by Jordan Dane
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. The dressing he needed was missing from the second kit or had been used already. Now, he'd have to get creative. He grabbed what he needed and rushed back.
"I got nothing, but maybe you can use these ... to improvise."
The young man was still working on Jasmine to stop the bleeding and get two large-bore IVs into her. But when he looked up and saw what Christian held in his hands, he shook his head and shrugged.
"How?" Pity edged his eyes. He'd probably received limited training, but had no idea how to make due with what he had.
Christian looked down at the rubber gloves, empty IV bag wrapper, scissors, and tape in his hands. For a second, he shut his eyes. She needed a hospital and a chest tube, not his clumsy attempt at playing doctor.
"What's happening? Why can't he help her?" His father tugged at his arm, smearing Jasmine's blood on his sleeve. When he figured out Christian was her last chance, his father asked, "Do you know what to do?"
"Yeah, but I've got no time to explain." Christian nodded, acting more confident than he felt. "You gotta trust me."
A cavity surrounded the lungs. Pierced by a bullet, the pocket would let air in and prevent the lungs from inflating right. To complicate matters, air wouldn't leave the lungs like it normally did, so each breath Jasmine took filled the cavity and the surrounding lung tissue with more and more air. If they left the wound untreated and waited for the trip back to a hospital, Jasmine would die from a growing pressure in her chest cavity, one that would push against her heart and twist the major veins and arteries closed. She'd strangle with the serious complications of a collapsed lung. Christian had seen it happen.
He needed to move. Now!
He tugged on a pair of rubber gloves and leaned closer, listening to the left side of her chest. Her breathing only came from the one side. A lung had collapsed. Unconscious as she was, she had taken a turn for the worse. Her skin looked moist and clammy. And her heart rate was shallow and rapid.
He had no time to lose. Christian clipped off a section from an empty IV bag wrapper with a pair of scissors. He cleared the wound and swabbed the surrounding area with antiseptic.
"Cut me some tape." He nudged his chin at Raven, fixing his eyes on her.
She didn't hesitate. Raven yanked on a rubber glove and did as he asked, tearing off pieces of tape, ready to assist him.
Christian placed a piece of the bag wrapper over the wound and taped three sides down, leaving one section open to act as a flutter valve for Jasmine's exhale. He had to use his gut instincts on how much to tape down. He hoped he guessed right.
"Gotta treat the entrance wound too." He applied a similar patch of the wrapper to the left side of her chest, under her arm. He taped it completely closed this time.
With the distance to the hospital, he knew she'd have a better chance if he got her lung inflated. He leaned closer and listened again. With her shallow breathing, she may not be able to fill her lung naturally. Christian couldn't wait for something that might not happen. He tilted her head back and pinched off her nose, applying a measured mouth-to-mouth, matching her breathing as she inhaled. After a few tries, it worked.
"Got it." He grinned and gave a reassuring glance at his father and Raven. Any small victory felt like a major milestone.
The lung inflated enough to move her, but he wasn't done yet. He had to treat her arm wound. Christian secured a mound of gauze to her arm to stop the bleeding there. But she could still have internal bleeding into her chest cavity. He may only have bought her a few precious minutes.
"Now we gotta get her to a trauma center. Fast." He looked up into the worried eyes of his father, knowing Charboneau would take charge now.
"Please . . . help us." Nicholas pleaded his case to the men witnessing the drama being played out. "We need a hospital."
Captain Duarte stepped in and ordered his men to load the nearest chopper with the wounded. "Take those most seriously injured. And these hostages are to accompany them. Move. Move!"
The men around them scrambled to help.
"I will call ahead to make sure the hospital knows what to expect," another man offered.
Christian nodded. He stared down at his gloved hands, caked with Jasmine's blood. Doubt crept into his mind. He had no idea if he'd done the right thing. Now it would be a race against time to get her the help she needed. He yanked off his gloves and threw them to the ground.
