“You ruined everything,” he hissed.
“Dr. Bainbridge—”
“Do not make another sound or I’ll shoot anyone who comes running.” He held out a hand. “Give me that thumb drive. I’m going to destroy it and there will be no way to prove any of this outrageous story, especially after I discredit you to the world. I’ll have your medical license revoked with one phone call.”
Realization dawned as Amelia tugged the flash drive from the computer and clutched it in her hand. She’d gotten this wrong on all levels. “Donald wasn’t the one who orchestrated this, was he? He was just the middleman. It’s your drug ring.”
“My idiot grandson could never engineer an operation of this magnitude. Losing the notebook proved it. I’ll take care of him…after I deal with you. Give me the flash drive.”
She clutched it tighter and shook her head. It was the only evidence she had against Donald. Luther was right. If it was gone, she’d have no way to prove her story.
“I don’t have time for this. My plane is waiting. Stand up.”
She pushed to her feet. “Dr. Bainbridge, I don’t think—”
Amelia’s eyes widened in shock at the piercing pain in her chest. She glanced down to see a bloom of red on her shirt. He’d shot her! Vaguely she realized the gun made no sound. He’d used a silencer.
As her knees crumpled and she fell, her last thought was of Wyatt and how she’d never told him that she loved him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jorge Sanchez, Commander General of the Santigo Armed Forces, had unruly black hair that curled beneath a felt beret and a bushy mustache. He wore the traditional army green uniform and sported a chest full of hardware earned on the battlefield. Though he was only five-six or so, his personality was large and boisterous. Wyatt liked him immediately.
Grant Colton had called a contact in the Santigo government when he and his fellow COBRA Securities coworkers were on their way and the Army had been dispatched to assist in the cleanup. Wyatt filled the general in on the timeline of events since his arrival. Sanchez sent soldiers to look for the bodies of Amelia’s coworkers and they discovered them dumped together in a shallow grave behind the hospital. They were being retrieved and sent to the coroner’s office in Meseta in preparation for proper burials with their loved ones.
Jorge expressed his immense gratitude that Gustavo Rios and his merry band of murdering marauders—Jorge’s words—had been eliminated. They’d wrecked havoc on the citizens of Santigo and foreigners alike for years. Rios’s empire had grown exponentially when he branched out into kidnapping for ransom. Special Forces were being dispatched to Rios’ compound to round up any of his remaining crew and to search for any potential victims.
The General’s cell buzzed. He excused himself to answer and Wyatt went in search of Amelia. He hadn’t seen her in a while, and even with a room full of agents and soldiers, he didn’t like not having eyes on her. She’d been sitting with Dr. Bainbridge the last time he saw her, but the chairs were empty. He grabbed Maggie as she passed by. “Have you seen Amelia?”
She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “She went into the other room with Dr. Bainbridge.”
“Thanks.”
She was most likely retrieving the thumb drive with proof of Bainbridge’s grandson’s crimes. Would the footage Amelia shot be enough to convince the doctor of Donald’s crimes or would he protect his grandson? From what he’d seen, Donald didn’t deserve defense, but then, blood was thicker than water.
“Amelia—”
Horror washed over him at the sight of blood blooming on her chest and then her knees giving out. Luther Bainbridge spun around wild-eyed and squeezed off a silenced shot, but his aim was off. Wyatt’s wasn’t. He nailed the bastard between the eyes. Bainbridge’s head jerked back from the impact and he plummeted to a cot, his body bouncing on the mattress before sliding onto the floor.
“In here, now,” he yelled. “Amelia’s been shot!” He rushed to her side and slid to catch her before her head hit the hard concrete. “Amelia, sweetheart, I’ve got you. You’re going to be fine.”
She blinked up at him, her eyes dazed with pain. Her mouth moved but no words sounded. Her lids fluttered shut.
“No, don’t close your eyes, babe. I’m here with you.”
