“Authentication code: Nine-Seven-Alpha-Oscar,” I say.
“Foxtrot-Charlie,” Nomar confirms.
Joey stares at me like I’ve grown a second head as I head for the door. “What was that all about?”
“If he’d responded Golf-Foxtrot-Yankee, it would have meant he was compromised. Foxtrot-Charlie means no one’s following him or coercing him.” Disabling the tripwire for a second time, I flip the deadbolt, detach the chain, and let him in.
“Oh, my God,” Joey cries as she rushes past me. “Mateen.”
In his arms, Nomar holds Faruk’s son. The boy’s mother clings to the NSA operative, and all three of them look like they’re about to pass out. Joey touches Mateen’s forehead, peers into his eyes, and then leans down to…sniff him? “Lisette? Why didn’t you tell me he was diabetic?”
“He’s not,” Lisette protests, fear in her green eyes. “But last night, he started to complain that everything hurt.”
Joey curses under her breath. “He’s in ketoacidosis. His liver is malfunctioning. Mateen? Do you remember me?”
“Dr. Joey,” he slurs. “Mama said…” His eyes flutter closed, and he falls silent.
“Get him onto the couch.” Joey points behind her, and Nomar shuffles over with a grunt and lays the boy down.
“Trev!” I shout. “Get the fuck out here. Now.”
Joey kneels next to Mateen, but as she rests her fingers on his carotid artery, her head whips towards Nomar. “Ford…? Nomar’s hurt. Check on him—basic field triage.”
I take two steps towards them when Nomar staggers back, hits the small table off the kitchen, and falls onto his ass. His entire left side is covered with blood, and he’s breathing heavily.
“He was shot,” Lisette says quietly. “By Zaman as we were fleeing the compound. But he would not let me do anything to help him. We had to keep moving. I used my headscarf to tie around him.”
Trevor bursts into the room, bleary-eyed and exhausted, but as soon as he sees Nomar on the floor and Mateen on the couch, he looks to me. “What the hell is this? We’re not running an escape train here. Our mission was Joey, Ivy, and Mia.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter as I lift Nomar’s shirt and then untie the makeshift pressure bandage. “Joey, it’s bad.” Blood oozes from the wound, and while I don’t think he’s about to bleed out, there’s so much already soaked into his shirt and the headscarf that the bullet has to still be inside him.
“Nomar,” I say as I slap his cheek lightly. His eyes are mostly closed, and his breathing labored. “Stay with me, man. You’re gonna be okay.” I hope to God I’m right.
Joey tells Lisette to get Mateen a glass of water and make him drink it, then turns around to check on Nomar. She palpates around the wound and hisses out a breath. “It’s infected. Trevor, I need the first aid kit. Any supplies you have. And that bottle of vodka. Nomar? I’m Joey. Tell us what happened, okay? You need to keep talking.”
“I…had to,” Nomar manages. “I saw them as I…was trying to escape, and Faruk was wailing on her.” He shudders when Joey presses hard just above the bullet hole.
First aid kit in hand, Trevor drops down next to her, and Joey digs out a pair of tweezers. She unbuckles Nomar’s belt, folds it in half, and offers it to him. “This is going to hurt, Nomar. A lot. Bite down.”
He nods, and as Joey pours vodka over the wound, the leather trapped between his teeth muffles his scream.
“Good. Just one more thing, and then you can rest.” After she spills some of the vodka on a pair of tweezers, she meets my gaze. “Hold his shoulders, Ford. He needs to be very, very still.”
I press down on his shoulders and Trev grabs his legs. As Joey digs into the wound, Nomar’s entire body stiffens, his back arches, and he groans weakly until he passes out.
“Got it,” Joey says a moment later as she holds up a bullet. “We need to get both of them to a hospital. Mateen needs insulin and chelation. Nomar…I’m not a surgeon. Even if I were, this isn’t the place to do it. But now that the bullet’s out, as long as we can keep his fever down and stop the infection from getting worse, he’ll make it.”
Lisette holds her son, trying to get him to sip from the glass of water. “Nomar,” she says quietly, “saved my life. He picked up Mateen, and told me to come with him if I wanted to live.”
“Seriously? He pulled a Terminator on you?” Offering the frightened woman an apologetic look when her dark brows draw together, I hold out my hand. “Sorry. It’s…a movie thing. I’m Ford. Joey’s…um…” Fuck.
“Fiancé,” she says as she presses a gauze pad to Nomar’s side.
The word settles me in a way I never expected, and for a single minute, I’m the happiest man in the world. But then Nomar moans, and Joey meets my gaze. “We have to go, Ford. Now. Or we might lose both of them.”
17
Joey
