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His Soldier Under Siege
by Regan Black
Chapter 1
At the nurses’ station of the orthopedic post-op ward, US Army Major Grace Ann Riley peeked at the monitor showing the status of various ongoing procedures in the surgery suites. So far this morning there’d been no update on Kevin Sayer, the patient everyone in her unit was watching for. Coping with a seriously injured friend was proving to be one of the biggest challenges in her career.
It was too soon for updates, even without factoring in the notorious unpredictability of spinal surgeries. Deliberately, professionally, she shifted her focus to the busy day ahead. Brooding wouldn’t be any help to her or the patients under her care. She could indulge that need—and burn off any other stressors—after her shift.
Most days Grace Ann relished the demands of her current rotation here at Walter Reed. Each day posed new hurdles and new successes. She put her heart and mind into every shift, leaving pleasantly exhausted, but rewarded as well. Today couldn’t be different, couldn’t be less, not even with the distraction of a teammate in the operating room. The post-op patients under her care needed her full attention. What she did made a difference, in the lives of her patients and for the families waiting for them to come home whole. Or as whole as possible, in some cases.
Her father always said a good nurse could change a soldier’s world. Of course her father, the highly decorated and equally beloved General Benjamin Riley, had met an army nurse early in his career and been smart enough to marry her. Thinking of her parents eased some of the ache weighing on her heart today and put a little spring in her step. The rubber soles of her shoes squeaked against the flooring as she aimed her stride toward the room at the end of the hallway.
She checked the name on the chart: Trisha Jenkins. Pushing open the door, she smiled and introduced herself. “Good morning. I’m Grace Ann and I’ll be your nurse today.”
The woman lying in the bed gave a weak smile in return, squirming to sit up a bit more. “Trisha,” she rasped. “Your patient.”
“My mother is a Patricia. Occasionally a few people have shortened it to Tricia,” Grace Ann said, establishing common ground. “But it never caught on. I heard my dad call her Patty once and I thought she’d deck him.”
Trisha coughed out a little laugh. “My parents didn’t give anyone the option.”
“Smart.” Grace checked Trisha’s pulse first and then used her stethoscope to check heart and lung sounds. “My advice? Get as much mileage out of that sexy voice as possible,” Grace Ann teased while she noted the vital signs in the chart. “How is your knee feeling?”
“Like an overstuffed sausage,” Trisha replied.
“That sounds about right for the first day after an ACL repair.” She assessed the dressing and anti-inflammation protocol. Satisfied, she gave her patient a rundown of what to expect through the day. “The surgeon, or one of his associates, will probably come by in another hour or so. Physical therapy should be here by ten,” she explained. “Getting up will be an adventure, but worth it.”
“Adventure as in a water park vacation or adventure as in training to become a paratrooper at airborne school?” Trisha asked.
“Well, I suppose that depends on whether you’re more afraid of water or heights.” Hearing the raspy chuckle, she knew this soldier would be back on duty sooner rather than later. “Keep in mind, Rome wasn’t rebuilt in a day.”
“Got it.”
Grace Ann double-checked Trisha’s pain levels and medications. She listed the names of the care team for the day and encouraged Trisha to press the call button if she needed anything. At the sound of the cafeteria cart rattling down the hallway, Grace Ann stepped out to collect Trisha’s breakfast tray.
On a normal shift, concerns ran the gamut from pain management to mind-set and soothing anxious family members. Some patients pushed the envelope of recovery, getting up and out of bed too soon. She preferred that kind of trouble over the challenges of those emotionally crippled by their injuries. She put a little tag on Trisha’s chart so the team would watch out for the too-much-too-soon sort of problems there.
Continuing with her rounds, Grace Ann kept one eye on the clock, along with everyone else on duty. The orthopedic ward wasn’t the easiest of assignments and burnout was real. The wounded warriors they cared for put specific faces on the concepts of sacrifice and risks of a military career. But her sense of drive and commitment to helping others helped her, too. Whenever she saw hope or courage chase despair from the faces of recovering patients, it gave her positive ammunition against the ugly memories haunting her after her last deployment overseas.
Having one of their own in surgery for injuries sustained during a training exercise made each minute feel like an hour. There were risks in training, of course, but precautions as well. Drills and exercises weren’t supposed to be career-ending. Sure, accidents happened, but rarely enough in the current environment that most of them took fitness and wellness for granted.
Not anymore.
Like her, Kevin was a registered nurse; he was also currently a captain within their unit and a good friend. By some miracle, he’d survived a crash when the helicopter went down a few days ago in a crisis rescue training exercise staged in a remote part of Texas. His back broken, he’d somehow also managed to survive the transport to a local hospital for stabilization and another transport for reconstructive surgery here at the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Maryland.
Grace Ann believed—had to believe—he’d come through the operation with flying colors and eventually be cleared to get back on duty. Any other outcome was unthinkable.
