by Jenna Kernan
The next time she roused, fighting every inch of the way back to consciousness, it was to a room of light and sound. Machines bleated and chimed. Alarms chirped and she squinted against the blinding lights above her.
“What time?” she tried to ask the attendant who checked the fluid bag that hung above her on a metal pole.
“You’re doing great, honey,” said a female voice.
“What time?” Her voice was the scratch of sandpaper on dry wood.
“It’s nearly 9:00 p.m. You’re out of recovery and in ICU. Your husband just left. He’s a handsome fellow. Needs a shave, though.”
“Dalton?”
“That right? I thought you said Walton. Anyway. He seems nice. You’ll be here tonight and tomorrow. You do okay and you’ll get a room. You in trouble, honey?”
“Trouble?” Other than getting shot? she wondered.
“There are two US marshals right outside. I know they aren’t for me. So you in trouble?”
“Not anymore.” Talking hurt so badly she had to close her eyes.
“You hurting?”
She nodded and immediately regretted it. The nurse used a syringe to add something to her IV line and Erin’s body went slack. The pain dissolved like fog in the sun and she slipped away to a place beyond the needs of her body.
“Erin?”
She knew that voice.
“Erin. It’s Dalton.”
She tried and failed to open her eyes.
“Can you hear me?” He lifted her limp hand. “Squeeze my hand.”
She tried, failed and swallowed. The pain was back. Her throat throbbed as if she were a tree trunk and a woodpecker was knocking a hole into her with repeated stabbing blows.
“Your sister, Victoria, is here.”
Another voice, female murmuring. Erin tried again to open her eyes, but the deep pain-free well beckoned.
She let go and dropped. Just like rappelling down a cliff, she thought as she glided into blackness.
* * *
DALTON DIDN’T SEE the surgeon until the following day. The guy had sent a physician’s assistant out to see him in the waiting room yesterday, and his visits during the night had scared him silly. Erin had a bandage the size of a football on her neck. And she was on a ventilator.
Her sister, Vic, had arrived at nine and the physician appeared at bedside during the fifteen minutes they allowed Dalton each hour. Vic had stepped out at the MD’s appearance so Dalton could step in.
“The loss of blood resulted in your wife suffering a cardiac arrest. To reduce her energy expenditure, I ordered a drug-induced coma. The medication is keeping her body from using any extra energy, easing the burden on her heart.”
“How long will you keep her like this?” asked Dalton.
“Until her blood volume is normal and her bladder is functioning again.” He motioned to the empty clear bag hanging from the bed rails. Had her kidney’s stopped working?
Panic tightened its grip upon him.
“Days?” asked Dalton.
“Likely we’ll wake her up later today. Your wife lost a lot of blood. It can damage organs. We need to be sure everything is working.”
“If it’s not?”
“One thing at a time.”
The next twenty-four hours were the longest of his life. Because of him, his best friend had suffered a spinal injury and his wife was in a coma. As minutes ticked away, Dalton had lots of time to make promises to God and curse his own foolishness. Nothing was as important to him as his friend and his wife. He just hoped that he’d have a chance to tell them both.
* * *
ERIN’S EYES POPPED OPEN. It was as if someone had just flicked a switch and brought her to full awake. Tentative movement told her that she had not imagined her injuries.
Four unfamiliar faces peered down at her.
“Mrs. Stevens? How do you feel?”
“Thirsty,” she said.
They asked her a series of questions that seemed designed to test her mental acumen. The day, month, who was president? What holiday was next on the calendar, and math problems.
“Is my husband here?”
“He is. And anxious to see you. But a brief visit. Right?” The physician looked to another attendee, who nodded. Brightly colored cartoon illustrations of popular candy bars covered this man’s scrubs top.
Three of the gathering wandered out in conversation as the one male attendant remained.
“I’m Will. I’m your nurse today.”
“Hi, Will. Um, water?”
“Ice chips for now.” He fussed with the IV bag and then disappeared, returning with a plastic cup. “I did one better. Lemon ice. Okay?” He handed it over with a plastic spoon.
Erin discovered that she could not really work her left hand without waking the dragon of burning pain in her shoulder.
Man, it hurt to get shot.
Dalton arrived, hurrying forward and then slowing as he saw her. He looked as bad as she felt.
“Oh, Dalton!” she said.
“Erin?” He got only that out and then he did something she had never seen him do. He wept.
Both hands covered his big, tired face and his shoulders shook. She reached her good hand to him and called his name.
He peered at her beneath his dark brows and raised hands. The circles under his eyes startled and he looked thinner. Then he took her hand and allowed her to draw him to her bed, where he sat awkwardly on the edge.
“You’re awake,” he said.
She smiled. “They gave me an ice. But I can’t manage holding and scooping.”
