The Marines hadn’t trained him to shut down his emotions. They’d just helped refine the mechanism he’d had in place all his life.
Savi’s screams earlier had torn through him like an ice axe through his heart.
Focus. Don’t lose your focus.
Not that he was having any success with shutting down his emotions now. Whether he’d just been out of combat too long or he’d never had to deal with wounds on a defenseless woman’s fragile body before, seeing the loose, bloodied flesh in slashes across Savi’s back made him want to beat the shit out of the man who had done this to her.
Get a grip. You have a job to do.
Savi didn’t move as he worked on her back. Was she conscious? Her eyes were closed. Being unconscious would make it easier on her, but he needed to gauge whether she’d gone shocky.
Marc began removing supplies from the bag. “Savi, can you hear me?”
She nodded but kept her eyes shut. Marc took her blood pressure and checked her pupils and respirations. He turned to Damián. “She’s not in shock.” Not clinically, anyway, but her rapid pulse told him she was in emotional shock. Who wouldn’t be? He needed to help control her pain so he could work on her, which no doubt would cause even more pain at first. He turned to her once more. “Cara, tell me the truth this time. Any allergies to pain meds?”
Savi shook her head. “No.”
“Fentanyl?”
“None.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Getting closer to one-ten with how much Damián makes me eat.”
Marc filled the syringe and injected the powerful narcotic into Savi’s hip. Unable to wait for the medication to fully take effect, he poured the sterile saline over the gashes and welts from her back to the backs of her thighs. Savi hissed as the water made contact with the deeper cuts. Even though she hadn’t lost a lot of blood, he knew the solution would help clean the cuts without causing further damage to her body. He wet a four-by-four with more saline and tried to clean the more superficial wounds while he waited for her to surrender to the medication.
She hissed at the touch of the gauze against her raw skin and tensed, fighting against the pain.
Damián stroked her cheek and tried to soothe her. “You’re safe.”
Marc applied the antibiotic cream to the less serious cuts and bandaged the two deepest ones. Savi hissed again at the contact against her ravaged skin, twisting Marc’s gut. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain, but the threat of infection in this hellhole was too great to delay.
“Sorry, cara. Almost done.”
Savi nodded. He was glad she’d remained conscious, so he could be sure she hadn’t slipped into shock.
Damián continued to talk to her, stroking the back of her head. “Don’t fight it anymore. Go to your safe place now.”
A sob tore from her. “I tried not to scream, but I couldn’t hold it back in the end.”
Marc couldn’t imagine what had gone through Damián’s head when he’d heard her, though her screams had led them to her faster.
Savi’s body slumped. Good. The meds were working. Marc checked her pulse again. Strong. He heard what sounded like the SUV pull up outside.
Marc put some of the supplies back in the bag. They were moving to Plan B. “Damián, we’re going to need to call for air transport. Savi’s not going to be able to stand the SUV ride on those rugged back roads.”
“Savannah. Her name is Savannah.”
Marc nodded and patted Savi—Savannah—on the calf, trying to avoid her injuries and bandages. He radioed Grant to place the call to Palm Springs. The sooner she was at the trauma center, the better it would be. Marc could only do so much in the field, much like when he’d patched up his Marines in Iraq, just enough to get them to the next facility down the line. The civilian EMTs might not assess this as warranting air transport, but he knew Grant would make sure someone responded, even if she had to call in someone from nearby Twentynine Stumps, as he and his Marines called the desolate place. Savannah might not be one of his tough Marines, but she’d certainly gone through more than even some of them had.
Without warning, Savannah began flailing her arms, struggling to get off the ottoman. She wasn’t letting the meds do their job. Still had too much fight in her. Damián placed his hand on the back of her head. “No, bebé. Lie still. Do not move.”
Once more she sank down, limp.
Marc continued to assess the damage and applied ointment to the cuts on her back. When he reached for more four-by-fours, the sharp pain in his chest made him wince and reminded him to be careful how he moved. The tendons were sore still from the accident on Lodgepole Falls the other day.
