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Reaching A and E, he forced himself to push his disturbing thoughts away and concentrate on the reason he had been called down. He glanced around the busy trauma department, feeling a momentary flash of regret for all he had given up, remembering the buzz of adrenalin he had experienced working under pressure, never knowing what was going to come through the door next. But it had been his decision to leave. The only decision...because of Molly.

'Can I help you?'

He glanced round and saw a petite nurse with short, bleached blonde hair and hungry brown eyes looking up at him. Instinctively, he took a step back. 'I'm Dr Kincaid. I was called for a consult.'

'Oh, yes, I think that's for Dr Webster's patient.' She smiled, her gaze appreciative as she looked him over. 'Lucky for us you're available.'

'Available for consults,' he agreed smoothly, hoping to stamp down on any unwanted attention, not remotely attracted to her obvious looks, the overly made-up face, the blatant come-on in her eyes.

'I'm Olivia Barr. It's always nice to see a new face around here. I'll be happy to show you around.'

Smothering a sigh, Cameron didn't respond to the open invitation. 'Could you tell me where to find Dr Webster, please?'

Glossy red lips pouted in disappointment. 'But—'

'Olivia, there you are!' The nurse looked furious at the interruption, but Cameron turned to greet the newcomer with a feeling of relief. Dressed in standard green scrubs, which still managed to make her look feminine, and with a stethoscope looped around her neck, the young woman doctor had a vibrant energy about her. 'There's an elderly lady in cubicle two who has a nasty cut on her head. I've checked her over, but the wound needs cleaning and stitching. Would you be kind enough to take care of her for me?'

'All right,' Nurse Barr responded with evident reluctance, her expression surly.

The bubbly doctor grinned. 'Thanks, I appreciate it. Sorry about that. Olivia can be, um, over-friendly,' she added, a mischievous twinkle in dark blue eyes as the nurse stomped away.

'I noticed. Are you Dr Webster?' Cameron asked, liking the woman, admiring her open manner, her elfin features framed by shoulder-length dark hair.

'I am. Please call me Annie, Dr Kincaid.'

'Cameron.'

She smiled at him, moving across to the desk to collect a file. 'Thank you for coming down so quickly. It was a welcome coincidence you should be here today, just when we have need of your expertise.'

'What's the problem?'

'A young man called Jamie. He was involved in an accident at work, and while we were examining him, we came across a lot of unexplained scars and wounds, some old, some quite fresh.' She frowned up at him, genuine apology in her eyes. 'I'm afraid to say we don't have the time to treat cases like this with the sensitivity they need, and sadly some of the staff lack the training in how to approach and support patients who self-harm.'

Cameron nodded. It was a problem with which he was all too familiar. Thankfully, Dr Annie Webster seemed to have more idea than most about what was involved, and she seemed to care. 'How old is Jamie?'

'Eighteen. He did admit some of his wounds had been self-inflicted.'

Many people assumed that sufferers hurt themselves as a way of seeking attention, but more often than not that wasn't true. Usually the behaviour and injuries were hidden, something they did to themselves, for whatever reason, and they never wanted anyone to know. Unless the person came forward for help, it was at times like this, when some other accident or illness occurred, that the problem was discovered.

'Has he given any indication what the motivation is?' Cameron asked, making some notes of his own.

Annie Webster shook her head. 'He's not very forthcoming. I gather he's met with some judgemental and unhelpful comments from medical staff in the past.'

'OK.' Cameron sighed, knowing such reactions were far too common. 'And what happened today?'

'He works in a factory, and he received a nasty burn to his forearm. We don't need to admit him, but he'll have to come back for further assessment. His arm has been dressed, he's had some analgesia, and we're running a drip for fluid loss and any shock. I called when I heard you were here as I hoped maybe Jamie would talk with someone who knew more about the issues and had the time to help him.' She handed over the file. 'You might like to review this.'

'Thanks.'

'Sorry to interrupt.' A tall doctor, young and attractive, with dark blond hair and a ready smile, joined them, casually draping his arm around Annie's shoulders. 'We have casualties from an RTA heading in.'

