by Anne Marsh
Sam had coached him on what to say. “Gunshot wound with severe vascular trauma.”
She cursed and dropped the clothes. Adrenaline hit him hard. Remy was in bad shape. He got that. But if he got her back quickly, maybe there was still hope. Her next words took it away.
“That’s not good, Gray.”
But Remy wasn’t dead, which meant there was still some hope left. Ignoring her clothes, she yanked on socks and sneakers, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. He wanted to say thank you, to acknowledge what she was doing. She had his team’s back, and she didn’t know what was waiting out there for her.
“The threat’s been neutralized,” he said gruffly, in case she was worried. “I’m not taking you into a hot zone.”
She nodded and turned to face him. “I know.”
There was no way for her to know that.
“I know you,” she continued. “If it was still dangerous, you wouldn’t put me in harm’s way.” The trust in her voice was a surprise. He didn’t know when he’d earned that or what to make of it. He didn’t have time to explore the unexpected feelings, however, because he had a man down. She was a doctor. He needed her. Right now, it was as simple as that.
She rushed for the door. “Let’s hit the road. You may have to carry me back, but we can run until we get there.”
* * *
LANEY CRUNCHED ALONG behind Gray. Or, more accurately, ran. Gray set a brutal pace, pushing for an eight-minute mile. He might run every day, but she’d been loading up on too many desserts. A stitch tore through her side, and breathing was its own challenge. Once again, she forced her breathing into an even rhythm, sucking air in a long, slow draw and releasing it the same way. Keep it even. Don’t panic. So it was a killer pace. So she couldn’t see where she was going. She could keep her eyes on Gray’s back in front of her, leading the way. Except he bristled with weapons like some kind of lethal hedgehog, and she kept remembering the way his paint-streaked face had risen over the edge of her bed.
Her first response had been to pull him in with her, wrap her arms and legs around him and hold him close. Relief followed by a chaser of disappointment, because he hadn’t come back for her. He’d come for a doctor. At least he wasn’t the injured SEAL this time. That was something.
The helicopter pad emerged out of the darkness, a barely illuminated concrete rectangle surrounded by jeeps and SEALs. Gray slowed to a fast walk and she almost crashed into him. He reached out a hand to steady her.
She surveyed the scene, looking for her patient. The SEALs were working in near dark and quiet. She supposed gunfire would have advertised their presence to the resort’s remaining guests, but the only source of light were the landing pad’s colored perimeter lights. It would be sunrise soon, though, and the sky above the jungle was lightening fast.
A number of SEALs—at least, she assumed they were SEALs when they ignored her and Gray—were clustered around a group of men and a single woman. Not wanting to know, she jerked her gaze away. Gray wouldn’t tell her the details of his mission, but she knew the basics. These men were fighting to keep her safe. They were heroes, and she wasn’t going to get in their way.
Gray guided her with a firm hand at the small of her back to the edge of the jungle. She could see Mason crouched on the ground, talking in a low voice on a radio. Sam was bent over a prone figure, his face intent on his task. That had to be her victim.
She dropped to the ground beside Sam. “Talk me through it. Give me the ABCs.”
Sam nodded. “Airway’s clear, respiratory rate is high, breathing shallow, but patient is breathing okay on his own.”
The shallow part was cause for concern. She assessed her patient, wishing she had an emergency department at her fingertips. The man might be alert, but he was definitely showing signs of shock, from the quick, rapid breaths to the bluish tinge around his fingernails. She clasped his wrist, not liking the weak pulse. Issue number one was clear. He’d taken several rounds to the abdomen.
She looked over at Sam. “Significant intra-abdominal injury and penetrating abdominal trauma. We need immediate transport to a trauma facility.”
Sam nodded and she did a further visual assessment. It wasn’t looking good. Blood had soaked through the victim’s clothing. His eyes remained open, though, and he seemed somewhat alert, biting into his fist either for self-control or in an attempt to stay silent.
“Did you move him here?”
Gray spoke from behind her. “Yes. He was hit halfway down the road to the resort.”
