Page 9 of Shielding Serena

He sure moved like Walker and Garrett. Was he a cop or a soldier as well? And damn, her thoughts were all over the place and she needed to settle down.

The paramedic who’d treated her inside, Mike Ramirez, gave her a grin and opened the side door, dropping into a half bow and as he waved toward the inside of the rig.

“Your chariot awaits, Madam.” Rimrock Creek wasn’t big enough for its own ER or even a clinic, so they’d be going to Cottonwood, eight miles away.

She could refuse, she felt fine after all, simply a bit sore, but then she’d be an ungrateful bitch, and she knew she’d be making excuses. She knew, from a purely common-sense standpoint, that she needed to be checked out by a doctor, especially given how much time she’d been unconscious.

Knowing that her friend Lila Pearson was the attending made the impending doom a little more palatable.

She’d met Lila during one of her rounds handing out free goodies. In her experience, buttering up healthcare workers was never a bad idea. She and Lila had struck up a conversation that turned to drinks every once in a while, but both women were busy in their respective careers, and so it hadn’t amounted to more than that.

If there was anything that could make the memories of a hospital bearable, it was knowing Lila would be looking after her. So she stepped up into the rig without argument and only a little dread and settled on the stretcher. “I am not laying down on this thing,” she said with finality.

She looked out the open back door and saw Walker standing there. He looked like he was trying to fight back a smile. “I’ll see you at the ER, slugger,” he said, and Mike swung the door shut.

Slugger? Oh, the candlestick. Damn, she was never going to live that down.

Mike didn’t force her to lie flat but instead raised the back of the bed so she was sitting up. “Putting you on the stretcher is for insurance purposes,” he said. “Same with us getting a pulse and all that good stuff before we roll into the ER.”

She leaned back and tried to concentrate on what had happened rather than what was about to.

What she wouldn’t give to have seen the face of the guy who assaulted her. Or better yet, gotten in a lick of her own. It chilled her to think of what had could have happened. Her happy place, her sanctuary, her home, had been violated.

What could the burglar have possibly wanted? And now her thoughts were scattered to the wind again. Maybe she really did need to see Lila.

It didn’t take them long to get to the ER and when they pulled into the ambulance bay one of her afternoon regulars, a nurse by the name of Adam Scott, was waiting for her at the doors with a concerned look. “Rumor has it you stopped a robbery with your head,” he said as he and Mike pulled her out of the ambulance. “I want to hear all about it.”

As soon the doors opened she felt the panic attack closing in on her like a rogue wave regardless of her efforts to push it back, tamp it down, stomp it into submission.

Memories crowded her brain, narrowing her vision until she could barely see beyond the foot of the gurney. Ghostly antiseptic smells assaulted her senses and made nausea churn in her stomach.

“Whoa there,” Mike said, looking at her with concern as the monitors went crazy. “What’s wrong?”

She panted, hating the knowledge that her symptoms had nothing to do with the drama this morning and everything to do with staring at those ER doors. With the image of her mother’s face as she finally, finally faded and the monitors went quiet.

“Panic attack,” she gritted out as her vision started to go gray. She grasped the sides of the gurney in a death grip.

“Take a deep breath in. One, two, three, hold it, now let it out,” Adam said, as he and Mike demonstrated.

She breathed with them and the sensory overload began to abate and she got her breath back. She’d known this might happen, but she’d hoped she’d outgrown it.

God, how she hated hospitals, even this one, though it hadn’t been the one she’d watched her mother die a slow, excruciating death in. That had been in D.C. the year she turned fifteen. She’d avoided hospitals ever since.

As soon as she nodded, indicating she was through it, they hustled her inside and into one of the ER bays, where Dr. Lila Pearson waited, her eyes and expression professional, but concern showed through nonetheless.

“What do we have here?” her friend asked as she clucked over the wound on Serena’s temple. “Any dizziness, nausea or anything like that?” she asked, her voice brisk, though Serena knew she was dying to ask what had happened.

“Nothing I can’t attribute to having a freakin’ panic attack,” Serena said, embarrassed now that it was over, leaving a lingering feeling of disconnection. At least she hadn’t fainted.

Lila looked at her with sympathy, her hazel eyes kind. “You okay now?”

“Yeah, it’s fading. Now my head just hurts like a mofo.”

“Any idea what he hit you with?”

“Pretty sure it was a flashlight,” Serena said. “It knocked me out, that much is for sure.”

“That’s the part I like the least,” said her friend. “You were unconscious about an hour?” At Serena’s nod she continued. “After I get this flushed out and generally cleaned up, we’re going to run some tests, work through concussion protocols. I also want a C-SCAN. You were out for a long time.”