An Unsuspecting Heart

by Linda Turner

  His fingers shaking, he gingerly moved them to the waistband of her wet jeans and tried to tell himself that it was his imagination that she seemed to be slipping away from him. She couldn't have been shot; he'd pulled her down too quickly. But then he carefully skimmed his fingers up to her rib cage and felt the stickiness of her blood coating his hand.

  He swallowed thickly. "Austin, she's been hit! Get a light!" he barked as he gently rolled her to her back. "Hurry! And some blankets and bandages. Damn it, I think she's going into shock!"

  Darkness, thick and cloying, rolled into Katie's head, smothering half of Sam's words, but none of the panic. Struggling up through the murky mist, she tried to reassure him. "Just a … nick," she murmured breathlessly. "S-sorry to be such … a … pain."

  Sam's helplessness infuriated him. Like hell it was just a nick! He didn't have to see the wound to know that it was bad. With every beat of her heart, he could feel her lifeblood being pumped onto his hands. He reached up to rip one of the curtains from the window and pressed it blindly to her side. At her gasp of pain, a cold sweat popped out on his brow. "I've got to stop the bleeding, sweetheart," he said huskily. "Try to lie still."

  He glanced wildly over his shoulder for Austin, but before he could call out, his friend suddenly appeared at his side. "We've got to get out of here, Sam," he said quietly as he handed him the bandages and flashlight, then draped a blanket over Katie's hips and legs. "Those thugs across the river aren't leaving anything to chance. They're coming after you."

  Sam wasn't surprised, but he couldn't spare a thought for Cantu and the others when Katie could be dying before his eyes. "Go get the boat ready. We'll be there as soon as I bandage the wound."

  Austin nodded and slipped quietly out the back door, but all Sam's attention was on Katie. His hand clammy around the flashlight, he turned it on her prone figure. His breath hissed between his teeth at the sight of the dark red stain that covered the entire left side of her khaki blouse. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. Too shallow. He tore open her blouse with fumbling fingers. From the soft, tender flesh of her side, a jagged, ugly hole stared back at him.

  Katie stirred at the touch of the night air on her exposed skin and she stared up into familiar blue eyes that were dark with anguish. She wanted to reach up and soothe the deep frown furrowing his brow, but her arms were so heavy. Licking her dry lips, she whispered, "How bad…"

  "You're going to be fine," he told her fiercely. "Do you hear me, Katie? Just fine." Tearing off a long length of gauze with his teeth, he quickly folded it into a thick wad. "This is going to hurt, honey," he warned, and pressed it to her wound, securing it with tape before she had time to do anything but stiffen.

  The pain was immediate, excruciating. A jagged edge of heat shot through her like lightning, defying the numbness slowly creeping through her body. Groaning, she jerked away.

  Sam paled, feeling her pain as clearly as if he had been the one shot. "Oh, God, babe, I'm sorry," he whispered. Would he never stop hurting her? Tenderly pulling her blouse back into place, he grabbed the blanket that covered her legs and wrapped her in it from head to toe. He winced at her fragility as he carefully lifted her into his arms. Why had he never noticed how delicate, how breakable, she was? "Hang on," he urged roughly as he cradled her close to his chest and rose to his feet. "We're going to get you to the hospital. Just hang on."

  Katie felt as if she were drowning in the shadows that pressed down upon her. But Grant's voice reached her, and as long as his arms sheltered her she knew she'd struggle to do as he asked. Then the darkness beckoned, promising her freedom from the pain. She couldn't resist the lure. Sighing, she slipped into oblivion.

  Alarmed, Sam felt her head loll against his shoulder, her breath barely a whisper against his neck. He clutched at her. "Katie!" he cried, giving her a gentle shake. She never moved.

  The fear chilling him deepened into panic. Half running, he hurried outside onto the small dock that extended from the back of the cabin out into the river. Austin was waiting beside the air boat, holding it to the dock with one foot, ready to take off the second Sam stepped on board. Sam tightened his arms protectively around Katie and stepped into the bow of the boat as Austin jumped into the stern. "Hurry," he said tersely. "She's bad."

