“Where did you learn to do that?” Ross asked.
“Marines,” Nevada announced without looking at Ross. “I’ve seen my share of gunshot wounds and shrapnel.”
Gil removed the bullet and dropped it into a pan on the table. “Hit the bone,” Gil announced. “The angle was damned near perfect. She’s very lucky.” He then looked at Nevada. “You’re more useful than these guys. Want to help me clean this up and stitch the wound?”
Nevada nodded. Bogart stood on the other side of a set of bars to one of the pens with the tied horse and watched the activity surrounding the ranger.
“If you don’t need all those hands over there, I could use a few over here,” Bogart remarked.
Ross slapped Zack on the shoulder, nodded to Bogart, and both men joined him by the horse with some supplies.
“What’s it looking like?” Ross asked.
“The bullet grazed the horse’s hindquarters,” Bogart informed them. “It’s not nearly as bad as it looked. Some cleaner and blood stop, if you’ve got.”
“Ross, you copy?” Beck’s voice came over his ear transmitter.
Zack entered the cage through the smaller interior door and joined Bogart on the opposite side of the bars with the injured horse.
Ross handed Zack the supplies through the bars while responding to his man. “Yeah, Beck,” Ross replied. “I copy. What do you have?”
“Kirk heard several rifle shots more than twenty minutes ago,” Beck announced over his ear transmitter. “It was at least two miles away. We’re taking the four-wheelers in that direction.”
“The verdict?” Ross asked while watching Zack and Bogart attempt to clean the horse’s injury.
“We’re going with poachers,” Beck replied over his ear transmitter.”
“The bullet Gil dug out of the ranger is pretty uninspiring,” Ross reported while remaining in thought. “Not really something you’d find on a hitman or mercenary, that’s for certain.” He then sighed and continued to talk to the guys over his ear transmitter. “You and Kirk see what you can see. If you run into anyone looking like poachers, give them a good old-fashioned Navy SEAL scare.”
“With pleasure,” Kirk replied, then chuckled.
“Jesus Christ,” Sam gasped while coming too and attempted to look around, but she was obviously disorientated. “What the hell happened?”
“Maybe you could tell us?” Gil asked and offered a tiny, sympathetic smile.
She attempted to look at her shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?” Sam cried out. “Is that blood?”
“Well, you were shot,” Gil casually informed her.
Sam’s expression suddenly dropped. Her eyes rolled back, and she again passed out.
“And she’s out again,” Nevada announced with a sigh. “Let’s finish stitching her up before she wakes up again.” Nevada removed her sterile gloves and reclaimed the bottle of morphine while grinning. “I think she could use some more happy drugs. If you can’t fly high after being shot, what’s the point?”
Chapter 38
Jackie sat in one of the visitor center’s more comfortable lobby chairs while Sam slept peacefully on one of the cots. When the woman woke, Jackie set aside the old magazine she had found and smiled.
“How are you feeling?” Jackie asked, having been in Sam’s position more than once.
“Like shit,” Sam replied while cringing. “Why do I feel so spaced out and sore?”
“Well, you were shot,” Jackie informed her while raising her brows. “And Nevada may have been a little generous with the morphine.”
“Shot?” Sam asked. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, shit!” She attempted to sit up then immediately cringed and regretted the action. “What happened? How did I get here?” She then whispered while staring at Jackie. “I had the weirdest dreams.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jackie informed her. “Whether intentional or not, your horse brought you here.”
“Is Smokey okay?” she asked with concern.
“He’s recovering nicely in the zebra paddock,” Jackie replied. “A bullet grazed his rump.”
“It all happened so fast,” Sam groaned and shook her head. “I saw one guy, but there must have been another guy behind me. If Smokey hadn’t reacted the way he did, the bastard would have shot me in the back.” She seemed lost in her thoughts. “I barely remember my rifle firing; it was pretty much a blur. I knew Smokey had been hit by the way he took off.” Sam stared off, reliving the moment. “I thought for sure I’d never make it here. I could feel myself fading out.” She then met Jackie’s gaze. “It was the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
“I’ve been there,” Jackie muttered but didn’t elaborate. “Your horse got you here safely, and you’re both going to be fine.”
“I should get to my radio,” Sam moaned and again attempted to sit up. She groaned in agony and lay back down on the cot.
“Kirk and Beck are at the ranger’s station on the ATVs they fixed from the maintenance shop,” Jackie informed her. “They’re taking care of everything.”
Sam seemed to have trouble processing the information. “What did my superiors say?” she asked with a concerned look on her face. “The last time someone used my radio without permission, they sent half the department to the cabin to check on me.”
“I believe they spoke to the local authorities,” Jackie reported. “They didn’t mention any problems.”
“I’ll need to give them a description of the poacher I actually saw,” Sam remarked. “I never saw the one behind me. He was just a blur. When Smokey spun, I only caught a glimpse of him before he shot me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Jackie replied. “Kirk and Beck caught the guys. The local police are meeting them at the station to collect both men.”
“I really need to get back to the station,” Sam remarked and again attempted to sit up. The pain was too much. She fell back down and groaned in agony.
