Page 35 of Steinbeck (The Minnesota Kingstons #5)

Britta looked up at her, horror in her eyes.

That’s when Emberly tripped her.

Britta screamed, falling, and as she did, Emberly slammed her cuffs against her body, snapped them off, grabbed up the pepper spray, and deployed it, right into the eyes of her captors.

Madeline ducked and peeled off, also snapping her cuffs—clearly the Bratva needed to update their equipment—and scampered behind a stack of pallets.

Coughing, Boris palmed his gun.

Emberly dove for Britta, hauling her up. “Run!”

But— aw, Britta tripped again, her ankle clearly turned in the fall. And Boris was shooting, still blinded.

Tomas, however, had come out last, the spray missing him, and now he also pulled a gun. “Stop, Emberly.”

She grabbed up Britta, stepped in front of her. “Let us go, Tomas. I promise you, we’ll meet again.”

He shook his head. “I am so tired of you Black Swans.”

Then he pulled the trigger.

* * *

His ears rang.

Steinbeck rolled out from behind the overturned table where he’d leaped after Emberly’s warning.

Seeing her had stopped him flat. Probably saved his life, really.

As for the others still catching up, he’d shouted “Grenade!” just in case and curled into a ball, covered his ears, protected his head.

The grenade had exploded. A flash-bang. He’d stayed down, eyes closed, and when he rose, he spotted Colt and Tate appearing from the back.

“I think they took the president’s daughter.” He headed toward the entrance, his brain still rolling over?—

What was Emberly doing here?

He stopped at the entrance to the back hallway, then rolled out. “Clear.”

Colt and Tate filed behind him.

“Blood,” said Colt, and Stein looked down to see drips and then a swath on a wall on the lower landing. The pungent odor of the smoke bombs and the acrid stink of gunpowder burned the air.

A gunshot echoed up the steps, a scream in its wake.

Stein motioned down and took point. Hit the first landing, peeked over. “Clear.”

He headed to the next, and did the same, all the way to the bottom.

A shot popped and he hit the wall.

Another scream and he glanced at Colt, Tate. They nodded and he edged out.

Two bodies lay crumpled on the concrete floor of the parking garage. More shots and he spotted a handful of men in position behind pallets, a couple barrels.

The gunshots had popped from behind a truck.

His gaze fell on a man in a suit, and his jaw tightened. “Tomas, eleven o’clock, behind those barrels.”

A bullet pinged off the doorframe, and he turned, spotted a security officer—clearly not, but whatever —hunkered down behind the loading platform.

Stein ducked back inside, glanced at Colt. “People down near the truck. Looks like building security, but my guess is that they’re with the Bratva.”

“How do you?—”

Another ping into the stairwell, and a peek out showed Tomas running hard behind a uniform toward a forklift. A few more men were on their feet now, firing toward whoever stood behind the truck.

Emberly?

“Go,” Stein said.

Colt stepped out and neutralized the shooter by the loading dock.

Steinbeck followed and dropped another man, this one turning on Colt.

More gunshots, these aimed at the men behind a barrel. Stein had a better angle, but it was Tate who shut them down.

Tate moved down the stairs. At the bottom, he crouched and took out another man, who’d risen for a try.

The shooters behind the truck focused on a bigger man who held position behind a dumpster.

Maybe it was Steinbeck’s imagination, but it seemed he’d seen the big fella outside Nimue’s house in Melbourne Beach.

“It’s the Bratva.”

“No duh,” said Tate, who’d dropped behind the loading dock, over the man Colt had eliminated. He pointed to a star inked on the back of the shooter’s neck. “I know these guys. Bratva for sure.”

Tomas and another man hunkered down behind the forklift.

Steinbeck spotted a woman with red hair behind a stack of pallets. Madeline Ribaldi. He remembered her from the gala. She was pointing to the bodies on the floor.

He frowned. He could see one of the uniformed security officers, wearing a vest, but even as he looked, someone was struggling from beneath?—

Britta White. Shaking, her hair bloody, trying to crawl out from?—

His knees nearly left him.

No, no ?—

Emberly wasn’t behind the truck, shooting at the enemy...

He took off toward the bodies, but a shot nearly clipped him. And that was Just. It.

He turned and unloaded on the two behind the forklift, all the way until he reached Britta. Then he hauled her up and carried her, one arm around her, to the truck. Shoved her into the back. “Stay down.”

“I got her,” said a deep voice behind the truck.

He turned and stilled. “Shep?”

“Get Emberly.” Shep held a Glock, clearly abandoning his sidelines-only position. He glanced at Britta. “You shot?”

“No.” She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking.

