Can You Forget?

by Melissa James

  “Mary-Anne, I need you!” Tal yelled from the floor where he was frantically working to save Burstall. Pushing down her relief-filled adrenaline rush, she tapped Falcone’s jaw hard to knock him out, picked up his gun, tossed it at Wildman and fell to her knees to help Tal.

  At that moment Ghost, Braveheart and ten Amalzan police flooded the room. “Drop your weapons,” Anson repeated, his voice grim and cold.

  Without argument Falcone’s goons laid down their weapons. The Amalzan police hauled an unsteady Falcone to his feet, cuffed him and led him out, reading him his rights.

  “Ghost! Get the full Medivac equipment from the chopper now if you want to keep him alive! And my bag from the car.” Tal’s hands pushed down on the wound site, desperately trying to stanch the bleeding with Burstall’s torn shirt while Mary-Anne monitored the pulse and respirations. “Prep the chopper, Wildman. We need to evacuate him to a hospital stat!”

  Anson looked down at the bloody scene. “Go!” he yelled, and Braveheart and Wildman launched through the window, one after the other, and bolted to the chopper.

  Chapter 18

  “Pulse thready and fast,” Mary-Anne reported urgently, checking both venal and arterial pulses. “Respirations shallow and weak. We’ve got a hemorrhage here, guys.”

  “I need his blood pressure. Get the equipment,” Tal yelled, beads of sweat running down his face. “We’re going to have to operate on him here or lose him!” He glanced at her. “Are you up to scrub?”

  Her nerves didn’t flutter, they kicked her in the belly. Five years since she’d scrubbed for an OR… “I’d better be.”

  Flipper said quietly, “I’m 18-D trained, Irish. I can do the IV work and scout nursing. Songbird can do the hard stuff.”

  “Good.” She turned to Nick and rapped, “Clear the room. Get some morphine from a local doctor—the tranquilizer dart won’t see him through, at least three ampoules of five or ten milligrams each, plus an IV kit and some ampoules of penicillin. Check his medical records for known allergies. I need a blood-pressure kit ASAP. We need to check where the nearest hospital is, and ask them to prepare an OR and surgical team for our arrival. And get that equipment in here now!” Without checking to see how Nick reacted to her orders, she returned to the patient’s arterial pulse. “What else do we need?”

  Tal muttered, “Bring Hartmann’s or Ringer’s lactate in the IV kit until we can get a cross-match done. Hemocel would be good in a pinch, but I doubt they’ll have any here.”

  “I wrote it all down,” Nick said. “I’m on my way.” But words floated back to her in Nick’s drawling baritone. “You can take the girl out of nursing, but obviously not the nurse out of the girl.” Then he barked, his normal irascible self, “Braveheart, where the hell is that damn equipment?”

  Three operatives ran in moments later with as much equipment as they could carry. Flipper, having taken the sphygmomanometer, reported, “Blood pressure eighty-five on forty.”

  “Pulse, one-oh-six,” Mary-Anne added. “Tal, I think—”

  “I know—internal hemorrhage. We need to stretcher him to the chopper now! We can notify the hospital en route. One, two, three!” Together they lifted Burstall on the stretcher, and carried him as quickly as care would allow to the chopper.

  It was almost 0500 by the time Tal finally limped out of the OR of the Spanish hospital.

  With no surgeon available within a ten-minute radius after midnight, the hospital gave him emergency VMO rights to operate on Burstall—but the following four hours taxed him to the limit. Once the adrenaline hit from the standoff and working to save a life had faded, exhaustion, leg weakness and pain hounded him; clawed at him like frisking puppies, demanding attention—but he couldn’t give in to any of it yet. Right now he needed to find Mary-Anne, and just hold her for a little while. A few minutes…a few hours. A decade.

  He found her curled up asleep in the staff room, probably to avoid newshounds—but she was on a wing chair instead of the bed. Tenderness filled him. So typical of her to leave it free for a tired doctor who might need it. Whatever he’d thought about her a week ago, he knew one thing—Verity West was the best act she’d ever put on. She’d never left Mary-Anne behind. His girl had simply been in hiding, waiting like Sleeping Beauty for him to awaken her once more. “Come here, baby.” He lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, lying down with her.

