by Jeanne Adams
The phone rang, startling them both.
Ana answered it and all the others could hear was her, “Yes. Yes. Perfect. We’ll be there. Yes.”
“That was enlightening,” Gates said, with heavy sarcasm.
“There’s a helicopter waiting at Punta Gorda. There’s a Coast Guard hospital ship just off shore, redirected from a stop in Mazatlán. They have full supplies now, thanks to Geddey, and are ready for Dav and Carrie.”
Gates turned to Holden. “Drive faster.”
“Yessir.” Their speed increased to a smooth ninety miles an hour, and Holden never wavered in his focus from the paved road.
It was forever before they saw the outskirts of the port. They saw flashing lights and Holden groaned, until the police vehicle whipped out in front of them, clearing the way to the docks. Along the path, other police blocked traffic.
“How’d he manage this?” Ana wondered aloud.
“Geddey knows his stuff,” Gates said.
Within minutes they were loaded into the helicopter and flying to meet the ship.
The narrow corridors of the hospital ship made a terrible waiting room as the medics worked on both Dav and Carrie.
“I know they’re doing everything they can,” Gates said tersely. Ana could see he wanted to pace, but the confined space made it a futile desire. “I just wish I knew something, anything, we could do.”
“Me too, love, me too,” Ana said, moving into his arms, striving to reassure both herself and him with the connection.
“We need to check in,” he said, after a moment. Listening to his pounding heartbeat, she agreed. Maybe that would settle him, give them both something constructive to do.
“Yes, but should we—” She hesitated, raising her head to meet his gaze, then blurted it out. “Shouldn’t we be here, in case?”
Gates understood. “They know where to find us. Let’s go make some calls.”
Their first call was to McGuire, who let them know his “buddy” in camouflage was nowhere to be found. Not that they had expected anything different, but Ana felt a wave of disappointment.
“That figures,” Gates said, remembering how easily the man had slipped away, lost himself in the jungle.
McGuire regaled him with the arrival of the locals and how much fun they’d had getting Franklin’s dogs to stop growling at the old man’s bound guards. According to McGuire, Franklin had let the more menacing shepherd walk up and down behind the seated men, growling like he was going to attack at any moment. McGuire had heartily approved.
“Did he make it?” Gates asked, sure that McGuire would understand. Ana watched him, waiting for the response.
“Nah,” McGuire said, unrepentant. “That blow to the head, along with the shot Callahan got off with the other guard’s gun, did him in. Can’t say I’m sorry, if he’s the cause of all this.”
“He is, and I’m not sorry either.” Gates heard Ana’s sigh of relief.
Ana’s phone rang, and she flipped it open. “It’s Bax,” she mouthed.
“Okay, McGuire, we’ll see you back in San Francisco, you hear?” Gates made that firm; he wanted to be sure McGuire filled them all in. “You’ve got a debrief to give.”
“Pronto,” McGuire drawled. “You give that fireball wife of yours a hug for me. Didn’t get to say good-bye.”
“I will.” Gates smiled as Ana grabbed a pen from where she’d stuck it in her ponytail.
“Righty-o,” and with that he was gone. Gates moved behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her as she talked to the San Francisco detective.
“Got it,” she said into the phone, noting down a series of numbers, circling one that held four digits. Her call with Baxter was brief, and her notes singularly frustrating in their lack of readable information. “They found Cal,” she relayed, leaning back into his embrace with a burdened sigh. “He’d been beaten and was in the hospital, that’s why we couldn’t find him. His friend, the one he went to New York for, is dead. Break-in, they say.”
“Break-in,” Gates snapped sarcastically. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Of course.” She smiled at his tone, adding wearily, “Violence on the rise, everywhere, you know?”
“Geddey found evidence of Niko all over Inez’s apartment, so he could have proved Niko did it, if we’d needed to,” Gates said, relating the other bit of news that had come in via text from Geddey.
“Helpful, if he wasn’t already dead and we wanted to keep him alive and rotting in jail somewhere. But at least her parents can know for sure,” Ana said on a sigh. “It won’t help, but...”