'On my way. Will, this is Dr Cameron Kincaid, the new self-harm specialist from the psych department.' Annie introduced them with a smile. 'Cameron, Will Brown, fellow A and E doctor.'

Cameron shook the man's hand. 'Good to meet you, Will.'

'Thanks. You, too.'

A siren sounded in the distance, and Annie looked round. 'We have to go, Cameron, but call on one of us if you need anything. Jamie is in cubicle six,' she added before grabbing Will's hand and hurrying him away towards the emergency ambulance bay.

Smiling, Cameron watched them go, wondering if there was something between the two doctors. Left alone, he looked through the notes Annie had given him before putting the file away and walking down the corridor to the cubicle. He needed the background, but he preferred to get a firsthand picture from the patient, to learn what he could of the individual motivations and problems, which varied from case to case.

'Hi, Jamie,' he said with a smile, stepping inside and closing the curtain behind him.

The sandy-haired young man had a ruddy complexion and a reserved expression in his cloudy green eyes. His torso was bare and Cameron could see the scars of past wounds on his abdomen, chest and upper arms, some of them still raw and angry, while his left forearm was freshly dressed from the morning's event.

Pulling up a chair, he sat down by the bed. 'My name is Cameron Kincaid. I specialise in the area of self-injury. I'm not here to judge you or tell you what to do, but I can provide you with various different options to think about should you wish to follow any of them. To give you the opportunity to make your own choices,' he explained, assessing the effect his words were having on the silent, wary young man.

'I want to go home.'

'I know. And I'm sure you can leave soon. They won't be keeping you in. But while you're waiting, will you talk to me? Anything you say is in confidence. I'm not going to tell anyone, including the hospital staff,' Cameron reassured him. 'I'm here to listen and to understand—if you feel ready.'

Jamie shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'How about I ask you a few questions, and you can answer if you want to?'

'I suppose so.'

Cameron sat back for a moment, wondering how best to reach the unhappy young man before him. Every person he saw was different, with different motivations and different needs. The skill—or luck, more often, he amended—was in assessing each individual and finding a way to work with them. Jamie wasn't hostile. He was scared, yes, both at being found out and at being in a place he tried so hard to avoid, but Cameron sensed deep sadness and loneliness. If he could gain his trust and encourage him to talk, he believed he could begin to help him find, other ways of coping with his anxieties and problems.

'Have you ever talked to anyone, Jamie, about how you feel or why you do what you do?' he asked, watching the young man's face.

'No.'

'Because you don't want to, or because you think no one will understand?'

The young man shrugged again, his eyes shadowed with hurt. 'How can anyone understand? People would just hate me, think I'm a freak.'

'You'd be surprised, Jamie.' Cameron leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 'You are not a freak, and people do understand. I meet people every day who say the same thing and I can assure you that you are not the only person who does what you do or feels the way you do.'

Cameron waited a moment, allowing his words to sink in. He was about to speak again when footsteps approached and the curtain was pulled back.

'Oh, sorry.' An older nurse smiled at them. 'I didn't know you had a visitor, Jamie. I just came to check your drip.' The boy retreated into his shell as the nurse satisfied herself that the fluids had finished running in, then removed the cannula and fixed a sticky plaster over the site. 'That all seems fine. I'll bring you an outpatient appointment card and some other bits and pieces, then you can go home. Have you someone you can call?'

Jamie shook his head. 'I'll be fine.'

'Well, perhaps your friend can help you,' the nurse suggested.

Cameron didn't correct her about his identity. When she had gone to fetch the paperwork, Jamie pulled on his shirt, wincing as he moved his damaged arm. The nurse was soon back, explaining the appointment and giving Jamie some medication.

'Why don't we walk along to my room? I can get some information for you and arrange for you to get home,' Cameron offered, keeping his voice light.

'OK,' Jamie agreed after a moment of hesitation. 'Thanks.'

'No problem. You all right to walk for a bit?'

'Yeah.'

