Against All Odds (36 page)
Authors: Irene Hannon
Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary
She blinked. Squinted as if trying to focus. Blinked again. And then, all at once, she emitted a soft sigh, went limp, and loosened her grip on the covers.
“Good girl.” Coop wanted to gather her in his arms, reassure her the nightmare was over. But he settled for a gentle stroke of her cheek.
“HR-61 to TOC. We have two dead subjects.”
Mark’s voice reporting to Les pulled Coop back to the job at hand. He eased the bedspread down, did a cursory scan. The blood on Monica’s pink sweat suit was dried. He saw no additional signs of trauma.
“HR-35 to TOC. Hostage was not injured in the assault.”
“Copy, HR-35. EMTs are on the way.”
Motioning to Mark, Coop pulled the cover back over Monica. “Handle the cleanup here, okay?”
“Sure.” Mark glanced at Coop’s shoulder. “Looks like you got winged.”
Frowning, Coop noted the bloody crease on the outside of his upper arm. Remembered the pistol shot. And the sting. “It had to be the guy by the door. I can’t believe he managed to get off a shot in all that chaos.”
“He must have had his gun out for some reason when we breached and taken a wild shot. You better have that checked out.”
“Later. Monica’s first in line.” He spotted two EMTs in the doorway and waved them in, stepping aside as they took over.
Someone had already briefed them on what was known about her condition, but Coop hovered nearby as they eased her onto her back, snapped on latex gloves, and went to work. One of them wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm, another prepared to start an IV.
“Seventy-seven over forty.” The technician removed the blood pressure cuff and checked her heart. “Pulse is rapid, weak and thready.”
At Monica’s sudden flinch, Coop took a step closer. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m having trouble getting the IV in. She’s in shock and shows obvious signs of dehydration. Not a good combination if you’re trying to start a line.”
Coop recalled enough from his first-aid training to know the EMT was probably dealing with collapsed veins from restricted blood flow. But it didn’t ease the knot in his gut when Monica flinched again as the man tried a second time.
“Look, can you take it easy?” The words came out in a low growl as Coop edged in and reached for her free hand, scrutinizing her face. “She’s been hurt enough today.”
“The IV will ease a lot of her discomfort once we get it in.” The man kept working, tapping the inside of her elbow, trying to raise a vein. On his third attempt, the needle slid in. “Got it.” As he taped the needle in place, he spared the HRT operator a quick look. “We were told she’d been drugged. My guess is she’s thrown up and hasn’t had any fluids replenished. The IV will help.”
“She’ll need some stitches in her chin.” The other man spoke as he tested her pupils with a penlight. “It appears she might have a mild to moderate concussion. Plus assorted bruises and abrasions.”
All at once, Monica drew in a sharp breath. Her features contorted, and she struggled to sit up, her eyes hazy with pain.
The EMTs reacted at once. One held her in place while the other attempted to discern the cause of her sudden distress. “Ma’am, we need you to lie still. Can you tell us what’s wrong?”
Her breathing grew more labored, and she thrashed at the restraining hands. “Hurts.” She gasped out the word.
“What hurts?”
“Leg.”
“Which one?”
“Right. Calf.”
The EMT pulled the bedspread all the way down and pushed up the leg of her sweatpants. “Muscle cramp. Common with dehydration.” He looked at Coop. “Can you do some gentle stretching and massage while we deal with the other problems?”
“Yes.” Standing around watching her suffer was agony. He was glad he could do something—anything—to alleviate her pain.
Bracing himself on one knee on the bed, he kneaded the rigid spasm that had convulsed her muscle. It was tight and hard, contracting beneath his fingers, and he worked it with steady, even pressure until at last he felt her tension ebb and her body went limp.
“Okay. We’re ready to transport.” One of the EMTs stood and motioned to another technician hovering in the doorway, who moved a gurney beside the bed. In one smooth motion they transferred her.
Coop knew a medevac chopper was standing by to take her to Richmond. He’d heard it land a few minutes ago. And he intended to hitch a ride.
“I’m going with you,” he told the EMTs as they started to wheel her out. “Give me three minutes.”
The technician facing him acknowledged the instruction with a nod.
As the gurney disappeared out the door, Coop surveyed the room. For the past few minutes he’d been oblivious to the activity taking place behind him. He cast a dispassionate eye on the two kidnappers, still lying where they’d fallen. He focused on the one who had harassed Monica. Perhaps he should feel remorse for taking a life. He didn’t.
“Is she okay?” Mark joined him.
“She will be. I think.” He turned away from the bodies. “I’m going to Richmond with her as soon as I clear it with Les.”
“It’s cleared.”
“Thanks.” Coop shot his partner a grateful look as he stripped off his body armor.
“Les wants us to remain on security detail for the next twenty-four hours, anyway. After we grab a few hours of shut-eye. I’ll join you when we finish up here. The Richmond office will also have agents at the hospital to keep out the press.”
“Good. The last thing she needs is a bunch of reporters in her face.” Coop worked fast, shedding the bulky assault gear. There were few people to whom he’d entrust his equipment, but Mark was one of them. He slid his Glock into the holster on his belt. “I’ll see you in Richmond.”
“Count on it.”
The chopper was waiting, and Coop ducked into the prop wash under the blades, climbed aboard, and found a place next to Monica—near enough to see her but out of the way of the EMTs. Despite the warm blanket they’d tucked around her, she was shaking again as reaction set in. She needed medical treatment, a quiet place to regroup and heal, and lots of TLC.
And Coop intended to see that she got all three.
21
Forty-five minutes later, as the chopper settled on the roof of the main hospital at VCU Medical Center, Coop’s BlackBerry began to vibrate. Pulling it off his belt, he checked the ID. Les.
