Kit tore through the trauma unit, almost colliding with Chuck Cordeman as he stood outside the double doors to the restricted area where the critically injured were treated.
Cordeman’s eyes narrowed. “Kit? What the hell are you—”
Anxiously she looked around. “Noah. Where is he, Chuck?” she demanded breathlessly.
Cordeman jerked a thumb toward the doors. “In there.”
Kit started to push by him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“Have you lost your mind?” he demanded. “What the hell’s gotten into you? You’re supposed to stay out of sight!”
Kit was sobbing breathlessly. She had run all the way from the parking lot after hearing more details on the radio about the gun battle at sea. “Let me go, Chuck.” She turned, fully intending to go through those doors with or without Cordeman’s consent.
“You’re outa your mind!” Cordeman snarled. “Trayhern’s the least wounded. Just a bullet through his left arm. They’re prepping him for surgery right now. There’s nothing you can do—”
Kit glared at him. “Like hell there isn’t!” Wresting her arm from his hand, she pushed through the doors. Adrenaline poured through her bloodstream, heightening her senses to an incredible degree. In one sweep of the room she spotted a doctor and two nurses working feverishly over a man in a dark blue Coast Guard uniform. Kit immediately walked across the room before an orderly could accost her. She saw Noah’s pale face, the pain pulling at his mouth. Tears jammed into her eyes once more. As she stepped up to the gurney, Noah’s eyes widened slightly.
“Kit…” he rasped thickly.
“I’m sorry,” the blond nurse said, turning to Kit, “you’re going to have to leave.”
“Let her stay,” Noah begged weakly to the doctor on his left.
The physician hesitated, took one look at Kit and decided to let her remain. “You can only stay for a minute or so. We’ve just given him a shot and we’re taking him to surgery. He’ll be unconscious shortly.”
Nodding, Kit swallowed hard. She slipped by the nurse and into the cramped cubicle. Tears slid down her cheeks as she surveyed Noah. Blood was splattered all over the front of his uniform; his left forearm was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage, indicating the area of the wound. A pint of plasma hung from the IV unit above his head, and the needle was inserted in his right arm.
“Oh, Noah…” she whispered, leaning over, placing her trembling hand on his forehead. His brow was damp with perspiration and she saw the ravages of pain lingering in his dark green eyes. He stared confusedly up at her.
“You came…”
“You knew I would.” Anxiously Kit searched his drawn features. “God, I was so worried, Noah—”
“So was I,” he whispered, closing his eyes momentarily. He reopened them, gazing darkly up at her. “It was bad. Jack Formen’s really hurt, Kit. I don’t want to lose him.” His mouth thinned with pain. “I’ve got to talk to Wanda, Formen’s wife. I’ve got to tell her how he is…”
“Hush, darling,” she murmured, running her hand gently across his hair. “You’ve been wounded. They’re taking you to surgery soon.”
Noah shook his head, becoming groggy from the effects of the drug. “No, Kit, I’ve got to tell his wife… God, they love each other so much—” His voice cracked and he closed his eyes.
Kit reached out, gripping his good hand. “I’ll talk to her, Noah. I’ll tell her. Go to sleep, darling. When you wake up, you’ll feel better.” She felt the fingers clutch weakly at her hand, and watched helplessly as grief and pain furrowed his brow.
“Kit?” he mumbled, his voice slurring now.
“Right here.”
“Kit, I need you. Out there today, when the gunfire started, all I could think of was you….”
She fought back a sob, leaning over the gurney, placing her mouth against his lips. His flesh was cool beneath hers as she pressed a kiss on them. “I’ll be here, Noah. Stop fighting the drug. Everything will be taken care of, I promise you.”
Kit stared dully at Chuck across the Surgery floor’s visitor’s lounge. He gave her a disgruntled look in return. Already two hours had passed since they had wheeled Noah into the operating theater. Wanda Formen sat opposite in another plastic lounge chair, waiting in silent anguish, her face drawn. Kit had consoled her earlier as well as she could. With a sigh she rested her elbows on her thighs. She felt like a quagmire of emotions. Noah’s last statement had shaken her almost as badly as finding out that he’d been wounded in a gun battle. As they’d wheeled him away and the nurse had guided her toward the elevator, Kit had fought back the tears. And on the way up, Chuck Cordeman had glared at her obvious lack of control of the situation.
