Not Quite Enough
Page 18

The fact that any mutual attraction would have to be temporary didn’t push her away.
Monica Mann was used to temporary. Less messy that way. No one to depend on, and no one depending on her.
Perfect.
Chapter Six
The clinic, or what was left of it, resembled nothing of its former glory. Trent maneuvered his car as close to the main structure as he could. He didn’t ask if Monica wanted him to accompany her inside, he simply grabbed her bag and led the way. The main hospital at least had some semblance of order. Not here.
“Are you sure this is right?” Monica asked as they approached the structure. Several locals watched their approach, their gazes speculative.
Trent noticed a few sets of eyes linger on Monica and he moved closer to her side.
What the hell was the doctor in charge thinking sending her here alone? Even the local tourist authority warned visitors to keep their valuables locked up and to avoid wandering the streets alone. Monica, with her fair skin and blonde hair, didn’t blend in with the locals. And she was more valuable than a purse or camera bag.
The clouds had broken, leaving heat in its wake. On both sides of the clinic, brick buildings had collapsed making the path inside an obstacle course.
Trent captured Monica’s hand and helped her over a pile of rubble. She started to question him again when he heard the unmistakable sound of human suffering.
People were piled up outside of the clinic, three rows thick. A couple of pickup trucks had people in the back of them, there were stretchers lining the outside wall of the building.
Trent glanced over at Monica. Her eyes had grown wide and any hint of a smile was now gone.
“Holy hell.”
“Do you know who’s in charge here?”
Monica shook her head. “Apparently the clinic doctor hasn’t been seen since the quake.”
Trent pulled her along behind him, weaving in between people as he went.
“Help me.” The person speaking leaned against wall closest to the door. “Doctor?”
Monica offered the patient a smile. “I’m a nurse. Hold on, OK?”
“I’m here two days. Please, ma’am.”
“C’mon, Monica. Let’s find who’s in charge.”
They walked past the man and inside. More people spilled from every corner of the room.
“Is there a nurse here?” Trent called out.
Several heads turned, a few pointed to another door.
“It doesn’t even look as if anyone has even been triaged,” Monica said almost to herself.
They found a woman in the middle of a room bandaging a woman’s chest. Trent had to swallow hard to keep his coffee down from the rancid smell inside the room.
“Hi,” Monica said as she approached the woman.
The lady glanced over her shoulder, looked them both over quickly, and returned to her task. “You here to help?”
She was Jamaican, but her accent wasn’t as thick as most.
“I’m the nurse from the States.”
“Thank the gods. What about you? You a doctor?”
Trent assumed she meant him. “I’m just her ride.”
She grunted. “You’re walking. You’re standing. You can help.”
Trent swept the room with his gaze. Even if he could get past the stench in the room, he’d have to take in the blood, this misery.
Monica moved around the patient and glanced at the bag of fluids hanging over the patient’s head. “Are you a nurse?”
The woman huffed. “I’m a secretary. The nurse, she’s with the sick patients.”
Monica’s hand dropped to her side. “One nurse?”
“Two… but the other one, she had to rest. Hand me that gauze.” The secretary pointed to the table separating two makeshift beds.
Monica’s hands hesitated over the dirty bandages. “Don’t you have clean ones?”
“Not enough. Those will do.”
Trent could see the argument on Monica’s lips. Instead of saying anything, she handed the gauze over and attempted to smile at the patient. “What’s your name?”
“Freya.”
“I’m Monica and this is Trent.”
Freya finished her task and turned away from the patient. “Come. I’ll show you where everything is.”
“Wait,” Monica said, stopping her. “Who’s in charge here?”
Freya stuck her ample hip out and laid a heavy hand on it. “Right now, in this room, I am. There are only a few of us and none of us were trained for this.”
“Who’s triaging the patients? Making the decisions?” Monica’s voice was elevating and at the same time, Freya’s jaw drew tighter.
“I’m doing my best.”
Monica took a deep breath. “I’m sure you are. Without a doctor or skilled help, this can’t be easy. I’m just trying to figure out what has been done so far.
From the looks of the room, not a lot. Some patients were sitting up, but on a gurney or some kind of flat surface. Others rocked back and forth, moaning. Trent was way out of his league and he knew it.
“Maybe it’s time for me to go,” he suggested.
Monica whipped her head around so fast Trent thought it might spin in a complete circle. “Don’t you dare.”
He held up his hands in surrender. Couldn’t be that easy. “I’m not a nurse, doctor, or even a secretary in a clinic.”
Freya and Monica were both glaring now.