Читать книгу Six Minutes To Midnight - Elle James - Страница 11

T-Mac stayed with Specialist Anderson from the moment he carried her out of the village until they wheeled her into the medical facility at Camp Lemonnier. At that point, the medical team on standby grabbed him and made him take a gurney as well.

“You’re bleeding,” one of the medics said.

“I don’t care. I promised to take care of Anderson.” He pushed to his feet and slipped in something wet on the floor.

The medic grabbed his arm and steadied him. “She’s in good hands. And you can’t go back with her.”

“But it was my responsibility to take care of her.” And he’d failed. Miserably.

The physician on call appeared in front of T-Mac, a frown furrowing his brow. “You might not care about your own injuries, but you’re putting everyone else in this facility in danger with the amount of blood you’re getting on the floor. Take a seat, SEAL.”

At the command in the doctor’s voice, T-Mac sat on the gurney.

The medics stripped him of his body armor and uniform jacket and cut away the leg of his trousers.

In minutes the doctor had fished out the shrapnel, stitched the wound and applied a bandage.

The medics cleaned up the blood from the floor and set his gear on a chair beside the examination table.

T-Mac pushed to a sitting position and reached for his boots. Once he had his feet in them, he slid off the table to stand on the floor. He swayed slightly.

The medic was there, helping him stay upright. “Hey, you’re going to rip a stitch if you’re not careful.”

“I want to see Specialist Anderson.”

“They’re taking care of her now.” The young medic, who couldn’t be more than nineteen years old, released his arm. “I’ll go check on her and let you know how it’s going.” He helped him out of the room and nodded toward the front of the building. “In the meantime, you can take a seat in the lobby. I’ll bring your gear.”

Gritting his teeth, T-Mac turned away as another gurney entered the building with Big Jake on it.

His face was pale, but his eyes were open. He grabbed T-Mac’s arm as he passed. “How’s the dog soldier?”

“They’re working on her now.” T-Mac scanned his friend. “Where were you hit?”

“Took a bullet in the buttocks.” Big Jake laughed and grimaced. “Only hurts when I laugh, or move, or hell, anything. I’ll be glad when they get it out.”

T-Mac stood back, his gaze going to the medics pushing the gurney. “Take care of my friend.”

“We’ve got this. You might want to take a seat while you’re waiting,” the medic who’d helped him said. “You lost a little bit of blood yourself.”

T-Mac made his way to the lobby. The window looking out was still dark.

As promised, the medic delivered his gear, setting it on the floor beside a chair.

Wearing his torn pants, the air-conditioned air cool on his exposed leg, T-Mac paced the short distance between chairs. He prayed the female dog handler and Big Jake would be all right. Part of him wanted to be back in the bombed-out village, wreaking havoc on those who’d hurt his team.

Seeing Anderson blown back out of the building by the power of a point-blank attack made his gut clench. He’d tried to grab her arm before she went in, but she’d been too fast, worried about her dog. He should have known she’d do something like that and thought ahead. She was his responsibility. Even if the commander hadn’t tagged him with the job, he would have taken it anyway.

As he stared at his body armor and helmet, he wondered if the rest of his team was still fighting or if they’d brought the little village under control.

The whole mission had felt as if it had been a fiasco from the very beginning...as if they had been led into the chute like lambs to slaughter.

Unfortunately, Specialist Anderson had been first up. She’d taken a bullet to her armor-plated chest. Thankfully, she’d worn her protective gear, or she’d be dead. As it was, the mortar having landed near them had taken its toll. If she didn’t die of a punctured or collapsed lung from the blunt force of being fired on at close range, she might die from the multiple shrapnel wounds across her arms and legs. Or suffer from traumatic brain injury.

He didn’t feel the stitches pinching since the doctor had given him a local anesthetic, but he felt ridiculous in his one-legged pants.

All the while he sat in the lobby, his teammates could be facing the fight of their lives, and he wasn’t there to help.

An hour passed, and the medic came out. “Your friend, Petty Officer Schuler, is going to be okay. He should be out shortly.”

Minutes later, Big Jake limped out into the lobby, wearing what T-Mac assumed were borrowed gym shorts and his T-shirt.

A medic carried his body armor and helmet, as well as his shirt and the remainder of his pants. “I can help you get back to your quarters when the shift changes in an hour,” he promised. He glanced over his shoulder. “I have to get back in there.”

“Wait.” T-Mac took a step forward. “What’s the status of Specialist Anderson?”

The medic shook his head. “They removed all the shrapnel, but she’s still unconscious. They were waiting to see if she’d come out of it on her own, but she got kind of combative, so they sedated her. The doctor thinks she might have a concussion. We’ve called for transport to get her to the next level of care. They’ll either take her to Ramstein in Germany or back to the States.”

T-Mac’s chest tightened. “How soon?”

“As soon as we can scramble a crew and medical staff to fly out on a C-130.” The medic turned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back.” He disappeared before T-Mac could ask any more questions.

Big Jake laid a hand on T-Mac’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your dog handler.”

For every time T-Mac had corrected his teammates, he knew he’d been lying to himself. He didn’t know Kinsley Anderson well, nor did he have any ties to her, other than having been assigned to protect her. Still, he had felt she was his dog handler and that he was responsible for seeing to her safety.