“Stay put,” Shep said and glanced at Stein. Nodded.

Then Steinbeck stepped back around the truck.

A barrage of shots—somebody behind there had a semiautomatic—peppered the room as Stein ran out toward...

Not the body .

Please be alive!

Emberly lay, her face in a puddle of blood. He grabbed her vest, pulled her along the concrete floor like...

Not a rag doll. Not a corpse .

He dropped behind the truck and pulled her into his arms, turned her over.

Her beautiful eyes were closed, and blood smeared her face, her nose clearly broken. Please be alive, please ? —

Her pulse thumped under his fingers at her neck. But her breath shuddered in and out, as if struggling.

More shots, and a shout, but he ignored them as he laid her down, searching for the wound.

She wore a Kevlar vest— good girl —and he found where the bullet had made a terrible dent in the casing on her right side, torso. He unzipped the vest and opened it.

No blood, and yet she still struggled.

“Sorry, babe.” He lifted her shirt. Deep red-purple stained her skin, evidence of internal bleeding.

“She must have broken ribs when the bullet hit,” Shep said, standing close enough to see the damage.

“She saved my life,” said Britta, her arms around her updrawn knees. “She just stood there, right in front of me, and let him shoot her!”

“Okay, okay”—Shep held up his hand to Britta—“just breathe.”

Steinbeck, too, clung to Shep’s advice. Just breathe.

Just breathe, Emberly!

“Listen,” Shep said. “You back up London—I’ll take care of Emberly.”

Stein looked up, past Shep. London stood behind the open passenger-side door of the truck, well-armed.

“She’s not leaving here without Tomas. This is personal,” Shep said.

Yeah, well, for him too, and the thought galvanized him. “Don’t. Let. Her. Die.”

Shep’s mouth tightened, a thin line that Steinbeck refused to think about.

Stay with me, Emberly. He scooted up along the truck and opened the driver’s-side door.

Glanced at London through the truck. She wore a black hat over her blonde hair and had a dark expression. “Any ideas?”

He found Colt and Tate and motioned to them. Colt got up, scuttled over to Madeline behind her pallet, ducking as a shot whizzed over his head.

Tate pulled off a shot, but it pinged against the forklift as the shooter vanished.

If Steinbeck had time... He glanced at Tate, met his eyes.

Tate nodded and hunkered down in position. Gave just the slightest bob of his head.

“Look alive,” Steinbeck said to London.

Then he got up and stepped out from behind the car door. He took off at a run, nothing too fast, but fast enough.

The Bratva shooter took the bait. He rose just a little and?—

Tate sent him sprawling back behind the forklift.

Stein skidded behind a row of barrels.

“It’s over, Tomas!” London shouted. “There’s no escaping. Surrender now and give up Alan Martin and you have hope of not being executed for attempting to kidnap the first daughter.”

Steinbeck peeked out. Spotted Tomas behind the forklift.

And saw him put the gun to himself?—

The door to the garage jerked open. There were shouts, and a tactical assault team swarmed in from the garage door, from the stairwell, descending on Tomas.

Steinbeck stood just as Fraser Marshall grabbed up the man, disarmed him, and threw him facedown onto the grimy concrete.

Someone was a little hot that his princess had been attacked.

Yeah, well, Stein too. He took off toward Shep, spotted him motioning to one of the tactical guys.

“What?”

“I think one of the ribs punctured a lung. She can’t breathe because her chest cavity is filling with air.

” Shep didn’t sound panicked, but he had opened up her shirt, taken off her vest. “If we don’t relieve the pressure, it could shut down her heart.

” He leaned back, shouted toward the tactical guy, “I need that chest-decompression kit!”

The veins in Emberly’s neck had started to swell, her body whitening, her fingertips turning blue. She was gasping even while unconscious, but only one side of her chest was moving.

Stein dropped to his knees. “Shep?—”

“I know!” Shep put his fingers to her throat. “She’s in tachycardia?—”

An ambulance screamed in, and Stein hit his feet, took off to the parking lot. The vehicle barely stopped before Stein opened up the back. “I need a decompression kit!”

“Just calm down.” The male EMT, mid-thirties, reached for a med bag.

“Oh, this is calm. You don’t want to see me not calm,” Stein said, his voice lowering. He put up a hand to stop the EMT from exiting. “I’m going to need that kit.”

“Hurry!” Shep shouted.

Stein stared at the man and put intent in his eyes. “He’s a medic. Trying to save my girlfriend’s life.”

The EMT turned back inside and handed him the kit.

Stein ran it back just as Shep leaned over to give Emberly breaths.