Dalton took over both jobs, offering her wonderful sweet, cold bits of frozen lemon. Nothing had ever tasted so good, though the act of eating and swallowing hurt her neck. She didn’t say so but was relieved when Will came to roust Dalton back out. The weariness tugged at her features and pricked at her skin.
“I’ll see you soon.”
She held her smile until he was out of sight and then groaned.
“Pain?” asked Will.
She nodded and then flinched. Will returned with the pain medication and then the throbbing ache retreated like a receding tide. She breathed a sigh.
“Thanks.”
“Your sister is out there. I’ll send her in after you take a little nap.”
She murmured her acceptance and closed her eyes. What choice did she have? For the rest of that day and through the night, she had short visits with Victoria and Dalton. The following day she felt so much better that they removed both catheter and infusion bag. She ate solid food for breakfast. Victoria visited her at noon and then told her that she was heading home.
“You know there are armed guards outside your room?” Victoria asked.
“There are?” Erin asked.
“US Marshals, they said.”
“Gosh. That’s not good.”
Victoria looked at her. “They do witness protection, right?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I am. Dalton told me what happened out there. It’s a miracle either of you is still alive. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Their embrace was tentative, but Erin survived it without too much discomfort.
“I’ll see you soon,” said Erin.
“I hope so. Love you.” With that, her sister was gone.
Erin followed her with her eyes, stopping when she saw Dalton leaning on the doorjamb, obviously giving them time to say goodbye.
Something in his expression made her uneasy.
“What’s happening, Dalton? Victoria said there are police out there.”
He came in and sat in the padded orange vinyl chair beside her bed, the one she was supposed to be allowed to sit in this afternoon.
Erin offered her hand and Dalton took it in both of his.
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“Are we still in danger?”
“We are. The FBI has turned us over to the US Marshals.”
Her heartbeat pulsed in the swollen tissues at her neck, sending sharp stabs of pain radiating through her shoulder and arm.
“Witness protection services. Right?”
He nodded grimly.
“We have to go?”
“It’s voluntary but until they know who is after us and if there are more...” His words trailed off.
“Does my sister know?”
“She saw them sitting there,” said Dalton. “They frisked her.”
“They did not!”
Dalton made a face that said he was not teasing.
“Have you spoken to your parents?”
“Just Helen. She’s going to bring Mom up to see us.”
“Your father?”
“If we decide to go, they’ll bring him, too.”
“What have we gotten tangled up in, Dalton?”
“Some very bad, very dangerous people who are unfortunately also well financed. Our guys don’t know who is behind them yet. Have to follow the money. Large corporation or foreign government, I suppose.”
“Are we going to have to leave?”
“They’re recommending it.”
She drew a breath and held it, studying him. “Together?” she asked.
He gripped her hand. “Erin, I know I put you in danger out there and I’m so sorry. You might not believe me, but you are the most important thing in the world to me and I hope you’ll let me prove it.”
“How?”
“I’m thinking I should see a counselor. See why I keep doing this.”
“You think maybe that psychologist you were required to see after that deadly force thing might be right? That this has to do with your military service?”
His head dropped. “I was their platoon leader, Erin. It was my job to look out for them. Keep them safe.”
“An impossible task.”
“Maybe. But I failed.” He met her gaze, and his eyes glittered with grief and helplessness. “They trusted me to look out for them.”
“It was a war,” she reminded.
“Military action.”
“With bombs and gunfire and schools used as shields.”
“Yes. All that,” he agreed. “I just keep feeling responsible. That I don’t deserve...”
“What?” she asked.
“You. My life.”
She gasped at that. In all the time since he’d left the service, he’d never said such a thing before.
She thought about all the chances he’d taken since discharge from the service. He’d only ended his military career because of her and her threats of separation. Now the pieces began to snap into place. Was he looking for a second chance to save his men? Or a second chance to die with them?
How was it that she’d never realized that his risky behavior coincided with the loss of so many of his men over in what he called the Sandbox?
“Counseling sounds smart,” she said.
“A beginning place.” He dragged a hand through his hair and then let his arm drop wearily back to his side. “The marshals, if we choose relocation, told me I can’t be involved in law enforcement.”
“All I’ve ever wanted was to keep you around,” she said, the tears burning her throat and making her shoulder throb.
He chuckled. “Funny way of showing me that. Throwing me out, I mean.”
“I tried other things first. You didn’t hear me. Then after you got shot, I just couldn’t stop worrying. Couldn’t put it aside. It was consuming me. Eating me alive.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I understood that. I just thought you were being overly protective. That you’d get past it like all the other times. But seeing you out there, watching you get shot, well, it scared me to death.”
Their eyes met and held. She knew it instantly. He understood. Finally and irrevocably, he comprehended what it was like to face the death of the person whose loss you knew you could not survive.
“I couldn’t live if something happened to you, Erin. I’m sorry I didn’t understand. That I didn’t listen.”
