A man in a dark jacket pushed through the treeline, scanned the clearing, and went directly to Jason.
“Briggs,” Jason said, by way of acknowledgement.
“You’re shot,” the man said.
“I noticed.”
“Your friend called at the right time.” Briggs looked at Audrey. Of course Audrey had called everyone and then followed them into the forest. “Another three minutes and we wouldn’t have gotten here in time.”
Behind him, the police were handling Scarlett and Pablo and the last man with efficient movements. Scarlett was saying something, sharp and rapid, and no one was listening.
An ambulance had pulled to the edge of the clearing.
Jason looked at me.
I ran to stand in front of him — his shirt on my body, mud on my face, tears still running — and I looked at the wound on his shoulder, which was bleeding steadily and which he was ignoring with a focused calm.
“Jason—”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re not—”
“The turtle is going to miss me,” he said, which was so ridiculous and so completely Jason that I made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob and covered my face with both hands.
The paramedics reached us.
I took his hand when they led him toward the stretcher, and he looked down at both our hands together with an expression I recognized from the beginning of everything — the slightly stunned expression of a man who couldn’t quite believe this was real.
I didn’t let go.
Not when they got him onto the stretcher. Not when Audrey appeared at my side and put her arm around me. Not when the ambulance doors opened and the light spilled out into the Bahamian dark.
I held his hand, and the doors closed behind us, and I didn’t let go.
CHAPTER 32
JASON
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Camila’s face.
The dull throb in my shoulder reminded me efficiently of recent events, and for a moment I thought I was still in the forest. And then I registered the ceiling, the antiseptic smell, the morning light through hospital blinds.
And Camila, right beside me, watching me with an expression I had not seen on her face since before the cruise.
She looked extraordinary.
She was still wearing my t-shirt, which had now accumulated mud and forest debris, and a pair of tracksuit pants that were several sizes too large and appeared to belong to Audrey, cinched at the waist with a shoelace. Her face had three or four streaks of dried mud that had survived the night. Her hair was everywhere. She had clearly not slept.
She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life.
“Don’t try to get up,” she said, before I’d done anything.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were about to.”
I settled back against the pillow. Fair assessment.
