Leaving one rifle and keeping the other with her, she crawled back to Merc and laid a hand across his forehead. “He’s burning up. I tried to treat him with what I could, but he needs real help.” She’d had enough medical training to know how to stitch an open wound and stop blood flow, but long-term care was well out of her league.
“Christ, what happened? Are you okay?” Aaron Speirs, came and knelt next to Merc, dropping his black medical bag on the ground. Speirs, Chief Medical Sgt, light brown hair and beard, 6’1”, about 195 lbs.
Nightshade blinked rapidly, fighting to stay awake even as the cold took a hard grip on her body. Aaron had been at Caroline’s wedding. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
Merc’s team filled up the cave, blotting out the moonlight. Every single one of them was huge, but not as large as Merc.
“Riser, get over here. I’m gonna need some help.” Aaron ripped open his bag and started pulling out supplies.
Riser Malone, assistant medical sergeant, made his way toward them from the cave’s entrance, and Nightshade reluctantly scooted down near Merc’s knee, out of the way, as Aaron filled a needle and stuck it in Merc’s arm. “Antibiotics.”
A shadow fell over her, and she glanced up to see Hunter staring down at them, his black gaze filled with worry. She realized that every single one of them were covered in black from head to toe: black bandana, face paint, shirt and tactical pants.
Mercenaries.
No matter how much training she’d had, she couldn’t stanch her trepidation at their presence. She’d been able to handle being alone with Merc. But as a unit, the men were overwhelming.
“Caroline.” Riser touched her hand and Nightshade jerked. His gaze darkened with sympathy and worry. “Can you tell me what happened to him? The more we know, the better we can treat him.”
Caroline. Remember who you’re supposed to be.
Nightshade stammered, “I – I don't know. Merc tried to rescue me, but Mr. J…he strapped explosives to my chest. Merc cut them off, but the blast must've knocked us out. When I woke, I was in a tent in the middle of the desert.”
For the first time since donning the disgusting outfit forced on her by Amir’s wives, Nightshade was glad for the clothing. It would support her story. They’d dressed her like something out of the Arabian Nights wet dream. The halter top had sheer puffy sleeves with just enough material tightly tied in the front to shove her breasts up and together so they practically spilled over the top. The low-cut velvet and satin lined pants had just enough solid material to cover her ass. The rest of it was sheer, ballooning out to cuff at her ankles.
At least it covered more than the time she had to pretend to be a stripper in South Africa and take out a warlord who’d murdered over a thousand innocent villagers. After that mission, she swore she’d never wear anything with the wordpastyin it again. Plus, she’d tossed on a black robe so as long as she could keep it together, she’d be able to cover her injuries so they would direct all the medical attention to Merc.
“Do you have any idea where you were?” Hunter asked in a gentle voice.
“I don't know for sure, no one there spoke English. They kept me locked up in a tent the whole time.” Her words faltered when she saw Merc’s bloody and crusted chest.
“It’s okay.” Hunter squatted beside her. “We have you now.”
“They beat him. Cut him. Please, you have to help him.”
Hunter regarded her with such sympathy. Nightshade fought the uncomfortable feeling brought on by Hunter’s warmth and caring. She’d never been around men that openly cared for her feelings.
Ethan Slade, who’d also been present at her twin’s almost marriage to General Rainier, Cotter’s political ally, came to squat next to Hunter. “Caroline, I’m so sorry about what happened. We all failed to protect you at your wedding. You should’ve never been taken.”
The open sincerity brought a swath of tears to her eyes. She wiped them, almost furiously, even though they probably aided in her act. Nightshade didn’t cry. Not even when her own father had laid a hot poker to her flesh to teach her a lesson. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you.”
How could she when she’d helped her father orchestrate the kidnapping? There was no way in hell she’d have allowed Caroline to marry General Rainier, a man over twice her age.
Ethan stayed close, pinning her to the spot with his genuine concern. “We got Kate back. She’s safe at home. And so is Celine.”
Kate?She’d never been briefed on a Kate.
He waited expectantly. Nightshade felt every eye on her, as if waiting for some kind of big response. “That’s great. I mean, I’m glad they’re okay.”
She’d have to find a way to avoid the women. They might trip her up – she hadn’t bothered studying them or had any idea of their connection with Caroline other than Celine’s unplanned kidnapping after witnessing too much. The men they’d hired were supposed to only take Caroline, not anyone else. Celine had been someone they’d had to get rid of, and fast, so Nightshade hadn’t bothered studying up on the girl.
She shook off that thought and focused on the present. The most important thing now was Merc. “Can you save him? He’s been bleeding with a fever and unconscious for a really long time.”
“He’s our brother. We will do everything possible to save him,” Ethan said gently. “And you.”
Nightshade nodded, surprised at the easy tenderness in these soldiers’ words, their actions so incongruent with everything she’d learned about them while prepping for this mission. She’d come in contact with plenty of mercenaries in her life — cold-blooded killers and psychopaths, soldiers on a rampage, uncaring if they injured or maimed an innocent unfortunate enough to get in their way. But these men acted as though their every move could affect someone else, and they were cognizant of that fact and acted to prevent any further injury.
A stiff breeze blew through the cave and a hard shudder wracked her. Even with the robe, she was so cold. Nightshade pulled her hands into the long sleeves, attempting to keep her core temperature stable.
