Page 2 of Burn Protocol

The crowd laughs softly at his little jab, and I feel my lips curl up again. I take a sip of my champagne to mask it, and let the bubbles dance over my tongue.

“As you know, Doctor Durand will be featuring in the new edition of Woman at the Front. A magazine that focuses on the strengths of the female population.”

My jaw rolls a bit at that comment. Such a male way of saying we are feminists. Which, in all fairness, we really are.

“Journalist Maya Carter went above and beyond to get to know our Chief of trauma, and wrote a story that will tug at your heartstrings.”

He gives me a slight nod and raises his glass. All the eyes in the room turn to me and I feel the crimson creep up my cheeks as I raise my own glass in return.

Luckily, he continues, and draws the focus back to him.

“Doctor Durand’s profile is the second in a three-part series on female first responders, and I can already tell you that it is mind-blowing. Really, be prepared to get to know her in ways you never imagined.”

Catherine shuffles uncomfortably next to me, and I glance over. Her eyes are on the board member, but I can see by the way her jaw is set that she only now realizes that her openness will be shared with the world. I softly squeeze her arm and she swallows.

“But, before we let you dive into the article, we will happily reveal the cover of the magazine. Helen Dubois, the editor-in-chief, has gifted us a special framed print for our walls. So, without further ado, I present to you—” he pauses for dramatic effect and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“Doctor Durand.”

He pulls down the black fabric and reveals the photo that I took when the doctor was in the midst of helping a patient from a bus crash. In it, she is giving CPR and looks straight into the lens. The result of that single moment where I happened to press the button at the right time, still chills me. The fight in her eyes— the determination and compassion— is almost palpable.

The crowd must think the same, because some soft murmurs fill the room and people throw me appreciative looks. I hide my face in my glass and sip some more of this cheap champagne. Gosh, I don’t like being on display like this at all.

Catherine is whisked away by some of her coworkers before I can thank her properly. She gives me an apologetic glance over her shoulder, mouthing something about being in touch.

I just smile as Helen sneaks up beside me.

“Well done, Carter. Glad to see you still have it in you.”

It is a jab covered in a compliment and it makes my skin crawl. This type of behavior is exactly why I blew up at her in the first place. But now, now it just feels like she is testing me, pushing me to see if I’ll go over the edge again. I bite back a sharp retort and just nod once.

“Come see me in the office tomorrow. I expect you at nine sharp. We’ll discuss your new assignment.”

I eye her carefully. Normally I pick my own topics, my own subjects, but Helen had insisted on taking charge during my trial period. It’s not like I could have done anything about it, so I simply accepted it, even though I still struggle with her authority over me.

“Sure thing, boss.”

She grinds her jaw and her eyes narrow slightly. Good. I hit a nerve with her too.

“If you want to get your job back, you better stop saying that.”

I swallow. The small flourish of victory is already flushed down the drain. Of course I hold no real power over her. If we were to go toe to toe, she would bite my head clean off every single time.

“Yes, of course, Helen. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

The moment the metro doors hiss open, I push my shoulder through them and bolt out. The station is filled with people on their way to work, school, or other engagements. Normally I enjoy watching them, coming up with possible stories that would fit them. A young boy on his way to surprise his girlfriend with a dozen flowers. Who, of course, is his former chemistry teacher, right? Or the man with the little schnauzer, I am sure he spent time hunting treasure in Egypt.

Today, however, I don’t even register one face in the blur as I rush to the exit. It is already five past nine, meaning I won’t be in Helen’s office until nine fifteen at the earliest.

I burst out into the street and hurry my way over to the glass building, half a block away. The doorman just shakes his head as he sees me coming, and holds open the side entrance.

“Morning, Miss.”

“Thank you, José,” I call out to him over my shoulder.

By the time I reach our floor, my breathing is ragged and I feel the uncomfortable feeling of perspiration on my face. The humming of computer screens and the ticking of keyboards wash over me.