by Cindy Skaggs
He rubbed her good hand so he didn’t jostle the wounded side. “We got you covered, sweetheart. You’ll be feeling no pain before we get to the end of the story.”
“Promise?”
“Oh, yeah. Saved the good stuff for you.”
“Top shelf, huh?”
Rose laughed. “Proximo 1800. Only the best.” He glanced over Debi to meet Fowler’s gaze. “We can stabilize and slow the blood loss, but she needs a surgeon. Doctor at the least. Help me get her patched up, and then we need transport.”
Fowler tossed the morphine back in the med kit. “Echo had a man on surveillance here at the ranch. They must have been communicating, because the second man was moving to intercept when the bomb went off.”
Rose prepped the Celox. The plunger distributed blood-clotting agent into gunshot wounds, which saved lives and limbs. Fowler peeled back the compress so Rose could work. The wound flooded with blood. Torn flesh on soft skin. Blood coated the entire sleeve of her cotton shirt and her black hair matted around the entry wound. A rock the size of a mountain settled in his gut. He’d never triaged a woman before. “I can’t see shit in here. Grab a light.”
Fowler flipped on the overhead, and then brought a large lamp as backup. He set it up to focus on Debi’s shoulder. The compress had soaked more blood than she could afford to lose. He needed to slow the source of the bleed, but first he needed to get as much foreign material out of the wound as possible.
“Hold this.” Rose handed over the still covered Celox. He slipped the hair band off Debi’s wrist and pulled her hair from the wound. Then he grabbed a scissor from his kit.
“Cut my hair, Rosebud, and I will kill you on the spot.”
“Relax. Your hair is safe. The shirt, not so much.” He and Fowler switched places and he cut the shoulder of her shirt to get a better look at the wound.
“I thought only the ER cut off clothes.”
“Guess they have their reasons. Going to lift you now.” He gave her two seconds to process before he lifted. “No exit wound. The bullet’s embedded.”
She cursed at him as he jostled the injury. “Maybe Fowler should take over.”
“Trust me, you don’t want this guy cutting into you.”
“Who said anything about cutting.” Debi struggled to sit up.
Fowler pressed on the compress to keep her seated. “I practiced on goats, so I’m sure it’s the same thing.”
She dropped back on the sofa. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope.” He glanced up at Rose. “Blood pressure’s dropping.”
“The meds should take the edge off in a few.” He glanced at Debi. Her eyes were open, but starting to dilate. He needed to keep her engaged, like he had while Echo had followed them. “Don’t you want to know who shot you?”
She nodded, and then groaned.
Fowler pulled out more clean compresses as he spoke. “Echo fought like a feral cat when we captured him. His eyes were fucking crazed. Next thing we know, he’s taken a shot between the eyes.” Fowler wiped at the blood spatter under his chin. “Second guy took him out. No mercy, man, that shit was cold.”
“Did you get his blood?” Debi asked.
Fowler swiped at his face again.
“Not that blood. A sample. In the syringe.”
“Oh.” Fowler tapped the Velcro pocket on his upper thigh. “Got it right here.”
“Go put it in the fridge,” she insisted.
At least she was still engaged. Actually, she was still a smart ass, which he truly appreciated. “We’re not staying, sweetheart.” Rose used a smaller needle to numb the injury site.
“Put it on ice, then.” She glanced at Fowler. “Before you and Dr. Frankenstein knock me out.”
“You’re right,” Fowler answered. “He is like the monster.”
“If Rose is a monster, what are you?”
Fowler grinned. “I’m the good-looking one.”
“Not so much. He’s built like Thor.” Her gaze slid between the two men before landing on Rose. “Neither of you are monsters.”
A moment later, Rose injected the Celox, cutting off the most severe blood loss. Debi grunted and bit back a curse. Rose squirmed away from her gaze. The woman thought he was some comic book hero, but that was the painkiller talking. Rose and the rest of the team weren’t some medical mutation that made heroes. They were more of a warning against man’s hubris. Monsters created in a lab by someone with a God complex. “Fowler, you grew up around here, didn’t you?”