“What’s wrong? You injured, too?” Never could get anything past Adam.
“Had a little accident before we came to California. It’s nothing.”
“Aw, fuck.” Adam patted Marc’s arm and pointed to Damián’s bloodied pants leg. Merda. Adam went around the ottoman and knelt beside Damián, tugging the pant leg out of his boot. “You stay still, too, son. We need to pack this wound.” Damián’s calf above the prosthesis had a bloody hole in it.
“Fuck, son.”
Marc grabbed the medical bag and joined Adam. Damián tried to wave him away. “I’m fine, Doc. You need to work on Savannah.”
“She’s stable. I want to give that ointment a chance to work before I put bandages on the rest of the cuts.”
Savannah gasped. “Damián, you’ve been shot!”
“Just a flesh wound.”
She tried to rise up off the ottoman. “You’re bleeding. Oh, God! What have I done to you?”
Damián opened his mouth before his head began to sway as his eyes rolled into his head. Worried he’d pass out, Marc reached for him, but Damián fought his way back, staring up at Adam. “I am not leaving here until justice is done. Go back, and keep an eye on him.”
Both of the men behind Savannah’s abduction had been caught, and Marc couldn’t imagine either getting away without severe repercussions. Their accomplices and the guards were immobilized. Still, Adam assured Damián that Grant had Savannah’s father under control. He wouldn’t be going anywhere but jail.
“Damián!” Once again, Savannah fought to get closer to him.
As Damián pushed her down and admonished her to be still, Adam ordered both of them to stand down. Savannah complied first, lowering her chest to the ottoman but keeping Damián’s face within her line of sight. Damián slumped onto the floor face up. He gasped for breath, which worried Marc. Damián closed his eyes, but they shot open again a moment later when Marc poured the sterile saline over his calf. Damián gritted his teeth. “How bad, Doc?”
He’d asked something very similar when Marc had treated his wounds in Fallujah. At least this time he didn’t have to gloss over the truth or hide anything.
“Through-and-through wound, fleshy part of your calf.” Marc injected the skin around the entry wound to numb it. “Blood loss is minimal. I don’t think you’ll have any long-term problems. We’ll fly you to the trauma center with Savannah.”
Damián reached out and grabbed Doc’s arm. “My mission…isn’t…over.”
Adam squeezed Damián’s shoulder. “Son, this mission just changed. It’s over.”
Marc watched Damián glare at Adam, unwilling to back down in spite of his injury. “Not leaving…until I’ve finished…what I came…to do.”
Adam growled and looked ready to head slap Damián, but instead he backed off and looked at Marc. “Can you do something to counter the reaction to the blood loss?”
“I can hook up an IV and do a quick infusion of Ringer’s; it’s a temporary blood replacement.”
“Plain English.”
Marc grinned. “Yeah, I can help.”
“Do it, Doc.”
Marc went to work as Adam tried to find out what Damián’s mission entailed.
“This is between me and the motherfucker who hurt my girl.”
Adam got in
Damián’s face in true Master Sergeant fashion. “You aren’t completing this mission. Not without me, anyway.”
Marc heard the whoop-whoop of the chopper blades. Time to get these two the medical attention they needed. He hoped he’d bought Damián some time before the man passed out so that he could get whatever satisfaction he deemed more important than his own health.
Damián grabbed Adam’s sleeve. “Get me out of here before they come in. They’ll have to report a gunshot wound, and I’m not going anywhere until I’ve taken care of business.” After he kissed Savannah and assured her he’d see her soon, Adam and Marc carried him to the room where Savannah’s father was bound and gagged. Then Marc headed back to meet the EMTs from the flight crew.
The medical crew rushed into the room moments later. Grant must have assured them the scene was secure. Marc shared his assessment of her condition but watched as they confirmed it by performing many of the same actions. He admired them for not letting their emotions get in the way and hoped he hadn’t done anything to jeopardize Savannah’s recovery.
