‘All right, the staff staying back will be briefed by Mandy now to prep any patients the first wave will be taking with them in this initial evacuation.’
There wasn’t even a low grumble of protest as the group, evidently jolted by Hayden’s unequivocal tone, moved forward to check the list.
‘The rest of you have ten minutes to grab your personal gear and get back here to collect those patients. The transport will be leaving in half an hour and nobody will be late, are we clear?’
‘Clear,’ came the chorus as people checked the list and then spilled out of the tent to carry out their designated roles.
But as Bridget headed off, she wasn’t prepared for Hayden to snag her arm, pulling her into one of the tukuls under repair the moment no one was watching.
Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Whatever this was about, she didn’t think it was going to be good.
* * *
‘You need to remove your name from the volunteers staying behind.’
He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew that, and yet he hadn’t been able to help himself. And now, even as Bridget blinked at him, her lovely eyes looking hurt, he hated himself in a way he never had done in his life before.
But he didn’t relent.
He couldn’t.
This was the right call for the right reasons, wasn’t it?
Hayden stared grimly across the tukul and into a face he was sure would haunt him forever. He had never—in his entire career—had to second-guess his motivations before. He didn’t like it.
But he was forced to concede that he liked even less the idea of anything happening to Bridget.
‘Remove your name, Birdie,’ his voice rasped out.
Her brow furrowed and Hayden found himself clenching his fists to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing it flat.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s not safe.’
She eyed him with astonishment for a moment, before she bit back.
‘It’s a lot safer than what you’re doing.’
‘I don’t care.’ It was all he could do to keep his voice down, knowing all too well how sound carried out here. ‘You can’t stay here.’
‘Why not?’
He didn’t want to answer. Yet he couldn’t not. Everything in him was railing at what he was doing but he didn’t care. He had to stop her. He had to keep her safe.
‘Because you’re a liability.’ He barely reco
gnised the sound of his own voice.
He hardly blamed her for looking at him with shock. Then horror. Then fury.
‘I’m a what?’
‘You’re a liability,’ he repeated, even if through his teeth.
This wasn’t him. This wasn’t what he did. And yet here he was, unable to help himself.
‘I am not a liability,’ she managed to hiss, though there was no mistaking the shake in her voice. ‘I am very good at my job.’