He rose ponderously now and walked over to where she sat.
“Mind if I join you?”
Kit shrugged. “If you’re going to discuss my being here, you can save your breath.”
Cordeman sank heavily into the chair beside her. He stared at her for a long moment before speaking. “You’ve changed, Kit.”
She roused herself with effort. “Maybe I have.”
He frowned. “Yeah. It’s not like you to blow your cover over something stupid like this.”
Kit sucked in a sharp breath, rounding on him. “Something like this just happens to be Noah!” she whispered angrily. “He’s not some damn statistic, Chuck!”
“You’re touchier than a—”
“Go to hell.”
“What’s gotten into you, Kit? Does this guy mean something to you? I know you’ve been living under his roof for quite a while. The way you’re behaving, I’d think you’d fallen in love with him.”
She had to get a grip on herself. “I know this is hard for you to grasp, Chuck, but Noah has helped me more in the past few months than any human being I’ve encountered in the past five years. Does that make sense? He helped pull me out of a year-long depression, and he fought to get me time off to rest.” She glared at him. “Which is something you never did.”
Cordeman’s mouth turned sour. “Okay, okay. I had that one coming,” he growled. “So he’s a nice guy in our rotten little business.”
Kit wrung her hands, allowing her head to fall forward. She stared blankly down at the polished black-and-white tiles beneath her feet. “He’s a better man than either of us has ever had the privilege of knowing,” she gritted out. “Or are ever likely to meet in our business.”
Chuck snorted. “Enough of the hearts and flowers, Anderson. If you’ve got an ounce of sense left, you’ll get your rear out of here before you’re recognized.”
“I’m staying,” she hissed between clenched teeth, “until hell freezes over, Chuck. And I don’t care if you don’t like it. You’re not my boss anymore.”
Kit rose and began to pace the length of the corridor. Her heart was lost in a cauldron of emotions. The gun battle had ripped away all pretense of how she really felt toward Noah. Halting, Kit closed her eyes, her hand pressed to her chest because it hurt so much. She loved Noah.
A trembling sigh broke from her as she allowed the realization to sink it. When had it happened? How? Just living with Noah had dissolved those wary walls around her heart.
The look in his dark, agony-filled eyes had told her she meant much more than she’d dared admit to him, too. They’d both been fighting to ignore what they really felt. Raising her head, Kit knew what must be done: Noah couldn’t know that she loved him. Not until Operation Storm was completed. It would be too hard on both of them.
And did Noah love her? She knew that what she felt was love. A love that had gently captured her and would never let her go. Noah had shown her that real, caring people existed. Did he love her, or was his attention and care merely that, and born of his proximity to her the past months? Uncertain, Kit shuffled slowly back down the hall. Nearly losing Noah had torn away any self-deception she’d cloaked their relationship in. And the future held nothing but more danger. Her love was going to be brutally tested.
“Ms. Anderson?”
Kit anchored herself to the spot, her heart thrashing in her breast. “Yes?”
She smiled tiredly, taking off the face mask. “Lieutenant Trayhern is going to be fine. We’re putting him in recovery and it should be about an hour before he’s conscious.”
Relief flooded Kit and she closed her eyes. “When may I see him?” Her voice sounded faint to her ears.
“Just as soon as he’s conscious and in his private room.”
“Thank you,” Kit whispered, reaching out and touching the nurse’s shoulder. She turned away so that Cordeman couldn’t see her face or the tears that dribbled down her cheeks.
Noah groaned, the sound reverberating like a kettle drum through his head. Dizziness was interwoven with nausea as he fought to surface from the powerful anesthetic. His mind was shorting out, with blips of the gun battle, Kit’s anxious face and the hammering recoil of an M-16 combining to rip through his semiconscious state. His whole being centered on Kit. He loved her, dammit! And he was bleeding to death in a dark hold. Was he going to slip over the edge to oblivion without ever having told her how damn much he loved her?
