Hard to Hold Page 8

  “You’re sure this is the right thing for Izzy?” Jeannie was asking. “Are you sure not telling the FBI about Rafe’s demands is in her best interest?”

  “Isabelle’s going to be safe here. I wouldn’t have arranged all of this if I didn’t know it would work,” he said, more to himself than to her, as if he could make it true by repeating it enough.

  He yanked opened the window curtain and put his forehead against the cold pane of glass, closed his eyes and let Jeannie’s voice ease his heart.

  “I know that, Cal. You’d never let anything happen to her. Not like I did.”

  His words nearly caught in his throat. “She’s a grown woman. You can’t stop her from doing a job she wants to do.”

  “You did.”

  “I had to.” God, he’d pulled strings, yanked them so hard, walked over people’s heads and threw fits until he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted through special permissions from higher-ups.

  He knew that wasn’t going to be enough, but it was a start. The clinic wouldn’t hold Isabelle’s interest for long. She’d heal fast, get clearance and she was determined to go back out into the field, one way or another. Stubborn, just like James. His best friend. The one he’d betrayed in a way a friend never should.

  “Is he …” Jeannie couldn’t even finish her sentence, stood at the door wearing sweatpants and a tank top. She’d been studying—had a year of college left and then planned on law school.

  Cal stared at the wife of his best friend for a minute and realized what she was asking. “No. God, no, Jeannie … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have startled you. Shouldn’t have come here like this.” Still, he didn’t make any move to leave and she didn’t make any move to let him inside.

  “Then why did you? Come here, I mean.”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “I’m married, Cal. To your best fiend.”

  “I know that, Jeannie. Don’t you think I don’t know that? That I think about how stupid I am every time I see his ring?”

  “You’re not the marrying kind. You’ve told me that before and as much as I didn’t want to believe it, I know it’s the truth. You couldn’t give me what I need.”

  But that wasn’t the truth, because he could give her what she needed in a way that James was never able to touch. Jeannie always told Cal that it was hard to feel heat for a man when her heart was somewhere else.

  Somehow, James knew that too, understood, accepted when she’d wished he wouldn’t have, wished he’d let his anger and frustration mount and yell and scream. Show any kind of emotion at all.

  But no, James would never do that. He was too good of a soldier, too buttoned up. Always in control.

  And Cal, wearing a pair of old blue jeans and a black T-shirt, a cigarette tucked behind one ear, was anything but buttoned up. He knew he’d be stripping off her top and rubbing her bare chest by the end of the afternoon.

  He’d pushed her right into James’s arms. On purpose. Knew they’d be the perfect couple. As much as Jeannie had protested that she could never love James the way she loved Cal, she’d been better off.

  Cal knew that love wasn’t the most important thing—never would be. No, he’d never let it be.

  CHAPTER

  6

  When Isabelle checked her beeper, she found a page with a call for any and all emergency and medical personnel in the general vicinity of the base and insisted that she and Jake head to the scene.

  Jake had insisted on carrying her to the car so she wouldn’t fall—after he called her stubborn—and buckling her in when she couldn’t pull the seatbelt far enough to extend over the huge parka he’d dressed her in.

  “Ready?” he asked, even as he gunned the car down the long driveway—without his own seatbelt on. He wore a gray skullcap and a black fleece pullover and gloves with the fingers cut off.

  She gripped the dash, the door handle, anything to steady herself and wondered just how crazy he really was. She made a mental note to check him for tattoos on his scalp, as per the rumors. As soon as he stopped the car from skidding all over the road.

  “Jake …” She pushed her legs out straight as if there were an invisible set of brakes on her side of the car.

  “Relax. I was number one in my class for combat driving.” He did seem perfectly calm, even as the car took another sickening turn and plowed through a huge pile of snow.

  “Were you the only one in that class?”

  “You’re funny without sleep. But you wanted to get to the scene fast, remember?” he added, as if it were all her fault that he was driving like a complete maniac.

  “I’d like to get there in one piece.”

  “You will. You think that Marine can do better?” he asked with a smirk.

  No, not better. Not even close. She’d gotten dressed in warm, borrowed clothes in the space of ten minutes, had tried not to mull over the fact that he had several new toothbrushes under his sink and just what that meant about his supply of overnight guests. He’d laced her into a pair of his boots that were ten sizes too big for her and somehow managed to do it without making her feel like she was ten and helpless.

  “How bad is it?” she asked as she clomped down the stairs. One glance at the blanket of unplowed snow told the story.

  “Pretty bad,” he said.

  “Are you going to be able to get through this?”

  “Are you doubting my abilities?” He stood close enough to make heat surge through her body. Again. “Because you really shouldn’t.”

  “No. I’m not,” she said, and he smiled. God, she liked it when she could make him smile.

  “Okay, seriously, do you always drive like this?” She clutched the dashboard now, since the seatbelt was no match for Jake’s number one in combat driving driving.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you still have a license?”

  “I need a license?” he asked innocently.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said as he muttered something about women loving to exaggerate, a sharp dammit on the heels of that as he rounded the corner and found the road blocked.