Gates rubbed a hand down her back. “I know. What is the word, closure?”
“Yeah. Maybe all this insanity will give some of that closure to Dav. What else?”
“Geddey found enough to link Queller to Niko and the uncle both.” Anger tugged at him, but he quashed it. Nothing to be done now but track back and plug whatever leaks Queller had caused. “He was feeding everyone information.”
“But why?” Ana wondered, and he heard the plaint of betrayal in her voice.
Since he was still stinging over Queller’s betrayal himself, with no more clue, he just cursed. “Geddey doesn’t know that yet, but he’s working on it.”
This time is was her soothing him, but he could tell she was equally injured by the young man’s murky allegiance. “Whatever the reasons, he didn’t profit from it,” she finally managed. “And I can quit looking over my shoulder too.”
“Hines?”
Ana smiled now, on surer footing. “According to McGuire’s briefing to me, Hines is toast. What did McGuire tell you?”
“That our mystery couple was instrumental in our rescue once again. He didn’t seem to be shocked that sniper guy was gone.” And here Gates put on McGuires’s New Orleans drawl. “Hell, when the dust cleared and the shootin’ stopped, ol’ McGuire couldn’t find that feller anywhere, cher.”
“Big surprise,” she muttered. “Who was that masked man?”
“I have no idea, but I’m glad he and his girlfriend were on our side.”
“Me too.”
They continued to talk, and more calls came in updating them on Damon—he was conscious and would recover— and on Declan. To everyone’s relief, Declan’s memory had returned, up to and including the offer of singing lessons.
As they finished their respective news, a young ensign arrived in the office they were using, and they were shown to quarters with the reassurance that Dav and Carrie were still in the hands of the doctors.
After a shower and a meal, they put on scrubs the Coast Guard provided while their clothes were washed. They talked. They sent texts and asked questions.
But mostly, they waited.
Finally, hours later, as night fell and dinner was being cleared, one of the doctors came to find them.
They both jumped to their feet. “Dav? Carrie?” They called the names with one voice.
The doctor smiled, but he didn’t look like everything was peachy-keen, Gates thought.
“Holding their own, both of them,” he said wearily, sitting down at the table and motioning them to do the same. “They were both severely dehydrated, and hadn’t eaten for several days. Ms. McCray’s injuries are less serious, of course, but she has a concussion and is reacting oddly to some of the medications. We’re going to monitor her closely, run some tests.” He pulled off the cap that matched his scrubs to wearily run his hands over his bald pate.
“And Dav?” Gates asked softly.
“I need some coffee,” the doctor procrastinated, rising to get a cup from a pot nearby. “Do you want any?”
Ana and Gates exchanged glances. Not good. They demurred.
“Just spit it out, Doctor,” Ana urged. “Please.”
“Mr. Gianikopolis isn’t in good shape. He’s got two broken ribs, and two others are cracked. One of them punctured his lung. We’ve got that situation under control and have reinflated the lung, dealt with the ribs. Bei
ng dehydrated is a severe handicap here because he’s not going to fight infection as easily and he’s got a whopper of an infection from the injury to his hand. He’s running an extremely high fever.” The doctor looked solemn. “It’s a miracle he was even coherent over the last twenty-four hours, much less doing what you claim he did to save his friend.”
“He’s strong,” Ana managed, groping for Gates’s hand. It was going to get worse, she could tell.
“He’s going to need to be. We had to remove the little finger on his left hand. He had a compound fracture and the wound had gone septic. We couldn’t save it, I’m afraid.”
“But he’ll live?” Ana insisted, feeling hope rise. Was that the worst? What was a finger, among friends? “He’ll be okay?”
“I hope so, if the infection and fever can be brought under control. We’ve got him on IV antibiotics, fluids, you name it. The conditions”—the doctor shrugged—“were terrible and these injuries would have been bad even if he’d gotten medical help right away. As it is, he’s had two to three days with the infection gaining a foothold in his body. He’s responding to the treatment so far, but that’s right now. We’ll be monitoring him around the clock and we’re going to all pray the infection isn’t a resistant strain, that there are no other injuries internally or externally, and that he’s still strong enough to fight.”