"Come on." He helped his father to his feet. "We gotta go."
With great care, Duarte's men loaded Jasmine onto a stretcher with her IVs, carrying her toward the cargo hold of a helicopter. Others crawled in behind them. Another man lay on a stretcher next to Jasmine. A tight squeeze.
After the door slammed shut, the thick smell of blood and fear hung heavy in the air. Miserable groans and strained breathing filled the cramped space. One man whispered a prayer. Christian shut his eyes, wanting to block out the waking nightmare and the ghosts it conjured for him. Once the crew jumped into the cockpit and revved the engine, the sound masked the pitiable suffering and desperation. A small mercy.
Every second felt like an eternity.
After they lifted off the ground, Christian felt Raven's hand on his. He had almost lost her. Turning, he kissed her cheek and held her in his arms, not wanting to let go. Like a shot of adrenaline, she infused his soul with her strength . . . and her love. He fought a lump wedged in his throat. So many thoughts ... so many regrets raced through his head. Christian had no idea how to make it up to her.
"When I think what could have happened . . ." he whispered in her ear.
She pulled from him enough to touch a gentle finger to his lips. "Don't say it. We're still here." She swallowed, her eyes glistening. "We can talk later. Your father needs you now."
Raven was right. Cradling her face in his hands, Christian kissed her again, then shifted his gaze to his father. The man looked lost.
"Jasmine's tough," Christian said. "She's gonna make it."
He stared into the inconsolable eyes of Nicholas Charboneau, unsure he'd even heard him. His father nodded, more out of reflex, but he didn't look up. Instead, he stroked the pale fingers of Jasmine's hand as if she were made of delicate crystal and would shatter.
"This can't be happening. Not to her." His father's voice barely carried over the chopper noise, his words not meant for anyone else to hear.
When Christian reached for his neck to give his father a reassuring squeeze, Nicholas lowered his chin and let out a gasping sob, fighting hard to hold back. Christian didn't know his father well enough to understand the depth of his sadness. A part of him deeply regretted that. Maybe Charboneau cried for all he'd suffered, but more than likely, he dreaded what still lay ahead.
Christian hesitated, then wrapped his arms around his father, the most natural thing in the world for some. When he did, Nicholas finally let go. He buried his face in Christian's shoulder, his body shaking.
"Jasmine loves you, Nicholas. She has for a long time." He spoke only loud enough for his father to hear over the rotor. "And if you don't put your money on her pulling through this, she's gonna come back and kick your ass."
His father's body shook even more. How much of it was laughing or crying, he didn't know or care. He held his father, making up for lost time between a father and a son.
And it felt good.
With Nicholas in his arms, he looked down at Jasmine, her face a ghastly gray. He thought of the old saying—Those who live by the sword, die by it. Jasmine had certainly lived by it, but if she died, Christian had a feeling she'd haunt his dreams out of spite. And he knew she'd enjoy every minute of his hellish torment.
To her credit, Jasmine had done it. She'd rescued his father and saved his life.
Would they be too late to return the favor?
CHAPTER 27
HOSPITAL DA ClDADE
Cuiabá, Brazil
Jasmine had been in surgery for several hours. And there had been no word when it w
ould end. Not knowing was killing him. Nicholas realized he'd never known what the phrase "hell on earth" meant until now. The clock on the ICU waiting room wall ticked with an abrasive noise, a mundane and monotone mockery of the passage of sweet time.
If anything good came of this, it would center on Christian.
Nicholas watched him return from the bank of phones down the hall. His son's face looked grim, worry forged in the dark shadows under his eyes. When Christian wasn't looking, he fixed his eyes on his son, taking in every detail of the man he'd become.
His son.
He marveled at the words and let them resonate in his head. Ever since he'd met Christian, he hadn't had the nerve to say them aloud. Perhaps in time. Thanks to his son, Jasmine, and many others, he might have that time. Time he didn't deserve.