Fowler grunted noncommittally. “I’m not from anywhere.”
“Don’t give me that shit. I don’t care if your hometown is fucking top secret. We need a doctor, say within a two-hour radius? If not, we’re going to have to risk the questions and take her to an ER.”
“Hold on, let me think.” Fowler moved to put the blood sample on ice. Something alerted him and he pulled his Glock and approached the kitchen door. Ryder and Craft burst in.
“Second man is down. Put himself out of his misery. These guys are crazy as fuck,” Craft said. “They keep self-eliminating, we won’t have to kill them. We got four at Ryder’s townhouse. These two today. Leaves six if they had twelve on their team.”
“Unless they’re self-duplicating.” Rose had a bad feeling about the way the men had gone out. What the hell kind of information were they trying to protect that they were willing to kill one another, kill themselves, to protect? Or had the drug cocktail finally driven them out of their minds? He thought back to the number of times he’d promised to end himself if he became a threat to others. Maybe these guys took the same vow if they became a threat to their twisted mission. “Fowler, think faster or we’re going to the ER.”
Ryder scrubbed his hands in the kitchen sink soaking his bandages in the process.
“Keep the wound clean,” Rose ordered. Ryder had taken a solid stab to the palm in the fight a few days ago. They couldn’t afford an infection.
“We had to bury them in a shallow grave, didn’t have equipment for much else. Coyotes will get ‘em before anyone else ventures up that bluff.”
“I’m more worried about their reinforcements.”
“Roger that.” Ryder dried his hands on a cloth. “We need to get gone.”
“We have time to finish this?” Rose asked. Debi’s health trumped the mission.
“We can keep guard while you stitch her up, and then we’re out.”
“Ry, I can triage, but she needs a real doctor.” He didn’t want to screw up. A soldier, no problem. He could get them back to fighting shape, but Debi deserved a legitimate doctor who could keep her stable, limit scarring, and prevent infection. “Plus she needs blood and IV antibiotics.”
“Wait.” Debi’s words started to slur. “As long as we’re here, I need clothes. And take the food. And—”
“We got it.” Rose assured her.
“Wait.” She blinked several times and struggled to lift her head off the couch. “Ryder.”
Ryder stepped closer. She pulled him down to whisper in his ear. He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”
“What was that all about?”
Ryder stepped toward the back bedrooms. “You’ll have to ask your patient.”
Rose looked down but Debi was fully out. The hair that normally flowed down her neck was in a lopsided ponytail away from the wound and her navy blue shirt had a hole cut in the shoulder to reveal the ragged wound filled with blood clotting agent. Blood flow was down. “When I’m done here, I want you to lift her while I put her in a shoulder sling. I want to keep her unconscious until we get to an ER.” He didn’t want her to feel the pain, which was why he’d waited to finish dressing the wound.
“We’re not going to the ER,” Fowler insisted.
“The hell we’re not. You want to keep your sorry ass secure, you can hold back, Sally, but I’m—”
“Just shut up for one damn minute.” Fowler yanked out his cell phone, cursing like a Basic Training Instructor. “Craft can be yo
ur surgical assistant, Dr. Frankenstein. I’ve got some calls to make.” Fowler crashed out the front.
Craft scrubbed up at the kitchen sink like he knew what he was doing, cleaning all the way to the elbows with soap and water. Rose prepped the bandages he needed, but his gaze kept straying to Debi’s still form. He’d spent his whole life protecting women, and somehow he’d still ended up here. A complete failure with Debi’s injury on his shoulders.
“She looks so small,” Craft said, coming over to stand next to Rose. “Fragile.”
A knot the size of a walnut lodged in Rose’s throat. “Six sisters, and not once did I have to take them in for stitches or broken bones.”
“Because you’re an overprotective asshole and they now hate you.” Craft shoulder bumped him, keeping his hands clean. “Get your head in the game, brother. She needs you focused.”