  He didn’t say anything, took a wide turn to get on the highway that made the contents of the car shift hard, including her.

  She had to brace herself with her arm against the dashboard when he pulled sharply to the side, blatantly ignoring the police cars straddling the middle of the road and going around them.

  She saw the bus in the distance—on its side and tilted toward a slight embankment leading down from the road along the back side of the base.

  “Stay here until I check on the scene,” Jake said, but she was already letting herself out of the car, Chris’s triage bag in hand. She nearly slipped before getting her footing and heading closer.

  Of course, Jake managed to get there first.

  “Ma’am, you can’t be here.” One of the officers attempted to stop her.

  “I’m a doctor. I can help,” she called as she moved toward Jake.

  “You’ve got to clear this bus out,” Jake was telling the officers, and even though he didn’t strain to be heard, the inherent command in his tone cut through the chaos immediately.

  She stood next to him as he started barking orders, taking over a situation that he wasn’t officially in charge of, even though her heart was pounding and the urge to jump in was great. Jake held her arm as if holding her back—and she got it. Safety first.

  She heard the word Marines, and figured out that it was a busload of soldiers headed back to base after a training exercise.

  Things started moving as he directed the soldiers to help the men who could actually walk themselves off the bus.

  It had skidded on a patch of black ice and turned onto its side, had continued a slow slide off the road and into the woods. The engine appeared to be smoking, but she couldn’t tell if that was just because of the frigid cold.

  There were several people who’d been thrown—she’d need to get to them immediately, while Jake continued hi
s evacuation. It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but without the right equipment, and given the weather, things were going to get worse fast.

  An ambulance skidded to a stop near Jake’s car and she said a mental prayer of thanks and took off toward it.

  “I need METTAGS,” she said to the EMTs. Between the three of them, and Jake and the troopers, they could cover this scene for a little while. “Please tell me you’ve got more people coming.”

  “They’re on the way,” one of the EMTs said, and handed her some tags for triage.

  She turned to seek out Jake, waved to him, as if asking, Now? He nodded and motioned her onto the scene. “Let’s get moving.”

  She worked her way, along with the EMTs, through the crowds to the people who lay closest to the bus. After the first five minutes, she threw off her coat in favor of moving faster. The sweatshirt would have to be enough for now.

  The tension, the fear, all of it fell away as the adrenaline surge kicked in. The gloves Jake had lent her were big, even with the fingers cut away, but without them, her hands would be frozen and useless. The rest of her body had stopped feeling the cold, anything except the unerring need to help as many of these men as she could. Moving forward—that’s what it was all about.

  Now she knelt in the snow, going back over those victims she’d first assessed an hour ago and labeled with black tags.

  The bus driver couldn’t be saved. Isabelle had labeled her with a black tag and instructed the EMTs to give her a dose of morphine, even though the woman was unconscious and barely breathing—Isabelle hated the thought that she’d be in any more pain than she had to be when she passed.

  It was obvious on just a quick assessment that the driver hadn’t been wearing any kind of seatbelt. Earlier, Isabelle had watched as the Marines who’d gotten off the bus first had had to drag her away from the stepwell. The woman’s head had struck the windshield even as her body made impact with the dashboard. She’d most likely had massive cranial hemorrhage before she’d even been thrown from her seat.

  Finger on the woman’s fading pulse, Isabelle heard a soft moan, swiveled to find a young man who sat with his back against a tree. He was half hidden by the foliage, looking dazed.

  “Can you walk?” she called out.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Can you walk? Can you try?”

  “I think so. Yes.” The man nodded, pushed himself up.

  “Good. Come here to me,” Isabelle urged. The bus driver’s pulse was slowing rapidly. Within seconds, there was nothing more for Isabelle to do but help the young man move toward the ambulance. He probably had a mild concussion. One of the lucky ones.

  Luckier than the young man who was still reported to be on the bus.

  Isabelle was yelling orders, her voice firm. Commanding, even, as if she’d been born into situations like this. The weather conditions were night and day from what she’d dealt with in Africa, but she’d definitely handled crises. And handled them well.

  She was bossy. Demanding.

  She was perfect.

  She’d even asked if he knew initial triage protocol, asked him to repeat it back to her and then told him to follow it.

  Like a page from his own book.

  Care under fire—ambulate, ventilation, cap refill and follow simple commands. With that in mind, he focused his efforts on directing two men, who appeared to be unharmed except for some bruises, to get everyone who was already on their feet and walking away from the bus.

  He’d collared one of the EMTs earlier, told him to stick to Isabelle’s side like glue. Jake had managed to keep her in his sight most of the time, but scenes like this were hard, and he was being pulled in five thousand directions. Sticking by her side when he was needed other places, desperately, wasn’t going to work.

  “Is everyone off?” he asked the last men moving slowly away from the main scene.

  “There’s one guy left—he’s trapped,” one of the Marines said. “The cops said to leave him—the fire department’s on their way with tools.”