Tears streamed down her face as she gripped his hand. She wanted to hold him, but she could not lift her arm without hitting that morphine button and she needed a clear head.
“I just wanted you safe. It’s all I ever wanted.”
He gave her a sad smile. They’d come to an understanding, she thought.
“Dalton, I want to go home.”
“It might be a new home.”
“With the dogs?”
“The...” He laughed. “You are feeling better. I’ll see if we can arrange that.”
“Are they both all right?”
“Yes. Lulu has a new dog bed and Jet has already devoured two Frisbees.”
“Where are they?”
“Your sister took them back home with her.”
“I want to keep them. Lulu and Jet. Can the marshals arrange that?”
“I’ll ask.”
“So, the relocation...is it permanent?”
“Shouldn’t be. Just until they sort out this group.”
“Siming’s Army.”
He nodded.
She tentatively moved her arm and winced. “That will be hard, losing everyone, my family.”
“It’s a big decision.”
Someone stood at the door and cleared his throat. They turned and Erin saw a man in green scrubs holding a clipboard. Was this the surgeon who had stopped the bleeding and saved her life?
“How are you feeling, Erin?”
She smiled at him as he approached the bed. He was handsome, with symmetrical features, of average size and above average physique. His brown hair needed a trim and the manicured stubble of a beard covered his face.
“I’m Ryan Carr,” he said, and offered his hand to Dalton, who rose to shake his hand. The two released the brief clasping of palms and Carr continued around the bed, looking at her IV. She no longer had the solution dripping into her arm, but the needle remained in her vein.
“Did you say ‘Carr’?” asked Dalton. Where had he heard that name before?
“How is your pain level?” asked Carr.
“I haven’t used the morphine this morning.”
He smiled. “That’s good.” He turned to Dalton and motioned to the chair. “Would you like to sit down, Detective Stevens?”
Her husband now had his hands on his hips and his brow had descended low over his dark eyes. She knew the look. Her husband sensed a threat.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dalton realized that Ryan Carr, though dressed appropriately for hospital staff, with the Crocs, scrubs and ID tag on a lanyard, gave off a totally different vibe.
Less like a healer and more like a predator.
“What did you say your position here is?” asked Dalton, not taking a seat and instead moving to stand between Carr and his wife.
“Very good, Stevens,” said Carr. “You really are very good. Most people don’t even notice me.”
His wife spoke from behind him. “Women would notice you.”
That made Dalton’s frown deepen. He was attractive if you liked pretty boys.
“You need to back up out of this room,” said Dalton, keeping his attention on Carr’s hands, which held only the clipboard.
“I just wanted to warn you. Mind if I get my ID? My real ID?”
“I do mind. But go ahead. Slowly,” said Dalton, prepared to body slam this intruder if he even looked at Erin again. He had touched her arm, checked her IV and demonstrated very clearly how easy it was to get to them.
And then he remembered. “Ryan Carr. The chopper pilot said you gave him the cooler.”
Carr nodded. “That’s right.”
He removed his wallet. “The marshals checked my ID, bless their hearts. But they apparently don’t have a list of hospital staff. If they did,” he said, taking out his identification and passing it to Dalton, “they’d know that I don’t work here.”
Dalton glanced at the ID with a very prominent CIA in blue on the plastic card.
“How do I know this is real or that you are who you say you are?”
“Feel free to call in and check after I go. I’m here for two reasons. First to warn you that leaving for WITSEC sooner is advisable. You are not secure here.”
“And second?” asked Erin.
“To thank you. I was the one who collected that intel from a foreign operative. And I was the one who put it on that helicopter and gave instructions, instructions that were passed to you, Mrs. Stevens. If I understand correctly, you swam out to the pilot, attempted a rescue and took what he offered as imperative to our country’s safety. Is that right?”
She nodded.
“And I’d like to thank you, Detective Stevens, for not doing as your wife requested and leaving it behind...on a red T-shirt, is that correct?” He smiled.
Dalton knew that only the FBI and CIA who had interviewed them should know these details. Was this guy for real?
“I am who I say, Detective. A fact that Agent Tillman will verify.”
“We’ve already been lied to by someone claiming to be DHS, so excuse my skepticism.”
“Lawrence Foster, yes, he proves my point—about your safety, I mean. The Justice Department is a fine organization generally. Good for moving career criminals into nice new neighborhoods after they testify. But this group, Siming’s Army, they are not your typical wise guy looking to get even. They are organized and funded, backed by foreign nationals, according to my contacts. The information you rescued will be instrumental in making my case and it has already reached its terminus. The CDC is analyzing the virus and vaccine. And all because of your bravery, Mrs. Stevens.” He bowed to Erin and then turned to Dalton. “And your dogged determination. Thank you both. Your country owes you a debt.”
