Not another sniper, then. A sniper would have been more precise. This attack was sloppy, but it was still an attack.
Despite the growing pressure in her chest, she picked herself up, found her weapon in the sand, and ran toward the convention center. There were four flights of stairs to the roof, and each step seemed higher than the last. By the time she reached the roof door, she dragged in huge gulps of air, but still wasn’t getting enough oxygen. It was like breathing underwater, drowning, but she didn’t dare stop moving. If she stopped moving, she wouldn’t get back up.
Lightheaded and woozy, she hit the push bar and staggered out onto the roof. Goose bumps lifted on her skin and she shivered, suddenly so very cold despite the hot rays of sunshine spilling across the water and lighting up the beach like a yellow spotlight.
And there was Jesse zigzagging down the beach toward Danny and the guys, medical bag in hand. He was magnificent. Racing to help with no thought of his own safety. A healer down to the very core of his being.
And flattened against the roof in front of her was Christian Schumacher, drawing a bead on him with a rifle.
No.
She raised her own weapon. “Christian, put the gun down and get slowly to your feet.”
He glanced over his shoulder and smirked. His eyes held a glassy, unnatural sheen. “You’re bleeding.”
She suspected as much. The pressure in her chest was almost unbearable. She ignored it and kept her aim steady. “Why did you shoot Danny?”
“I didn’t.” He pressed his eye to the scope. “Though I wish I had, just to watch them all scramble.”
“Who’s the other shooter?”
“Fuck if I know. Your boys have made enemies. Funny how the sniper showed up with Tucker Quentin, though, isn’t it?”
No. Tucker didn’t have that in him. And, sure, she didn’t know his men well but they had to be good guys, too. “So Defion didn’t think you could handle the job and sent someone else?”
He tensed. She’d obviously hit a nerve. Without warning, he pulled the trigger, spraying the beach below with bullets.
She flinched and searched for Jesse. He’d hit the ground as the bullets zinged by, but he was already on his feet and running again. He was going to save lives today if it killed him.
She loved him for it.
And she’d protect her man so he was able to do what he did best. She raised her weapon and fired before Schumacher could take another shot.
Schumacher grunted at the impact, but didn’t drop his gun. In fact, the wound barely seemed to register. He just glanced at it like it was little more than a bee sting. “We’re both bleeding now.” He rolled and pointed the business end of his rifle at her. “Who do you think has the faster trigger finger?”
She shook her head. “Don’t make me kill you. It doesn’t have to end this way.”
“I’m already dead. I failed Defion. I let this whole shitstorm of a situation spin out of control, and then I had to blow my cover to clean it up. You think Defion will take me back after that?” He laughed bitterly. “No. That sniper is coming for me next.”
“We can protect you.”
His eyes darted. His pupils were so constricted, they were little more than black dots. He shook his head hard, stabbed a finger in her direction. “Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit. That’s such bullshit. You woke a sleeping giant. You don’t know anything about them, but they know everything about all of you. They know everything about everyone. You won’t even be able to protect yourselves when they come for you. They’re going to rip your little team and your fucking trainees apart piece by piece.”
Her vision started graying around the edges. She blinked and tried to stay upright even though her knees wobbled. “What does Defion want?”
“To destroy Tucker Quentin and crush HORNET like the bug you are.” He raised his weapon. “I should kill you. Maybe they’ll take me back. Maybe— Yeah. One less busy little bee flying around, making an annoyance of herself. They’ll take me back. They’ll have to. They’ll have to.” Again he aimed the gun at her.
He might have pulled the trigger if she’d given him the chance. It wasn’t exactly a kill or be killed kind of situation. He was high on something and any bullet he fired might not have even hit her. But her strength was fading fast, and she couldn’t let herself pass out without knowing the threat he posed was neutralized.
Her bullet struck him in the neck. He gagged and dropped the rifle, tried to staunch the blood with clumsy fingers. It was no use. She’d hit an artery. Within seconds, his arms went limp and his head lolled back.
He was gone.