Gates looked determined on Dav’s behalf. “Oh, he’ll fight. When can we see him?”
“Couple hours,” the doctor said, looking at his watch. “Get some sleep. I’ll have somebody wake you.”
The hours passed, and finally an orderly came for them. The ship’s sickroom was empty now, except for Dav and Carrie. Both lay still, with monitors beeping around them, and nurses and corpsmen hovering nearby.
They went to Dav first.
“Hey, buddy,” Gates said. “It’s Gates. We got you out,” he said. “You and Carrie both. You’re safe, okay?”
Ana squeezed Dav’s unbandaged hand, and as she had with Declan, she gently stroked Dav’s arm. “Hey, dude,” she drawled. “You’ve been loafing long enough. Time to wake up and say hello. We’ve come a long way to see you, you know. Least you could do is open your eyes and give us a word.
“I will give you a word,” came the faint, raspy reply.
Delighted, Ana gasped and leaned closer. “Hey, you. Welcome back. I’ll read you the riot act later. What’s the word?”
“Carrie?” The whisper was stronger, but he didn’t open his eyes.
“Alive. Concussed, but alive.”
“Ahhhhhhh.” The sound was a pleased sigh, and a smile bowed his lips. “Good. Love her. Going to marrrrrrry herrrrr,” he slurred, and slipped back into sleep.
“Did he say what I think he said?” Gates was leaning close as well, from the other side of the bed.
“That he loves her and is going to marry her?”
“Yep,” Gates agreed, grinning now, as well.
“Excellent,” Ana crowed softly. “Now, he’ll get well.”
The nurse peered around the curtain. “You should let him rest.”
“We will,” Ana said, straightening. “We’ll just look in on Ms. McCray, then let them both rest.”
“Good,” the nurse approved, obviously protective of her patients.
“Hey, Carrie,” Ana said, as they entered the curtained space. Carrie’s cuts and bruises stood in stark contrast to her fair skin, and her dark hair hadn’t yet been washed. It lay in lank strands on the pillow, striking still, in spite of everything. Ana could see why Dav had fallen for this interesting, gorgeous and obviously strong woman.
“Who is it?” she managed blearily, struggling and failing to open her eyes.
“It’s Ana and Gates. We won’t stay long, but we wanted to tell you that you’re safe. We’re on a hospital ship.”
“Dav?”
The question made Ana smile and Gates reached out a hand to his wife. She took it as she answered Carrie’s question, tears in her voice. “He’s alive. It’s going to be tough for him, but he said to tell you he loves you.”
Carrie’s eyes flew open at that, focused on Ana for a moment, then unfocused again. She groaned. “Hurts to open my eyes.”
“You’ve got a concussion.”
There was a throat-clearing noise from the nurse.
“We have to go,” Ana whispered, “but it’s real, Carrie. He loves you.” She flicked a glance at Gates before she continued. Her inner sense told her there was something amiss between the two of them, so she added, “He’s never said it to anyone else, Carrie. He’s never asked anyone to marry him before. He wants to ask you, when you’ll let him.”
Gates frowned at her words, and she could tell he was puzzled, but it was a woman’s intuition thing. He wouldn’t understand even if she could find the words to explain it to him.
“Give him a chance, Carrie. Give him a chance.”
Another “Ahem” had them standing, moving away from the bed. “We’ll be here, Carrie, if you need us,” Gates added as a parting shot, before they left the room.
In the bed, Carrie heard them leave, felt the nurse’s presence at the bedside.
“It hurts when I open my eyes,” she complained, hating the whine in her voice even as she seemed to be powerless to stop it.
“Concussion, ma’am.” The woman hesitated. “And you’ve thrown up twice.”
“I did it before, in the jungle,” Carrie managed to tell her, worried now that she had some dread jungle disease that would take her away from Dav, just when she might have found the courage to love him.