He had a son, a courageous and trustworthy man. The irony of that fact wasn't wasted on him. He knew he had one woman to thank for such a gift, a woman he'd misjudged.
"How is your mother?" Nicholas asked.
Christian seemed surprised by the question.
"She's . . . better." He nodded. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward in his seat, one down from him. His son glanced at the clock on the wall . . . again. "Ever since I left, Fiona's been going through hell."
An awkward silence built between them. An announcement over the PA system filtered down to the waiting room, muffled yet persistent. Life went on, even though his world had stopped as cold and final as death.
"Then you'll have to make it up to her," Nicholas offered. He ventured a hand to his son's shoulder. He took it as a good sign Christian didn't flinch. "A man like you can be counted on to do the right thing." After a beat, he added, "Lord knows you didn't get that quality from my side of the family. You have Fiona to thank for that."
Christian dropped his head and stifled a soft chuckle.
"Yeah? Kind of worried about the flip side to the coin. What did I inherit from you?" He crooked his lip into a grin and let the question hang in the air. Neither of them wanted to hear the answer, but Nicholas ventured one anyway.
"I'd pray you inherited nothing from me, but the powers that be stopped listening to me long ago." He squeezed his son's shoulder again and let go. "For what it's worth, I'm proud of you, Christian. Proud of the man you are, despite all the odds stacked against you. Fiona did the right thing to keep us apart. You be sure and tell her I said so."
"Maybe you should tell her yourself."
Nicholas furrowed his brow at the thought of seeing Fiona in that place, dressed in prison garb and plagued by the haunted eyes of the institutionalized.
"I never intended for her to pay for her sin. I only wanted to protect her." Nicholas hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
"What are you talking about? Protect her from what?" Christian asked.
Nicholas had played a part in Fiona's incarceration as surely as if he'd turned state's evidence against her. He had nothing to do with the murder of her husband, Charles Dunhill. That had been her choice. She'd shown such strength to do what must be done back then. But when he'd learned about what she did, he had no idea of the real reason behind the killing and jumped to the wrong conclusion.
He didn't find out the truth until it was too late. Fiona had only been trying to save her child . . . their child. Christian.
Anger and a taste for revenge had colored his motives, but for the most part, he had arranged for the killing of the hit man that she'd used to assassinate her husband in order to protect her. The man was a loose thread and she hadn't the strength to cut it off. In the end, he had shed light on the old Dunhill murder-for-hire case.
Fiona's guilt proved to be too much for her. He should have known better. The very vulnerability he had tried to protect her against had also been her downfall. A self-inflicted wound. He couldn't shield her from her own conscience and the pervasive guilt that had been eating away at her all those years.
Guilt made a person weak. He found it a mercy not to be troubled by such things.
Nicholas didn't try to reply to his son's questions. Instead, he shifted his gaze down the hall. Showered and changed, Raven Mackenzie headed their way, carrying two small bags.
"She's lovely, you know." He jutted his chin in her direction. Christian turned to see what he meant. "Women like her don't come along every day. I hope you don't let her go."
Christian kept staring down the hall, smiling at the woman he loved. "Don't intend to. And you could take a little of that advice yourself."
He turned and smiled at his father. It felt surprisingly comfortable to sit with him like this.
"Any word? Is she out of surgery?" Raven asked, hope in her beautiful eyes.
Christian stood and shook his head. "None yet. What's in the bags?"
"I brought a change of clothes for you." She handed him a carryon. "And I thought Nicholas could use some things also. I went to the hotel, looking to pack a bag, and found one already done. Did you do it, Christian?"
"No." He looked down at his father, "Jasmine did."
At the mention of her name, the harsh reality of the situation hit home. Christian set his bag down and glanced at the clock once again.
"I'll stay until you get back," he offered, leaning up against a wall with arms crossed.
"Thank you for your kindness, Raven." His father's smile came and went. "I think I'll do us all a favor and freshen up. Excuse me." He stood and went to the nearest washroom, but turned at the last minute. "Please come get me if anything . . ." He couldn't finish.
