Page 116 of Speechless
A hand gripped his, held it tight. “I don’t know, Connor. They’re working on her now but she’s in a bad way. She might not make it home.”
Well, one thing his brother wasn’t was a liar. The truth hurt worse than the hands piling pressure onto his thigh, his shoulder, but Connor slipped over the physical pain and mired himself in the emotional.
“They’re trying to stabilize her so they can load her into the chopper. You’re going with her,” Cain added as Connor tried to sit up in protest. “Zeke made it clear you go with her, brother. But she’s not the only one in need of immediate medical attention.”
Jenna was the priority. Connor vocalized the thought as his body was poked and prodded, rolled and lifted. Cain stayed by his side, hand gripping like a vise, as the bright outside world faded into the relative warmth of a small, dark chamber. Blankets piled on top of him, needles slid under his skin.
New voices broke through the quiet, snapping orders he vaguely recognized. Sweet relief cruised through his veins as the drugs worked through him, erasing the pain. Shivering under the blankets, he rolled his eyes toward the open door of the freakinghelicoptersome smart soul had commandeered.
“How’d you find...”
“Zeke had already organized rescue teams with the police and FBI. Someone reported your truck as stranded to the Creek PD, so they were on route this way. We were halfway along the trail—barring a few wrong turns—when the flare went up. Pointed us in the right direction, Connor, and saved us a hell of a lot of time.” Cain’s face was bright red in places where the cold had burned his skin. “One of the FBI team radioed the chopper, diverted it from its sweep into a concentrated area over here. Found this place within ten minutes. If Jenna lives, brother, she owes her life to you for a second time.”
No, there would be no debts. Nothing to tie her back to this hellhole. When this was over, she would never have to come back here. They would work on erasing everything about this time, even if he had to convince her to give hypnotherapy a try. Anything to wipe the trauma of this from her mind.
He tried to process the huddle of people surrounding where Jenna still remained, and saw the dog bounding around them, barking and snapping. A guy in FBI gear was attempting to catch her, but Luna evaded him at every turn.
Connor whistled—well, gave his best shot at a whistle—but just spluttered through chapped lips. Someone tsked at him and shoved an oxygen mask over his face in response.
Cain glanced over and his expression grew dark. He squeezed Connor’s hand then released it. “I’ll be back in a minute. That idiot’s gonna have his leg bitten off in a minute if he doesn’t stop winding her up.”
Chuckling weakly at the idea, Connor closed his eyes and breathed deeply into the mask. God, it felt nice just to breathe. Between the oxygen and the painkillers, he floated for a few minutes on a sea of peace, until the lick of a cool tongue against his hand stirred him into coming back to the world.
Luna leaned against the stretcher, nudging his hand so the weight of it rested on her head. Understanding her need for comfort, he made his fingers scratch behind her ears. Never would he regret spending a small fortune on bringing her into the family—she could raze his house to the ground and he wouldn’t bat an eyelid.
Without Luna, they’d still be trekking through the forest in the wrong direction. He owed her that damn buffalo leg and so much more.
“Are we sitting around with our thumbs up our asses?” Someone barked the question like a gunshot. “Why the hell isn’t this bird in the sky and on its way to the hospital? And can someonepleasetell me why there’s a motherfucking canine in there?”
Connor’s fingers tightened in Luna’s fur. Gunshot wounds or not, they weren’t taking his dog.
“Just waiting on the female victim, Sir. The team have almost got her ready to move.” Another voice answered the first briskly. “Fairfax sent down orders for the dog to remain with Doctor O’Malley until his wife could meet us at the hospital to take it into custody. These two wouldn’t be here without it, by all accounts.”
“Notit,” Connor mumbled from behind the mask. “She.”
“It’s okay, Con. They don’t mean it like that.” Cain’s hand rested on his uninjured shoulder. “Oh hell, here we go. Brace yourself, brother.”
A swarm of people suddenly surrounded the chopper, and space was limited. Cain enticed Luna into the corner beside him, out of the way of the chopper medics and FBI agents helping to lift another stretcher into the aircraft.
The frame of the chopper shuddered as blades began to chug, whirling slowly to life. Some of the chaos evaporated when most of the people who’d entered the helicopter with the stretcher disembarked, leaving two medics, Cain, Luna and the stretchers.
The sliding door slammed shut and a face peered through the window, hair blowing madly as the main rotary blades kicked to life. With a thumbs up, the person disappeared, and the engines kicked into gear.
Connor tried to reach for Jenna’s hand, but his fingers barely brushed the edge of her stretcher. He clung to it, fingertips sliding on the metal.
Did she know he was there?
Did she know he’d come for her?
“Relax, Connor.” Cain leaned over and murmured to the medics. As the chopper lifted off the ground, the EMS techs lifted the stretcher six inches closer, and Cain took Connor’s hand, gently placed it on top of Jenna’s badly damaged one. “Get some rest, brother. We’re monitoring you both and we’ll be at the hospital before you know it.”
One of the medics switched sides, moving to Connor and checking him over. While he knew it was necessary, the irritation of being examined crawled under his skin. He’d lost a lot of blood, but whatever they’d jabbed into him had slowed the bleeding.
“If she wakes,” he rasped.
“If she wakes up, she’ll know you’re here, brother. I promise.”
His fingers flexed lightly on Jenna’s as he shut his eyes against the medic’s firm prodding. There was an eternity of hell waiting for him at the hospital, he was well aware, between Jenna’s treatment and his own. Blood transfusions would be the least of his issues—he thought the bullets were still lodged in his thigh and shoulder.