s great.’ She withdrew her arm and shone her pencil torch into the cramped space.

Newspaper crinkled under Tom’s knee as he knelt on the seat and leaned across to reach under the driver’s seat.

‘Be careful,’ Kayla said sharply. A heady mixture of whisky fumes and her light, spicy perfume assaulted his nostrils. ‘There’s glass from a broken bottle.’

‘Thanks.’ Tom winced at the gravelly catch in his voice.

‘Andy’s legs are caught under the dash. Apart from his ankle pain, there’s no other obvious injury but visibility isn’t great. I can’t tell if he’s trapped or just wedged forward with the seat.’ She looked up, her wide eyes on a level with his for a breathless second. ‘We can’t shift him until we can straighten his legs and see. Before we try to move him out of the car, I’d like to try and shift the seat back so I can assess any lower limb damage properly.’

‘Shift the seat. Right.’ Tom drew in a lungful of air when her eyes swivelled back to Andy.

‘Can you wriggle your toes for me, Andy?’ she said, calmly carrying on with her examination.

‘Y-yeah.’

‘Are you allergic to any medications?’

‘No.’

‘Do you take medication for anything? Diabetes? Heart condition?’

‘N-no. Need something for the p-pain.’

‘Okay. You’re doing great, Andy. I’ll get you something for your pain now.’ She turned away for a moment then was back with a vial and syringe in her hands. With the slender capping sheath clamped between her teeth, she filled the syringe. Tom blinked. He’d seen the paramedics use the same technique countless times. But somehow Kayla’s even, white teeth performing the familiar action was unbelievably sexy.

As she plunged the needle into Andy’s leg, Tom shook himself mentally and reached across to grope for the lever under the driver’s seat. ‘I’m going to move the seat back as far as I can, Kayla.’

‘Sure.’

He jiggled the lever. Nothing. Applied more pressure. Still nothing. The angle was awkward. He moved further forward, closer to Kayla. Closer to her evocative female scent. Concentrate. He braced his knee uncomfortably on the handbrake and yanked directly upward.

The chair slid back with a jerk. Andy moaned.

‘Sorry, mate,’ said Tom.

Kayla was there in an instant. ‘Where is your pain, Andy?’

‘Ankle. Still.’

Tom edged back outside. The deadly petrol fumes were stronger. They had to hurry. He clambered in behind the driver’s seat. ‘I’m going to lower the seat so we can take him out through the back.’

He wound the reclining mechanism with quick flicks of his wrist. ‘Nearly ready to move him?’

She nodded, her mind obviously on the job as her voice sounded distracted when she spoke to him. ‘Just let me make sure both his legs are free.’

There was a small popping noise.

‘Hell.’ Tom was moving as a terrifying whoosh followed. ‘Kayla! Get out! Now!’

He scooped up the fire extinguisher, pulling the pin as he ran to the flames that leapt out of the gap between the crumpled bonnet and the front fender.

Aiming the nozzle, he pulled the trigger. The fire retreated, beaten into temporary submission. Moving forward, with a sweeping motion, Tom covered as much of the engine as he could with the foam. As soon as the cylinder started to splutter, he threw it aside and spun back towards the cabin of the car.

Kayla was still there. She hadn’t done as he’d asked. Far from it, she’d taken his place in the rear of the car and had finished lowering the driver’s seat. She was struggling to move Andy.

‘I don’t know how long that will hold.’ He grabbed her by the upper arm, tugged her aside then slid in to take her place. ‘We have to do this now.’

‘We really need more hands,’ she said, for the first time sounding anxious.

‘We haven’t got them. Come on, Kayla. Don’t fold on me now.’ He threaded his hands under Andy’s armpits and locked his fingers across the man’s chest. ‘I’m going to pull him out. You try to ease his legs as they come free.’

‘Got it.’

‘Let’s do it.’ He grinned at her and could swear the corners of her mouth moved in a quick response.

‘Andy? This is going to be uncomfortable but we need to pull you out of the car now.’ It was the best he could do to prepare the victim for what had to be done.

‘P-please. Get me out. D-don’t leave me here.’

‘We won’t, mate.’

Tom moved back, taking the man’s weight, feeling the resistance and straining past it. Andy groaned. Tom had to steel himself against the agony in the sound. If he left Andy here, there was every chance the man could die in the car.

Kayla had grabbed the thick newspaper from the passenger seat and she used it to support Andy’s lower leg as his limb came free. In a move like a circus contortionist, she climbed onto the driver’s seat, then over and through the back door, the whole time cradling Andy’s injured ankle in the makeshift splint.

