Final Hours

by Cate Dean

  Her urgency sank in. Kane lifted her off her feet and carried her to the head of the street, set her down once they’d passed the worst of the rubble. She scanned their surroundings for a landmark—not easy with the city in blackout.

  “Slow down,” she whispered. “Think. What was the most prominent…”

  She ran for open space as the answer hit her.

  “Beth!” Kane caught up with her and grabbed her arm. “What are you—”

  “St. Paul’s.” She tugged free, surprising both of them with her burst of strength. “Look for the dome of St. Paul’s.”

  “There.” He pointed behind her. Elizabeth whirled, saw it. The white dome glowed against the dark sky, the darker city.

  She recognized the cityscape between, and relief flooded her. “We’re close to Holborn, and an underground station.”

  “Point the way.”

  She did, running to keep up with him as he took off. “You don’t know where the station is?” He shook his head. “Tell me you still have underground stations.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but you would hardly recognize my London.”

  He wrapped his left arm around her waist as they turned on to a main street, and right into a crowd, every one of them headed to the same place. Over the low, tense voices, Elizabeth heard the drone of plane engines.

  She had seen too many films from this time period, fascinated and moved by a nation of people who stood up against Hitler’s war machine, and in the end, defeated him. An unfortunate side benefit of all that watching—she knew the sounds of an air raid. Now she was living it, surrounded by the live wire fear, and the dread of not knowing if they would survive the night.

  Kane pulled her in closer, reminded her she wasn’t facing it alone. Not this time. He let go of her, then took her hand and twined their fingers together. “Hold on tight. I don’t want to be losing you in this crowd.”

  They stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the street, headed toward the entry to Holborn station.

  One plane appeared over their heads, followed by another, until they filled the sky. The engines deafened her, drowning the screams of the people around them. Kane shouted at her. She nodded, not hearing a word, and ran faster. A young girl skidded to a halt right in front of her. Elizabeth put out her hand, unable to avoid a collision.

  She slammed into the girl and they went down. The impact jerked Elizabeth out of Kane’s grip.

  “My brother!”

  Elizabeth only heard the girl because her ear was right next to the girl’s mouth. She struggled to sit, and found the reason for the girl’s abrupt action. A boy huddled on the street, clutching his leg. Blood soaked his hands.

  Elizabeth caught the girl’s shoulder, turned her. “Let me look at him!”

  She nodded. Tears streaked her face, her bottom lip trembling. Elizabeth leaned over the boy and touched his arm to get his attention.

  “Beth!” Kane’s bellow startled both kids. “We have to get inside!”

  “Not without them!”

  Kane lifted the boy and headed across the now empty street. Elizabeth took the girl’s hand—and froze at the high pitched whistle.

  “Kane!”

  He whirled and ran toward a side street. Away from the sound of a falling bomb. Elizabeth dragged the girl with her as she followed him. By the time she caught up with Kane, he had the boy on his feet and flat against the side of a building. He caught her outstretched hand and yanked them both in, using his body as a shield.

  “Kane—”

  Strong hands shoved her against the wall. Right before an explosion rent the air.

  The concussion smacked the building. Brick and mortar shook under her hands. She heard the walls closest to the blast topple, and tightened her hold on the girl next to her.

  Absolute silence filled the street, broken only by the bricks tumbling from the devastated building. She let out a shocked cry as the air sucked at them, tore at their clothes, threatened to drag them back to the blast site. Kane braced himself and held on to them.

  Finally, it let them go. Elizabeth sagged against the wall, touched the girl’s arm. “Are you okay?” Her voice sounded muffled, her ears rang, and she was probably shouting. The girl nodded, tears mixed with the dirt on her face.

  Kane lifted the boy into his arms. When he turned around, Elizabeth saw the blood on his right sleeve. He had been closest to the end of the building.

  “You’re—”

  “Later, Beth. I’m fine. Let’s get them inside.”

  His voice was raw, but his arms strong as he carried the boy into the station, not stopping until they reached the platform. The crowded platform.

  “There.” Elizabeth touched his arm, pointed to a spot near the wall. “Let me clear the way.”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. “You do that, love.”