Kit, I need you! I don’t want to die! You have to know—
“Noah,” Kit soothed, leaning over the bed, caressing his sweaty brow, “it’s all right. You’re safe and you’re going to live.”
Noah concentrated on Kit’s unsteady voice. His eyes felt weighted, and it took every last vestige of strength to force them open. Kit’s face danced out of focus before him. He felt the warmth of her breath against his face as she pressed her lips to his. Did she know how good she felt to him?
“You’re here,” he rasped thickly. “I’m alive…”
Kit cradled his bristly cheek with her hand. “You almost bled to death, Noah. But the doctors fixed the artery.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
He saw her tears, a broken smile pulling at his mouth. “Just a close call. God, I’m glad you’re here. I kept thinking I’d never get to see you again.”
She traced his wrinkled brow with her fingertips. “Welcome back,” she whispered.
Exhaustion lapped at Noah. Even now, he knew that with his wound, it would probably be at least six to eight weeks before they’d allow him to skipper the Osprey once again. And during that time, Kit would be going out to sea every day without him. Sliding into unconsciousness, he felt his joy over living snuffed out by nightmares. Kit would be out on the pond, a possible target herself. The world was closing in on them like a noose around their necks.
Chapter Eleven
Kit boarded the Osprey as she had for the past three months. The only difference was, this time Noah was at her side again, completely recovered from his gunshot wound. She traded greetings with the crew as they walked across the plank and went to the bridge.
Kit stood aside as Joe Edwards thrust out his hand to Noah. “Good to see you back, Skipper. The Osprey is all yours.”
Noah smiled and shook Joe’s proffered hand. “Thank you. You took good care of her in my absence.”
A grin spread across Joe’s affable face. “I took good care of both your ladies while you were shorebound, Skipper.”
Laughing, Noah agreed.
“How you feeling today, Kit?” Joe inquired.
She mustered a proper grimace. It was always the first question asked, because there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t become seasick. “The usual, Joe.”
“You’d think that in time you’d adjust to this,” Edwards jibed good-naturedly, trading a look with his skipper.
Noah gave a soft snort, stowing the navigation charts beneath the console. “She’s the first person I’ve ever met who’s never adjusted to sea life.”
“Just proves I’m not a mermaid, Noah Trayhern,” Kit reminded him tartly, making herself comfortable on one of the bridge chairs.
Noah gave her a wicked look in return, one filled with longing. How had three months since he’d been wounded pass so quickly? Noah drank in her fragile form. Kit had never regained the weight she should have, due to her constant seasickness.
Sipping the coffee that the second mate had given her, Kit watched Noah pilot the Osprey out of the berth and into the channel. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, his sensitive hands gripping the helm, monitoring every slight change in the ship’s course. Hands she now longed to have love her again…. Kit closed her eyes, savoring the ache in her heart. Their home life had changed, their affection toward each other deepening. Noah had worked at headquarters while his arm was healing, while Kit had gone to sea every day aboard the Osprey. And every night Noah was there, waiting on the dock for her to disembark. Their weekends were special, spent in the quiet of their home or out at the cove. Their home… Kit smiled to herself. Funny how she thought of everything in the plural now. Their home, their cats and dog.
Her stomach began to roll in warning. Kit put the coffee down and stood. “Excuse me, I’m going down to the cabin.”
Noah glanced worriedly over at her. Kit’s face had grown pale. “Seasickness?”
“Yes. And right on time. I’ll be better around noon, Noah.” She smiled lamely into his concerned green eyes. “Don’t worry.”
An hour later, Noah made his way from the bridge down to his cabin. He knocked once on the bulkhead door and entered. Kit had just emerged from the bathroom, looking waxen.
Grimly he gripped her arm, leading her over to the bunk. “You look like hell,” he muttered, going and getting a warm washcloth.