  The huge fan that powered the boat sprang to life with a roar that shook the dock. "Hang on, then," the other man shouted. "We're in for a hell of a ride."

  Hell didn't begin to describe what followed. The boat leapt away from the dock like a tiger springing free of its cage, racing away from the island just as Cantu and his cutthroats staggered up on dry land. Angry curses followed them, but Sam and Austin never glanced back. The black water of the river stretched out before them, alive with danger.

  Austin pushed the boat to its limits, steering it around fallen logs and sandbars like a man who had tested himself many times and knew no fear. The throttle opened wide, the shallow boat barely skimmed the surface of the water, flying along at a crazy speed that scraped their hair back and forced tears from their eyes. Any kind of conversation was impossible. Trees passed in a blur and the cabin was left far behind, but it wasn't fast enough for Sam. As they whizzed in and out of the deeper shadows caused by the trees, he had eyes for nothing but Katie. She lay unmoving in his arms, her lashes dark crescents that stood out in stark relief against her ashen cheeks. Unconscious. A muscle ticked along his jaw. She wouldn't feel the pain this way, he told himself, but found little relief in the thought. She'd lost so much blood! It was still on his hands, and was probably still oozing out of her. The bandage he'd applied was about as effective as a Band-Aid.

  Cursing, he pulled the blanket tighter around her and tried to convince himself he wasn't losing her. Not yet! he thought fiercely. She was young, strong as a horse, a fighter. She'd make it through this. She had to! He couldn't lose her when there was so much left unsaid between them. Time. Damn it, after all they'd been through together, was it too much to ask for? He had to explain, to make her understand.

  His eyes closed on a prayer and he found himself stepping back in time, examining the events of that night four months ago. Could he have done anything differently? Half-drowned, his cheekbones crushed and nose broken from the log that had slammed into him, he'd been nearly out of his mind with pain and on the run. Instinct alone had guided him to Austin LePort's cabin.

  A well-known anthropologist, writer, and lecturer, Austin had lived in the swamps off and on for years in the rustic cabin he used as a writer's retreat. Sam had met him some time before, when he'd done a story on the crime in the swamps. Sam had known Austin was a man he could trust with his life—he hadn't disappointed him.

  What happened after that was still a blur. He'd given Austin a disjointed version of the story, then there had been a wild ride to the hospital. Even in his dazed state, Sam had known to avoid Miami hospitals, where Cantu might discover him. At his insistence, Austin had driven him to Naples, where he'd given some story about a boating accident and been admitted under a false name. It wasn't until several days later, when his mind started to clear from the trauma and the surgery that followed, that he'd realized his car had been found and most of the world considered Sam Bradford missing and presumed dead.

  At the time, he'd thought Fate had done him a tremendous favor. Thanks to the log that had rearranged his face and the plastic surgeon who had put it back together, he would be able to come back and continue his investigation of Cantu and the roller without their even knowing he was alive. It was the perfect plan. All he needed was Katie and her contacts.

  Now she was fighting for her life with every breath she drew—because of him.

  Lost in his thoughts, Sam stiffened when Austin abruptly cut back on the throttle and eased the boat over to the left bank of the river. There, next to a weather-beaten dock and boat ramp, a narrow dirt road ended in a small parking area that held only one vehicle: Austin's green pickup.

  Austin cut the motor and immediately tied up a
t the dock, the only sound in the sudden stillness the whisper and creak of the ropes around the pilings as he tugged them tight. With one foot on the dock and the other on the boat, he held it steady while Sam carefully stepped onto the landing with Katie. Within seconds they were in the truck and barreling down the dirt road that led to Alligator Alley, the highway on the opposite side of the swamp from Gallegos's camp.

  "Which way?" Austin asked, shooting Sam a sharp look when they came to the junction. "Miami or Naples?"