“I need to know how much blood he’s lost.” That was probably a lost cause, but if Gray or one of the other SEALs could quantify how much blood her patient had lost, it would be helpful.
She listened while Sam finished running through the ABCs of triage, giving her an assessment of disability and exposure. Stripping the man down so she could examine him from head to toe was ideal, but this wasn’t a good venue. The hospital could assess more closely.
“Have you checked his back?” It was highly likely they were dealing with more than one injury.
Sam nodded. “Clear. The main injury is to his abdomen.”
She pressed her hand against the victim’s shoulder, letting him know she was there. “We’re going to take care of you.”
She didn’t recognize him and it didn’t matter. This was someone’s son, husband, Saturday-morning soccer date. Or he wasn’t. It didn’t matter. He was the guy she was going to save.
“Is it okay if I take a closer look?”
Her patient nodded then groaned.
Close range, she decided, although it was hard to tell in the near dark. “Give me a light,” she snapped and someone did. Lifting the pads off his abdomen, she eased off on the direct pressure and got her first good look. No arterial pumping, thank God, but she definitely had a major vascular injury on her hands. Frankly, she was amazed he was still conscious. “How are you doing?”
His eyes fluttered closed. “I hope Uncle Sam bought trip insurance for my vacation.”
She did, too. “You got a name for me, soldier?”
“Remy.” He mumbled something else, but then he passed out.
“He needs surgery. Belize City is probably the closest facility.” There was only so much she could do out here on an island. She needed a sonogram and an emergency department, an operating room and a full team.
Gray returned and crouched down beside her. “The medevac is inbound.”
“ETA?” Remy was almost out of time.
“Two minutes. If I could get it here faster, I would.” Team first. That truth was written all over his face.
When the chopper landed, Gray bent over Remy, shielding the man from the rotor wash blasting past the barrier of the jeep. Five minutes later Remy was on a stretcher, headed for the bird. She kept up the pressure on his abdomen, forcing the Medevac’s personnel to lift around her.
“I’ll ride with him,” she said.
Gray hesitated, and she had no idea what was going through his head. Typical. She’d bet he was the kind of guy who stoically provided rank and number only in the hands of an enemy. “If I don’t, he’ll bleed out.”
He nodded as if he’d come to some sort of decision—when hello, doctor here, she knew what she was doing—and cupped her elbows with his hands, lifting her with Remy and guiding her to a seat in the chopper.
She focused on Remy and keeping the vein pinched shut. This wasn’t how she’d planned on finishing her vacation, but she was grateful she could help. Ashley would pack her suitcase and send it on, or the resort would do it. She’d need her passport and her purse at the very least, but these were people who made things happen. She’d be okay.
And, once she’d safely handed Remy off, Stockton waited for her. Stockton wasn’t her first choice, or even her second, third or fourth, but she knew she was lucky to have a job. Better yet, she’d still be working as a trauma surgeon, which was one more thing to be thankful for. She’d ride with Remy to the closest hospital, hand
him over to the resident surgeon there and then head back to real life. She’d be back in the chute, running an emergency department, before the end of the week.
Going back didn’t worry her. Not anymore. Now she was worried about this desire she had to stay. Gray had been her fantasy, a sexy dream of a man, but now it was time to wake up. So what if this wasn’t the way she’d planned their goodbye? She’d miss him, and not just in bed, although the hot sex was part of it. She’d miss the everyday, real Gray—his sweet tooth, the gleam he got in his eye when he thought she was being funny, the way he tackled life head-on and got the job done. He was the strong pair of arms holding her at night and the steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, an emotional anchor she hadn’t realized she’d come to count on. Even more, she’d miss all the things she hadn’t had a chance to learn about him yet and now never would.
But they wouldn’t have worked together as a couple. She knew that, deep down. Maybe it came from being a fixer. She fixed people on her operating room table. Sometimes you couldn’t fix people. Sometimes you had to let them go, and a relationship with Gray was a non-starter. She didn’t know how to hold on, and he didn’t want to be a keeper. So that left them drifting apart.