  His endearment lodged her breath in her throat. Why did it affect her so much more now? She pushed the question aside for later and eased her way forward.

  “Excuse me—please, excuse me.” Her polite murmurs got them nowhere. So she took on the drill sergeant tone of her last foster parent. “Out of the way! I have an injured child—give me some space, please!” The please made her feel better for barking at them.

  Her semi-rudeness worked. People cleared a spot directly in front of her. Kane lowered the boy to the cold concrete. “My name is Kane, and the lovely woman with your sister is Beth.” It was a guess, but most likely a good one. They both had the same pale blonde hair, the same delicate build. “I need you to let go of the wound, now.” His voice was gentle, his hand on the boy’s wrist just as gentle. “I can’t be helping you until I can examine it, lad.”

  “Robin.” The girl knelt next to him. “Let him take a look. I’m right here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  “Lindsay?” His tear-choked whisper tore at Elizabeth. “Where are Mum and Dad?”

  Lindsay brushed sweat soaked blonde hair off his forehead. “I know they are here, somewhere. We simply got separated in the mad rush. Let him look at you, Robin. Please.” Her voice cracked over the last word.

  Unable to stand by and do nothing, Elizabeth knelt beside Lindsay and laid one hand on her shoulder. She glanced up, tears blurring her green eyes.

  “That’s it, Robin, there’s a good lad.” They both looked back down when Kane spoke. Robin lay on his back, fingers clutching the concrete. “Beth.” Kane held out his hand. “I need you.”

  She took his hand, fought back her own tears. No one had ever said that to her.

  “What can I do?”

  “Hold his leg still.” He lowered his voice so only she could hear his next words. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt him.” Elizabeth understood why when she finally got a good look.

  A long piece of metal shrapnel stuck out of his left thigh.

  It obviously hadn’t severed an important artery, or he would have bled out by now, but it had to be excruciating. She nodded, trading places with Kane so she could hold on to Robin’s ankle. Kane crouched next to Lindsay, cradled the back of her head.

  “Can you move to his right side for me, sweet girl? I need you to hold tight to his shoulders, keep him from moving about.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Tears spilled down her face. Kane wiped them away, his fingers so gentle on her cheeks. “Thank you for helping.” She crawled around Robin’s head, knelt next to his shoulders and took his right hand. “I’m right here, Robin. We’re going to take care of you.”

  “Hurts,” he whimpered.

  “I know, lovey. Kane is going to make it right.” She looked up at him, sheer adoration in her eyes. Elizabeth hoped he could live up to it.

  “All right.” Kane rested his hand on Robin’s knee. “Hold tight to his shoulders now, Lindsay. Beth, keep your grip on his ankle. We’re going to get this nasty bit of metal out of your leg, Robin. I’m sorry, lad, but it’s going to hurt worse before it gets better.”

  Kane let go, shook out his hands, took in a deep breat
h. Their drama had an audience now. The people camped around them were silent as they watched every move Kane made. Elizabeth sent up her own prayers.

  “Beth, there’s a handkerchief in my left coat pocket. Get it out for me.” She did, watched Kane wrap it around his palm, then close his fingers over the shrapnel. “Ready now, Robin?” The boy nodded once, closed his eyes. “On the count of three, then. One, two, three—”

  He yanked out the shrapnel. Robin screamed, hands scrabbling for his leg. Elizabeth kept his leg pressed tight to the floor. Lindsay held on to his shoulders and whispered to him, her voice soft against his ragged sobs. Kane whipped off the handkerchief and pressed the cleanest part to the wound.

  “Good lad. You’re a strong, brave one, Robin. That’s it, hold still now. We’ll get this cleaned and bandaged and you will be as good as new.” His low, quiet voice calmed the boy. “You can let go of him now, Lindsay. You were perfect, and I want you to rest a bit while I take care of him.”

  A hand touched Elizabeth’s wrist. “Here.” The woman behind her held out a bucket, half full of water. “It is clean, boiled water I brought myself. Go on, use it.”

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth took the bucket, set it next to Kane.