  The eerie feeling of déjà vu wasn't lost on either of them. It was the same question Austin had voiced four months earlier. Sam felt for Katie's pulse at the side of her neck, and knew with a sick feeling of dread that she'd never make it to Naples. The faint beat against his fingertips was no stronger than the trembling of a butterfly's wings. "Miami," he said hoarsely. "And pray to God we make it!"

  "We'll make it," Austin replied grimly. "I'll have you at Miami General in ten minutes."

  He swung onto the highway and floor-boarded the accelerator, shooting the truck straight toward the lights of Miami in the distance. Nine minutes and twenty seconds later, he shot down the ramp to the hospital's emergency entrance, blowing the horn all the way.

  The pickup had hardly rolled to a stop before Sam was kicking open his door and sliding out of his seat, Katie clasped tightly to his chest. His feet hit the ground running. "Get a doctor," he thundered to the nurse at the emergency room desk as he burst into the waiting area. "I need a doctor. This woman's been shot!"

  Organized chaos erupted immediately. Emergency medical personnel came running on rubber-soled shoes and took over with a somber efficiency that overwhelmed anyone who got in the way. Orders were spit out in low, controlled voices, a gurney produced, and Katie transferred to it before Sam realized she'd been whisked from his arms. Seconds later, she was swiftly wheeled through the double doors that led to the ER examining rooms. A swarm of white-clad professionals grimly worked over her still form.

  Sam stared after her, his empty arms hanging limply at his side. He caught only a glimpse of her before the double doors swung closed, shutting him out. With her face as white as the hospital sheet she lay on and the dark stain of blood on her khaki blouse, she looked like a casualty of an undeclared war.

  When Austin joined him, he found Sam leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, staring unblinkingly at the doors through which Katie had disappeared. He appeared calm, but Austin knew him too well to be fooled by appearances. The savage light burning in his eyes warned of emotions balanced on a razor-sharp edge.

  "Any word?" he asked cautiously.

  "No."

  The single word was curt, furious. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, Austin copied Sam's stance and stared at the double doors ten feet away. "You did everything you could, Sam," he said quietly.

  Sam shot him a look that would have blistered paint. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" he said with a contempt that was self-directed. "Thanks to me, she's lying in there half-dead." His hands curled into fists and he just barely resisted the urge to hit something. "All I could think of was putting Cantu and his boss away and getting my own life back," he said bitterly. "I never even considered how much it was going to cost me." He lifted tortured eyes. "I can't lose her, Austin. Without her, nothing will ever mean a damn again."

  "You're not going to lose—"

  The double doors opened suddenly for a large, square-jawed man dressed in green operating fatigues. Striding purposefully toward them, he noted the blood on Sam's clothes and guessed shrewdly, "Mr. Bradford? I'm Dr. Harper."

  Sam gave his hand a brief shake, all his attention focused on the doctor's grave expression. "Katie?"

  The older man hesitated, but the hard determination in Sam Bradford's eyes told him this was not a man who wanted to be protected from the truth. "She's lost a lot of blood," he said bluntly. "She'll need surgery. She's being prepped right now. Are you a relative?"

  Sam's heart stopped. "No. Why?"

  "I'll need someone to sign for the surgery. If she has any family, we need to get them here as quickly as possible."

  Because time was running out. Although the words were never spoken, they hung in the air like a bomb waiting to drop. "I'll sign," Sam said flatly. "She has a younger brother, but he's all the way across town. It may take a while to track him down."

  The doctor nodded grimly. "He may be needed. After you sign the paperwork, you'd better find him. You can use the phone in the lounge next to the operating room on the fourth floor." And without another word, he turned and disappeared through the double doors.

  * * *

  Given his choice, Sam would rather have faced a dozen Uzis than tell Ryan about Katie, but there was no putting it off. He headed for the phone the minute he and Austin stepped into the fourth floor waiting area. He started to call the house, only to realize with a shock that it wasn't even midnight. The lifetime he and Katie had spent fighting their way through the swamp had been only a couple of hours. Ryan was still at work. Dragging in a bracing breath, Sam dialed the pizza parlor.

  Ryan was on the line in seconds, all business as he answered the phone. "Pizza Palace. This is Ryan. May I help you?"

