Chapter 1

Present Day

“Connor, can you examine the patient in room three for me? A little boy with a rash. I’m needed in the staging area.” Declan, the best surgeon in the Rockford Memorial Hospital emergency department, made the request of Connor and he was already hurrying away from the nurse’s station.

“Get right on it, bro,” he called to Declan’s retreating back, knowing his brother expected to be obeyed, and wasn’t asking permission. He picked up the chart Dec dropped in front of him.

“Older brother still bossing you around?” Kelly Jenkins, a top-notch ER nurse, asked with a smile. She’d been giving him a lot of those lately. Every time she did, he thought of another smile meant to entice and it broke his heart all over again.

“Yeah. I don’t mind. Do you have any siblings?”

“An only child.”

“Lucky you.” Though he didn’t mean it, he thought as he walked to room three. His family was everything to him and had been there for him during the worst time in his life.

The reason for that worst time kept him from asking beautiful, blond Kelly for a date. In the last two months since Callandra Gentileschi sought him out in D.C., he’d been unable to shake the notion that he could be with her now. But he’d said no. After what happened to him the first time she left, a reconciliation was too big a risk.

A nurse accompanied him. Drawing open the curtain, he found his patient, a slight boy with black hair and eyes that shone with concern. “Hey there. I’m Dr. Marino. You’re Paulie?”

“Uh-huh.”

He transferred his gaze to the quiet woman next to the boy. “Hello, Mrs....” He looked down at the chart. “Mrs. Fong.”

“Hello. Thank you for seeing us, doctor.” She spoke English well.

“I understand you have a rash, Paulie.”

Paulie nodded. Connor noticed he held his mother’s hand.

“How long have you had it?”

“Years.” The woman spoke for her son. “Doctors did tests. Told us different things, gave him various treatments. But nothing worked. Today, he woke up unable to stop scratching. He has sores from it.”

“I’m glad you brought him in.” After washing his hands and donning blue gloves, he walked to the side of the bed and gestured to Paulie’s hand. “May I?”

The boy nodded. On his wrists were runny, raw abrasions. He pulled back the sheets. The same on his legs. “Could you turn over?” The sores on his back weren’t as vicious, more than likely because he couldn’t scratch there.

He asked Mrs. Fong, “Did you get your pediatrician’s records for what’s been tested?”

“No.”

“Will you consent to releasing them?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll send a nurse in with the paperwork. In any case, we’ll run a series of our own tests here.” He said to Paulie, “Meanwhile, we’ll give you some steroids that should clear this up enough so the rash is tolerable. We’ll also apply topical cortisone cream.”

The boy’s eyes filled. “It hurts. I want to scratch.”

“No, Paulie, you can’t. But that itching will stop, soon, I promise.” He spoke to the nurse who’d come in when he did. “Could you get cold compresses? Apply them to his arms and legs and spread a larger one under him for his back. After ten minutes, put cream on him. I’ll order the tests.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He left the room, filled out a form and handed the clipboard to Kelly behind the desk. “Would you help his mother get the boy’s records from his doctor? The name’s on the intake form. I’ll be back in ten minutes to see how he’s doing.”

“Of course.”

Connor walked down the hall to an office. The room was empty and he went to the computer. He’d seen virulent rashes in Syria, but this was different. He planned to search the medical textbooks for comparable ones. He hoped this three-prong approach could help the boy.

o0o

Syria, 18 months ago

Heat consumed him as he walked into the hut. Connor had been sweating all day from the relentless sun beating down on the unsubstantial roof. As it was only June, the worst was yet to come. In December, the opposite happened, and it was cold here. The conditions in medical outposts kept getting worse with the constant bombings. And even though he’d been in Syria six months, he still wasn’t used to how the weather drained him or chilled him depending on the season.

Five boys sat on a cot next to each other in the exam room to greet him in this tiny village on the outskirts of Aleppo. “As-salāmu ʿalaykum.”

The children responded in kind.

He picked up one boy’s arm and winced. The angry sores oozed with pus. He pointed to the boy’s wound area and the other four boys lifted arms affected by the same rash. He could tell this wasn’t poison ivy, impetigo, fungus or shingles. What the hell was it?

“Bug bites.” The words came from behind him. He turned to see a vision amidst all the squalor and sickness. Black as night hair, pulled back in thick knots. Raven brows arching over huge nearly black eyes. “I said those are bug bites. I had a rash of them, pardon the pun, on the Eastern side of the city.”

“Ah. Thanks.”

“A salve of...” She went on to give him the ingredients but he was distracted by her husky voice. “Doctor, are you listening to me?”

“Um, no. Who are you?”

“Calla Gentileschi. Dr. Calla Gentileschi. I’ve been transferred to your area.”

“How do you pronounce your last name again?”

“In Italian, it’s Gen-tee-less-ski. But most Americas use till for the second syllable.” She smiled. “We’re from a sovereign state off the coast of Italy.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

“Our schools teach English in addition to Italian.”

“And you came to this village to help out?”

“Yes. You lost some personnel this week, I understand.”

“We did.” They’d put in their time for the grueling work. Connor himself had signed on for a year.

She said, “I brought my translator, too.”

“Oh, thank God. I’m drowning here. And not being able to communicate is part of the reason.”

“His name is Razim. He’ll be right in...oh, here he is.”

A tall, skinny Arab man walked up to her. Razim had dark hair like the beautiful doctor and sported even darker eyes. He said to her, “I cannot find the supervisor.” His English was accented but perfect.

She smiled at the young man and he smiled back. “Razim, this is Doctor...what’s your name?”

“Marino.” Connor held out his hand. “Connor Marino.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Supervisor’s here,” someone called from outside.

“I will be right back.” This from Razim before he left them.

“Where are your supplies?” Dr. Gentileschi asked. “I’ll make the salve for you. I’m assuming you’re equipped like we were and have the materials on hand.”

“We got restocked yesterday. We were lucky the planes got in.” He couldn’t help but grin at her. “But I should learn, so come on, I’ll show you where the room is.”

He yelled to a nurse across the way. “Could you keep an eye on these guys while I make a lotion?”

The nurse stepped to the tables.

He led Dr. Gentileschi to the back and unlocked the storage room, which was the size of his walk-in closet back home. It held medical devices, drugs, vaccines and even condoms to distribute to the men here.

The door slammed behind them.

Connor grabbed onto the woman.

The room shook!

Again. And again.

She clutched at him.

Silence.

A cacophony of noise exploded.

They both startled.

It lasted only about a minute. Dirt and concrete rained down on them. She sneezed and Connor coughed.

She looked at him. “An attack, right?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, no. Razim is out there.”

Connor whipped open the door and they both raced through it. Shambles. Noise from around them: some shouts, some crying, some low and mournful moans spreading over the whole compound. The concrete and dirt had formed a small hill separating them from the treatment area. Connor leaned down. “The debris is hot. Be careful.” He took her hand as they climbed over it only to find nails, and glass, and other rubble.

“Those were barrel bombs,” she said as she went with him.

They finally got back to the examining area.

Callandra Gentileschi gasped.

He murmured, “Dear Lord in heaven.”

She grabbed onto his shoulder and buried her face in his back. He couldn’t witness the ravaged bodies of five boys and the nurse for long, either. Turning, he took her into his arms, felt her grasp his shirt and bury herself in his chest. Connor shut his eyes, closing out the misery.

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