A Father Beyond Compare. Alison Roberts
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together.’
‘Oh…right.’ Tom bent his head again. Emma could feel his hand on her leg, searching for a better position to tackle the obstacle. She could also feel his puzzlement.
Of course they had been together. Mickey’s conception had hardly been immaculate, had it?
‘I ended the relationship,’ Emma explained, ‘the day I found out I was pregnant with Mickey.’
Tom’s face appeared even more swiftly. ‘You mean he doesn’t know about Mickey yet?’
Emma could sense his disapproval. As though she had disappointed him on some level involving honesty or morality. The need to defend herself was the best distraction he’d come up with so far.
‘Simon hadn’t seen fit…to tell me that he was married,’ she informed Tom. ‘So I didn’t really feel he was automatically entitled to the truth from me.’
Funny how being faced with the possibility of losing her life hadn’t made the guilt go away. In fact, it had just grown stronger, inexplicably fed by the sense of disapproval from a man who was a complete stranger. A stranger she was dependent on if she was going to make it out of this.
Maybe she could help him understand.
‘Have you got kids, Tom?’
‘Hell, no!’ The sound Tom made could only be described as a relieved chuckle. ‘I’ve managed to avoid them so far.’
So he didn’t like children, this hero who had just saved her own child? She was curious that the information should seem so disappointing but he had saved Mickey so Emma decided she should just feel grateful. He was risking his own life again to try and save her and there was no amount of gratitude that could ever encompass that. Especially when success was far from guaranteed.
As if to emphasise the point, the van suddenly moved. It rocked and then twisted and Emma cried out in alarm. The cry changed to a choking sound as water broke over her face and for a few moments Emma lost her focus on what was happening. Panic clawed at her and she struggled, aware of a sharp pain in her foot and a vice-like grip around her upper body.
‘Emma! Emma! Try and hold still for just a bit longer. We’re almost there.’
How many times had Tom repeated his command before the words made sense? Before Emma stopped coughing and spluttering and struggling to try and escape?
‘I’m…sorry,’she finally sobbed. ‘I’m just so scared.’
‘I know.’ Tom’s words were clipped enough for Emma to realise that she wasn’t the only one scared by the new movement of the vehicle.
‘You should get out…while you still can, Tom.’
‘No way, babe. We’re getting out of this together.’ He was pulling at her foot. It hurt like hell but Emma tried to help, pulling as hard as she could.
‘Try turning your foot,’ Tom instructed. ‘We’re almost—’
His words were cut off as the van shifted again. This time it rolled sideways far enough to put Emma’s head right under water. For one paralysing moment she couldn’t think of anything more than the horror of drowning.
Then she felt that strong grasp still holding her leg. She remembered the last words she’d heard and twisted her leg, pushing instead of pulling at her foot.
And something moved. Her foot was free. Her leg was being dragged upwards, away from the crumpled compartment. Emma’s whole body was moving upwards and for a moment her head was above water again. Just long enough to gulp in a lungful of air and to realise that Tom was trying to move her through the window gap into the back of the van. To where the side door was that he’d entered.
But was that still above water?
Emma had lost all sense of direction. All sense of time. Her body was ahead of her brain in shutting out the horror and her limbs felt heavy and lifeless. Powerless to assist Tom in any way, Emma just floated, aware of nothing but the strength of the arms holding her so tightly and the determination she could feel emanating from the owner of those arms.
If they could survive by sheer willpower, Tom was providing more than enough for both of them.
Emma was dimly aware of being outside the van because an icy wind sent an unbelievable chill right into the marrow of her bones and the noise from the helicopter hovering close overhead was deafening.
Tom was shouting but the instructions didn’t seem to be for her, which was just as well because Emma’s lips were too numb to move. Her eyelids drooped and she knew that the effort of trying to open them again would be too great. And maybe that was just as well because the image being cut off was that of the vehicle she’d just been trapped inside.
Somehow they were above it now but still very, very close. Close enough to be bumped and swayed as the van tilted sharply and then swung out into the whirls of the river’s main current, with only its tyres visible.
Even the noise and shouting faded then but Emma clung to the sensation that was the only thing of importance.
The security of the arms still around her.
Holding her.
Keeping her alive.
Tom felt the instant that Emma went completely limp in his arms and something akin to anger took hold.
Had he just gone through the most dangerous rescue mission of his career only to fail? There had been no time to even assess the degree of trauma Emma had suffered to her lower leg. What if that piece of twisted metal had been tamponading an arterial bleed and he hadn’t had the opportunity to prevent her bleeding to death in the tense minutes of getting her out of the van and winched up to the helicopter?
Time slowed and it seemed to take for ever to get her on board the aircraft and then to get himself inside. In less than a minute Terry had the chopper on safe ground but Tom was barely aware of landing. He was crouched over Emma, tilting her head back to ensure her airway was open. Trying to assess whether or not she was still breathing.
Josh was filling the rest of the space in the cabin.
‘Carotid pulse,’ he said, ‘but no radial. What’s your estimation of blood loss?’
‘Too much.’ Tom could see fresh blood loss on the shredded denim of Emma’s jeans. He didn’t need to remind Josh of the urgency of controlling the haemorrhage. His partner was already ripping open dressing and bandage packages.
Tom pulled down an oxygen mask and flicked the flow to full bore. He put the mask on Emma’s face and eased the elastic behind her head.
‘It’s OK,’he told her. ‘We’re safe now, Emma. You’re going to be fine.’
Her face was deathly pale, framed by the long, wet tresses of dark hair.
‘She’s hypothermic,’ Tom warned Josh. ‘I’ll get a cardiac monitor on.’
‘Can’t feel any broken bones here.’ Josh was taping the pressure bandage in place on Emma’s leg. ‘Could be just soft-tissue injury. How’s her breathing?’
‘Shallow,’ Tom responded. ‘But chest wall movement looks equal.’ He had been waiting for the rotors of the helicopter to slow enough to make using a stethoscope useful. ‘Sounds clear enough,’he reported moments later.
‘Could be some abdominal trauma.’ Josh had cut the top of Emma’s jeans with shears and pulled the rest of her shirt clear. Tom felt his heart sink as he saw the ugly purple mark marring an expanse of perfect pale skin. If Emma had ruptured her spleen on top of losing blood from the injury to her leg, they may well be too late in starting a fight to prevent her slide into irreversible shock.
Fluids were needed, stat. Wide-bore lines—one in each arm. Pressure cuffs to get the fluid where it was urgently needed—to pump up blood volume and keep enough oxygen circulating to prevent cellular death.