  “Mmm.” She snuggled into him. “Did it go okay?”

  He kissed her forehead, inhaling the soft rose-lavender scent rising from her hair. The sense of well-being and restfulness he’d always associate with being near her filled him. He could sleep now, with her in his arms. “He made it through the op. If he gets through the next three hours, he should be all right.”

  “I was so scared last night,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I thought he or Falcone would kill you. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without you, Tal…”

  Oh, yeah, he related to that fear too well. He’d never been so terrified in his life as last night, thinking she could die or Falcone would take her as his sexual hostage. The price would come soon, the reaction would set in from too much stress. But for now, he just needed her and the peace having her close brought to him. “I’m here. We’re both fine. Sleep, honey.”

  She snuggled in tighter, wrapping her arm around his waist. “I love you,” she mumbled.

  Weary, stressed to the point of overload and still on medical standby, sudden emotion grabbed him by the throat. He hadn’t realized how damn much he’d needed to hear that right now—he’d only known he needed her, had to be with her.

  Almost all his life if he’d needed anything, she’d provided it, and from shy girl to famous woman, she still did.

  I love you, too, his heart whispered, cursing his stupid, stubborn tongue that refused to form the words aloud. He held her even tighter. The end was coming, but he’d hold it off as long as he could.

  “So I finally found you both. I thought you might want to know that Falcone escaped from custody last night.”

  The words, in that rich, sexy Southern drawl, made them both jerk up off the bed to a sitting position at once. “W-what?” Mary-Anne rubbed her eyes, smudging the makeup she hadn’t yet had time to remove. “Ow.” She peered through stinging eyes at him, closing one.

  Nick’s brows lifted. “Falcone fled the European mainland last night in the company of four of the Amalzan police. We think he’s gone somewhere in South America. Oh, and he left a note for you, Mary-Anne. ‘You were unworthy, lovely songbird.’ I guess that means you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

  “Or that he wants us to think so,” Tal said quietly from behind her. “He wouldn’t let her go that easy. We need to get him back in custody before he can try again.”

  Anson said harshly. “That’s a given, Irish.”

  “Well, what’s the plan?” Mary-Anne asked.

  “Unfortunately for you, there is no plan—apart from going home, or continuing on tour. From the time you leave here you’re officially released from what remains of your contract.” His voice and face were rueful. “I’m sorry, but you knew the risks. Your cover blew sky-high last night—and now that Falcone’s loose we have no way of knowing who he’ll give the information to. You’re too famous to fade into the woodwork and show up elsewhere, Mary-Anne. We can’t use you anymore. The risks are too high.”

  So there it was. It was over. The warning given a week ago, seeming so insignificant compared to the task ahead, was now a reality she had to face.

  Goodbye, Nighthawks. Farewell, Songbird. You’ve done your part for world peace, now move on.

  She didn’t know what to say now. What to do.

  She felt Tal shrug beside her. “You have to finish your tour, anyway. You’ve got lots you can do, Mary-Anne. And I have my final operations. After that—”

  “I never said you were released from contract, Irish. You have three years yet and by God, you’re going to fulfill them.”

 
; Tal literally leaped over her out of bed. “What the hell—?” he gasped. “You know I can’t be a field operative now.”

  Nick faced Tal down, his arms folded. “That’s total crap. Your real, vital role on this mission and the people whose lives you’ve saved this week have proven otherwise. But that’s no longer what we require from you. Your ability to see a pitfall in the most thorough plan is unparalleled, as well as your usefulness as a medical officer. I want you in both headquarters and on field from now on. You’ll take my desk when I’m on assignment, and you’re team commander for special SAR rescue ops, a surgeon for the injured on the field. Your experience in Tumah-ra showed headquarters we need a permanent medical officer on assignment who doesn’t put his own life at risk.”

  Tal swore. Hard. “I don’t want to sit twiddling my thumbs on bloody boats and choppers while others do the hard work!”