  “Martha, where are those bandages?” A buxom woman pushed through the onlookers, handed over what looked like a homemade first aid kit. “Here you go. Take care of that boy, and shout for Bridget if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you, Bridget.” The older woman smiled. Elizabeth lowered the kit to her lap, took out a rolled bandage, and created a pad for Kane to clean the wound. “Here.”

  He glanced over at her, took the wad of cloth. He looked beyond exhausted.

  “The wound will need stitches. Can you thread that needle for me?”

  “You know how to do this?”

  He flashed her a tired smile. “Holdover from a misspent youth.”

  Elizabeth pulled off a length of heavy black thread, and lit a match, running the tip of the needle through the flame to sterilize it. After threading the needle, she handed it to Kane, and watched him stitch the wound.

  He was efficient, gentle, careful, talking to Robin as he worked. He explained every step to the boy before he did it. When he got a trembling smile out of Robin, warmth flooded Elizabeth—and warning bells started going off in her head.

  She ignored them, handed Kane supplies as he needed. Watching him with the boy showed her yet another side of this man she had started to depend on. Dependence she couldn’t foster, not when she had to leave him once this was over—

  “Lindsay.” His voice jerked her out of her runaway thoughts. “Can you come and take over for me, sweetheart? His leg will do for now. I’ll check it again in a half hour, to be certain the bleeding has stopped.”

  She crawled over, took Robin’s hand, her blonde hair curtaining them as she whispered to him. Kane sat back on his heels, his left hand braced against the concrete, his fingers shaking.

  Elizabeth reached for him—and he grabbed her wrist. Sweat slicked his skin, his face shock white under the dark beard stubble.

  “It seems to be my turn for a bit of attention.”

  “Where?” She had a feeling she already knew. He had not let her see his right side since the bomb blast.

  He shifted, and she finally got a good look.

  “Oh, Kane.” Blood soaked his coat, most of it over his right shoulder and his arm, where she imagined shrapnel from the explosion concentrated. “I don’t want to do this—”

  “In front of the children?” He flashed a smile. “Help me stand, and we’ll take it to a dark corner.”

  “Promises, promises.” She grabbed the makeshift first aid kit and slipped under his left arm, glad the dim light hid her blush. She never flirted or teased a man. It had always been so far outside her comfort zone she didn’t bother trying.

  It took a good bit of groaning from both sides, and it wasn’t easy to do with the first aid kit in one hand, but Elizabeth got him to his feet, and started looking for a place to tend him.

  Bridget waved at her. “Bring him this way. Wait—I’ll make a path for you.”

  As good as her word, she did, using courtesy and smiles to get people to shuffle closer together. Elizabeth followed her as voices whispered comments on what Kane had done. He probably didn’t even realize how much an effect his act had on these people.

  “Sit him right down. I’ve got you, boy.” Bridget helped Elizabeth settle him, and shooed her back. “Give me the kit, now. I’ll get him sorted. You rest, my dear girl. Both of you have given enough for one night. It’s time some of us gave back, in thanks. Martha, get the girl some soup.”

  A metal cup was pressed into Elizabeth’s hand. The scent of chicken soup made her mouth water; she couldn’t remember her last meal. The soup consisted of broth, with no meat, and only a few chunks of vegetables. Elizabeth sipped it, grateful and guilty. She was most likely drinking someone else’s dinner.

  Kane let out a string of curses, and Elizabeth nearly dropped her cup. She set it down and crawled over to Bridget, who had just taken his coat off.

  “Oh, my dear boy. You did take the brunt of it, didn’t you?”

  Elizabeth peered around the older woman. Kane still wore his uniform, but she could see how much damage the shrapnel from the explosion caused. Gashes riddled the right side of his shirt, most of them bloody.

  “Help me get this off him, Elizabeth.”

  She obeyed, moved around him. He had his right arm braced on his knees, his left hand clenching and unclenching. “Kane.” His head snapped up.

  “Get her out of here.” The anger in his voice smacked her.