The door to the medical facility burst open behind T-Mac and Big Jake. Buck, Harm, Diesel and Pitbull pushed through, covered in dust and smelling of gunpowder.

“Thank God you’re both okay.” Buck clapped a hand to T-Mac’s back.

“We didn’t know what had happened to you when you took off,” Pitbull said.

Diesel nodded toward their pant legs and grinned. “New fashion statement in uniform trousers?” Then his smile faded. “You’re okay?”

Big Jake snorted. “Other than a stitch here and there, we’ll survive.”

“What about T-Mac’s dog handler?” Harm asked.

T-Mac’s jaw tightened. “They’re going to ship her out to the next level of medical support.” He turned to Harm. “What about Agar? What happened to the dog?” T-Mac knew the first thing Kinsley would want to know was if her dog made it out alive.

Harm shook his head. “We got him onto the helicopter and carried him to the camp veterinarian. I can’t tell you whether he’ll make it. He was nonresponsive when we delivered him, but I think he still had a heartbeat.”

When Kinsley recovered enough to ask, she’d receive yet another blow if the dog didn’t make it. T-Mac wanted to know more about Agar’s condition, but he wasn’t leaving the medical facility until the army specialist did.

“You might as well get some rest,” Big Jake said. “You can’t do anything for her now.”

“I know. But I’m staying,” he said.

Big Jake nodded. “You know it wasn’t your fault she was hurt.”

T-Mac’s fists knotted, but he didn’t say anything.

Big Jake touched his arm. “You couldn’t have known the dog would dart into that building, or that someone was there waiting to shoot her.”

“That’s right,” Buck stated. “She’s lucky she had on her body armor, or she wouldn’t be alive—”

Pitbull elbowed Buck in the ribs. “She’s going to be okay. The docs will take good care of her. And when they get her to a real hospital, they’ll make sure she gets even better care.”

T-Mac knew all that, but he wouldn’t feel better about any of it until he saw the dog handler standing in front of him, giving him attitude.

“If you two are up to it, the CO wants a debrief,” Harm said. “He’s out for blood. The way we see it, we were set up, plain and simple.”

“Did you find the guy who shot Specialist Anderson?” T-Mac asked.

Harm’s lips thinned. “We thought we’d find pieces of him after the explosion, but he got away. There was a back door to that hut.”

Anger seared through T-Mac’s veins. “He got away?”

“Yeah,” Buck said. “And the only guy they left behind was in no condition to give us any answers.”

“He was dead,” Pitbull said.

“Shot in the back,” Diesel finished.

“Not only were they waiting for us,” Harm said, “but they had their escape plan in place before we got there.”

Buck’s eyes narrowed. “Someone tipped them off about what time we left. We got there well before the arranged trade deadline.”

“Any others hurt besides the three of us and Agar?” T-Mac asked.

“No,” Pitbull said. “When the dust settled, they were gone in a couple of pickup trucks. We would have gone after them, but we figured the dog needed medical attention.”

“What exactly happened to the dog handler?” Harm wanted to know.

“She was shot in the chest by whomever was in that hut.”

“That’ll give her nightmares.” Diesel shook his head. “Seeing the face of the man who shot you would leave an indelible image in your mind.”

T-Mac snorted. “She was more concerned about Agar being hurt than the fact she’d nearly been killed.”

“I hope they make it.” Big Jake gently rubbed a hand over his backside. “The whole mission was a disaster.”

T-Mac ran a hand through his hair. “Absolutely. Tell the commander what I told you. I’ll be here, if he wants to hear it from me in person.”

“Will do.” Big Jake limped out of the facility with the others on their way to the debrief.

T-Mac paced the lobby again, his frustration growing with each step. He hoped he could be around when Kinsley came to. He wanted to let her know how sorry he was for not keeping her and Agar safe.

Just when T-Mac was ready to ignore the rules and march back to Kinsley’s bed, the medic returned.

“She’s still out of it,” he said. “But you can come back and sit with her.”

KINSLEY HOVERED BETWEEN the dark and the light. Every time she felt as if she were surfacing from a deep, black well, she stretched out her hand only to slip back into it. No matter how hard she climbed and scraped her hands on the hard stone walls, she couldn’t seem to get to the top. Her fingers grew chilled from the coldness of the stones.

And then warmth wrapped around her hand.

She quit fighting to climb and lay back, basking in the warmth radiating from her hand up her arm and throughout her body.

A deep voice came to her through the black abyss.

“Kinsley, wake up and tell me I’m wrong.”

That voice made her want to wake, but that well she’d been clawing her way out of wouldn’t let her go.

“Kinsley, you’re going to be okay. You just need to wake up and give me all kinds of grief for not taking care of you.”

Who was talking to her? And what was he talking about? She tried to open her eyes but she didn’t have the strength. So, she lay listening to the warm, deep tones, letting them wash over her, fill her, hold her up when she couldn’t stay afloat in the bottomless well. The voice permeated her insides while a strong hand cupped hers, providing heat when she felt so very cold.