Lanie’s legs gave out and she dropped to her knees, then sat back on her butt and stared at the body. She didn’t realize she was crying until the tears dripped off her chin. She’d done what she had to do. Now Jesse would help Danny and all would be okay.
Everything would be okay. She could rest now. Just…rest.
Her vision began to darken.
You woke a sleeping giant.
No.
She shoved herself upright and staggered to her feet. Felt like she was moving through pudding and she couldn’t catch her breath, but she had to warn her guys. And she had to tell Jesse…something important. Her brain fuzzed and she paused on one of the landings to shake her head.
No, not just something. She had to tell him she loved him. She needed him to know.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Not again. Not again. Not a-fuckin’-gain.
The words repeated on a loop in Jesse’s head as he raced across the parking lot and out onto the beach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tucker Quentin and his men race toward the building where the shots originated. He wanted to call out to their medic, Rex, in case he needed a second set of hands, but it probably wasn’t a good plan to draw the shooter’s attention to the fact that a team of serious badasses were bearing down on him.
A stream of bullets came from somewhere and buried in the sand less than a foot from him. He hit the ground on instinct, then bounced back up before the sound of the shots even reached his ears.
His own team had formed a human wall around their fallen man, every one of them looking dangerous, pissed off, and spoiling to shoot someone. Even Jean-Luc, hunched and pale-faced, but with a gun in his hand all the same.
Jesse had to remember to give him an earful about that later.
He slid in between Jean-Luc and Ian and got his first look at his patient. Shit, this was bad.
Danny was conscious, his gaze ping-ponging anxiously all around as he breathed in rapid, shallow pants. His complexion was too white, and his skin was clammy to the touch.
“Where were you hit?” Jesse tore open his kit and got to work, looping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. Damn. BP was low and sinking fast.
“Back,” Danny said between gasps.
Jesse grabbed an ambu bag and placed the mask over Danny’s nose and mouth. “Marcus. Hey, I need your help, pal.”
Marcus looked up at the sound of his name, tears streaming from his too-wide eyes. He didn’t seem to be tracking the conversation. “Jess, you gotta help him.”
“I will.” Jesse guided his hand to the bag and squeezed. “Nice, easy rhythm. Squeeze, wait five seconds, squeeze again. Can you do that? Help him breathe.”
Marcus nodded and took over the bag, squeezing it with blood-stained hands.
Jesse set up IVs for fluids and pain meds. He cut through Danny’s shirt, then log-rolled him to check the entry wound—a tiny hole just to the left of his spine. Jesus, the bullet tore through his chest at an angle. There was no telling what all it damaged without opening him up. But that had to come later. Right now, it was all about getting him stabilized enough to transport to the nearest local hospital.
There wasn’t a lot of blood from the entry wound, but he covered it with a clotting agent-treated square of gauze anyway. Gently, he laid Danny flat again and internally winced at the ragged exit wound on his upper right chest. The bullet h
ad tumbled as it passed through. Probably damaged the lungs, and maybe the heart. He couldn’t find his stethoscope in his bag, so he bent over and pressed his ear to Danny’s chest. Decreased breath sounds on the right side.
Shit. Tension Pneumothorax? Made the most sense. Air was leaking into his chest cavity, constricting the right lung, causing the breathing difficulty.
Jesse tore through his bag until he found a chest dart. He didn’t have time to second guess, or for the nerves that had been plaguing him for so long. All of that just disappeared. A familiar sense of detachment settled over him. He didn’t see Danny, his friend and teammate. All he saw was a list of medical conditions that needed immediate treatment or the patient would die.
He was glad for it. Once again, he felt calm, steady, in control of everything from the steady beat of his own pulse to the continuing beat of Danny’s.
A splash of Betadine turned Danny’s chest orange. Jesse walked steady fingers down from the clavicle until he found the right spot between the second and third ribs and inserted the dart. Blood arced from the tube and splashed across Jesse’s arms and chest.
Not tension pneumothorax then. Hemopneumothorax. Blood and air was filling the cavity and compressing the lung.