Between them, they carried Andy across the road.

‘Behind my vehicle, Kayla. It’ll give us some protection if the car goes up.’

They lowered a shivering Andy to the ground. Tom opened the back door of his vehicle and took out a blanket. ‘Here.’

‘Thanks,’ Kayla said as she tucked it around Andy’s body. ‘I need my bag.’

‘I’ll get it.’

Tom paused for a second as she bent over her patient, getting straight back into the job, her fingers on Andy’s wrist. ‘How are you feeling, Andy?’

She was a real trooper, brave and resourceful. Damn, that was attractive. His heart swelled. He was…proud of her.

She looked around, one eyebrow shooting up as though she was surprised to see him. ‘My bag, Sergeant?’

‘Coming right up.’ He smiled wryly, feeling chastened and deservedly so. She distracted the hell out of him.

He loped back to the wreck and grabbed her medical kit. The still-strong smell of petrol, coupled with the sizzle of foam on hot metal, was ominous. His prevention measures were still holding but he didn’t know for how long. He turned and ran back.

‘Here.’

‘Thanks.’ She reached for the bag as soon as he put it beside her.

‘I’ll call it in,’ Tom said, reaching into the cabin of his four-wheel drive and grabbing the radio handpiece.

‘It’s Senior Sergeant Tom Jamieson, Dustin Police.’ He turned to watch Kayla bandaging a more stable splint on Andy’s leg. Her long, clever fingers were quick and efficient. She moved with such grace and competence as she went about her business that Tom was hard pressed to take his eyes off her.

He swallowed and dragged his mind back to his report. ‘I need fire and ambulance to a single-vehicle accident on the Valley Highway, west of Dustin. About ten kilometres out of town, nearest intersecting road Reece Lane.

‘We’ve got one injured male, approximately forty-five, possible broken ankle. Doctor on scene providing first aid now.’

He looked over the bull bar of his vehicle towards the wreck. ‘The situation is extremely hazardous. One full foam extinguisher has already been discharged to control fire in the motor vehicle’s engine. It could reignite at any time.’

‘Sergeant?’ Kayla barked behind him. Tom turned to see her stripping the blanket off Andy. Her patient was clutching at his chest, his face twisted into a ghastly grimace. Then he collapsed, his arms slumping to his sides.

Kayla leaned over the now inert body, her fingers groping for a neck pulse.

‘He’s arresting. I need your assistance, stat. Get the resus mask out of my bag.’ Kayla’s hands were already in the middle of Andy’s chest, the heels pumping down hard. ‘Hurry.’

Tom let go of the handpiece and dropped to his knees beside the medical bag.

‘That’s it,’ Kayla said as he lifted out a clear plastic mask with a pale green bag attached. ‘Over his mouth and nose. Tilt his head back slightly. A solid puff now. And another.’

Tom did as he was directed.

‘Good. Two breaths each thirty compressions. I’ll count.’ She kept up the rhythmic pressing.

It was the first time Tom had seen chest compressions performed on a live patient and it was a much more brutal process than he’d realised.

‘Get ready.’ Kayla’s voice snapped his attention back. ‘Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, Thirty. Again now.’

The radio dangling at the side of the car crackled. ‘Sergeant Jamieson? Are you still receiving, over?’ Tom ignored the tinny voice as he held the mask and squeezed the bag, forcing the air out into Andy.

Turning, he grabbed the radio, clicked the button and barked, ‘Here, Dispatch. The accident vic is having a heart attack.’

Press. Press. ‘Twenty-seven, Twenty-eight.’

Tom dropped the handpiece and got ready.

‘Twenty-nine. Thirty, now.’

As soon as he’d done his bit, he snatched up the handpiece again. ‘We’re doing CPR.’

‘Roger, Sergeant. Ambulance and fire are on their way. I’ll update them. Over.’

‘Twenty-nine. Thirty, now.’

The seconds crawled by, turning into minutes as they moved in a bizarre choreography. He rapped out short staccato snips of information on the radio then returned to pump air into Andy’s lungs. Kayla placed her fingers on Andy’s neck then returned to her compressions.

She worked tirelessly, her slender arms taut, hands linked. With each compression, her hair bobbed on her shoulders, swinging with her exertion. Light caught on the wheat-coloured strands. Tom was intensely aware of her every move. She was a competent, assured expert. If Andy died it wouldn’t be because of anything that Kayla failed to do for him.