‘OK.’ This could be a number of things. The tension of the past hour had fallen away now to be replaced with a different sort of tension. Nate was back in medical mode and nothing else mattered. What was happening here? What did he have? One limp kid?

Meningitis? Maybe it was, and he could tell by the fear in Gemma’s voice that that was what she was terrified of.

Okay. Worst case scenario first. Rule of thumb-look for the worst and work backwards.

‘There’s no temperature,’ Jane told him, showing him the thermometer. ‘High blood pressure. Rapid pulse. But no temp.’

OK. Breathe again. That should rule out meningitis.

But Cady certainly looked sick.

The child was thin, Nate thought, sitting back on his heels and really looking. Taking his time. He’d learned in the past that unless airways were threatened, such examinations were important. So he took the child in from head to toe-examining him with his eyes instead of his hands.

What did he have?

Thin child. Fuzzy vision. Sick. Tired, and drifting into semiconsciousness.

Diabetic mother…

And a little voice was recalled from nowhere. The memory slammed home.

‘Gemma, I’m thirsty.’

Click.

‘Jane, I want a blood sugar,’ he said curtly. He put his hand over Cady’s and gripped, hard. ‘Cady, your eyes are a bit funny, are they? Can you hear me, Cady? Can you tell me what’s happening?’ The little boy seemed as if he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

‘I can’t… Everything looks funny.’ Cady’s voice was a bewildered whisper and Nate’s eyes met Gemma’s. The child’s confusion was reflected in hers.

‘Cady, I’m going to take a tiny pinprick of blood,’ he told the little boy. ‘Not much. It’ll be a tiny prick. I think you might have too much sugar in your blood and I want to find out if I’m right. If that’s what’s making you sick.’