  His throat suddenly closing on the falsehood, Sam had to swallow before he could find his voice. "Ryan, this is … Grant." Dear God, would he ever be through with the lies?

  Surprised, Ryan laughed, "Hey, man! Don't tell me you want to order a pizza."

  "No, I—"

  "Whatsamatter? Think we can't compete with the Chicago pizzerias?"

  "No—"

  "You're making a mistake," the boy teased. "One bite of our deep dish pie, and you'll throw rocks at that stuff from up north."

  "Ryan—" Sam swore under his breath and struggled to control the frustration seething within him. Letting out a long breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and said quietly, "I'm not calling about a pizza."

  Something in his carefully controlled words had Ryan clutching the receiver tighter. "Then why did you call?" There was no teasing in his voice now, only wariness.

  For a moment Sam wondered how he could tell this kid that his sister was at that very second fighting for her life on an operating table? He began. "Katie…"

  "Oh, God," Ryan whispered hoarsely. Icy panic coiled into his stomach. "Something's happened to her, hasn't it? Where is she? What happened?"

  "We were working on a story—"

  "Damn it, Grant, tell me! Is Katie all right?"

  His words were harsher than he'd meant for them to be and out before he could stop them. "She's been shot."

  Stunned silence echoed on the line before Ryan exploded, "No! That's impossible! She said … she said she'd be home early tonight," he choked inanely, not even realizing what he was saying. "Casablanca's on cable tonight, and she never misses Bogart."

  Sam winced. "She's being operated on right now at Miami General," he said gently. "You'd better come."

  His only answer was the sudden buzzing in his ear as Ryan abruptly hung up.

  A string of curses rolled off his tongue as he slammed the receiver down. It was done, he told himself grimly. Now there was only one task left to do.

  Shoving his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and reached for the phone again.

  Surprised, Austin watched him, frowning. "Who you calling now?"

  "The FBI," Sam retorted tersely, and dropped a quarter in the coin slot.

  * * *

  The tension in the waiting room was as brittle as spun glass. FBI Agent John Cooper stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another. His brown eyes narrowed on the three other occupants of the room. Ryan MacDonald sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his boyish face etched with a gravity that aged him ten years. During the last hour, he'd had to deal with one shock after another … Grant Elliot's true identity, Gallegos's treachery, the seriousness of his sister's condition. After the initial surprise and anger, he'd handled the first two well enough, but he w
as having trouble accepting the last. Every time rubber-soled shoes whispered down the hallway, he froze, his eyes flying to the doorway as he prepared himself for the worst.

  The man at Ryan's left was less easy to read. Austin LePort lounged easily in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about his eyes. He watched Sam Bradford carefully, as if he expected the anger building in his friend to explode any minute.

  Which it very well could, the agent concluded. Sam Bradford had always had a reputation as a reporter who would go to any lengths to get a story, but right now he didn't seem to give a damn that he'd uncovered a scandal that was going to blow the lid off the city. He barely tolerated the questions thrown at him; and like the boy, his eyes snapped to the waiting room doorway every time a step was heard in the corridor.

  Snapping the lid down on his lighter, the agent took a drag on his freshly lit cigarette and exhaled slowly. "All right, Mr. Bradford, let's go over it one more time," he said patiently. "After Cantu ran you off the bridge, you assumed an alias rather than go to the police with what you knew. Why?"

  His mind in the operating room with Katie, Sam jerked his attention back to the older man, his patience at the breaking point. "I didn't assume anything," he retorted coldly. "The authorities, in their infinite wisdom, decided I was probably dead, and I was damn lucky they did. I knew just enough to get myself killed. My car had been identified, it was all over the papers that I was missing, and Cantu knew I was the one who was on to him. If I'd have come forward then, we wouldn't be having this discussion now. Cantu would already have found a way to eliminate me."

  "The police—"

  "Were on the take," he finished for him flatly. "If you don't believe me, check into Ryan's arrest the other night. It was so fishy, it stank."

  "You could have come to us," the other man said stiffly.