Gray leaned in, curving one big, warm hand around her bare knee, and she realized that she was still in her sleep shorts and tank top. She could say something now. Ask him if it was just her, or if their vacation hookup had become something more than a fantasy. And yet she looked at him and the words died in her mouth. He was the SEAL team leader. Her everyday life had no place for him, any more than there was room for her in his. That wasn’t a blame game, but it was unfixable. She had to let him go.
He looked at her, concern visible on his handsome face. “Are you going to be okay?”
No. She wasn’t.
“I’m fine,” she said instead. “If you could ask Ashley to send my things on to wherever we’re taking Remy, that would be great.”
“Will do.” For a brief moment it looked as if he might say something, but the rotors picked up speed, drowning everything in a wash of sound, and it was time to go. Apparently, her last conversation with Gray would consist of her making arrangements to have clean undies sent after her.
He leaned in and tied her hair away from her face. The strands were sticky with sweat and blood, and God knew she was a mess.
“All better,” he said, but he was wrong. So wrong, but she had no idea how to tell him that. She mumbled her thanks as he popped a helmet on her head and buckled her in. Most medevac birds lacked basic safety equipment, but this one was obviously the exception. She told herself that was a good thing. Remy didn’t need any more injuries, and getting back to her life in one piece was a good thing. Whenever she looked down, the blood streaking her forearms and legs was a visible reminder that life could be all too short.
“Was there something else you wanted to say?” For instance, I want to see you again? She had to yell the words in an undignified roar to be heard over the whup-whup of the rotors, but this wasn’t how she’d imagined their relationship ending. Okay. She hadn’t imagined that part at all—she’d been too stuck on the hot sex portion of the relationship agenda—but this was no Casablanca moment, either.
He shook his head and patted her on the shoulder. Then he buckled her in. “You take care.”
As if she was a dog he’d ordered to stay? She opened her mouth but, really, she was out of words. And options. He backed away, swung out the door and disappeared. And...that was that. Vacation hookup sex? Done and done. Except she’d wanted a last kiss. And maybe some meaningful words to go with it. A phone number. Anything.
Fantasy Island fell away beneath them, a green jewel in the middle of the bright blue Caribbean sea. The weather had finally cleared, and pink-and-orange light shot over the ocean’s surface. The helicopter banked steeply, heading west. The vacation and the fantasy were over.
She didn’t want them to be.
Or she wanted Gray to be sitting here. Not where Remy was—God, not that—but headed somewhere with her. A scrap of pink fluttered in her peripheral vision. Gray had fastened her ponytail with one of the ties he’d used on her. They’d had crazy, hot, fan-fucking-tastic sex. She thought she’d been looking to get over her breakup with Harlan, but what she hadn’t realized was that she she’d actually been looking for Gray. He was more than a fantasy lover.
He just wasn’t hers.
Not anymore.
She turned her head, but Fantasy Island was gone, the ocean sliding away beneath the chopper. Tears prickled behind her eyes and she blinked them away.
She hadn’t thought in terms of forever or mine, and now that it was too late? Yeah. She was all over that. There was something about him and, even when he’d been on the job and running a covert op, he’d made time for her. He’d shown her a side of herself she didn’t know she’d even had. And she liked that new, bold Laney.
And she more than liked Gray.
She loved him.
15
THE BLACK HAWK swung out over the water and headed away. The wash from the rotors that had kicked up stray bits of sand faded, and the windy racket in the palm trees died down. Remy would get the help he needed, and that was what mattered.
Funny, though, how the chopper resembled any other chopper from the outside. The bird tilted, sun glinting off its side, and banked away from the island. The door was shut, so his chances of spotting Laney were slim, but Gray still watched the chopper go until it was a dot on the horizon. He’d helped her load up, had given her the green light to accompany Remy, but he hadn’t really thought about what it would mean. She was gone.
Mason elbowed him. “You’re going to ruin your eyes.”
And that was why God made sunglasses. He thumbed his down over his eyes. “I suck at relationships.”