“Cooper.”
The noise of the rotors overpowered the commander’s response. No small feat, given the man’s booming voice.
“Sorry. We just landed. I’ll be inside in sixty seconds. Can you hold?”
A garbled “yes” came over the line.
The chopper door slid open and the gurney was moved into position for unloading. Coop knew a team from the Level I Trauma Center was standing by, and he was grateful the physicians’ skills wouldn’t be taxed tonight.
Once inside the hospital, Coop fell into step behind the gurney as he talked. “Okay. Now I can hear you.”
“I have news. An effort is being made to contain the information as long as possible in light of the looming hostage deadline in Afghanistan, but it may leak, and Ms. Callahan needs to be prepared. Her father’s car was bombed this morning while he was en route to Bagram for his meeting with the secretary of state.”
Stunned, Coop’s step faltered, and he fell back from the gurney. “Is he alive?”
“At last word. He’s being treated at an army field hospital. They’re trying to stabilize him for airlift to Landstuhl.”
Only the most severe battle casualties were sent on to the U.S. military hospital in Germany. He had to be critical.
“What happened?”
“According to initial information, it was an IED.”
Improvised explosive device. Better known in the American media as a roadside bomb.
“Was it related to the hostage situation?” Even as he asked the question, Coop was struggling to make sense of this latest turn of events. After all their efforts to coerce David Callahan into persuading the U.S. and Afghan governments to meet their demands, why would the terrorists attack him on his way to meet with the secretary of state?
“At this point, no one knows. I’ll keep you apprised as details become available. But you need to inform Ms. Callahan. If this breaks, it will be all over the media.”
Propping a shoulder against the wall, Coop wiped a weary hand down his face and watched as they wheeled Monica through a set of swinging doors farther down the hall. “I don’t know how much more she can take today.”
“You pick the timing. But it would be unfortunate if she overheard the news in a conversation or saw it on TV.”
“Yeah. Listen . . . on another subject . . . what did you see on the live feed when you put us on hold during the assault? Did that scumbag—”
“No,” Les interrupted. “He didn’t. Not while we were watching. You’ll have to ask the lady what happened before that.”
A muscle jumped in Coop’s jaw. “I plan to. As soon as I get the chance.”
“Mark will be heading your way in about fifteen minutes. Is security in place at the hospital?”
“I haven’t confirmed it yet.” Coop pushed off from the wall and scanned the area around the double doors where Monica had disappeared. Two men in suits stood close by, one angled away from him. “But I see a couple of guys who have all the earmarks of agents. I’ll verify that after I hang up.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
As Coop slipped the phone back into its holder and approached the two men, both turned his way, posture alert. One of them was Nick Bradley.
“You look a little the worse for wear.” Nick glanced at Coop’s arm.
“Not compared to Monica.”
“Yeah.” Nick frowned and shifted his attention to the double doors. “I got a quick glimpse as they went past. How bad is she?”
“I didn’t hear the EMTs mention anything more serious than shock, concussion, and dehydration. But I’m about to confirm that. Mark’s on his way too. You guys will be out here?”
“Our instructions were to stick close all night.”
“Keep an eye out for media.”
“Hospital security has been beefed up. But should a reporter get this far, I’ve perfected the ‘no comment’ routine and the intimidating stance.” He folded his arms across his chest and glowered.
One corner of Coop’s mouth quirked up. After the horror of the past twenty-four hours, Nick’s touch of humor was welcome.
Turning toward the swinging doors, he prepared to push through—and almost got decked as someone shoved one his direction. His arm shot out and he took an instinctive step back as a fortyish, dark-haired nurse swept through. He estimated her height at five-foot-three, tops, and he doubted she tipped the scales at much above a hundred pounds.
Nevertheless, she planted herself in front of the doors and folded her arms across her chest, her stance an imitation of the one Nick had just used. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the agent’s amused expression.
“This area is restricted.” The woman didn’t appear the least bit bullied by his height advantage or the Glock on his belt, Coop noted. “Only patients are allowed in trauma rooms.”
“I need to see Ms. Callahan.”
“She’s being evaluated. The waiting room is down the hall.”
Widening his stance, Coop settled his fists on his hips and stared down at her. When she didn’t budge, he withdrew his credentials and displayed them. “I need to ask her some questions.”
The woman gave his ID a quick, dismissive perusal. “Is this a matter of life and death, Mr. Cooper? Or a national security issue?” She didn’t surrender a single inch of ground.
Coop debated his strategy. He could lie. He could bluff. He could bluster. But he had the distinct feeling none of those tactics would sway this nurse one iota. Instead, he opted for honesty.
“No.” He tucked his credentials away and relaxed his aggressive stance. “I just need to see her. She’s been through hell, and she took me along with her. I failed her once in the past twenty-four hours. I’d like her to know I’m standing by now.”
For five long, silent seconds, the woman assessed him. If he hadn’t been watching closely, Coop would have missed the almost imperceptible softening in her features. Pursing her lips, she inspected his arm. “That needs attention.”
“It will keep.”
“We don’t like people bleeding all over our waiting room, Mr. Cooper. Why don’t you let us stitch that up?”
“I’d rather see Ms. Callahan.”
She moved closer. Close enough that they’d have been nose-to-nose except for the height difference. “Mr. Cooper, we stitch people up
back there
.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “The place where we take
patients
.”
back there
.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “The place where we take
patients
.”
Her strategy finally penetrated his fatigue. “Okay. I guess I do need a few stitches.”
“That’s what I thought. This way.” She pushed back through the swinging doors.
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