The last thing she’d seen before her chair was knocked down and her head connected with the leg of the table was Dav shoving forward, chair and all, to deflect the shot aimed at her. He had been willing to give his life for hers.
How could she not believe in that? How could she not believe that there was a chance he could love her, if he was willing to do that?
“Get some rest, ma’am,” the nurse advised, and she felt the woman pat her arm. “We’ll do some more tests in the morning, see what else needs to be done.”
“Okay,” Carrie whispered, and the words seemed loud in her ears. She was fading into sleep, but the warm knowledge of Ana’s words followed her in, and sang in her dreams.
Hours later, she awoke in the semidark. The room had been dimmed so that both she and Dav could sleep. When she stirred, the nurse padded over on quiet feet.
“Hey,” the woman whispered, “how’re you feeling?”
“Better,” Carrie admitted, after a brief internal assessment. “But I have to—” She hesitated.
“Use the facilities,” the nurse supplied with a smile. “Perfectly normal after two bags of fluids. Do you think you can walk, or should I get a bedpan?”
“Walk,” Carrie said, determined to at least see Dav on the way to or from the bathroom.
They made it to the small ship’s lavatory and back without incident.
“Could I sit with him?” Carrie asked, motioning toward Dav’s still, sleeping form in the next bed.
The nurse frowned, but nodded. “Not for long, though. You need to sleep more yourself. Sleep heals,” she murmured.
“I’ll sleep, but I need to sit with him, just for a bit.”
The nurse fussed over the chair and over Carrie until she wanted to scream at the woman to go away, let her have some space and peace. She didn’t do it, but she let out a sigh of relief when the woman finally moved back to her nearby desk with the parting shot that she’d be back in a few minutes.
Carrie waited until she could hear the woman shuffling papers and tapping keys before she turned to Dav. He looked strange, lying so still. He was so vital and brilliantly alive, but this was shocking in a way, this unnatural stillness.
“Dav?” she whispered. “Dav-mou?”
For some reason that seemed to get through to him, the endearment.
“Carrie?” The faintest breath of a word, although he didn’t open his eyes at all.
/> “Right here,” she said, pressing his large hand between her own smaller palms.
“It’s dark. Are we still in the cave? I can’t move.” He stirred restlessly on the bed. “Why can’t I move? Carrie?”
“Shhhhhh,” she soothed hastily, shooting a worried glance toward the nurse’s station. “We’re on the hospital ship, Dav. We’re safe.”
He was quiet so long, she thought he’d gone back to sleep, but finally, when she’d made the reluctant decision to call the nurse, get up, and let him rest, he spoke again. She had to lean in to hear him.
“You were right, you know. To turn me down,” he rasped, still not opening his eyes.
“No, no, Dav, I wasn’t,” she protested, her voice urgent. He had to understand....
It was his turn to shush her. “No, you were. I didn’t understand,” he whispered softly, his voice fading out for a moment. “But I do now,” he hurried on, as if the words must come out immediately with no interruption. “I understand.”
He managed to turn his head toward her and she saw the gleam of his glorious dark eyes as he managed to fight off the drugs, his injuries and even the sleep that he so desperately needed to open his eyes and look at her. His dark gaze thrilled her and he smiled. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, and a smile curved his beautiful lips. He drew a deep breath, still smiling though his eyes were drifting shut again. “I love you, Carrie-mou.”
“Oh, Dav.” The words she’d longed to hear, real, heartfelt words of love, shook her to the depths of her soul.
His strength was visibly fading, but he smiled again and squeezed the hands she’d wrapped around his. He tried to raise them to his lips, but didn’t have the strength. “Marry me, Carrie-mou,” he said, his voice dropping back to a whisper. “Do not turn me down again. I could not bear to live without you now.”
“I won’t,” she breathed. “I won’t turn you down,” she corrected, seeing the beginnings of his frown, realizing how she’d phrased her reply.
“Ahhh.” He smiled again and his eyes drifted all the way closed. “Good. Eh-la, this is good. I love you.” He squeezed her hand, and his eyelids fluttered, trying to open. Trying to communicate more. “It is good to say it,” was all he managed.