“You’re doing great.” Connor encouraged her, kept pace with her.
The grinding sound of boat engines drew nearer.
She focused on the blue fishing vessel, the one headed straight for them, the one with the big, redhaired Scot standing at the prow with a rifle in his hands.
“Swim harder, Shanti!”
But the black spots were back, the world going gray, boats and guns and river fading into a dream.
“Shanti, you’ve got to swim now.”
Shanti looked into the eyes of a man she’d only seen in photos. “Uncle Abani?”
“Yes, I’m your uncle. I’m glad we get to speak at last. You’ve made us all very proud, Shanti, but you can’t give up—not now. This fight is not over.”
“I’m so tired.”
“Yes, but you have important work to do. Swim, Shanti. Swim.”
Shanti raised her head above the surface, coughed up water. She looked around, expecting to see Uncle Abani. But Connor was there.
“Shanti!” He took hold of her, turned onto his back, and swam with her in one arm as if she had been drowning.
Had she?
And then the boat pulled alongside them, strong hands lifting her out of the water, laying her gently back on a stretcher.
“They’re on board,” Dylan shouted. “Go! Go! Go!”
“She’s got a broken right tibia.” That was Connor. “I think she’s got a concussion. She’s lost consciousness several times, and she’s in a fair amount of pain.”
“Shanti, I’m Doc Sullivan. I’m going to give you some morphine. Let’s get an IV going in case she’s got internal bleeding.”
“Two Border Patrol vessels coming up hard to stern.” That was Malik.
And they were moving.
“I’m cold,” she managed to say.
A blanket.
Connor took her hand. “You did it, princess. We’re about to cross the border. You’re going home.”
Connor held Shanti’s hand,watched the pain leave her face as the morphine autoinjector did its work, adrenaline still thrumming through his veins.
Leaving her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. It had gone against every instinct he had—to protect, to defend, to keep her safe.
But she’d been right. Between villagers and those soldiers, he’d been outnumbered at least a hundred to one. He would have fought and died, taking civilians with him, and Naing would have her now. She’d bought time for him to reclaim the tactical advantage.
He still didn’t know exactly what had happened after he’d gone. There’d been ten unbearable minutes when she’d been out of his sight. When he’d next seen her, she’d been battered and unconscious.
The image of the soldiers groping her and striking her filled his mind, rage rekindling in his gut. But then he’d known they would hurt her. She’d known it too, and she’d been willing to endure whatever pain and suffering Naing and his men could dole out rather than watch Connor die.
I couldn’t live with myself if they killed you. I love you, Connor.
Good God.
She’d told him she loved him. He’d seen in her eyes that she’d meant it. He’d been so stunned by her words, and the situation had been so dire, that he hadn’t told her he loved her, too.