Images and sensations swirled in an endless cyclone, refusing to coalesce into anything she could recognize. Faces, dust, fur, sounds, blinding flashes, all spinning inside, making her dizzy, forcing her back into that well, away from the light.

“Kinsley, sweetheart, you’re going to be all right. Open your eyes. You’ll see. I should have been the one entering that building. You and Agar wouldn’t have been hurt if I’d gone first. You have to be okay. Agar is going to need you.”

Agar? The word was odd, yet familiar. Still, she couldn’t remember why. Nothing made sense. The only anchor keeping her from drowning in the whirlpool threatening to take her under was the voice in the darkness urging her toward the light.

As the black abyss pulled her under, she tightened her hold on the big hand.

MINUTES, HOURS or days later—Kinsley couldn’t tell—she blinked her eyes open and stared at the top of an auburn head lying on the sheet beside her. She wasn’t in her apartment back in San Antonio. Then she remembered—she’d deployed. Her brow furrowed. To where? She thought hard, the truth just out of her grasp.

She was in the army. They’d sent her on a long flight to...

Nothing.

Frustration made her want to hit something. But when she tried to clench her fist, she couldn’t. Someone was holding her hand.

Again, she stared at the head on the sheet beside her. Perhaps the man who owned the head was also the one holding her hand.

But why?

The astringent scent of disinfectant assailed her nostrils. Her gaze moved from the stranger’s head to the walls around her. Once again, she realized she wasn’t in an apartment, and based on the unusual bed, the bright overhead lights and the monitor tracking her heartbeat, she had to be in some kind of hospital.

Had she been hurt? Kinsley took inventory of her body. Twinges of pain answered for her. Stinging on the surface of her arms and legs let her know she had cuts and abrasions. Her chest felt bruised, and breathing deeply made it slightly worse.

But who was the man with his head on her bed? And what was she forgetting that was so important? Something tugged at her mind, something she should remember, but couldn’t.

“Psst,” she said.

The man remained facedown on the sheet.

“Hey.” When she spoke, her voice sounded like a frog’s croak.

The head stirred and lifted. Blue eyes opened, and ginger brows knitted together. “Kinsley?” the man said.

“Yes, that’s me.” She frowned. “But who are you?”

He sat up straight in the chair beside her bed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m T-Mac. Don’t you remember me?”

Her frown deepened, making her head hurt. “If I remembered, would I be asking?”

He chuckled. “You still have your bite. We met yesterday, near your quarters.”

“Quarters?” She looked around. “These aren’t my quarters.”

His brows pinched together again. “No. You’re in the Djibouti medical facility.”

“Why am I here?” she asked.

“You were injured in a skirmish in Somalia.”

“Skirmish?” she asked, feeling like she was missing a chunk of her memory. And it was scaring her. “What day is it?”

He told her the date. “You were shot and involved in an explosion.”

She gasped, her heartbeat fluttering uncontrollably. “What was I doing in Somalia?” The green line on the monitor jumped erratically.

The auburn-haired man pushed to his feet. “Let me get the doctor.”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay,” she repeated, as if to remind herself. “I just can’t remember any of that.”

He didn’t listen, leaving the room in a hurry.

Kinsley lifted her head. A sharp pain slashed through her forehead. She lay back, closed her eyes and let it abate before she opened her eyes again.

By then T-Mac had returned with a man in a white coat. He introduced himself as her doctor. She couldn’t commit his name to her memory with the pain throbbing in her head.

He shone a light into her eyes. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

She tried to shake her head, remembering too late that it caused pain. Kinsley winced. “No.” Her heart beat fast and her hands shook as she pressed her fingertips to her temple. “I can’t remember what day it is.”

“Do you know who the president of the United States is?” the doctor asked.

She thought, but couldn’t come up with a name. “No.”

“What about where you were born?” he persisted.

The more she tried to remember, the worse her head hurt. “I can’t remember.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye to run down her cheek.

The doctor patted her hand. “Don’t be too alarmed. You had a concussion. Temporary memory loss can be a side effect.”

“Will it come back?” Kinsley asked. “Will I remember where I’m from and who the president is?”

He smiled down at her. “You should. Give yourself time to recover. We’re trying to get a transport to send you back to a higher-level medical-care facility, but we can’t seem to find a C-130 we can tap into for the next couple days. You might be stuck with us.”

“I’m fine,” she said, and pushed up on her elbows. “I need to get back to work.” She shook her head. “If only I could remember what work I do.”

The doctor touched her shoulder. “Don’t strain your brain. The memories will return, given time.”

She lay back on the bed, her gaze following the doctor as he left her room. Kinsley wanted to call him back, to make him give her some pill or potion to force her memories to return. Not knowing things was confusing and frightening.

Her gaze shifted to T-Mac. “Why are you here?”

He smiled. “I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay.”

“I’m okay. You don’t have to be here. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

“Do you mind if I stay? I’m not on duty or anything. After being here all night, I feel invested in your well-being.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m probably going to go back to sleep. Maybe when I wake up again, I’ll remember what I’ve forgotten.” She laughed, the sound catching on a sob. “I don’t even know what I’ve forgotten.”