“Jagger!” I shout, the panicked cry tearing loose from somewhere deep in my chest.
Behind him, Gunnar slams the door controls, muscles straining as the heavy hatch starts to close. The door shuts with a deep thud that reverberates through the cabin, sealing us in, cutting off the night, and severing us from everyone who tried to kill us.
Hawk’s voice carries forward, shouting at the pilot, words blurring together under the rising whine of the engines.
I stagger, thrusting Aliyah into Maryam’s arms, barely catching myself on the nearest seat as the jet begins to roll.
The jet accelerates, and the force presses us backward. I grab at seat backs, using them like rungs on a ladder as I fight my way back to the door. To Jagger. As I struggle to get to him, he shifts his weight to push himself up. His jaw is clenched so tightly, his pulse is thumping in the muscle.
“Don’t,” I snap, my voice cutting through the roar of takeoff. “Stay.”
“I’m fine, Doc,”he grunts, ignoring me—of course—and standing. “I’m fine.” It is the least convincing lie I have ever been told.
The doctor in me takes over, shoving panic aside with ruthless efficiency until it is boxed up and locked away. I scan him quickly—head, neck, shoulders, arms—finding no obvious bleeding. I run my hand along his side where the ballistic vest doesn’t quite cover, finding his shirt wet and sticky. When I pull my hand back, the cabin lights cause the blood coating my palm and fingertips to glisten. I stare at it for a moment before my eyes snap up to his face. “You’ve been shot.”
He snorts, his breath hitching. “You should see the other guy.”
I swear to God, even now, with blood pumping from a bullet wound in his side, he has to be difficult.
“Sit. Down,” I order, already pushing him toward the nearest row. “Before I sedate you with a pillow over your face.”
“I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again,” he grits, letting me guide him until he collapses in the seat with a hiss, “you really need to work on your bedside manner.”
I roll my eyes, my fingers working at the straps of his vest. “Let’s get this off.”
“It’s just a flesh wound,” he mutters as I pull it over his head. The vest comes free, hitting the floor with a dull thud when I drop it. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, I peel the sticky fabric from his skin.
The wound is ugly but clean with entry on the side, exiting slightly lower in the rear, and the bleeding is already slowing to a steady ooze. Through and through. No arteries. No obvious damage to anything vital.
“Lucky bastard,” I mutter.
“Told you,” he says. “Flesh wound.”
“Just a flesh wound, my ass.” I bark a sharp, humorless laugh. “There is afucking bullet hole.”
“That’s very unprofessional language, Doc.”
I shoot him a look that could strip paint. “Shut up.”
Grabbing the medical kit I insisted Abby pack, I pop it open with practiced ease, preparing to use it on an unexpected patient. Gauze, antiseptic, sutures. It’s not a proper OR, but I’ve worked with less.Much less.
I tip a bottle of sterile water toward his wound, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t,” he warns. “Do the countdown thing.”
“What countdown thing?”
“You know… ‘This might sting.’”
I roll my eyes, tipping the bottle to clean the wound as he curses vividly, creatively, and with impressive range.
“So dramatic…” I work quickly and methodically, my steady hands focused on blood, skin, staunching the bleeding, and suturing him up. When I finish stitching, my shoulders burn with tension I didn’t realize I was holding. I sit back on my heels and finally let myself breathe.
“You’re a good doctor,” Jagger approves, inspecting his wound quickly before I cover it with gauze. “Even if your bedside manner is shit.”
I snort. “And you are an insufferable patient.”
The others have gone quiet, their adrenaline finally gone, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. Aliyah is asleep in a makeshift bassinet in the aisle, her tiny chest rising and falling, blissfully unaware of how close the world came to swallowing her whole.
I clean my hands as best I can, then drop into the seat beside him. Exhaustion crashes over me in a heavy wave, leaving my body hollow and trembling. Jagger reaches out, his fingers gentle as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You did good, Doc,” he praises, looking past me to Maryam and Aliyah.