Unfortunately, Mason didn’t disagree. He turned to face the jungle, ready to beat feet. “Maybe you just need a dress rehearsal or some practice.”
“Laney wasn’t a rehearsal.” He couldn’t imagine feeling anything more, anything better, than what he felt when he was with her. And now she was miles away from him and getting farther every second. Yeah. He was brilliant. “She was the real deal.”
“Did you tell her that?” Levi rocked back on his heels. He didn’t seem surprised that they were still standing on the helicopter pad.
“If I had, do you think she’d be somewhere between here and Belize?”
“She’s a doctor,” Mason pointed out.
True. “I’d have her number. We’d have plans.”
Instead, everything was over.
“Personally, I’m anti deep feelings.” Levi shrugged. “I find sex-only keeps things simpler.”
Mason ignored Levi. “So you’ll work it out.”
Right. How? “She’s a doctor. She has a job. I’m a SEAL and I have a job.”
The logistics were overwhelming, but it was easier to focus on the physical difficulties of getting together with Laney than on messy things like emotions.
Mason eyed him. “Are you really going to make me play therapist here?”
Gray flashed him the bird. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“Fine. You’ll work it out. You go after her, you tell her about these feelings.” Levi looked pained, but Mason kept right on talking. “And then you’ll probably have to do some groveling.”
“Lots of groveling,” Levi added helpfully. “Fall on your knees and beg. There are other options after that, but it depends on how the groveling and begging was received.”
“Hello. She’s Belize-bound. I’m here. How am I supposed to find her?”
Levi gave him an incredulous look. “You’ve got government resources. Use them.”
“Ashley’s a mean hacker,” Mason pointed out.
“Or just mean,” Levi muttered.
“You’re a SEAL. You don’t quit. You finish the mission.” Mason shrugged. “Blah blah blah.”
It was the blah blah blah part that
had him worried because, holy shit, he was mentally substituting three different words. I love you. Of course, those were words he should have used earlier, preferably before Laney had gotten on that chopper and out of Dodge. Instead, he’d pushed her away.
“Go after her,” Mason said quietly. “See what happens.”
He was going to have to do that. Find her, say the words I love you and see what happened. He might fall on his face, but he knew one thing. He didn’t have the potential to fall in love with her—because he’d already fallen.
* * *
THE STOCKTON HOSPITAL actually wasn’t bad. In the two weeks since she’d left Fantasy Island and landed here, Laney’s new emergency room had received a decent number of cases, and she’d had two actual trauma cases to go with the small-city onslaught of uninsured people with flu and twisted ankles. Not that the trauma victims were happy about their role in her current state of mind, but she’d keep her thoughts to herself.
Bottom line? Her mom had done well by her. She’d pony up a thank-you during their next call.
Since tonight was slow and she had a double shift, she’d commandeered an empty exam room for a catnap. Unfortunately, the bedding didn’t come close to what she’d had on Fantasy Island. When she made head of ER, she’d order real pillows, not these wafer-thin excuses bulk-ordered from a medical supply catalog. Maybe some of those white duvet things, too. Sadly, bedding aside, sleep played coy. Maybe because every time she closed her eyes, she saw a certain unobtainable SEAL and her blood pressure shot up. And it wasn’t as if she could take out a billboard ad: Have you seen this undercover SEAL?
That thought amused her for the next five minutes of her non-nap. Maybe she’d get a nice five-car pileup. Or an explosion. Okay, not really, but she needed something to do. Stockton was a pleasant enough city. She had a rented condo. With real estate prices down, the prudent thing to do would be to purchase. After she finished digging her credit card out from her Fantasy Island jaunt. All she had now were the bills and the fading tan lines.
And a few purloined souvenirs, including the mason jar on her desk that she’d filled with sand and shells. Bringing the stuff home probably violated all sorts of US custom rules, but bonus, because she’d ridden with Remy to the hospital in Belize City, her luggage had followed her virgo intacta and she hadn’t been forced to prevaricate to a crusty border agent.