“Oh, God,” Maggie cried, skidding to her knees beside him. “Ames, it’s Maggie. Please wake up. We’re right here with you.”
Wyatt scooped her in his arms and stood, his eyes frantically searching the people who’d gathered. “I need to get her to the closest hospital.”
“My men will fly you,” General Sanchez announced. “You need a trauma surgeon. The closest hospital is in Colombia.” He barked orders into a walkie-talkie.
“Wyatt, put her down in here.” Grant indicated the surgery room. “Let us stabilize her before the flight.”
He didn’t want to let go of her, but Grant was right. The former SEAL had field training, as did Noah and Ethan, both SEALs as well. Hell, he did, too, but his mind was a complete blank at the moment. All he could think of was how he couldn’t lose her. She was his heart. His soul. His reason for living. If something happened to her…
“Wyatt.”
He blinked at Grant, who clasped a hand on his shoulder.
“You have to let her go so we can work on her.”
With great reluctance, he placed her on the operating table and his coworkers went to work. Ethan had scavenged supplies and packages were ripped open, IV’s were started and blood was mopped from her chest. Maggie stood close, repeating over and over to Amelia that she would be just fine. He wasn’t sure if she said the words for Amelia or him or herself. All the while, he never let go of her hand.
The heavy thumping of rotors sounded. General Sanchez rushed inside. “The chopper is here, but there isn’t enough room to land. They’re dropping a basket for the patient.”
Sawyer pushed a gurney next to the table and they loaded Amelia on and wheeled her to the waiting basket.
“I’m going with her,” he yelled over the sound of the helicopter blades whirling away. General Sanchez relayed the information to the crew in the chopper.
“They’ll send the basket back down for you after she is on board.”
Maggie grabbed his arm. “Please, call me when you land. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
Sawyer tossed his cell and Wyatt caught it. Amelia was already inside the helo and the basket was lowered to the ground again. He climbed inside and gave a thumbs up for it to reel him up. He lifted a hand to his coworkers and then he was hauled into the belly of the chopper. The doors slammed and the bird lifted away before he’d unbuckled.
He crawled to where a man and woman in blue uniforms worked on Amelia. He clutched her leg, needing the connection. Her battered chest rose and fell. She was alive. That was all that mattered.
The flight was a short one and soon, they were lowering to a rooftop. The doors opened, sending a gush of wind inside. Medics were waiting for them. They slid Amelia out and loaded her on a stretcher and she was whisked to surgery. He ran after them and would’ve followed into the operating room, but a stern-faced nurse placed a hand on his chest and ordered him in rapid-fire Spanish to wait outside.
Spinning around, he gazed at the waiting room without seeing it. He moved on autopilot to a chair and dropped down. He called Maggie to let her know they’d arrived. She informed him that they were on the way and that they’d arranged for the plane he’d flown to Santigo to be sent back to the States.
He ended the call and leaned back in the chair, ignoring the curious stares from people who came and went. He knew he looked like hell, but he didn’t care. He needed to shave, and the shirt Sawyer loaned him was covered in Amelia’s blood. He probably smelled like the inside of a dump truck.
Though he was in a foreign country, the hospital was like all the others he’d ever been in with the scents of antiseptic cleaners mingling with coff
ee, people in white coats rushing about and loudspeakers a constant squawk—though the chatter was in Spanish. He was thankful that after the bomb exploded, he’d been able to convalesce in the temporary hospital Amelia set up in the compound. They were in the process of building her a state-of-the-art facility she would use from now on—and she would use it. She’d get better and return to the vibrant, amazing, spectacular doctor who’d captured his heart.
Wyatt ground his palms into his eyes. She had to be okay. She was his reason for breathing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wyatt picked up Amelia’s cold hand and dropped into the plastic chair beside her bed. Machines wheezed and beeped a constant drone, but he ignored them. Amelia was the strongest woman he knew but she looked so fragile lying in bed with tubes and wires attached to her body. Her face was too pale. Her body too still. He hated this. Hated. It. It should be him lying in the bed with her tending to him, not the other way around. That’s how it was supposed to be. She was the doctor.
