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“I gotcha.”
A badly tied tourniquet was wrapped around her left shoulder. Blood trickled from an open wound.
His pulse soared with panic and dread. But his body and mind remained sharp with the years of training, years of focus and dedication to his trade.
“Trinity? Can you hear me?” He floated her on her back, resting her head on his shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered but never opened. Her lips parted, and she gave a slight moan but no words.
“I’m going to need a hand getting her on the boat,” he called to Fletcher. “She’s going to need an ambulance.”
“Already on that,” Fletcher said. “One will meet us at the marina.” He maneuvered the boat alongside Keaton, climbing on the stern. Together, they hoisted Trinity onto the back of the vessel.
Keaton dropped to his knees, cradling her head in his lap, pressing his fingers against her neck. “Pulse is weak,” he said, forcing himself to take all the emotion out of his actions. However, it wasn’t easy. All he saw was a woman he cared about.
One he cared too damn much for, and he’d been trying like hell not to. He hadn’t wanted a woman in his life. He’d never wanted to feel that way again. It hurt too much.
“Here.” Fletcher handed him a blanket. “Wrap her in this.” He waved his hand over her shoulder. “Can you tell what the injury is?”
“No.” Keaton shook his head. “But this tourniquet isn’t doing shit.” He untied it. A small amount of blood trickled through the wetsuit. Quickly, he unzipped it and pulled her arm through the sleeve. “Jesus. It looks like she’s been shot.” He lifted her upper body. “No exit wound.” He retied the tourniquet, wrapped her up, applied pressure to the wound, and held her in his arms. “Haul ass.” He tangled his fingers through her wet hair. “It’s going to be all right. We’ve got you now.”
A bag thudded to the floor as Fletcher hit the throttles.
He reached for it and undid the ties, pulling out a box. “Oh my God,” he whispered as he peered inside. “The jewels.” He set them aside, leaned forward, and kissed her temple. “What happened to you out there?”
A groan. Another flutter of her eyelids. A sharp intake of breath. A moan. No words.
“That’s okay, babe. All that matters is I found you,” he said. “I found you,” he repeated. Wetness dribbled down his cheek. He swiped at it with the back of his hand.
Whoever had done this was going to fucking pay. Keaton would make sure of that.
Keaton pacedin the waiting room. He hated hospitals. They smelled like death. Felt like death. Nothing about them screamed anything other than death and sickness. Of course, his only experience in hospitals had been when he’d been injured during a mission.
He’d been shot, stabbed, and tortured—which had included electrocution.
Each time he’d awoken in one of these hellholes, he hadn’t been sure what was worse, the experience that had brought him to the doctors in the first place or being stuck on the damn gurney.
He had nothing against doctors, nurses, or any of the staff. They were all wonderful people doing an excellent job, and honestly, he’d always gotten the best of care. Itwasn’t them. It was the environment and being told he couldn’t do something. Sitting still wasn’t his strong suit, even after he’d given up being an adrenaline junkie.
“Excuse me, son,” Monty, Trinity’s father, said. “All that pacing isn’t doing anything but remind all of us that my daughter is in an operating room right now.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Keaton ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced around the small room. “I don’t do hospitals well.”
“No one does,” Monty said.
“Just sit down.” Audra shoved a paper mug of coffee at him. “You’re making everyone in here nuts, and it’s not going to bring the doctor out here any faster.”
“We’re all worried about her,” Baily added. “She’s our friend, too. But the doctor said he’d be out as soon as she was out of surgery and in recovery.” She glanced around the waiting room. “Has anyone heard anything more about the search for Mallary?”
Dawson nodded. “Last update we all got was twenty minutes ago. They haven’t found any signs of Mallary. They are discussing how to treat this because they don’t know if they are looking for a body—dead or alive—or if this is a kidnapping. That changes the scope of the search and rescue.”
Keaton tapped his Apple Watch. “It’s been two hours since they rolled Trinity into surgery.” He took a long breath and leaned against the wall, staring into the sliding doors leading to the recovery rooms. “I’ve had a dozen bullets carved out of my body. I don’t think those surgeries took this long.”
“We waited six hours when you took two to the gut,”Dawson said. “She’s in good hands. You heard what the doctor said. She’s strong. Her vitals were good. The bullet wasn’t in a difficult place. I’m sure?—”
Dawson’s words were cut off by the doors swishing open.
“Hey, Doc.” Keaton raced toward the woman who had headed up the team taking care of Trinity during the operation. “Did the surgery go as planned?” His mouth suddenly grew dry. He couldn’t swallow. Hell, he could barely suck in a breath.