“Yeah.” He clipped her harness onto his belt. “Your boy was born in a stall on my family’s ranch.” Without giving her time to protest, he shuffled them toward the winch rope and kept her distracted while Gael connected them to it.
“You’re Salieri?”
“That’s right, Rowan Salieri at your service.” As the winch pulled them off the ground, he wrapped his arms around her, and Enya buried her face into his neck.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rowan’s bodyabsorbed the jerking momentum as the upward lurch of the winch kicked into gear. He wrapped his arms around Enya’s smaller frame. She was a dead weight and a frantic bird all at once, clinging to him with a strength born of pure terror. The hurricane of rotor wash blasted them, tearing at his gear and whipping her hair across his face. He did his best to shield them both as they spun slowly beneath the belly of the Black Hawk.
“Almost there.” His words were swallowed by the chaos of the engine’s scream. He wasn’t sure if she heard him, but the vibration of his chest against hers might be enough to let her know he was talking to her.
Hands reached down from the open door, grabbed his harness, and hauled them into the belly of the bird. The transition from open air to the vibrating metal deck was jarring, but he hardly noticed it or the deep, resonant roar of noise that vibrated through the floor plates and up into his teeth.
Enya’s arms were locked around his neck, her face hidden against his throat. He felt the frantic, rabbit-fast beat of her pulse against his skin as he shuffled deeper into helo, clearingspace as more bodies tumbled in behind them, but was brought up short by the strap holding him to the winch line.
“I got your clip.” Grif’s voice was swiftly followed by a sharp tug at his gear, and the tether released with a metallic snick. Freed, he shuffled away from the yawning door, making his way toward the rear where Grif’s med kit was sprawled open next to a stretcher on the floor of the Black Hawk. His arms loosened just as the medic reached for Enya’s shoulder.
But the moment Grif came into Enya’s peripheral vision, she flinched so hard it was like a full-body seizure, and a choked, terrified sound tore from her throat. “No!”
“Easy, Enya. He’s with me. He’s not going to hurt you.” Rowan kept his tone firm, level. He saw Grif freeze, his hands held up and open as he backed away. “Enya, Grif is our medic. He can help you feel better.”
“Don’t touch me!” Her panic flared, and Rowan jerked his chin toward his team. The other men gave them a wider berth, their attention shifting from securing gear to the volatile situation in the middle of the deck.
“Nobody’s gonna touch you.” Rowan pitched his voice to cut through her terror. “Look at me. Enya. Eyes on me.” He waited and watched as her breathing ran through a range of ragged, desperate gasps. Then, slowly, she lifted her head. Her eyes were wide and wild, with the pupils blown wide in the dim green light of the cabin. They reminded him of the eyes of a horse trapped in a fire. “Just me,” he forced himself to hold her gaze. “No one else. Just look at me.” He remembered Joel, sitting by Gael’s bedside in that German hospital. The quiet murmur of his voice, the way he’d physically blocked the doctors from view, creatinga perimeter of two. A stronghold of one. Maybe Enya needed someone to be her Joel.
I can do that.
Rowan reached up and gently, deliberately, unlaced her fingers from around his neck. He held her hands in his, his grip firm but not confining. Her hands were ice-cold and trembling. “Gael,” he said, not taking his eyes off her.
“Here, Ro.” His brother’s voice was right behind him, steady as ever.
“You have command. Run comms with TOC and Ghost. Get me a sit-rep on that convoy and confirm our flight path to Texas. I’m with the package.”
“Copy. I have command.”
There was no hesitation. No questions. The transfer of authority was seamless. He felt the subtle shift in the team’s focus as they turned to Gael for direction. It freed Rowan to be what she needed him to be: an anchor.
“Grif,” Rowan said, still looking at Enya. “She needs fluids. Dehydration’s a given. Talk me through it. I’ll do it.”
Grif nodded, his expression unreadable. “Got it. Use her left arm. I’ll prep the cath, you just place it.” He worked silently, tearing open sterile packets with his teeth.
“Okay, Enya,” Rowan turned one of her hands over in his. Her skin was scratched and bruised, and her knuckles raw. “He’s just going to get the needle ready. I’m the only one who’s going to touch you. We need to get some fluids into you. Can you make a fist for me?”
She stared at him, her chest heaving. Then, she gave him a slow, jerky nod, as her fingers curled into a loose fist.
“Good girl.” The words were out before he could stop them, the same tone he used on a frightened horse. He didn’t have another gear for this. He was what he was, both a warrior and a horseman to the core. But he figured if anyone could understand that, it might just be this woman he was helping into a flight seat on a Ghost helo in Colombian airspace.
He took the IV catheter from Grif, his own large, calloused hands surprisingly steady. He moved slowly, taking care to telegraph each move he made so Enya saw it coming, and found the vein. He’d done this a thousand times on himself, on his men. He’d just never done it while trying to talk someone down from a ledge of pure fear.
“Little stick,” he murmured. He was quick, the technique clean, but he still winced along with her as it slid into her body. The moment the catheter was in and taped down, Grif had the line connected and the bag hung from a hook on the airframe. The whole time, Rowan kept talking, a low, meaningless rumble of words about Kentucky thunderstorms and the smell of his Black Rifle coffee. He didn’t know if she was listening, but her eyes stayed locked on his.
I’ll take it.
He glanced over his shoulder. Dawsyn and Jericho had moved Maria’s body bag to the rear of the cabin, securing it with cargo straps. They’d done it with a quiet reverence that was its own form of respect. He gave Dawsyn a sharp nod.
Thank you.
The flight was a blur of vibration and the steady drip of the IV. He didn’t let go of her hand. Her tremors slowly subsided, but she stayed rigid, a statue of terror perched on the edge of the hard bench seat. Gael gave him updates, his voice a calm counterpoint in his ear. The cartel convoy had reached the now-empty camp. Ghost’s eye in the sky tracked them scattering into the jungle like a disturbed anthill.