Watching them load and take off, he wondered what it would be like to be an EMT. He’d never wanted to be cooped up in a hospital setting, but these guys—and women—experienced things much as he had as a Navy Corpsman. He’d never felt more fulfilled than when he’d been with his Marines. Maybe he’d look into what it would take to train to be an EMT when he got his life back on track.
After they’d left, Adam had ordered Grant to report to Karla and Angelina that all was under control and to book flights to California. Marc felt at loose ends. Grant told him they’d also been ordered out of here, so they set out for Palm Springs where they’d keep watch over Savannah until Damián and Adam finished whatever it was they needed to do.
Marc envied the bond Adam and Damián had formed since Fallujah. Adam hadn’t assumed the parental role with Marc, probably because Marc hadn’t let him get that close, but he’d sure as hell given him advice over the years. Hell, even a head slap or two when needed. With Marc, Adam had picked up where Gino had left off. A protective big brother.
But he was more a father figure to Damián. Maybe parental love had nothing to do with genetic bonds but more with who raised you. Solari would never be a father to Marc. Gino, though only a few years older, had been the first to guide him in his early years. Then Papa, who had provided a steady influence over the man Marc had grown to be. He’d been Marc’s prime example of how a gentle, loving man treated his woman and raised a family.
Dio, Marc wished he could hold Angelina right now. Would she even want to have anything to do with him after he’d avoided her for so long? Why couldn’t he get his head on straight when it came to her? To his past?
First, though, he needed answers and wondered how many of them were buried deep inside him. Whatever happened in his childhood had affected his life, on a subconscious level at least. But Gino was no longer here to answer his questions. And Papa, well, Marc couldn’t talk to Papa about this identity crisis either. He was ashamed to tell the man who raised him as his own that he’d felt the need to seek out Solari, the man who was nothing more than a sperm-donor to Marc.
Grant glanced over at Marc. “You’re awfully quiet, Doc.”
Doc. Funny how they all reverted to his nickname from deployment so easily. This certainly had been a combat mission.
“Just thinking. Hell of a mess.”
“We’ve been through worse. They survived.”
Thank God. “Duly noted.”
Marc remembered how Angelina had been abused by Allen Martin—not nearly to this extent but enough that she’d had emotional scars from the ordeal.
Why were some men such fucking assholes?
There had been a time he’d thought he’d lost her to death. Damián had just been to hell and back thinking he might lose Savannah, too. Marc didn’t want to lose Angelina. He needed to get her back, but how?
That self-protective wedge he’d inserted into every adult relationship with a woman since Melissa and his tendency to run rather than face confrontation had caused Angelina to walk away from him. And he hadn’t done a damned thing about it. Was there still time to save their relationship? Maybe it wasn’t too late.
But first he had to sort out what to say and do. He couldn’t go straight to her and talk things out, because there was too much he didn’t understand about himself even now.
Before they’d left the cabin, Adam had smiled slightly and nodded, as if telling him he’d done well. That simple acknowledgement had warmed a cold place inside him. The man was the closest family he had since the Navy, even though Marc had kept him and everyone else at an emotional distance.
He needed someone like Adam to pull out those secrets his mind had harbored all these decades. Adam wouldn’t pull any punches or be gentle and polite about it, like Papa would.
Yes, he needed to talk to Adam. After they all got back to Denver and things settled down, he’d make sure that happened. Adam had almost lost Karla, but somehow managed to win her back. He’d know what to do.
Chapter Seventeen
Angelina jumped when Karla’s phone played the chorus to “She’s a Maneater.”
The worry on Karla’s face as she reached for the phone was tempered slightly by her muttering, “I need to change that ringtone.” She slid her finger across the screen and held the phone to her ear, fear evident in her eyes as her other hand reached for Angelina’s. “Hi, Grant. Is everyone okay?”
Grant, not Adam. Did that mean…? No, she wouldn’t go there. Angelina squeezed Karla’s hand in support. Dio, please let them all be okay. Papa, watch over them.
When Karla slumped against the back of the glider chair, Angelina’s heart sank. She held her breath, waiting.