  “You’d be a vital part of every mission, Irish. We want you to handpick a team of paramedics to go on the field when called by operatives that there are critically injured operatives or civilians. Like medics during wars, they bring them to your team, and you operate. You’d be the one coordinating the rescue efforts, directing the operatives on field, and saving the lives of innocent people. And if your pain comes back, there are fully trained medics to help you, and you can still direct them on how to treat the injured.

  “And during the last year of your contract, if you decide not to re-sign with us, we’d want you to train your replacement, a qualified doctor of your own choice. Virginia wants you to train doctors for each base, so you’d be traveling to London, Nairobi and Seoul, as well. We need this scheme set up worldwide, and you’re first choice for worldwide team commander.” Nick grinned at Tal as he opened his mouth then closed it. “Sound like hard enough work for you? What do you say?”

  Mary-Anne almost gaped with wonder. It was a dream come true for Tal—the chance to continue in the work he loved so much, taking into account his limitations and working around them, yet being an absolutely vital part of the team: commander, no less.

  It was perfect for him…

  So it won’t be me leaving him behind, after all. It won’t be him feeling useless or unnecessary. With a bittersweet smile of pride, love and loss, she gathered her things and slipped out of the room.

  Tal felt dazed—overwhelmed. The door he’d thought closed and locked was not only open, but wide open with possibilities he’d never dreamed could happen for him since his accident. “Since I have no choice I guess I say, thanks, Boss.” He grinned and held out his hand.

  Anson gripped it. “Welcome back, Irish. I’m glad I finally got you to listen to me. I’ve had this in mind for a year now.”

  Now he was really speechless, floundering inside his inarticulate nature like a goldfish on dry land.

  “For the next year, we’ll work around your surgical and training schedules. Nightshift or Flipper can take point or the desk while you’re in hospital if I’m called on a mission.”

  “What’s the stats, Boss? How many for the team? What number of doctors and paramedics? What kind of equipment are we talking? Are we setting up ORs on a ship, portables in rescue choppers, or a jet?”

  For the next few minutes they hammered out a few of the basics that Anson had in mind.

  “This is an incredible offer,” he finally said, still feeling awed by the magnitude of the task at hand—and thrilled.

  “It wouldn’t be on the table if you weren’t the man you are,” Anson replied quietly. “I can trust you one hundred percent—and that’s a rare event for me. I know you can do it, Irish.”

  The sudden harsh bleeps of an emergency filled the room. Tal reacted without thought, wheeling around. “Mary-Anne!”

  She was gone…and dread filled him. “Burstall. It’s Burstall.” He bolted down the hall as fast as his bad leg would allow.

  Thundering echoes of feet behind him told him Anson followed, but they stopped at the door, where Mary-Anne straddled the bed, frantically performing single CPR on Burstall’s inert form. “What happened?” Tal rapped. “Mary-Anne, what happened?”

  “Suffocated, I think,” she replied between compressions. “Five to one!”

  Tal shone a torch in Burstall’s eyes. “Pupils fixed and dilated, Mary-Anne. He’s gone.”

  The sound of the shrieking aaack, aaack of the emergency button seemed obscene in the shocked silence. Anson walked around Tal and hit the button, stilling the noise. “Why do you diagnose suffocation, Mary-Anne?” he asked.

  Tal saw the swift hurt that crossed her face. Anson’s use of her real name told them both that he no longer considered her a Nighthawk, in any way. “There were cotton fibers in his mouth when I performed respiration on him.”

  Tal checked it out. “I’ll order an autopsy, but you’re right.” He frowned. “Where are the cops guarding the door?”

  Another strange expression crossed her face. “I’d say on their way to be with Falcone, wouldn’t you?”

  He sighed harshly. “Yeah, I would. Damn it, I shouldn’t have left him with them!”

  “If anyone’s to blame here, it’s me—I knew of Falcone’s escape. I knew the danger for Burstall. I should have left operatives here guarding the doors instead of sending them all to chase Falcone. Burstall knew too much.” Anson sighed. “So Falcone gets away—and our rogue is still safe in the ranks.”