Gratefully Kit took the cloth, wiping her face. “I hate throwing up.”
He gave her a fierce look. “Look, something needs to be done about this, Kit. It can’t continue. It’s bad for your health.”
The amount of care in his expression sent her heart soaring with joy. Kit placed her fingers on his arm. “Okay, I’ll go to the base dispensary.”
“It’s about time. Stay home tomorrow and go to a doctor.” He tunneled his fingers through her black hair, which now hung shoulder length. He saw Kit’s eyes go soft with longing. The need to take her into his arms and make love with her was excruciating. Stilling his desire for her, Noah tucked away those clamoring feelings. When Operation Storm was over, he was going to admit his love for her.
“Okay, okay. I’ll take the day off and get to a doctor. But really, Noah, I don’t think he’ll be able to do much.”
He caressed her cheek. “Maybe you’re anemic. You never have any color in your face anymore,” he muttered.
It was rare that Kit would allow herself the gift of putting her arms around Noah’s shoulders and hugging him, but she did now. Closing her eyes, she felt his arms slide around her, and she moaned softly. Their careful avoidance of each other had been torturous. “I’ll be okay,” she whispered, leaning tiredly against him.
“You’d better be, lady,” he growled, pressing a chaste kiss to her hair.
Kit walked into the Coast Guard dispensary at nine the following morning. Feeling wretched with the usual nausea, she carefully made her way between a number of waiting patients. Most of them were pregnant women or worried young mothers coping with their sick charges. Kit found a seat next to a red-haired girl who was obviously pregnant.
The girl, probably no more than nineteen, was dressed in a pink cotton maternity dress and smiled encouragingly over at Kit. “How far along are you?”
“Along?”
The girl ran her fingers across her swollen belly in a loving gesture. “How many months before you have your baby?”
Kit gave her a startled look. “I’m not pregnant. I’m here to see if something can’t be done about my seasickness.”
The girl gave her a shy smile. “Funny, I thought you were pregnant. You have that look.”
“What look?”
“You know what they say about a woman who’s with child—her skin becomes real glowing.”
Kit smiled gently, taken by the girl’s interest in her. “I’m sure it’s a case of seasickness.”
“You’re nauseated now?”
Pressing her hand to her stomach, Kit nodded. “Terribly.”
“And you’re not on a boat. How could that be seasickness?” she pointed out, still smiling.
Closing her eyes tightly, Kit felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. My God, she couldn’t be pregnant! Not now! Oh, God, not now! Dante still had that contract out on her. She was living on borrowed time until Garcia was captured. But Noah had made beautiful, wonderful love to her a little more than three months ago. And her menstrual cycle was erratic at best because of the stress of her job.
Slowly opening her eyes, Kit stared blankly ahead, her mind whirling with the possible options she’d face if she was pregnant. Hard, terrible choices would have to be made to help her and Noah’s child survive the coming confrontation.
Kit heard her name called. Rising, she took a deep breath and grimly threaded her way through the groups of children and their mothers.
“Congratulations, Kit,” Dr. Ann Whitten said, coming back into the small room.
“I’m pregnant?”
“Indeed you are,” the gray-haired woman said, smiling.
Kit’s fingers trembled as she buttoned up her blouse. “How far along am I?” she asked hollowly.
“I’d say three and a half to four months. Further, you’re anemic. I’m writing you a prescription for some iron tablets to get your red blood count back up.”
Letting out a shaky breath, Kit rubbed her brow. “I can’t believe it.”
“You need rest, Kit,” Dr. Whitten said, coming up and standing in front to her. “You’re working too hard.”
Kit avoided the doctor’s probing gaze. “What happens if I keep working, Doctor?”
“Your uterus is slightly tipped, Kit. If you want to keep that baby, you’re going to have to rest. Some women can push hard for nine months and deliver a strapping young tyke, but you can’t. With your underweight condition, anemia and a body that isn’t fully cooperating in carrying this child, you need rest. And plenty of it.”
A Question of Honor Page 15