He wasn’t equipped to handle this. The thought of her hurt, in pain, was enough to break him. Tears dropped silently down his cheeks.
One of the nurses took pity on him and had two men wheel in a padded recliner. He appreciated the gesture and told her so, but his comfort was of no importance. All he cared about was her recovery.
He’d showered, shaved and changed clothes when Maggie and the crew arrived. Amelia had still been in surgery. They’d forced him into the bathroom and provided him a razor and a shirt and jeans that weren’t marred with Amelia’s blood. He moved on autopilot, going through the motions, but not really connected to any of it. Yes, he smelled better and the scruff from his face was gone, but what did that matter in the scheme of things? Amelia was still attached to machines that kept her alive. He felt worse now than he did after the bomb that claimed the lives of so many of his friends.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat beside her, soaking in her features, silently praying that she’d wake up. Nurses came and went. Doctors checked in on her. Maggie and the others took turns visiting and still he sat beside her holding her hand. It could’ve been hours or days. He had no idea. The concept of time was lost on him. His eyes felt gritty and dry. He needed to shower and shave again. He was starting to sport a beard. Hell, he needed to eat. But he refused to leave her side.
He’d tried to get his coworkers to go home to no avail. He couldn’t even argue. Maggie was her best friend and she was as worried as he was. He glanced up when the door opened.
“You’re going to scare her when she wakes up,” Kayla remarked, handing him a sandwich. “Go, shower. Change clothes. Shave the stubble. I’ll watch over her.”
“Not leaving.”
“Wyatt—”
“Not leaving.”
Kayla held up her hands. “Okay. I understand. But at least eat something. You’re beginning to look like Tyler when he first arrived, all skin and bones.”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes at her and glared as she smiled and left the room.
“I think you look wonderful.”
His head jerked around, and he jumped to his feet, knocking the sandwich Kayla brought for him to the floor. “Amelia!” He leaned down and gently touched his lips to hers, careful of the oxygen tube in her nose. “Thank God.”
“What’s this for?” She reached up and brushed a finger down his cheek. He hadn’t realized he was crying. Again. Holy shitakes, as Kai Costa would say. What was wrong with him?
“Am I dying?”
“What? No. Hell no. I’m just so damn happy you’re back with me, baby. I’ve been so worried.”
“What happened?”
“You were shot.”
“That explains the crushing pain.”
His eyes darted around the room. “I’ll get the nurse. She can up your painkillers.”
She grabbed his arm. “Wyatt, it’s not that bad. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. But I could use a drink.”
He grabbed the pink pitcher of water from the table beside her bed and poured it into a glass, his hands shaking so badly he sloshed some over the side. His nerves were shot but having her back with him made him giddy with excitement.
Ordering his hands not to tremble, he held the straw to her lips, and she took a few tentative sips. When she nodded, he placed the glass back on the table.
“I remember running into the kidnappers at the hospital and the shootout. Maggie and the others came to our rescue. Did I get caught in the crossfire?”
“Are you sure you want to relive it now? Shouldn’t you rest?”
“Wyatt, I’m a doctor. If I need to rest, I will. Now tell me everything that happened.”
#
Amelia really did need to rest, but she wanted to know what had happened first. She didn’t like this side of the doctor patient relationship one bit. She’d prefer to be the one dispensing treatment, not the one receiving it. The pain in her chest was muted by the drugs dripping into her veins and sleep beckoned, but she wanted answers first.
“Maggie and the others arrived and eliminated Gustavo Rios and his gang. Rios was the man who orchestrated the kidnappings.”
“Donald’s drug supplier?”
