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.
Three minutes.
Five minutes.
Kayla laid her fingers against Andy’s neck, felt the reassuring bump in the carotid artery. ‘Okay, we have a pulse.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the policeman sink back on his heels and lift the handset. ‘Dispatch, the victim has a pulse.’
Kayla felt an odd shiver as she let the deep, calm voice wash over her. She shook her head. She was tired, her muscles trembling with fatigue in the aftermath of the adrenalin-charged situation. The tremors were nothing to do with a deep, dark, baritone voice.
The unit crackled. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. They should be with you shortly. Standing by.’
She looked at the profile of the man who’d been helping her. Dustin’s police sergeant. The strong jaw with a shadow of whiskers on his cheeks. He looked stern and forbidding with the black T-shirt clinging to his chest and sculpted biceps. Much as she loathed large, muscle-bound men, she had to be thankful he’d been here tonight. She’d never have got Andy out of the car on her own.
She swallowed and turned her attention back to her patient. She tucked Andy’s arm along his body and reached across for his other one. ‘We should turn Andy into the recovery position.’
There was a faint wail of sirens in the distance, creeping closer.
‘Going to be sick,’ Andy slurred.
‘We need to roll him,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ll support his neck, you roll him towards me. My command, on three. Got it? Okay. One, two, three.’ Kayla fired out the order as she held Andy’s head.
And then the sour smell of vomit as Andy disgorged his stomach contents over the knee of her trousers. She swallowed the gag reflex that threatened. ‘Okay, let’s settle him so I can clean him up. Gently, gently.’
‘Wha’s happen…?’ Andy struggled to move as she slipped a folded towel under his head.
‘Just stay still for me, Andy.’ She kept her hand firmly on his shoulder, held him steady as she spoke. ‘You’ve had an accident. We’re getting help for you.’
The sirens were closer.
‘The cavalry’s on its way,’ Tom murmured, his rich, gravelly voice sliding over her.
‘Amen to that.’
She looked up to find shadowed eyes on her.
And then he smiled. A simple curve of his mouth and his face was transformed. Sergeant Jamieson was a very, very attractive man. Kayla’s heart squeezed hard.
Too much man for her to handle, whispered a confidence-sapping inner voice. Too much, too big. Too hard.
Andy moved under her hand. With relief, she wrenched her gaze away from the disturbing man opposite her patient.
CHAPTER TWO
THE smell of smoke drifted on the still air. Tom leaned sideways to look around the end of his car. Flames licked around the front tyre of the wreck.
As he got to his feet, the Dustin fire truck slid between him and his view of the fledgling fire. Thank God. He felt the tension ease across his shoulders.
A paramedic ran up to join Kayla as the ambulance backed slowly towards them. It stopped a couple of metres away and the second medic came around to open the back doors. Tom stood and moved back to give them more room. He watched a moment as Kayla meshed smoothly with the men, working to stabilise their patient.
Feeling superfluous, he crossed to the back of his four-wheel drive to take out the camera, tape measure and notepad. With his gear in hand, he walked around to the other side of the fire truck. The team had the wreck and surrounding area well doused with foam.
‘Tom.’ Dustin’s fire captain, Jack Campbell, nodded to him then turned back to look at the crumpled car. ‘How’s your vic?’
‘Looks like he’ll make it, thanks to Kayla.’
‘Lucky she was on hand.’
‘Yeah.’ Tom stared at the wreck, remembering the frenetic light and sound show in the seconds before the crash. ‘Even luckier she wasn’t involved in the accident.’
‘What happened?’ Jack’s voice was sharp with concern.
‘I need to have a good look at the tyre marks and take her statement.’ Tom lifted his shoulder. ‘But I’d say she did some pretty fancy driving to avoid a collision. It’ll have to be confirmed but indications are that the driver is alcohol-impaired.’
Jack grunted his disgust.
‘Yeah.’ Tom sighed heavily. ‘I’m going to take some photos, make a few measurements for my report. I won’t get in your way.’
‘Sure. I called Dennis. He’s on his way with the tow truck.’ Hands on hips, Jack pointed his chin at the wreck. ‘We’re under control here but we’ll hang around to make sure there are no flare-ups when the car’s pulled off the tree trunk.’
‘Thanks.’
Tom moved away and began snapping photographs from different angles. Inside the car, he took several pieces of the broken whisky bottle, making sure he got a clear shot of the label.
From a vantage point to one side, he made a quick sketch of the scene, placing the cars. On a walk along the road with his torch, he identified the skid marks—Andy’s coming onto the main road from the lane; Kayla’s where she’d braked and swerved to avoid him.
He could see quite clearly how the incident had unfolded. The tyre tracks told the story. Thick black rubber lines on the sealed road segued into gouges in the gravel verge before spiralling back onto the tarmac again. Just traversing