Jackie laughed and shook her head. “Gil just dug a bullet out of your shoulder. You and your horse are in no condition to go anywhere,” she remarked and attempted to keep the ranger calm. “If you’re going anywhere, it’s going to be the hospital.” Jackie drew a deep breath and straightened proudly. “You have two choices. You can stay here for a few days with your horse to recover, or you can go to the hospital and recover there.”
Sam seemed to consider her options then managed a tiny smile. “Your friend, Gil, dug the bullet out, huh?”
“He had medical field training when he was in the military,” Jackie informed her. “He’s actually quite good at digging out bullets. Better than Zack, that’s for sure.” Jackie subconsciously rubbed her left shoulder, still feeling the phantom pain from the time Zack had patched her up.
Sam managed a tiny, almost embarrassed smile. “I’m very grateful to you and your friends,” she announced. “I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t been here when I needed help.”
“We’re happy to help,” Jackie replied. “Kirk and Beck are going to pack a bag for you from the ranger’s station. Is there anything else you need? I can radio them.”
“A change of clothes, a toothbrush, and a hairbrush are all I really need,” she insisted. “Thanks.”
“Did you want something to drink?” Jackie asked. “You should probably stay hydrated.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll make you a cup of tea,” Jackie insisted, then stood. She was about to walk away then looked back at Sam. “Oh, and heads up. While you were flying high on morphine, compliments of Nevada, you told all the guys they were so handsome, you loved them all, and you may or may not have grabbed my brother’s ass. Jury’s still out on that one.”
Sam shut her eyes and groaned. “Great.”
“Don’t worry,” Jackie remarked and grinned. “They had a good laugh over it.”
Jackie headed across the visitor’s center, where Ross stood before what used to be the snack bar. As J
ackie plugged in the electric kettle to make tea, Ross attempted to remain casual in case Sam was watching them.
“Think she’s buying it?” Ross asked.
“Yeah,” Jackie replied, then frowned, “but your lie is a little short-sighted. What happens when she returns to the ranger’s station and finds out we never contacted anyone and that the poachers were never even reported or found?”
Ross smiled and patted Jackie on the shoulder. “You seriously underestimate my ability to stretch the truth,” he teased. “Beck contacted the local authorities about the poachers and gave their general location. You and Monroe met the local sheriff when you checked out the town. Even if the rangers contact him, his arrogance will keep the lie alive.”
“So you’re counting on the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing?” Jackie remarked.
Ross grinned. “Exactly.”
“And we’re absolutely positive those men were poachers?” Jackie asked.
“Kirk and Beck found their camp not far from where she’d been shot,” Ross replied. “Everything there suggested they were hunters. Their camp had been there long before we arrived. They weren’t looking for us.”
“And what about Sam staying here for a few days?” Jackie questioned, uncertain how she felt about that. “I know we can’t send her back to the station, but the thought of keeping her here is very stressful.”
“One of us will need to keep an eye on her the entire time,” Ross replied. “For Sam’s comfort, that should probably be you or Nevada for now. She may feel less intimidated in the company of other women than with strange men.”
“Have you met Nevada?” Jackie remarked and raised a curious brow. “Compared to her, Kirk even seems friendly.”
He considered the comment. “You may have a point,” Ross muttered. “Sam should remain on bedrest here in the visitor’s center the rest of the day. Tomorrow, when she’s up and moving around, we can all take turns keeping an eye on her. As long as we keep her away from the clinic, we shouldn’t have any problem.”
§
Later that evening, Holden entered his home through the kitchen entrance carrying a bag of take-out. He saw the mail neatly piled on the island counter and eyed it suspiciously.
“Othello,” he called out while approaching the island counter, “I’m home. I brought fried chicken for dinner.”
Holden glanced into the living room and saw Othello planted on the sofa with several empty cans of soda and empty bags of chips surrounding him. He wore a headset with a microphone while working on his computer.
“Yeah, that’s great,” he announced without looking at Holden.
“I’m glad you’re making yourself at home,” Holden remarked while eyeing the mounting collection of junk food wrappers.
“No, that’s nobody,” Othello announced into his headset microphone.
Holden set the bag down on the counter and eyed Othello. “What?”
Othello harshly waved off Holden while continuing to work on his laptop. “No, nothing yet, but I’ll continue tracking that storm system.”
Holden appeared puzzled and entered the living room, now realizing Othello was talking to someone else. He peered over Othello’s shoulder and eyed the laptop screen.
Othello looked back at him and lowered the lid partway. “A little privacy, dude,” he announced.
“Seriously?” Holden demanded.
Othello again waved him off with a little added vigor. “Thanks for calling, Dad,” he announced. “Talk soon. Give my brothers all my best.” Othello pressed a button on his computer screen then looked at Holden as he rounded the sofa. “Not cool.”
“Were you talking to Ross?” Holden asked, now interested in what had transpired.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t talking to my real dad,” Othello insisted. “He’s rotting in some Russian prison.”
“What did he--?” Holden began then waved his hand. “Never mind.” He then indicated Othello’s laptop. “Are they okay?”
