“Sit-rep,” a big burly black man demanded.
“No pulse, not breathing.”
Two men shouldered in next to him.
“She’s not breathing. No pulse.”
A familiar form shoved into the fray. “Hey,” Canyon said. “Move over. Let me—”
“Get off!”
“Hey!”
Range grabbed his brother’s shirt with a bloodied hand. “Shedoesn’tdie.”
That familiar cocky smirk slid away as Canyon gave a sharp nod. Went to work with a masterful repetition. His blue eyes met Range’s for a second as he administered breaths with better equipment and skills because he was a combat medic.
“Patch him up,” Canyon barked, nodding to Range.
Only then did he feel the searing pain in his shoulder. But as large hands touched him, he threw it off. “Don’t worry about me—save her!”
“Stand down,” the man’s deep voice boomed in the chaos. Griffin Riddell, AKA: Legend, was only doing his job, but Range wasn’t leaving Kasra’s side. “She’s in good hands. I need to make sure your injury—”
“It’s fine.”
“That’s shock talking.” He held his gaze. “Clear?”
Range gave a nod, shifted back, watching as a third guy—was that Azzan?—threaded an IV into Kasra’s arm.
“We need to be wheels-up,” another shouted. “Unfriendlies incoming.”
Range spotted brown-green eyes peer from behind Griffin. The kid. Frantic, he pulled Atia from the truck. The team was up and moving, Kasra in a litter with Canyon hustling alongside, still doing rescue breathing and compressions.
Two men jogged from the direction of the lean-to.
Range met them, not surprised to find Leif among them.
His little brother gave him a shoulder hug.
“How many?” Range shouted over the rotor wash.
“Two bodies.”
“White male?”
Leif shook his head. “All Middle Eastern,” he shouted above, then pointed to his shoulder with the silent message to get it looked at.
They climbed into the helo, and though he felt the terrorized screams of Atia through the rise and fall of her chest and the rigidity of her body, he pressed her close to his chest. Climbed aboard.
On the deck, he noted Canyon wasn’t performing breaths or compressions anymore. Was she breathing? Heart beating? She looked pale, her lips lacking their light-raspberry coloring.
But she was being tended by at least one combat medic. The real problem, the one that left an anchor in his gut was that the men who’d died here were all local fighters. Which meant Hellqvist was still out there. Could still come for her. Kill her.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Landstuhl, Germany
After being patched up,Range snagged his dirty, bloodied shirt and stalked out of the bay to the objection of the nurse and staff. He prowled down the hall toward the surgery bay. Saw a team working on someone. Alarms were blaring and doctors were barking orders.
