“Absolutely,” I reply.
“Got the quick clot,” Garrison says.
“She okay?” Cowboy asks through my coms.
“Yeah. Bullet wound to the shoulder. Make the call.”
“They’re already on their way,” he replies. “I’m coming in.”
I tear a larger hole in her shirt so I can access her shoulder, then flush it with saline. She cries out and squirms, but Garrison takes her hand in his.
“Squeeze, okay?” he tells her. “You’re doing so good. So brave.”
Moving as fast as I can to ensure she doesn’t bleed out, I fill the wound with gauze, packing it as tightly as I can. I hate that I caused her pain. But a bullet to the shoulder, with a clean exit, is a lot better than what Martin would have done.
Cowboy comes rushing in right as I’m finished with the front of her injury.
His hazel eyes narrow on her, nostrils flaring in anger when he gets a look at the guy Ryker is currently detaining.
“You guys have no idea what you just did! You kicked a hornet’s nest! They’ll make you disappear, and you’ll never see the light of day again!” Martin yells. He’s always been a loose cannon, but I never would have pictured him taking the terrorist route.
I ignore his threats, focusing only on the girl. “I’m going to gently roll you to your side, okay? So I can get the exit wound.”
She nods.
Blood pools beneath her, slower now that I’ve got one part of the injury packed. Gently, I roll her over, feeling terrible when she hisses in pain.
“She’s losing consciousness,” Garrison warns.
“Shock. Stay with us, Charlotte,” I say urgently as I pack her exit wound. “Wrap.” I reach out a hand, and Cowboy slams a wrap into it. Placing the end on her entry wound, I wrap her shoulder as best I can, given the awkward location.
Injury packed and wrapped, I gently lay her back, then stand and turn my attention to the guy who’d been holding her. His familiar face is one I’d honestly hoped to never see again.
“Martin Shaw.” I shake my head. “You’ve got that backward on the hornet’s nest. You should have left the girl alone.”
“This isn’t over,” Martin warns again, a sadistic smile on his face. “You have no idea what you just stepped in.”
“That’s what they all say,” I reply as the door opens and four men wearing black tactical uniforms rush in, weapons drawn. When they see that we’ve got it covered, they lower them, and two rip Martin from the ground.
He’s rushed out of the room, and two medics load the unconscious teen onto a stretcher, then carry her out. As they’re leaving the room, our handler, Brenda Leroy, strolls in wearing black slacks, tall heels, and a black suit jacket. Her dark hair is slicked down, so shiny I can practically see my reflection.
Her red lips are flattened in a tight, disapproving line. “A lot of bodies out there, Knox,” she says. “You get a little trigger-happy?”
“Actually, that was me,” Cowboy replies, tone sharp as a razor. “And there was no way to get to the girl without dropping them. You vastly underestimated the firepower here. That, or you just decided not to clue us in.”
Her disapproving look isn’t unfamiliar. “You know that I am only as good as the intel I get. I was unaware of the number of people Shaw managed to get on his side. Apparently, the corruption ran deeper than we thought.”
“He claims we kicked a hornet’s nest,” I tell her. “My guess is this is only the tip of that iceberg.” Crossing both arms, I glare back at her.
We’ve known Brenda for years. Ever since our last official op as Navy SEALs six years ago went sideways and she offered us off-books contracts or prison cells.
Obviously, there wasn’t much of a choice there.
“Who shot the girl?”
“I did,” I say, earning an arched brow. “It was that, or Shaw was going to kill her.”
“We’ll get his bullet hole patched up and find out who he’s working for. Until then, lie low. This isn’t going to be a fun one to explain.”