Rose packed the guilt and the shame and the anger in a box. “Let’s do this.” He tapped another compress against the wound. Even in sleep she moaned against the invasion. Shit. His hands shook. He wanted to shove them in his pockets so no one noticed, but he had work to do. They covered the wound, added the sling. Before they were done, he’d had to cut her whole shirt off. Ryder came from the back carrying a duffel bag.
“Bring me a blanket we can wrap her in. Maybe some slippers or wool socks,” Rose said.
Ryder dropped the bag and headed back to the bedrooms. Craft and Rose wrapped the sling around her shoulder so movement wouldn’t aggravate the pain. The morphine and compresses must be doing the work, because she didn’t make a sound.
Fowler slammed back into the kitchen, the amount of noise he made an indication of his frustration. “Saddle up. I got us a doctor. Ryder, you and Craft finish getting supplies and anything you need from here. Rose and I will head to the doctor. We can meet up after the doctor finishes.”
“You giving the orders now?” Ryder’s voice lowered. “Because splitting up is a shit idea.”
“Wasn’t my idea for one of us to take a hit.” Fowler’s tone bordered on insubordination. “You want to leave Lauren back at the motel alone?”
Rose stepped between the two soldiers. “Debi can’t wait for us to backtrack, so unless the motel is on the way—”
“It’s not,” Fowler answered.
To Rose, that left one solution. They weren’t in the desert with the Army at their back. They didn’t have a base to fall back to and get medical attention. No reinforcements would dig them out of this mess. They had four men and zero intel to guide their movements. They’d lost all focus and cohesion in the months since they’d left the team.
“Fuck.” Ryder draped a blanket on Debi and put slippers on her feet.
Ryder’s gentleness in the midst of their anger settled Rose more than anything. The tension existed still in the tightening muscles of his shoulders and back, but anger diminished to be replaced by guilt and frustration over Debi’s injury. The bloody wound fell one hundred percent onto Team Fear and the clusterfuck of their current mission.
“Did you pack her comfortable clothes?” Rose asked. The woman wouldn’t be wearing her typical skinny jeans and t-shirts until she healed.
“I packed a bunch of Lauren’s stuff. The women can share.”
Debi was taller and leaner than Lauren. “You know dick about women.” Rose took off down the hall until he found a room full of sunshine and light. The clean, cheerful lines matched Debi’s personality. The walk-in closet was filled with more shoes than he had clothes, and every single one had heels. Not a sensible shoe in the bunch. He grabbed several pairs of jeans, workout clothes already stacked in sets, and anything else he could lay hands on. A lone pair of tennis shoes was tucked into a gym bag in the far corner. He tossed the rest in with the shoes and headed out.
Walking back into the room was like a bomb ticking down. If anything, the men looked angrier despite the extra time to cool down. They were all feeling caged by a situation out of their control.
Craft tossed pantry food in a box while he and Fowler groused back and forth. Stress vibrated off Ryder. The anger flowing through them individually and as a team was a byproduct of the conflict between them and Echo. It was the reason he’d slammed Fowler into the wall. The reason Fowler and Craft were fighting like teenagers. They had survived, but pieces of the team were starting to unravel.
Rose understood Ryder’s dilemma. Splitting up was a dumbass move, but it was the only play they had. The argument between Craft and Fowler escalated so Ryder finally whistled long and loud.
“Shut. Up.” Ryder twisted his neck to relieve the tension. The click of his vertebra popping filled the new silence. Finally, Ryder shifted. The anger visibly faded and he faced them much as he had when they were active duty. “The side effects suck. The anger fucks with us every damn time and we need to figure that shit out. We need to turn our anger on the enemy, not each other. We’re still a fucking team.”
Craft stopped tossing canned goods and stood. Fowler nodded sharply. Order fell over them. Anger drained from faces. Shoulders snapped back to the position of attention. Ryder had reminded them of who they were. Team Fear.
“We can’t take my vehicle,” Rose said. Echo’s actions continued to diminish their options, which accounted for some of the earlier anger. “I’ll leave the truck in the barn.”
“We can lay down the seats in my SUV.” Fowler cleaned up the medic bag and zipped it closed. He carried it in one hand and grabbed Debi’s bag in the other. “Let’s roll.”
