“Is that…it?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Doc leans back in his seat. Sweat dots his brow. “But…we’re…fucked. Or…I am.” His fingers tremble as he tugs at the neck of his black t-shirt.
“What’s wrong? Are you hit?” I smooth my hands over his chest until he grabs my wrist and hisses in pain.
“Pneumo…thorax.”
I don’t know what that is, but it sounds serious. Glancing around the interior of the plane, I zero in on a life raft and oars strapped to the rear wall. “We can row to shore. I’m okay. I can get us there.”
“And then…what?” Doc glances at his watch. “Doubt…there will be…anyone…around this time…of night. I won’t last…more than another…hour. Maybe less.”
“An hour?” This man saved my life. Parker was seconds away from putting a bullet in my brain when Doc stabbed him. “There has to be something we can do.”
“We’re…in the middle…of the goddamn Sound. No fuel.”
“Radio?” It’s a stupid idea. They probably couldn’t even get here in time. And when they arrive—if they arrive at all—I’m fucked. They’ll demand my name—myrealname—and I’ll be in the system faster than I can give them my rank and serial number.
“Too…risky.” He’s getting worse. Each breath shallower. His cheeks are pale. “Need you…to put in…a chest tube.”
“I can’t do that! I’m not a doctor!” There’s no way he should trust me with anything more than a couple of stitches. Somewherenotvital.
Doc reaches for my hand and gives my fingers a weak squeeze. “Trust me. If I…could do it myself…I would. But…ina few minutes…I won’t be able…to breathe…at all.” He tries to straighten, but his eyes crinkle with pain. “I can get…us out of here. If…I live long enough.”
“How?”
He punches a button on the instrument panel, and a gentle splash sounds from outside. “The anchor,” he says. “Help me…and I’ll tell you.”
For a brief moment, I wonder if I should take the life raft and go without him. Paddle the eight or ten miles to shore and disappear. But I can’t have another death on my conscience. Especially nothis. He’s a good man. A man Icare about.
“Tell me what to do.”
With a grunt, Doc pushes himself up. He sways on his feet, then staggers over to his rucksack. “Lay out…the sleeping bag.”
I shove the tie down ropes aside to make room while he unzips his bag. “Why? What’s this going to do?”
“Probably…gonna pass out…after,” he manages. “Floor’s…cold.”
Logical. God, I hope he knows what he’s doing.
“You’re not making me feel any better, Doc.” Neither is his medical kit. It’s stocked better than most clinics I’ve been to. Several scalpels, clamps, a bag of saline, half a dozen different vials, a suture kit, bandages, pills, an inhaler, and an epipen. And that’s just the first layer.
“Doc? Or hell…that can’t be your real name. What is it?”
He lands on his ass on the sleeping bag, his eyes almost closed.
“Talk to me. Please.”
“Gage,” he says with a grimace. “My first name…is really…Gage.”
“Gage?” I almost manage a laugh. “That’s one of the sexiest names I’ve ever heard, and you tell everyone your name is Doc?” This isn’t the time for inappropriate humor, but it’s all I’ve got.Instead of taking the words back, I double down. “If it weren’t for all this,” I say, gesturing to the medical kit, “I’d have a hard time believing you were smart enough to graduate medical school.”
“Have…my reasons.” Doc—Gage—reaches into his rucksack and withdraws a satellite phone. “If I’m out…for more than five minutes…there’s one…number saved. Tell…the guy…who answers…he owes me…for the last time.”
I don’t have time to dwell on his mysterious words because he strips off his t-shirt, and I get my first good look at his bare chest.
A smattering of white hair spreads across his defined pecs, but it’s the bruises that send a ball of ice sinking in my stomach. Some are already dark red. Others still pink.
I knew Parker was beating the shit out of him when I came to, but they’d obviously been going at it for more than a few seconds.
