The Sheikh's Hidden Heir. Оливия Гейтс
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road with a large muffin in his hand. Everybody was going back to their lives, and so too must she. As she pushed the traffic light button her head was whirring, trying to define what it was she had turned her back on—because not a word between them had been said.
The lights were changing, cars, taxis, cyclists and buses all slowing down and the green light was about to flash to tell the pedestrians to walk. She almost wanted his hand to come on her shoulder, for this mysterious man to haul her back to his world.
There was no hand on her shoulder. It was self-preservation that caused her to step back. In fact Felicity pulled an elderly lady back too, as she saw that one car wasn’t slowing down—if anything it was speeding up. In the small amount of time it took for it happen, Felicity saw everything. The female driver, her head back, jerking at the wheel, the slide of the car over the crossing, and the horrific sound of a revved engine. It was like a missile turning and randomly choosing its course. It could have ended up anywhere—on the crowded pavement, in a packed café window. With no time to move, to register, even to run, an eerie silence descended. And then came a ripping sound of metal that went on for ever, a thud of impact as the small car slammed into a bus, its wheels still scratching and spinning, its engine still revving.
Then people moved.
The chance of an explosion was imminent.
As the crowd scattered, a few people ran forward.
Felicity could see the hotel doorman and Liam, running towards the centre of the bus, pulling on the closed doors. He was running too—but to the crashed car, as was she.
‘She was fitting,’ Felicity called out to him. He was leaning in the car as she sped over, her smart high heels hard work in the rain. She realised she hadn’t been heard above the scream of the engine as she reached him, and shouted again. ‘She was fitting!’
He had reached in and turned off the engine, but still it was dangerous and he told her so. ‘Get back—this could go up at any time.’
It was the first time she had heard his voice. Deep and accented, it was telling her very clearly to leave the scene. Liam was telling her the same, having helped off the passengers after he had dashed to the centre of the bus. Seeing just how dangerous it was, he told Felicity to get the hell out.
‘They’re all off the bus. Driver’s got minor injuries. The fire engine will be here in a moment—it’s unstable…’
It was—smoke was billowing from the car engine. Felicity could hear sirens in the background. Help was never far away on busy London streets—except the streets were packed, and the short distance between help and the accident was blocked with cars.
‘Go!’ He didn’t turn to say it—he was supporting the woman’s head; she was breathing but unconscious—but he made his orders clear. ‘Get back now!’
So she did—albeit reluctantly. Felicity knew it was up to the experts, that if he chose to risk his life then that was his choice. And then she heard it, the shrieks of a newborn baby. Not fearful, stunned shrieks, but like those of a wounded animal, and she could no more walk away now than fly.
Liam was calling her back, telling her not to be foolish, but Felicity ignored him. He, the beautiful stranger, didn’t question her decision as she approached. He was still holding the woman’s head but he was also assessing the car for an opening, trying to locate the piercing screams of the baby. He didn’t order her to leave again—knew perhaps he would be wasting his time—and time was of the essence.
Felicity wrenched at the crumpled car door and tried to get her head in the small gap she created.
‘The baby’s bleeding.’ Though it was wrapped in a blue blanket, the little white baby suit was dark with blood on the arm. Felicity’s head couldn’t fit fully in, but she could see a shard of metal sticking out of the babe’s arm, and even though the blood loss looked relatively small, for such a tiny infant it was substantial.
‘There’s a piece of metal…’
‘Felicity.’ She was surprised that he knew her name, but he said rapidly, ‘I’m Karim. Can you get your arm in? Can you reach?’
She was already trying—only she couldn’t see and stretch inside at the same time.
‘I can’t get in!’
‘No.’ His voice was calm and assured. ‘Turn around and put your arm in that way. You will be able to reach; you will be able to hear me.’
‘But I can’t see.’
‘I will guide you.’ His voice was accented, rich and strong, and so assured, it reassured her. It made Felicity think that she could do it.
She had no choice but to do it.
One last glance at the baby to get her bearings showed her the patch of blood was spreading. She could see the shard of metal in its arm and knew she had to apply pressure.
She turned her head, the rain lashing her face as her arm slid into the dry confines of the car.
‘Lower your hand,’ Karim ordered. ‘That is the base of the crib.’
Crib? The baby seat, Felicity translated to herself. He was holding the patient’s head and ducking his own in and out of the vehicle, so that he could be her eyes on the inside and speak to her on the outside. Inch by inch her fingers crept forward.
‘Now to your right. Feel his foot? That is his right foot. Move up.’
The injured arm was the baby’s left one, and Felicity slowly moved her hand upwards with Karim’s guidance. The baby had stopped screaming now, and was just making little noises—which was even more worrying than the crying. Without Karim’s instruction her fingers located the sternum, the neck, and tried to move to the left.
‘I can’t reach,’ Felicity said. ‘I can’t.’
‘Two inches,’ Karim said, and she was grateful then for her high heels—and for Karim urging her on. ‘Careful,’ Karim warned, but because she had seen, she knew where the metal was. She slipped her fingers into the babe’s axilla and pushed upwards.
‘Is it stopping?’
‘I don’t know,’ Karim admitted. ‘Just keep pushing.’
So she did.
For what felt like for ever.
The emergency services had arrived and the passenger door was peeled back a touch further. She could get her head inside now. She couldn’t move to cover the baby with a blanket as the firefighter punched in the rear window—Karim did that. A paramedic had put a collar on the mother, and she had been extracted, but instead of stepping back, Karim climbed in further, covered the baby with an ambulance blanket, and covered Felicity’s head too.
‘She needs a hard hat,’ a fire officer called.
‘There’s no room for a hard hat,’ Karim responded. ‘Turn your head,’ Karim said to Felicity, which she did. Screwing her eyes closed, she tried not to move as the emergency crew created rear access to the baby.
And Karim stayed with her in the strange little tent.
He talked her through it, as her hand was numb and she wasn’t sure if the baby was alive or dead.
‘The firefighters have doused the engines,’ he assured her. ‘It shouldn’t be much longer now.’
‘My legs are freezing,’ Felicity admitted.
‘It will be over soon.’ He held her eyes, black on blue, and it helped. She could hear the chatter of the firefighters and the paramedics behind her, but it was Karim’s voice she was listening to. ‘They are giving oxygen to him now.’ It was as if he was her translator, and she could only listen to him, only trust what he was telling her, because he had been her eyes. ‘They want to put IV access into his scalp before they move him. Can you hold on a little while more?’