The casualty department was busy coping with the aftermath of the RTA, so Cameron made a mental note to update Annie Webster later. Matching his pace to Jamie's, Cameron walked back towards the outpatient wing of the hospital, aware he was approaching the danger area where Ginger was working. He just couldn't put the woman out of his mind. Unlocking the door of the consulting room assigned to him, he showed Jamie inside and invited him to sit down.

'Is there no one I can ring who can come and collect you?'

'I don't have anyone. Not now. Mum took up with some guy a couple of years ago and he threw me out. He used to hit me...and me mum.' Cameron held his breath, hoping Jamie would continue, surprised but relieved when it all came pouring out. 'I stayed with a friend for a while but it didn't work. I've got a bedsit now. And a job. It's horrible there, though. I don't get on with people, or have any friends. And I feel bad I can't help me mum. She doesn't want to see me 'cos it will cause trouble with her bloke. I feel alone and useless.'

'Does causing yourself pain outside, help equalise the pain inside?' Cameron prompted, wary of pushing too soon but taking advantage of Jamie's apparent need to get things off his chest.

Jamie looked surprised, but he nodded, his voice unsteady. 'Yeah, it does. It makes me feel calmer. Sometimes I need to cut so badly. Sometimes I make myself wait because I think I don't deserve to feel better.'

'You do deserve to feel better, Jamie, and there are other ways of achieving that, however difficult that is to believe right now. I want to help you—if you'll let me.'

'How, though? What would I have to do?'

'Nothing you don't want to,' Cameron reassured him, knowing one wrong move and Jamie would flee. 'I think you'd find it helpful to come along to one of my evening groups. I have two a week. You can come and go as you please, but you'll meet other people who feel the same as you, people who will understand and who find it helps to talk.'

Jamie looked doubtful. 'I don't know,' he prevaricated, worriedly chewing his lower lip.

'As I say, the choice is yours.' Cameron smiled again, gathering some leaflets together. 'Why don't you come along one night and see how it goes? You don't have to say anything unless you want to, and you can always leave if it doesn't feel right for you. We can also make an appointment for you to come back here and talk to me on your own if you'd like that. I'll give you these things to read over, and next time we meet we can chat about what you think you might like to do. How does that sound?'

'Yeah, OK. Maybe I will.'

Handing over the leaflets, Cameron hid a sigh of relief. 'Great. Now, how about I organise some transport home for you?'

'Thanks.'

'No problem.'

It took a while but Jamie eventually had his ride home, and Cameron could only hope the young man would continue the brave step he had taken that day in beginning to speak about his problems. He had his fingers crossed that Jamie would come along to a group session and keep the appointment they had made for the following week. Sometimes things moved painfully slowly in his line of work but the rewards were massive when he was able to help someone turn things round and make better choices with their lives.

A stab of pain lanced through him when he recalled the one person he hadn't been able to help. Molly. He squeezed his eyes shut against the welling of emotion. He should have seen it, should have done more. But he hadn't. Not until it was way too late. And now he drove himself to make sure he helped as many other people as he could, stopped as many as possible going through what Molly had, or experiencing the ache of loss that speared his soul every day of his life.

Heading for the stairs, he wondered if he had time to grab some coffee before his afternoon appointments began. He heard footsteps a couple of flights above him and glanced up, his heart catching as he saw Ginger on her way down. His gut tightened at the sight of her. He walked on, seeing the shock mix with hurt and longing in her turquoise eyes as she met his gaze. Her steps slowed, halting when they were barely a couple of feet apart. It wasn't close enough. He wanted her in his arms, in his bed, wanted to push the rest of the world away.

'Hi,' he greeted her, hearing the roughness in his own voice.

'Hi.' He saw her suck in a breath. 'How did it go in Casualty?'

'OK. Ginger, we need to talk.'

'No, Cameron. It's too late,' she insisted, clearly panicked.

He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, resisting the urge to reach out to her. 'I don't believe that. Have lunch with me.'

'I can't. I'm already running late.' She broke off as the door behind him opened and a couple of nurses came through, their chatter and laughter resounding in the stairway as they hurried up towards their ward. Her gaze met his again, her hand shaking as she tucked some flyaway strands of hair, which had escaped her braid, back behind her ear. 'I was just going to have something on the run in my office and—'