No, no ? —

Stein dropped the kit beside Shep.

“Help her breathe,” Shep said.

Stein fell to his knees on the opposite side, blew out a couple quick breaths, then leaned over and met Emberly’s mouth.

Breathed life into her.

Please, Emberly.

Again.

Please.

Shep pulled on gloves, ripped open antiseptic wipes.

London landed beside Stein. “How can I help?”

Stein kept breathing into Emberly. “C’mon, Phoenix. Don’t die. You’re tougher than this.”

“Clean the insertion site.” Shep indicated the space between her ribs. He handed London the wipes.

Stein breathed again. Only one side of Emberly’s chest rose, and just barely. He could hardly find air for himself.

Please, God. Please.

“That’s good, London.” Shep handed her gauze. “Take these and catch the blood that runs off. Stein, hold up.”

Stein leaned back and only then realized that Tate and Colt and Logan and Fraser stood behind him, around him.

Colt put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. And as Stein watched Shep feel for the space between Emberly’s ribs, the one place that might save her life, he picked up her hand, held it.

He didn’t care that his eyes filled, that his voice emerged small and broken. That the guys might hear him. “I’m holding on, Emberly. Just like I said. I’m sorry I let you go. I was selfish and scared and stupid. And it will never happen again. Just don’t... don’t leave.”

Shep shoved the needle in, and she jerked as if in response to pain. Then air sloughed out of her through the large-bore needle. Shep pressed fingers to her neck.

“Compressions, London.”

He said it quietly, and Stein stared at him as London bent over and started CPR.

No, no ? —

“Breathe, Stein.”

He looked at Shep.

“For her. Breathe for her!”

Right. London stopped compressions and Stein leaned over, sent air into Emberly’s lungs. He tasted salt on his lips as he took a breath and delivered another one.

“Compressions,” Shep said, and London kept pumping.

A crowd gathered around them.

“Twelve, thirteen—okay, breaths, Stein.”

He leaned over, breathed into her.

Nothing.

Again.

She remained white, and London started again. Behind him, Britta started to sob. Madeline came up and held her, arms tight around her. He glanced at them, back at Emberly.

No. It was not supposed to end like this. They were supposed—well, they weren’t supposed to be anything. The thief and the Boy Scout. Yeah, it was a crazy fairy tale, but it was theirs. Oh, he wanted it to be theirs. Please, God. I’ve got nothing but You.

The blood London pumped through Emberly had started to flush her face. But still, she lay, unmoving, her face broken, and Stein closed his eyes, listening to London count. Nine. Ten. Eleven ? —

“Stand back and see what I will do.”

His breath caught, the words nearly thunder, ripping through him. He opened his eyes.

Emberly’s chest moved, a breath captured. Then another.

“That’s good, London.”

“We have oxygen,” the EMT from before said, delivering—finally—an O2 tank. He affixed a mask over Emberly’s mouth.

And she breathed.

Somehow Shep got hold of a stethoscope, and he pressed it to her chest. “Yeah, her other lung is working. The air is leaving her pleural cavity.”

Colt had both hands on Stein’s shoulders now and squeezed hard even as Stein sat back, his body shaking.

He grabbed Emberly’s hand.

She squeezed it a second before she opened her eyes, searched the room, and what might have been panic flashed in them.

“You’re okay, babe.” He leaned up then, held her gaze.

She stared at him, her voice nearly inaudible as she spoke. He leaned close to her lips. “You’re not dead.”

He met her eyes. “Not yet.”

“I thought—” She reached up to move the oxygen, but he caught her hand.

“I know. You thought you left me behind in a pile of rubble.”

Her eyes filled.

“Been there, done that. Do not recommend.”

She closed her eyes, then started to sob.

What?

“Em. You’re okay. I’m okay. Tomas is...”

“In custody,” said Fraser.

“It’s over. Except, how did you... I mean... how did you even get here? In... this?” He gestured to the outfit.

And it occurred to him then that if she hadn’t been wearing the vest... Oh.

“C’mere,” she whispered, and he leaned over.

“I’m a thief.”

He pulled back, searched her face.

She smiled and then... winked ?

Oh, and the laugh just pressed out of him, a huff that released the brutal coil inside him. “Yeah, you are.” And he didn’t want to sound sappy, but... she’d completely stolen his heart.

“We need to move her now.” This from the EMT who’d brought in a backboard.

Steinbeck moved away but kept hold of her hand.

“Sir, you’ll have to let her go.”

He looked at the man.

A beat.

“Never mind.”

They put her on the board, strapped her down, and started an IV, and as Emberly drifted into sedation, he was right there.

Holding on.