Rose lifted Debi, careful to keep the blanket wrapped tightly over her shoulders. She weighed less than his sister Ivy, who he’d had to carry when she sprained an ankle last year. Debi was out cold, not simply fragile, but completely at his mercy. She was breakable and still in danger. The rock in his gut churned into gravel. This was why a smart soldier stayed the fuck away from civilians. Collateral damage was unavoidable, and from where Rose stood, unacceptable. Debi didn’t deserve to get drawn into their world. He should have left her at the motel. He marched behind Fowler out the door, and grief and regret followed like a shadow.
Chapter Eight
A pounding headache and dry mouth woke Debi from the sleep of the dead. Every muscle in her body protested when she tried to shift positions. She opened her eyes to a dark room and a monster-sized silhouette sitting upright in a chair next to the bed. The size of the shadow caused her heart to seize. She tried to sit up, but a zap of pain at her shoulder reminded her of the gunshot. Everything flashed through her brain and panic threatened.
“Give it a minute.” Rose’s big hand pressed her gently back to the bed. “You really awake this time?”
“Have there been false alarms?” The frog in her throat sounded more like an ugly old toad with a frog in his throat.
“This is round three.”
“Lucky three.” Debi struggled to move, but her body didn’t respond. “Where are we?”
“Motel number three, about four hours from the last one you remember.”
The math didn’t add up in her addled brain. “I missed one?”
“We’re moving every day, paying cash, and staying off the main roads.”
“Seems wise,” she rasped. With a cough that jarred her shoulder, she tried to clear her throat. It was hard to believe that they’d moved locations multiple times and she’d been that unaware. The last thing she remembered, she’d been at the ranch, and he and Fowler had given her an injection of something. “Blood loss?”
“Significant, but not life threatening.”
“Did the couch survive?”
A slight smile broke the solemn line of his lips. “The Barry couch is toast.”
“Finally some good news. Did you burn it?”
“I figured you’d want the honors.”
“Oh, I do.” Not really. She’d rather not face the reminder of the shooting, although she’d probably have a scar. A big one. “Did you really stitch me up?”
Rose shook his head. “Found a doctor who was wil
ling to patch you up without any records. You want water?”
She licked her chapped lips. “Wouldn’t refuse.”
He reached to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of water with a straw through the top. “We stemmed the bleeding and got the doctor to do the deed.” He pulled the bottle back when she’d taken a sip. “Met back up with the rest of the team. There’s safety in numbers. Your little incident scared the crap out of Lauren. She wouldn’t leave you for the first twenty-four hours.”
“It was my turn.” Lauren had taken enough damage when she’d been kidnapped. Debi took another sip, but when she tried to get a good gulp, Rose pulled the straw away.
“Keep it down and you can have more.”
“How long have I been out?”
“A couple days. Lauren comes over in the daytime. She left a couple hours ago.”
To spend the night with her husband no doubt, leaving Rose on bodyguard duty. Again. Poor guy. “Help me up?”
“Stay put.”
“Dude, I’ve been out of it for days. I need a trip to the restroom. Help me up or I’ll go alone.”
He glanced at the door to the outside. “Did you call me dude?”
“If the flip flop fits, big guy.” Debi turned to her good side and used her free arm to brace herself into a sitting position. Her injured arm was in a sling, tucked tight against her body.
He stabilized her before helping her to her feet. The feet currently wearing Goofy slippers. “What’s with the slippers?”
“Got them from your closet. Lauren said they were your favorite.”
“That’s because she has a warped sense of humor.” Debi had threatened to bring Goofy slippers and a housecoat the last time Lauren needed a change of clothes. Holding onto Rose, Debi stepped free of the top-heavy footwear. “They’re likely to trip me if I try to walk in them now.”
“You walk in sky-high heels and you’re worried about Goofy?”
Debi used Rose’s arm as a crutch to help her hobble to the bathroom door. “You don’t like my heels?”
“I like them fine, but you’re off heels until you’re done with physical therapy.”