"Yeah, we will." Christian nodded. After his father left, he said, "Waiting is pure torture, but I know it's been harder on him."
"Then he's lucky to have you here. So am I." She walked toward him with arms open wide.
"Risky business getting this close to me. I don't smell much better than . . . my father."
"I'll take my chances. Some things don't require second thought."
She nuzzled into his embrace, her familiar warmth washing through him like a cleansing summer rain. It felt good to hold her. He burrowed his head into her neck and breathed in the scent of her skin.
"I love you so much, Christian. And what you did for your father . . . and for Jasmine? It makes me love you all the more. I was selfish and wrong when I asked you not to go. I just want you to know that."
Christian heard her soft sob and knew she was crying. He pulled her closer, murmuring in her ear.
"I'm not sure I could make that decision a second time. It scares me what I almost lost . . . what we almost lost. I don't ever want to be in that situation again. I love you more than my own life, Raven Mackenzie. And there will be no more secrets between us. I swear it."
He held her, knowing he'd crossed a threshold with the woman in his arms. A threshold he'd been looking for his whole life. Finally, he'd come home.
When the doctor came down the hall toward them, Nicholas stood, unable to hide the dread and expectation on his face. Christian couldn't read the surgeon's expression, grim and edged by exhaustion. But the man raised his hands as he approached, allaying their worst fears.
"She made it through surgery." He forced a cautious smile. "But the next forty-eight hours will be critical. She's in recovery now. We'll be moving her to ICU soon. You can see her then, one visitor at a time."
Charboneau looked as if he'd collapse back into his chair. He let out the breath he'd been holding and almost doubled over in relief. Raven didn't say anything, but smiled at Christian, wrapping her arms around his waist.
The doctor gave them more on how the surgery went. Although Nicholas looked as if he listened to every word, Christian knew his mind was a blur with relief. He felt the same. As strong as Jasmine was, he knew she'd make it through the critical time with flying colors. The woman was too stubborn to die with a whimper.
When the doctor left, Christian spoke to his father. "Sounds like she's gonna make it. I'm glad."
"She's tough," Raven agreed, smiling at Charboneau.
His father let out a sigh, but avoided his gaze, coughing and clearing his throat. No doubt, something in the air made eyes watery and red.
"Yes, she is." He nodded. When he looked up, his attention shifted down the hall. His shoulders slumped and his face registered his sudden wariness.
"What the hell does he want?" Nicholas, slouched in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. "Do we have to deal with this now?"
True to form, Captain Luis Duarte headed straight for them, his gaze locked on Charboneau. The man had cleaned up, dressed in uniform—all business and looking like pure trouble.
"I heard Ms. Lee has come through surgery. Good to hear." No smile. "But you and I have business, Mr. Charboneau. You want to discuss the matter in private?"
"No need. Say what you're going to say, Captain." His father narrowed his eyes. "I have nothing to hide."
The captain found amusement in his father's declaration of innocence. Christian wanted to believe his father had nothing to do with events at Genotech Labs and the nightly deliveries of the drug-addicted to the research facility's gate by a secret faction of the Cuiabá police, but he wasn't delusional. He shifted his attention to Charboneau, eager to hear what he'd say.
"I have had Chief Zharan under my own surveillance for quite a while. I've tracked his activities and his conversations. Anything you care to offer before I file my report?" The cop added, "My government might be more lenient if you cooperated."
Duarte had disclosed enough for a guilty man to leap to his own defense, trying to cover his tracks. Cops used this tactic all the time, hoping their suspect would admit to something. But unfortunately for the good captain, Christian knew he'd met his match with a man like Charboneau who'd dodged charges his whole life. Such a simple ruse wouldn't catch a man like his father.
"How thoughtful of you to consider my well-being, Captain. And, of course, I will cooperate with your government in any way I can. This man should be brought to justice."