Kevin wasn’t just a friend or an extended part of her army family. He was the younger brother of Derek Sayer, the man she’d been sleeping with for the past couple of years whenever their crazy schedules allowed. They’d kept their friends-with-benefits relationship a secret, but if Keven didn’t pull through, if this surgery ended his career, how would she ever look Derek in the eye again?
Guilt prickled at the back of her neck and she blinked away tears she couldn’t let fall. She’d been on the roster for that training exercise. At the last minute, her orders had been changed. She’d remained at the hospital and Kevin had been sent her place. Although she had zero evidence, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the crash had been an attempt on her own life rather than an unfortunate accident.
She passed the nurses’ station again for another glimpse at the screen that showed statuses for all orthopedic surgery patients. Kevin had not yet been moved to recovery.
“What do you think it means?” an aide asked, worrying her ID between her fingertips.
Grace Ann thought of Kevin’s irreverent sense of humor and managed a smile. “He probably asked for a little liposuction or a tummy tuck while they were in there.”
The aide chuckled in agreement as a patient call signal sounded at the desk, and they parted ways to return to their respective duties.
Grace Ann was grateful for the full roster of patients and demands today. Whenever she stopped moving, the stinging regret threatened to paralyze her. Kevin had only been on that helicopter because she’d been passed over due to security concerns. Someone from her father’s past had decided to target the Riley childr
en in what investigators believed was a revenge effort designed to cause the general the most pain.
A few months ago, her oldest brother Matt, an army major currently stationed at the Pentagon, had barely escaped the elusive madman’s efforts. What had started with a vague “you will pay” threat had escalated as the man set out to expose and embarrass the family. His plans had nearly killed Matt. At the same time, her car had even been vandalized with the now-familiar “you will pay” message the jerk favored. Investigators had dubbed him the Riley Hunter and were scrambling to unravel more about his real identity, why he’d gone on the attack and how he hired the mercenaries who carried out his orders.
In light of the ongoing investigation and the aggressive nature of the man calling the shots, the military was keeping a close eye on the locations and assignments of Matt, Grace Ann and their three younger siblings who also served.
No matter how the five of them protested, the decision had been made by those higher up the chain of command. Training exercises and deployments had been frozen. Communications were monitored for any mention of the general, Grace Ann or her siblings. Extra eyes, electronic and human, were tasked with keeping tabs on all of them.
Wallowing in the frustration after the fact wouldn’t change a thing. It would ease her mind and the fraying edges of her soul if she knew that those higher-ups were looking for clues that would prove the helo accident had more sinister origins, but it wasn’t her place to ask.
“Woolgathering, Major Riley?”
Grace Ann flinched at the nasal voice of Hanson Bartles, their current executive officer and assistant to the commander. Everyone called him H.B. when they could get away with it. Basically a decent guy, his talents ran to administration rather than hands-on nursing care. She supposed someone needed to have admin skills. Although they would never be friends and frequently butted heads on the priorities and how-to of running a field hospital, they got the job done.
She pulled herself together before facing him. “Good morning, Major Bartles.” He preferred proper titles to friendliness. A slender man, edging toward skinny, he had stiff posture, which always reminded her of the rigors of basic training. Never a comforting thought. The discomfort was only compounded by his precise military haircut, deep-set mud-brown eyes and razor-thin nose.
“If you don’t have enough to do, I could use help with the filing.” It was an old, humorless joke that never earned a laugh. Still, he kept at it, apparently believing one day the result would change.
“If you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, we could use your help down here,” she countered as he fell into step beside her.
His narrow eyebrows lifted toward his hairline and then settled back into place. He might not be happy with her occasional sass, but she never gave him enough grief to take any action against her. “Any word on Captain Sayer?” he asked, pitching his voice too low to be overheard.
She shook her head. More guilt nipped at her heels. Of course H.B. had come down to check on Kevin. Everyone in their unit was on edge, and petty personality differences had to be pushed aside.
“I haven’t heard anything since the commander went down to the surgery waiting room to sit with his brother,” H.B. said. “David, right?”
“Derek,” she corrected automatically. Grace Ann had to work to keep her expression neutral as the warm, laughing eyes of Kevin’s older brother flashed through her mind. He would be too worried to laugh now. He hadn’t so much as sent her a text message since the accident. “That’s nice of her to wait with him,” she said of their commander, Lieutenant Colonel Molly Bingham.
Grace Ann had briefly considered going downstairs to check on Derek and managed to find every viable excuse to avoid that scene. Dodging him made her feel like a lousy person, a terrible friend with or without benefits, and added another layer to the guilt weighing her down. Eventually Derek would know she’d been on shift this morning. If she wasn’t careful, he’d learn she should have been on that helicopter instead of Kevin.
