Moans. Boots on asphalt. The distant thrum of a helicopter.
Hurry, Javier!
Derek moaned, drew in a breath, his eyes fluttering open, pain etched into his face. “Get … into the vehicle.”
“Stay quiet.” She fought to keep her emotions out of it, tearing open a hemostatic dressing and fixing it over the bullet wound.
He tried to reach for his rifle.
“You’ve got a bullet still inside you, so take it easy.” She jammed the autoinjector into his thigh, shoving another one into her bra just in case.
“No … morphine.”
“Too late.”
He didn’t seem to have a pneumothorax, so she focused on his bleeding. “This is going to hurt.”
He grimaced as she pressed down hard on his shoulder.
The boots drew nearer.
“Stay still. They’re coming.”
Maybe if they thought he was already dead…
Her heart pounding so hard it hurt, she looked up just as armed men came around both corners, weapons pointed at her and Ortiz, whose hands were red with blood.
She recognized Qassim from the drone photos and glared up at him, shouting at him in Dari, her fear momentarily gone. “You dog!”
He ignored her.
“What do you want me to do with them?” one of his men asked, pointing the barrel of his rifle directly at Derek’s head.
“No!” Jenna cried out in a voice she barely recognized as her own, throwing herself over him, protecting him with her body. “Don’t you touch him!”
“Bring him and the girl. Leave the rest to the vultures.”
* * *
Derek slowly cameout of his morphine haze, pain dragging him to awareness. His left hand was numb, but his arm hurt like hell. The pain in his chest was just as bad. The round that had hit his vest must have broken ribs or cracked his sternum.
God, it hurt to breathe.
He opened his eyes, found himself lying on his back in the rear of one of Qassim’s Jeeps, his wrists and feet bound.
Okay, so he’d been in worse spots. But his men…
Jones, Cruz, O’Neal, Ortiz. Four good men wounded, maybe dying, maybe dead.
Goddamn.
They’d taken out his earpiece, so he had no idea what was going on. The bird had been on its way. Derek had called out medical. Were they still alive?
Derek had lost men before. He’d lost an entire team the day Laura Nilsson had been abducted. That had beenhisfault, his responsibility. Was this his doing, too?
You can’t change it now. Concentrate on getting through this.
He focused on his heartbeat, trying to assess his condition. It wasn’t fast or thready, which told him that he hadn’t lost too much blood.