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The makeshift clinic had calmed, only a few of the dozen or more cots still holding patients, and a handful of people in green hiking pants and white jackets held coffee, huddling in the middle of the area next to a bank of equipment. A couple portable X-ray machines, EEG machines, a defibrillator, infusion pumps, and oxygen canisters. Just like he’d promised, Declan had brought in supplies and people, and as she sat up, Tia noticed a pair of drawstring pants and a shirt folded at the end of her bed.
She got up, pulled on the pants, kept on her now-dry shirt, and headed over to two woman standing together.
“Hey,” she said. “Where’s Dr. Julia?”
Tia addressed her question to a woman with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a T-shirt with a Red Cross emblem under her jacket. “She went up to the clinic on the hill.” She pointed to the monastery. “But you should lie down.”
“I’m done lying down,” Tia said. “And I’m the director of that clinic on the hill.”
“Oh. Jess Brooks.” The woman held out her hand. “Red Cross. My husband Pete is up there too, working with a team that’s going in to look for some kids.”
“Yeah. My kids.” She didn’t mean to be so sharp-edged. “Sorry.” She looked around. “How bad is this?”
“Two fatalities so far, the rest are broken bones. We off-lifted a number of the injured to St. Kitts because we don’t have a trauma center on the island.” This from the other woman, petite, dark hair. “Dr. Aria Silver,” she said, holding out her hand. “I came in with the Jones, Inc. Aid team.”
“The security team?”
“They do international SAR also. We came in to help the Red Cross group. It’s a joint operation, thanks to Declan.”
Of course.
“Have you seen a guy named Doyle Kingston?”
“Yeah,” said Aria. “I met him earlier. He’s Ranger’s cousin, right?”
“Yes. But he’s also my codirector?—”
“Right,” said Jess. “Yes. I think he’s heading into the mountain with the team.”
She stilled.What?“Not without me, he’s not.”
Jess’s eyes widened.
“Where’s Declan? No, wait—up on the hill.”
Jess shrugged.
“Fine.” Tia turned and headed out of the tent onto the boardwalk, the drizzle turning her skin to gooseflesh. She didn’t care. Shadows hovered over the shattered town, outlining the burnt husk of the bank, the neighboring restaurant, and it looked like the slide had taken out the bike shop as well. Steam still rose from the charred timbers. The rest of the rubble littered the beach—wood, mud, rock—the debris from the homes it had destroyed.
On the hill, both at Declan’s home—which seemed untouched—and the monastery, lights flickered like eyes overlooking the town.
She needed to get up there.
“Ma’am?”
She turned and spotted a man standing on the sidewalk, tall, blond, wide-shouldered, soaked to the skin in his long-sleeve T-shirt, boots, and lightweight field pants.
“Are you Tia Pepper?”
She frowned, nodded.
“Hamilton Jones.” He held out his hand. “I run Jones, Inc. Jess said that you might need a ride?”
Another man stood with him, dark hair, a grim set to his jaw. He held the same military bearing as Jones.
“This is Ranger Kingston. He’s been coordinating efforts to secure your compound. And now he’s working on a rescue plan. We’re headed back up to the monastery.”
“Perfect. I’ll take that ride.”