Danny started breathing better almost immediately as the blood evacuated the space and relief filled his eyes. “Thank you.”
“All right,” Jesse said and left the catheter to drain the blood while he rechecked vital signs. Still not good, but improving. Wouldn’t last, though. He’d sprung a leak somewhere in his chest and without exploratory surgery, there was no way of knowing where or how to stop the bleed. “You’re gonna be all right, Danny. We’ll get you to a hospital, and they’ll patch you up as good as new.”
“He’ll be okay?” Marcus asked.
He wished he could say Danny was out of the woods, but judging by the hemopneumo and the look of the exit wound, he doubted it. There was so much more damage they couldn’t see. “I bought him time. He needs surgery to repair the bleed or his chest cavity is goin’ to keep fillin’ up with blood until he runs out of it. We have to move. Now.”
“Can’t,” Gabe said over his shoulder. He and the rest of the guys still stood guard. “Tuc and his team haven’t found the sniper yet.”
“He’s not gonna start taking shots at us with Tuc’s guys after him,” Marcus snapped. “He’s long gone. You heard Jess. Danny needs a surgeon.”
“I’m okay,” Danny whispered, voice soft and reedy. “I feel okay. I’m warm. I was so cold, but…I’m okay now.”
No, he wasn’t. Not even close. And just then, gunshots ripped through the air. Everyone tensed, but Jesse ignored the noise.
“Goddammit.” He had to find the source of the blood and clamp it off or Danny wasn’t going to make it to a hospital. Jesse grabbed a scalpel and scissors. “Someone hold him down.” Even with the morphine pumping into his system, this was going to hurt like a bitch.
Ian, of all people, knelt to grip Danny’s shoulders. He met Ian’s gaze in surprise.
“Do it,” Ian said. “I got him.”
All right. Here goes nothing. Jesse pushed out a breath, then sliced open the side of Danny’s chest, used the scissors to cut through layers of muscle and fat. Danny screamed and tried to thrash, but Ian held him still.
Jesse stayed focused on his task, looking for the bleed. It was here somewhere. Had to be here…
He ignored the sweat dripping into his eyes, ignored the gunshots thundering around him. Finally, Danny passed out, and the screaming stopped. “Marcus, keep with the bag.” He didn’t have time to intubate if Danny stopped breathing.
Danny’s heart beat sluggishly. Blood had filled the sac around it, compressing the heart with each beat. Jesse used a needle to evacuate as much of the blood as he could…
And it filled up again.
He had to find the damn bleed.
And there it was. Yes. He clamped it off, drained the sac again, and watched the heart resume a normal beat…
For a minute.
The sac filled again. The heart itself was bleeding. He took a closer look and…yeah. The percussion of the bullet had turned Danny’s internal organs to mush. The heart was damaged beyond repair.
Sick to his stomach, Jesse stopped what he was doing. He didn’t need to recheck vitals to know Danny was deteriorating. Too much blood loss and still bleeding. Too much internal damage.
He covered the incision with a bandage, more out of a sense of decency than medical necessity. He stripped off his gloves, and found a space blanket in his bag to cover Danny’s shivering frame. He could see Danny’s body shutting down one process at a time, all of it by-the-book. Bluing lips and nail beds. Purple splotches appearing on his hands, and a check of his feet showed the same. Each breath he exhaled rattled in his throat.
Danny was dying. And, goddamn it all to hell, there was nothing more he could do to stop it. It was Gabe getting shot all over again, except this time, he really had failed. Danny wouldn’t live to see his wife and kids again.
“What are you doing?” Marcus demanded. “Why are you stopping?”
His expression must have betrayed him because Marcus shook his head in denial. “No. Don’t say it.”
He didn’t have to. Marcus knew what was about to happen as well as he did.
Danny was already coming back around to consciousness. Man, he was strong. If Jesse hadn’t seen for himself the incredible damage done by the bullet, he’d almost think Danny could beat this. But he couldn’t. Nobody could live with a destroyed heart.