  “Hell, this is a mess,” Tal growled. “We’ve got to weed this guy out. He’s bloody dangerous. So what’s next, Boss? Where do we go from here?”

  “I’d say our best chance lies with following up on the lead Falcone’s obviously going to pursue—he’s after his runaway wife. She was presumed dead five years ago after a body wearing her wedding ring was found in a burned out car in a ravine on the coast of Amalza, and their infant son was presumed dead and lost at sea. But Falcone never believed the story and never stopped hunting for them, and neither have we. We believe that she set up the accident somehow and disappeared with their son, along with ten million dollars and suspected evidence implicating Falcone in the murder of a U.S. senator, which were not found in or around the car.”

  Tal nodded. “Sounds good to me. What about if—”

  “I don’t think you should be speaking about your plans in front of a civilian, gentlemen.”

  Startled, Tal swiveled around to her. She stood at the door, wearing ordinary jeans and a T-shirt, her face clean, her jacket slung over her shoulder and her bag in her hand. She wore the loveliest, saddest smile he’d ever seen. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I’ll leave you to your discussion. I need to make arrangements to get back to Sydney for the rest of my shows there. And then move on, as always.”

  Shocked out of coherent thought, Tal groped for words to say. “No. Mary-Anne, you’re still one of us…don’t go—”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not.” She shook her head with that sad, crumpled smile. Goodbye, Tal. “You have work to do, and I have a tour to get on with. Can’t let the fans down, you know.”

  “I can arrange transportation home for you,” Anson said, his eyes dark and shadowed. “It’s the least I can do.”

  “No thanks. I’ll get a commercial flight home from Barcelona. There are always first-class seats available.” She moved quietly to the men, holding out a hand to Anson. “It’s been a joy and a privilege working with you, sir. I don’t regret a minute of it.”

  “The privilege has been mine. You are one classy lady, Miss West.” Anson kissed her cheek. “I’m going to miss working with you. Hell, I’ll just miss you.”

  She grinned at him. “That’s good to know, because I think I’ll miss your grumpy face from time to time, too.”

  “I’ll have a car waiting outside for you in five minutes,” Anson said gruffly, fighting emotion of his own.

  “Thank you.” Then she turned to Tal, all her heartbreak hiding inside her brave, smiling eyes. She held out a hand to him. They walked outside the hospital to the warm, sunny day in the Spanish coastal c
ountryside. She put down her bag and jacket, then she kissed his mouth. “’Bye, Tal. See you in Cowinda from time to time? We have to see the family together. Let me know when you want to go, and I’ll coordinate the time.”

  So this was a panic attack? Heart racing, head spinning slow and heavy, wanting to puke, can’t catch your breath enough to string a sentence together? All he knew was that she was going, and he couldn’t—couldn’t let her go, not now. Not ever. “Mary-Anne—no, honey, don’t go! Can’t you—”

  A finger to his lips halted him. “Don’t make me cry, Tal,” she whispered. “Not now, okay?” But the first tear spilled over. “You have your life, your dream has come true, and I’m glad—so glad for you. It looks like we both got our dreams.” Her smile wobbled. “You’re Doctor O’Rierdan again, and you’re Irish. And I’m Verity West. And never the twain shall m-meet…”

  He pulled her into his arms, shaking. “Don’t go, Mary-Anne. I love you, honey, I love you so much.”

  She dragged in air through her parted lips as tears spilled from her closed eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ve waited all my life to hear you say that.”

  Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her, over and over. “I need you, baby. I don’t think I can make it on my own.”

  “You did for years.” A loose curl danced across her face, she looked lost and helpless and beautiful, lovelier than he’d ever seen her. “You’ll be fine, Tal. I know it. You don’t need me. You have so much to do now.” Her voice was nearly gone, yet its lingering sweetness pierced his soul. “M-maybe we can catch up in London or Virginia while you’re training the other doctors, if I’m there at the time? Or we can meet in Sydney sometimes. We’ll need to coordinate calls to our parents from time to time if we want to convince them we’re still together…” She made a fluttering movement to be free. “I—I have to go now, okay?”