Probably a good thing he hadn’t reached out yet. What could she have said to ease his worry? Her more immediate concern was how she’d face Derek when his brother reached the post-op ward. Professionally, it was her job to be available to answer his questions, but she didn’t want to be professional with Derek. She wanted to lean on him, bare her soul and never stop apologizing. Another part, equally needy, craved distance from what was sure to be anger and resentment that his brother had taken her place and was now staring down a long tunnel of recovery.
She knew reality would fall somewhere in the middle.
The signal at the door between the surgical suite and her ward sounded and the wide doors parted. “You’ll excuse me, duty calls,” she said to H.B. without waiting for a response. Though she wished it was Kevin on that gurney—safely out of surgery—she was grateful to have a clear, valid reason to ditch H.B. and get back to work.
Once the recovery team had her newest patient settled in the bed, she took over. She was just charting the vitals on her initial assessment as the man’s mother and wife arrived. Both women were sniffling and dabbing at red-rimmed eyes. Having been through this scene frequently, Grace Ann asked and confirmed that this was the first time they’d seen their soldier in months. She offered upbeat reassurances and reviewed what they should expect in the next few hours. Recognizing the situation had the potential to get sticky, she smiled confidently and explained where they could find the family lounge before making a swift exit.
Never in her life had she felt like more of a coward, but getting snared in all that raw grief and angst would make the rest of her shift unbearable. She could go 24/7 for a patient, but her tolerance for family drama had changed. Today, she had to put Kevin’s situation first.
She was making another pass by the monitor to check his surgical status when a code alert sounded for a patient at the opposite end of the hallway. In a well-orchestrated flurry, every visible member of the staff leaped into motion. Grace Ann was a half step behind the crash cart as the emergency response team poured into the room, and she began carrying out orders as fast as they were given.
Together they moved through each life-saving protocol with competent precision, the only goal to save the patient. And they lost both battle and war as the soldier’s body gave out in fits and starts. When the doctor pronounced time of death, there was a tangible sense of defeat choking the air as Grace Ann and the others cleared the room.
In a field hospital on the other side of the world, there might have been hugs or even a fair bit of cursing over the circumstances and failure. None of the people she worked with knew how to give up gracefully in the fight for life. Here, in this beautiful, state-of-the-art facility, with families present and watching, they were expected to maintain a standard of professionalism that bordered on superhuman.
Grace Ann lifted her chin, rolled her shoulders back and strode down the hallway away from the shadow of defeat and frustration. The patient hadn’t been under her care, but that didn’t lessen the sense of loss. They were a team, the concept drilled into them from day one of their basic training, all the way through nursing school and beyond. Although the human body was astounding and resilient and mysterious, sometimes the wounds were too severe or the will to survive too fragile. And yet they had to keep going, keep pressing on to save those they could.
Smothering reactions and distress were part of the job. This was merely the first time in the current hour she’d had to hide the emotions roiling inside. At home she could break down and have a glass—or a bottle—of wine with a frozen pizza and let the tears flow. She couldn’t wait.
In the process of locking down her grief, she smiled absently at the man who turned into the corridor without really seeing him.
“Grace Ann?” He shifted toward her, not quite blocking her path. He reached out before he caught himself and tucked his hand into his pocket. “I’m glad to see you.”
The voice cut through her haze of grief first. Derek. She looked up into his gentle blue eyes and saw a friend. The urge to lean on him grew like a giant bubble at a children’s party. He’d understand. He might even take comfort as he offered it.
Feeling weak and sad, she felt this was the worst time to bump into him. She held herself back, shoulders straight, hands shoved into her pockets. “Hello, Derek.” She squeezed out the greeting through the vise grip of emotions clamped on her throat. “How are you holding up?”
The tension churning deep inside her belly eased just being near him. The man was so easy on the eyes with his sandy-brown hair and vivid blue eyes. He hadn’t shaved and the burnished gold stubble emphasized his strong, square jawline.
She found him as attractive now, rumpled and exhausted, as she had when they’d first met at a family picnic for the unit. Today, his suit jacket was folded over his arm and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his tie nowhere in sight. She imagined he’d driven straight to the hospital from the office when he’d gotten the call about Kevin’s injury and impending surgery. Under the sun-kissed skin of a man who loved the outdoors, his face was a little gray and his lips bracketed with worry lines.
When had he last eaten?
And just like that the day’s trouble and her lingering guilt faded to the background. Her mind soared well away from the hospital, back to the tent they’d shared on a kayaking trip six weeks ago. She opened her arms and pulled him into a hug. Clearly startled by her demonstration—no one knew they saw each other regularly—he hesitated before reciprocating the embrace. She couldn’t say which of them held on to the other as people and activity flowed around them.
Giving was simply the way Derek was built, as intrinsic as his lean muscles and bone structure. She knew they both benefited from the nurturing contact, though she tried not to take too much.
Reluctantly she stepped back. “Is Kevin out of surgery?” she queried as her guilt surged to the fore again. She hoped he was too distracted to notice.
Cowboy's Vow to Protect Page 20