Danny groped blindly at the air. “Marcus…”
“Hey, buddy. Relax.” Marcus clasped his hand and leaned down. “You’re going to be fine. Hang on a bit longer, okay? You’ll be just…” His voice cracked. “Fine.”
“I don’t think—” Danny wheezed in a labored breath, let it out with a soft rattle. “We’re going surfing today.”
“We’ll go tomorrow, yeah? Once we get you to the hospital, you’ll be back out on a board in no time.”
“You’ll…take care of Leah?”
“You know I will, man, but don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like—like that.”
Danny’s gaze drifted over to Jesse. “Lanie…okay?”
Lanie.
He froze, for the first time realizing she wasn’t among the group. He’d been so focused on his patient, it hadn’t left room for any other worries. And then he remembered the blood. There had seemed to be a lot of it, but very little of it had come from Danny until after the needle entered his chest.
Because it had come from Lanie.
He scanned the area, spotted her staggering across the grass in front of the convention center. She collapsed before reaching the beach. He grabbed his med kit and bolted toward her.
“Jess!” someone shouted and gunfire popped behind him, but he ignored it all. He didn’t care about the sniper, didn’t care about his own safety. He had to get to her.
She was unconscious, bleeding, her shirt soaked through. Her injuries mirrored Danny’s, except there was no exit wound—the bullet must have entered his left back, exited his right chest, and hit her left chest. Even without his stethoscope he could hear her uneven breath sounds. Her pulse weakened by the second, and her blood pressure was dropping.
God. Was she bleeding into her chest? Was he going to lose her, too?
His hands shook as he fumbled through his bag for another chest dart. His heart hammered, and he couldn’t find the damn thing.
Where was it? Where was it? Where the hell—
He finally found the dart right in the pocket where he always kept them. Christ. He needed to focus, but his hands shook so badly he couldn’t get the sterile packaging open.
He was losing his cool, the calm detachment he worked so hard to cultivate cracking around him like huge sheets of glacial ice in the summer sun. He was too frantic. Too scattered. Too goddamn scared. He’d lost all objectivity and that was why Danny was dying. That was why Lan
ie would die.
A sob ripped free from his throat as he struggled with the dart.
“Dad.”
Okay, now he was hearing things because Connor couldn’t be here. He was safely tucked behind the van, out of the line of fire, away from the blood and carnage. Exactly where Jesse always wanted him to be.
“Dad!” His son’s hands wrapped around his, stopping his struggle with the packaging.
Panicked, he gazed up into eyes so very much like his own. “What are you doin’? You were supposed to stay behind the van! Connor, Jesus. I can’t lose you.”
“Dad,” Connor said with a grave kind of wisdom no kid his age should ever possess. There were tears in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. “Dad, breathe. You got this.”
“I-I can’t—what if I fail again? I saved Gabe with pure luck. Now Danny’s dying. What if I lose her?”
“Dad, I’ve seen you work,” Connor said firmly and squeezed his hands. “You got this.”
“I love her,” he said softly. He didn’t know why, but it suddenly seemed important to say out loud.
“That doesn’t mean you’re going to fail her. You think it does, but it doesn’t.”
“I love you. I failed you.”
Connor shook his head. “No. I get you now, Dad. I know why you tried so hard to keep your distance. You thought you were helping me, keeping me away from all this.” He waved a hand at their surroundings as gunfire continued in the distance. “But keeping me away, it hurt me. It’ll hurt Lanie too if you stay all bottled up. Use what you’re feeling. If you love her, use that to help save her. You can do this.”
The certainty in his son’s voice settled something inside him. Like a switch flipped, the panic drained away and he went into the zone again. It had always been a cold, objective place, a place he’d strived to maintain even in his day-to-day life. That detachment. That clinical observation. But Connor was right. Staying there, locked up inside himself, wasn’t working for him anymore. It caused nothing but distress and panic when he slipped up and lost his cool, and his distance only hurt the people he loved.
Code of Honor (HORNET) Page 19
