Page 35 of Anchor (First to Fight)

“Gabe?” I say, and this time I can’t even hear my own voice over the sound of the waves. “I’m going to check to see where you’re hurt.”

He makes a sound, but I can’t tell if it’s a warning or an assent. We don’t have time for me to second guess myself, and if he’s wounded he certainly doesn’t have time for it, so I take a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm my nerves. Then all I can do is start.

His hair is shorn closely to his head and aside from a goose egg, there aren’t any other serious injuries. I probe the bump, which makes him wince and rear back.

“Sorry,” I say, pulling my shaking hands back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he manages, his breath shallow. “Leg. It’s—leg.”

“Leg,” I repeat. “Okay, right.”

As I move down, my hand bumps against his midriff and he sucks in a quick breath.

“What are you…” My stomach drops when my hands come back soaked in what must be blood.

“He shot you twice?” I say incredulously. “Jesus Christ, Gabe. You aren’t superman. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Put…pressure on it.”

“Oh, I’ll put pressure on it,” I mutter. “I’m gonna help you with your zipper so I can wrap your wound up.”

“Don’t…have time. Need to…find Jones.”

“Yeah, you sure as hell won’t have time if you bleed out. Just shut up while I do this, then we’ll go find Jones.”

“Bossy,” he says and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Damn straight,” I say. “Now shut up.”

I unzip his wetsuit slowly, afraid of what I’m going to find underneath. My eyes adjust to the dark the hem of the suit reveals a track wound maybe four inches long through the fleshy part of his waist, I suck in a breath. I let it out in one shaky exhalation.

“Well, the good news is that it doesn’t look deep,” I say. “The bad news is that you’ve definitely been shot.”

“Not the first time,” he manages grimly.

“Now the part where you don’t like hospitals is starting to make sense,” I say.

I feel like a heroine in a Regency novel as I rip off the bottom part of my dress off to wrap around his waist. “I’m going to do this quickly,” I say.

“Just do it.”

I have to wedge my arms behind him to wrap the large strip around his stomach. The slash through his sides starts by his right hip and wraps around his side to end near his back. I fix the wide part of the strip over the wound and carefully align it to make sure it’s completely covered before I arrange it on the other side and tie it off. I do it more tightly than I think is necessary because I have a feeling he’s not going to take a few minutes to rest, even if we could.

I help him get his wetsuit back on as quickly and painlessly as possible. When I glance back up, I catch him grinning at me. “What?”

“You’re not a nurse are you?” he jokes even though he’s short of breath and grimacing in pain.

“Definitely not,” I say.

He chuckles. “Maybe you should be. I wouldn’t have such a bad attitude about them if I had a pretty nurse like you.”

“You must be going into shock,” I say and look away so he can’t see the reluctant smile pulling at my lips. “Now be quiet. I’ve got to concentrate.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawls.

My fingers tremble as I check over his leg. The material of his suit wicks away moisture, but it’s slick on his outer thigh. I tear off another strip of my dress and wrap it around his leg.

“Not normally how I get women out of their clothes.”