“Yeah, they’re fine,” Othello replied and shut his laptop lid. “You mentioned fried chicken?”
Holden frowned then nodded. “Yeah, help yourself,” he announced while running his fingers through his hair. “Did you talk to Jackie?”
As Othello stood, several potato chips fell to the floor. He shuffled across the room in his plush Anime slippers to the island counter.
“No,” Othello replied while opening the food bag. “Limited communication. Just a few brief words with Dad.”
“Is there anything you can tell me?” Holden asked with mounting frustration.
“No,” Othello replied while removing several pieces of chicken and placing them on a plate.
Holden stared at Othello, watching him lick the fried chicken grease from his fingers. “Will you just tell me something?” he finally demanded. “Anything!”
Othello groaned, collected his plate, and headed back to the sofa. “Fine,” he announced with a defeated sigh. “They ran into a park ranger who’d been shot. The guys are taking care of her now.”
“Her?”
Othello glared at Holden then plopped down on the sofa. “No, that’s all you get,” he announced sternly. “I shouldn’t have told you that much.”
Holden moved onto the nearby chair, sat on the edge, and stared at Othello. “Who shot the ranger?” he asked with concern. “Was it some hitman? Mercenary? Who?”
“You’re impossible,” Othello moaned and glared at Holden. “It was an accident. Just some poacher. Nothing to get all worked up over.”
Holden sank back in the chair, covered his eyes with his hand, and groaned. “I know I said I was okay with this,” he announced, then lowered his hand and eyed Othello, “but I’m really not. Do you have any idea the kind of people who are out there right now looking for them?”
Othello didn’t bother looking at Holden while cleverly raising his brows. “I have a pretty good idea,” he remarked. “Anyone who’s anyone on the who’s who of hired assassins’ registry.”
Holden shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. “There has to be something I can do.”
“Yeah, find the killer and clear Marco’s name,” Othello casually announced. “No bounty; no reason to kill him.”
“Easier said than done,” Holden muttered. “The guy is smart. Most serial killers are. That’s why it takes so long to catch them. You have to wait until they make a mistake.”
“Might be easier taking down Vincent Scartelli,” Othello remarked while biting into the fried chicken leg.
Holden stared at Othello a moment, then slowly sat up. “That’s an interesting theory,” he remarked. “What sort of trouble would Vincent have to be in for that bounty to be null and void?”
“I sincerely doubt being arrested would be enough,” Othello remarked. He then hesitated and eyed Holden. “You weren’t thinking about turning dark on me, were you?”
Holden appeared stranded in his own thoughts a moment, then snapped back into reality. “No, of course not.”
Othello seemed slightly tense and kept his eyes on Holden. “Good, because that would be bad.” He then shifted on the sofa and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Jackie is fine. That girl has survived worse on solo gigs. They’ve got this.”
Chapter 39
The following morning just before sunrise, Sam sat up on her cot with some discomfort and rubbed her sore shoulder. Since Sam had to stay with them, most of the team needed to spend the night in the visitor’s center on their prop cots to keep up appearances. They needed to avoid the clinic and the more comfortable staff bedrooms. Despite the early hour, Zack was already up and gone, and Nevada was again keeping an eye on Marco. The rest of the team would be getting up soon since none of them were much for sleeping in, except Kirk, who would sleep all day given the opportunity. Gil was now awake and saw Sam gingerly rubbing her shoulder. He moved off his cot, approached her, and crouched before her cot while offering a comforting smile.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Like I was hit by a freight train,” Sam remarked and cringed.
“Would you like some pain killers?” Gil asked.
Sam snorted a laugh. “I’ll take whatever you got,” she teased.
“I’d like to change the dressing on your wound,” Gil remarked then appeared curious. “Unless you’d rather wait for Nevada.”
“I don’t suppose there’s much point to being modest now,” Sam teased, forcing a timid smile.
Gil chuckled at her observation and straightened. “I’ll get the medical kit and meet you in the bathroom in five minutes,” he replied.
As Sam wearily headed for the bathroom, Jackie’s eyes opened. She waited for the woman to enter the ladies’ room across the visitor’s center then sat up on her cot when Gil returned with the medical bag.
“Did you want me to change the dressing?” Jackie asked.
“No, I’ve got this,” Gil informed her. “She doesn’t seem bothered by me looking at it, and I’d rather see the wound for myself. If it gets infected, we’ll need to take her to the hospital, and none of us wants that.”
Gil approached the ladies' bathroom and tapped on the closed door. “Everyone decent in there?” he teased.
Sam laughed from the other side. “Yeah, we’re all good in here.”
Gil entered as Sam had just finished washing her hands after using the facility. She turned, leaned against the sink, and seemed slightly apprehensive as she unbuttoned her shirt. Sam wore a tank top beneath the shirt, which allowed Gil unobstructed access to the bandage while maintaining some of her modesty. Gil gently removed the dressing and eyed the stitches.
“Looks good,” he informed her somewhat cheerfully. “It’s healing nicely.”
He handed her a bottle of pills then fished around in the medical bag for a clean dressing. Sam read the label on the pill bottle.
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