Karla asked, “How bad is she hurt?”
Fear clawed at Angelina’s throat. But she’d said hurt. Savi was hurt, but at least it sounded as if they’d found her alive.
Karla didn’t give anything away until she suddenly sat forward in the chair and made eye contact with Angelina. “Damián’s been shot?”
Oh, God, no! What about Marc? And Adam? Grant must be okay if she was calling. Knowing the men, they’d kept her away from most of the danger.
Hearing only half the conversation was driving her insane. “Put her on speaker, Karla!”
Angelina turned toward the doorway and saw that the door to Marisol’s bedroom remained closed while she took a nap. The poor little girl had been having nightmares and screaming for her maman and daddy for two nights in a row. She needed her sleep.
“Sorry, Angie.” Karla put the phone on speaker, and Grant’s voice came through as if through a tunnel.
“Doc says it’s a through-and-through. Not even serious enough for him to get airlifted out with Savannah.”
Doc. Marc must be okay then, but she hated hearing one of the guys had been wounded.
“Where was he shot?” Angelina asked.
“In the calf, just above the prosthesis.”
Karla drew a deep breath before she could speak. “Will he lose any more of his leg?”
Angelina heard Marc ask Grant for the phone. She hadn’t heard him in such a long time that she froze, unable to breathe or speak.
“Damián’s fine. He won’t lose any more of his leg if he gets it looked at soon, and I’ll make sure he does pronto. He and Adam need to finish up the mission first.”
“You mean it’s not over yet?” The worry in Karla’s voice must have caused the baby to kick because she pulled her hand away from Angelina’s and rubbed the top of her belly.
“Don’t worry. They’re in no danger. We found Savannah, and the men who kidnapped her have been…detained. Just a little clean-up to do, that’s all.”
Angelina wanted to say something to him, but no words would come.
Karla spoke for them both. “Thank goodness. Let Savi know we’re thinking about her and tell her Marisol is okay.”
“Roger that. She’s been airlifted to a Palm Spring
s trauma unit. We’ll let you know what we find when we get there, but most of her wounds are superficial. I’m more worried about her mental state than anything else.”
Karla continued. “She’s strong. She’s already survived so much. I know she’ll pull through.”
“Look, our signal is getting weaker.”
Karla added quickly, “Wait, Marc! Is Adam okay?”
“He’s fine. Listen, Karla, Adam wants you to check with Doctor Palmer and make sure it’s okay for you to fly out with Marisol tomorrow. He said you might be on restrictions. I hope everything’s okay.”
What was going on? Why was she being restricted this early in her pregnancy? Karla didn’t make eye contact with Angelina. “No, Marc, everything’s fine. But I’ll make sure.”
“If not, then one of us will fly back to get her. The sooner Savannah is reunited…Marisol…quicker…heal.”
“You’re breaking up, Marc.”
“…call…later…” And the call ended.
Neither Marc nor Adam had included Angelina in that invitation to go to California. Why would they? She was just a friend, not family like Karla or even Savi. Maybe Marc wasn’t even aware she was sitting here beside Karla.
Why hadn’t she been able to say something to him? She’d had her chance to talk with him but had blown it. Thank God he was okay.
She melted against the wingback chair as Karla set the phone on the table between them. A shuffling sound behind her caused them both to turn.
Marisol stood in the doorway, her chin quivering with emotion. “Is Maman going to die?”
Poor thing! How much had she heard? Angelina was able to get up and go to her faster than Karla could, and she wrapped the little girl in a tight hug. “Your maman is safe now. The doctors and nurses are going to fix her right up. She wants you and Grammy Karla to fly out tomorrow so you can see her when she’s ready for visitors.”
Marisol broke into sobs and held on tightly to Angelina. These were the first tears she’d shed since this ordeal had begun, other than when her defenses were down in the middle of the night. She’d kept up such a brave front, despite having witnessed her mother being kidnapped. Not to mention the little girl had nearly been taken as well.
Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) Page 26