  “Entering’s too dangerous right now. A fire crew is on the way that’s equipped to handle this,” a trooper confirmed. Yes, the trooper was right about the first part, but there were no crews getting through in time to help. Jake had been on scene for over an hour and there was still no sign of the fire department

  The bus was going to take a long, slow slide sooner rather than later. If he mentioned that to anyone, panic would ensue. Instead, he did what he did best—disappeared behind the triaged groupings and the trooper’s yellow tape and made his way onto the bus.

  According to reports, the remaining man was all the way at the back of the bus, his shoulder wedged beneath a seat. Dangerous to move him, deadly to leave him.

  Great choice.

  “I’m coming for you,” Jake called back into the semi-darkness. The only light was alternating flashes from the ambulance and police car lights, and they weren’t enough.

  Until the beam from a flashlight hit him square in the face, blinding him.

  “We’re back here,” a familiar voice said. A way too familiar voice. He stopped dead in his tracks. His stomach dropped as he inwardly cursed himself, and the EMT.

  “Put the light down,” he said. The beam moved and he saw that it was indeed Isabelle kneeling down near the patient.

  “He’s stable. A lot of pain. I can’t get him out from under the seat,” she said calmly, right before she bit the plastic cap off a syringe and spit it to the side.

  I can’t get him out from under the seat. As if she’d tried. Which she probably had. “Are you fucking crazy?” he asked.

  “Are you?” Her voice was quiet, and yeah, he was. Everyone knew that. But she wasn’t supposed to be. She was supposed to be rational and logical. Doctor-ish.

  Jesus Christ, this was not good.

  She’d already turned her attention back to the patient.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” he demanded, stayed where he was to calibrate the vehicle, which meant fighting every urge to grab her and carry her off the bus.

  “Are you going to yell at me or help me?”

  “Lady, you’re in so much trouble here.”

  She glanced down at the boy she was helping. “He thinks he’s all tough because he’s a SEAL,” she said as she continued to thread the IV calmly. The bus shifted slightly and she caught herself with one hand as she held the bag above the boy’s head with the other. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “Isabelle, you need to get out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving my patient.”

  “I’ll bring him out to you. You need to stand up and walk past me. Right now. No arguments.”

  He didn’t want to risk scaring either her or the Marine, but too much movement was not what this bus needed.

  She heard him, loud and clear, looked like she’d just figured it out for herself. It was the look of someone who’d done something without thinking and now thinking was all she could do.

  The wind, which had picked up to a steady howl through the broken windows of the bus, wasn’t helping.

  “You’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “Just walk toward me. Steadily. We’re going to meet in the middle and change places.”

  She grabbed her bag and pulled the straps over her head and one shoulder before she stood. Carefully. She stepped over the trapped man and started walking toward Jake.

  The bus shifted slightly and she stopped, stared at him.

  “You’re fine. Breathe. And keep walking,” he told her. Her eyes were wide, and she exhaled the breath she’d been holding and kept moving.

  As she passed him, they were chest to chest for a few seconds, her face inches from his, and he fought the urge to pick her up and carry her to safety.

  “He’s really wedged in there,” she said quietly. “I’ve given him something for the pain, but I didn’t want to knock him out completely. He’s got feeling in both legs, and I figured I’d need him to cooperate.”

>   “Cooperation is exactly what I need,” he said tightly.

  “I didn’t see any other way. I’m sorry,” she said.

  When she’d gotten completely past him, he started to move toward the back. “Keep going. Get off the bus. Wait for me outside.”

  “Be careful,” she called over her shoulder, and her words gave him pause, made him actually freakin’ laugh in the middle of this non-laughable situation.

  A second later, he knelt down by the guy’s head and used his penlight to make his own quick assessment.

  The kid, because shit, that’s all he was, was scared. Partially in shock. His entire shoulder and arm were trapped beneath a dislodged double seat and his breathing was coming in short, quick gasps. Jake wondered what he’d been like before Isabelle had given him pain meds.

  “What’s your name?”

  “It’s Shane King, sir. I told the doc she shouldn’t have come on here by herself.”

  “She’s not the best listener.” Jake reached out and grabbed Shane’s foot. “Feel that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s Jake. Please just call me Jake.”

  Whatever damage Jake might do by freeing the kid was better than death, so he barked his words out to the young soldier—a command, not a question—because in his experience, fear was always a stronger motivator than sympathy. “When I lift this, you’re going to pull yourself out.”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  The lift was pure adrenaline, the way it always was when there was danger in the mix and especially as he felt the bus shift slightly under his feet. The kid felt it too, slowly but surely squirmed his way out from under the seat, his shoulder and arm hanging uselessly by his side.

  He was even attempting to lift himself to his feet—half fear and half bravado, but he was moving—as Jake lowered the seat back down as gingerly as possible. Even so, the bus shifted again, a sickening lurch that left him and the kid staring at each other.

  “Let’s go.” Jake moved as cautiously as time would allow, put himself on the kid’s good side. “I’m going to lift you. It’s going to hurt like hell.”

  “I want to walk off.”