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Tripped.
Her hand splashed into the water, upset the container, and of course, it spilled onto the water. She bit back a scream as the oily flame touched the arm of her dress. She yanked her arm from the water.
Flame licked it and she shook it.
Oil and flame spat out from her arm, and now shedidscream, dancing around. “Off, off!”
“Hold still!” A napkin landed on her burned sleeve, snuffed out the flames, but the heat sat on her skin. She reached up and ripped the napkin and charred sleeve away from her, yanking them down, pulling her arm free.
She stared at the burn, breathing hard. The sleeve had offered some protection, but the burn had already seared the skin, and her violence had skidded off the top layer of epidermis.
“You need water!”
She looked up just as Doyle grabbed a water pitcher and doused her entire arm, her body, and—perfect—now she stood in the courtyard in a see-through dress.
Sopping, dripping, and bearing a second-degree burn.
She met Doyle’s eyes.
He breathed hard, swallowed, glanced over her. “It’s not that bad.”
“Which part?” She turned to Jaden. “I told you to stop!”
He stood, his mouth tight, eyes filling.
Doyle set a hand on her shoulder. “I got this.”
“Great. Because I’m going to the medical clinic.”
“Wait—let me look at the burn?—”
But she ignored him, turned, and did a super job of not running, not crying, as she stalked to the clinic. Out the side gate and into the two-story building attached to the monastery. Stone walls, arched doors, and tile roof, it was once the refectory, with an expansive garden out back. Now, the main floor included the reception area and the exam and treatment rooms, with the upper rooms used as a birthing center, including the ultrasound suite, an X-ray room(thank you, Doyle),and a surgical suite for minor issues.
The small pharmacy sat in the back of the building on the main floor. She punched in the code and let herself in, her arm pulsing.
Maybe she’d overreacted. Fifteen-year-old boys hardly had impulse control.Still.
She flicked on a light, and it illuminated the hallway.
A crash and she stilled.What?—
And maybe she should have turned around.Definitely should have turned around,maybe fled from the building. But her arm hurt, and the idea of someone stealing from them just ignited her. “Who’s there?” She started down the hallway.
Quiet.
“I know you’re there.”
“No. I’mhere.” Someone’s hand clamped onto her mouth, jerked her up against his body, and a voice said. “Miss me?”
THREE
“Just calm down, Jaden.”Doyle sat on the edge of the fountain—after dousing the fiery containers—and pulled him over. “It’s okay.”
“Miss Tia’s really hurt.” Jaden’s voice emerged small, broken, and Doyle remembered the trauma these children had suffered five years ago. Inside, Jaden might be about ten years old.
Doyle felt about ten years old the way his insides shook.
He’d heard the girls screaming even before Tia had shouted, was on his way back inside the compound—leaving Austen and Declan and Stein in the yard—and his EMT training just kicked in.