  “I’m here to—”

  “I said, get her out of here, Bridget—I’ll not have her see—”

  “It’s okay.” She understood his anger, the reason he had his back facing the wall. “I already—”

  “Get her—”

  “Jackson.” She figured using his first name would get his attention. She figured right. He stared at her, those grey eyes dark with pain. “I’ve seen the scars.” His eyes closed, and she cradled his face. The grief she saw flash in their depths left an ache she didn’t want to explore. “There’s no need to hide, from me, or anyone here. Look at me.”

  Endless seconds later, he did, the grief still there. It faded as he studied her. “You don’t care.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Beth.” He shocked the breath out of her when he kissed her, in front of all these people. “You are one of a kind.”

  “I hope you mean that in a good way.” She knew she sounded, well, breathless. But he took her by surprise, and the feel of his lips had her wanting more. Those warning bells went off again. She ignored them. Again. “Let’s get this shirt off, see what the damage is.”

  He let her and Bridget strip him to the waist. Bridget had a few choice words for the person who gave him the scars, then focused on the really nasty gashes on his shoulder and his upper arm. Elizabeth’s respect for his pain tolerance went way up; she would have been curled on the nearest flat surface, whimpering and useless. Instead, he carried a pre-teen boy into the bowels of the station, tended him, comforted him. All without even a hint of the pain he must have been in.

  “Martha.” Bridget splashed some water in a shallow bowl as she talked. “Please find a clean shirt for me. Large, if you can. Elizabeth, dear,” she handed over a wad of clean bandage. “Clean his wounds for me while I prepare some bandages. Now, where is the sticking plaster?”

  Elizabeth saw Kane flinch, and figured sticking plaster was as unpleasant as she’d read in books. Determined to keep him distracted, she chattered, her fingers as gentle as possible when she wiped out the wounds. They weren’t as bad as she first thought, but she knew they must hurt him.

  “Did you know that Christopher Wren helped save Salisbury Cathedral? After the spire was added on, the load was so great, it started to tilt. Wren came to survey, saw the impending disaster, and helped the
m create supports to distribute the weight of the spire, without adding buttresses to the outside. Even with the supports, it still leans more than the Tower of Pisa—”

  “Beth.” Kane’s voice rumbled next to her ear. She froze, took in a shaky breath, and looked up to find him studying her over his shoulder, amusement in his grey eyes. She’d take that over the heart wrenching grief any day, even if it were directed at her. “There’s no need for distraction.”

  “There will be soon, my dear boy.” Bridget shooed Elizabeth over, set down a tray covered with squares of bandages, and an amber bottle with a single word hand written on the label. Iodine. Oh, good lord. “Go take his hands, Elizabeth. I do not want any interference once I begin.”

  “She has iodine back there, doesn’t she.” It wasn’t a question. Elizabeth took his hands, as ordered, and nodded. “Bloody hell.”

  “Hush, now.” Bridget slapped his left arm. “There are children about. Children who should be sleeping,” she said, loud enough for those children to hurry and pretend before their parents checked on them.

  Smiling, Elizabeth met his eyes. The look in them spiked her blood pressure. He endured the iodine, sucked in his breath every time it touched open skin, and never took his gaze off her. She wanted to kiss him so badly, heat spiraled through her at the thought of his lips on hers again. On her again.

  It was too complicated. He was too complicated. All she wanted to do when this started was help him stop Guy and go home. Then he kissed her, and her world tilted sideways.

  What was she supposed to do with that? Go home, pretend she never met him? Pretend she didn’t have these enormous feelings for him? God help her, it was already too late.

  “Beth.” His breath whispered over her cheek, his voice low, warm, too alluring. She looked at him; sometime during her random thoughts her gaze had wandered to the space behind him. If she’d been drooling, it would have completed the picture of a lovesick idiot. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For coming after me.” He brushed her lips. The heat she thought she stomped down burst into life. “For standing up to Guy.” The next brush became a soft, all too brief kiss. “For keeping your calm while you did so.” The next kiss had her leaning into him, her head spinning. He pulled back, and she looked at him, wanting more, terrified by how much she wanted it. “Hell,” he whispered, and captured her lips in a thorough, heart melting kiss.