I let out a breath.
“However.” A pause. “During the delivery, our ground medical support ran the standard credential check on the passenger who assisted you. I’m required to inform you that the gentleman is not currently a licensed medical provider. His paramedic certification expired thirty years ago.” Another pause. “Airport police will also board to speak with him. I’m sorry. It’s procedure.”
The cabin erupted in murmurs.
I looked at Joaquin. He was still kneeling beside me in the galley, his hands resting on his knees. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look angry.
He looked tired.
“It’s okay,” he said softly, before I could say anything. “I knew they’d check. I’d do it again.”
“You saved her.”
“You did most of the work, Callie.” He gave me a small, crooked smile. “I just caught.”
A woman’s voice rose sharply from somewhere in row twelve. “I knew it. I knew something was off. He touched her without any license. I recorded the whole thing.”