“Yeah. Big time bad guy. Had his hands in all kinds of illegal activities. The authorities raided his house and arrested everyone inside. They found the underground bunker where we were held prisoner, but there was no one there since Rios and most of his men were tracking us down. One of his men told authorities that Rios was outraged when Ryan shot his cousin, who later died. That’s why they beat the daylights out of him. Donald paid Rios to abduct you and hold you until he could come back for you.”
“What happened after Rios was killed?”
“Jody grabbed you and tried to use you as leverage to get away.”
That’s right. Jody was the snitch, not Marin. She felt guilty for thinking the worst of Marin. The woman had been kind to her from the moment she arrived. She made a mental note to track down her family and send condolences.
“What happened next?”
“Donald thought Jody would take him with her, but she shot him.”
Jody shot Donald? Damn, she wished she remembered that. “Is he dead?”
“Barely a scratch, though you wouldn’t have known it from the way he bawled and carried on. Kayla had stayed hidden, keeping lookout and when Jody tried to get away, she took her down and cuffed her.”
“Did Jody shoot me?”
“No. Luther Bainbridge arrived.”
A memory tried to break through the fog in her head. She remembered a dream about him where his kind, caring face morphed into a wolf with fangs dripping blood. “Why was he there?”
“Supposedly because of the murders of the two nurses, but we think it was because he found out about Donald’s mistakes. You showed him the pictures from the flash drive and then he…” Wyatt cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice was low and husky. “He shot you point blank.”
That explained the dream—it wasn’t a subconscious image, it was real. Luther came across as a kind, grandfatherly type but it was a lie. “Is he under arrest?”
“No. I blew his head off.”
“I’m sorry.”
His brows winged up. “Why are you sorry?”
“That you had to kill a man for me.”
“Oh, babe.” He reached out and ran the back of his fingers against her cheek. “He was a dead man walking as soon as he pointed a gun at you. I just wish I could’ve stopped him before he pulled the trigger.”
She knew that he’d beat himself up over it, but she wasn’t about to let him take the blame. Apparently, she’d been the one to show the video to Luther. Maybe she should’ve left it to the authorities to handle. If she had, Luther might not have shot her. Then again, he might’ve wanted revenge at any point since she was the one who uncovered the nefarious activities. With her guard down, he might’ve succeeded in killing her.
“How did I
get here?”
“Grant called a contact in the Santigo Armed Forces when they were on their way to find us. The army arrived right after Luther. They arranged for a lifeline flight within minutes.”
“What happened to Donald.”
“He’s currently in jail in Meseta, singing like a canary. Doctors International closed their doors and stranded hundreds of medical personnel around the world. Warren Bainbridge Senior and Warren Junior were arrested, but both denied any knowledge of the worldwide drug ring masked by the charity. Donald’s meticulous notes and confession suggest otherwise. He’s taking everyone down with him.”
“Good. And Jody?”
“Also in jail waiting to be extradited to the States.”
What a mess. All she’d wanted to do was help people in need. She thought the stint with Doctors International would provide critical health care to people in need. Instead, it’d turned into a nightmare.
#
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad you’re okay. You worried me,” Maggie said, leaning over to hug Amelia.
“There’s one good thing about this situation.”
“What?”
“I won’t be so hard on you guys when you get shot, now that I know how it feels.”
“That’s not even remotely funny,” Maggie chastised. “I don’t ever want you getting shot again.”
“Hey, I feel the same about all of you, too. So, help an old friend out. Wyatt won’t tell me the truth and the doctor hasn’t been here yet so give me the story. How bad is it?”
“The short, non-technical version since I’m not a doctor is the bullet missed vital organs by millimeters. It nicked a rib, which punctured your lung. You lost blood because the hospital was a helicopter flight away, but they took you into surgery and patched you up. You’re going to be just fine.”
Amelia nodded in relief. “No organ damage is a good thing. I didn’t trust Wyatt to tell me the truth.”
“Speaking of,” Maggie started. “Wyatt was an absolute wreck. He didn’t leave your side, even to shower.”
Without a Trace Page 23
