Sniper Fire (Love in the Crosshairs) (4 page)

Farrah blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light coming from a couple of small flashlights. Her first thought was that the room was crowded, even though she counted only three men besides Joshua and the one on the exam table. Two of the men were obviously soldiers, one with an arm in a sling. The third, dressed in jeans and a blood-smeared t-shirt, stood in a corner with his face in shadows, arms wrapped tight around himself. Joshua hadn’t mentioned more than one patient, but two of these men obviously needed attention.

Kyle came first, however, and she shifted her gaze to where he lay prone in front of her. His face was pale, his eyes closed. There was blood smeared on his face and hands. An IV bag of clear saline hung from the pole at the head of the table. A small tube twisted its way from the bag to the needle taped to Kyle’s arm. A blood-pressure cuff curled around his other arm.

After watching his chest rise and fall a few times, Farrah went to work. The first thing she did was remove the slats of wood secured to both sides of his right leg. She didn’t have to ask why they were there. Kyle’s knee was almost the size of a basketball. What looked like a whole box of gauze pads was taped around the swelling flesh. She understood why when she peeked beneath the bloody bandages. Farrah swallowed hard. So much damage. She’d dealt with a few bullet wounds before, but nothing quite so…massive. And Kyle had more than one wound.

Farrah examined them all, cataloging the injuries in her head. The one wound she didn’t examine lay beneath a blood-soaked piece of cloth held in place by a makeshift tourniquet cinched tight around Kyle’s thigh. The material might have been white at one time, but was now a solid red.
Has to be a damaged femoral artery under there. Too much blood for anything else.

“I can’t believe you brought him here!” she muttered fiercely. Moving him in this condition was the last thing she would have recommended.

The silence in the room suddenly grew heavy. She didn’t know why until Joshua stalked around to stand opposite her on the other side of the table. “He’s dying, Farrah,” he said harshly. “Sorry to interrupt your little save-the-world campaign, but you’re the only one within a hundred klicks I can trust. You don’t want us here, fine, we’ll go. But not before you do your doctor thing and get him stable enough to move. Do
that
, and I promise we’ll be gone before sunrise. No one need ever know you helped us.”

Farrah fought the urge to slap Joshua the way his words hit her. Stupid, stupid man. Did he really think so little of her? She shot him a glare before returning to her assessment. “I thought you knew me better than that, Josh Colby. It’s not me I’m worried about, you idiot.” She motioned to Kyle’s leg with her blood-stained hand. “Moving him in this condition could have killed him. I would rather have gone to him.”

Another long silence, this one not so heavy. Finally, Joshua cleared his throat. “Wasn’t safe.”

“Well, it’s not very safe here, either. The Egyptian government sends people to check on us almost every day. If they find any of you here, the least they’ll do is shut us down.”

“We’ll stay out of sight.”

“See that you do.” She didn’t waste any more time berating him. Just looking at Kyle told her Joshua had made the only call possible. Blood leaked from the ragged wounds every precious second, pooling on the exam table. Blood Kyle couldn’t afford to lose. Pulling a penlight from her coat pocket, she leaned over and checked his pupils, then felt the pulse in his neck. Dear God, Joshua was right. They were losing him.

“I need to go in and stop the bleeding.” She shuffled her mental list of the injuries, putting them in order of importance. The nicked artery came first. If she couldn’t get that plugged, all the others wouldn’t matter. He’d bleed out right in her hands.

“What’s his blood type?” She pulled the little chain from under her coat and nightshirt. Several keys jingled until she found the one she wanted.

“O-positive,” Joshua and one of the men said together.

Farrah nodded and unlocked the small cooler bolted to the floor. Donated blood was precious and closely monitored. She’d have to explain the shortage somehow, but that was the least of her worries. Stitching flesh back together was one thing. She was good at that. Stitching arteries? That was another matter entirely. She wasn’t yet comfortable doing something that delicate without a more seasoned doctor looking over her shoulder.

“I want to wake one of the other doctors,” she said, removing three bags of O-positive from the cooler. “That arterial wound could get tricky.”

“Are you saying he’ll die if you operate on him?”

She shook her head and tucked one of the bags of blood under her arm to start warming it. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’d just rather he have someone more experienced.” She locked the cooler and grabbed another IV line from a drawer.

“Too risky. It’s best if no one else knows we were even here.” Joshua touched her shoulder as she stopped at Kyle’s side. “You’ll do fine, Farrah. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t have brought him to you.”

Farrah let the matter drop. Arguing with him would only waste precious minutes Kyle didn’t have to spare. She only wished she had as much confidence in herself as Joshua did. She hated that her first solo experience at arterial repair was going to be on someone she really cared for. It was going to make it so much harder to maintain that professional level where she viewed things dispassionately. That was the only way she could deal with the severe trauma cases. She had to tuck her emotions deep inside behind a thick wall of concentration.

As soon as she had the second IV hooked up and running, Farrah checked Kyle’s pulse again. Slow and thready. The need to hurry pressed down on her. She glanced at Joshua as she pulled a rolling instrument tray from a corner and started piling on sterilized packs of scalpels, forceps, and sutures. “You have a medic with you? Someone who knows a retractor from a scalpel?”

“Gage.”

One of the scary-looking soldiers stepped forward. She paused and looked him up and down. Tall, broad shoulders, slim build. His blond hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin reminded her of the proverbial surfer type. Her gaze moved on, snagging on the stethoscope hanging around his neck. She hadn’t noticed it before. The dangling ends tapped the barrel of the rifle he cradled across his chest. The other soldier, the one with the sling, moved up beside him. He was the dark to Gage’s light, with black hair, black eyes, and bronzed skin. The sculpted goatee he wore gave him a rakish air. Farrah met his determined stare and arched a brow in question.

“Name’s Sam. I can’t sew him up,” he said, lifting his wounded arm slightly, a wince of pain flashing across his face. “But I can monitor vitals.”

“Good.” She tilted her head at the sink in the corner. “Both of you wash up. And for goodness sake, put away that gun. That goes for all of you. There’ll be no shooting in here. I’ve got a couple of sick patients sleeping down the hall.” Patients who would be awake in a few hours. People would crowd the clinic’s halls shortly after that. More patients, nurses, doctors.

Officials.

Thoughts of getting caught, of the damage to not only her reputation, but the WHO’s, flitted through Farrah’s mind. She firmly pushed such worries aside as she set about cutting the rest of the blood-soaked clothing off her patient.

Her patient. She had to think of him as just another patient, one of the many she treated every day, nothing more. Not the close friend she’d gone to school with. Not the laughing, joking young man she’d watched go off to boot camp as eager as a kid on his first day of school. No, this wasn’t Kyle Fagan, one of two men she held close to her heart. This was a stranger, just a face-less stranger. If she let herself think the shredded flesh under her hands belonged to Kyle, she’d throw up.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

The softly spoken voice was so out of place, she started. Looking up, she found the man in jeans and t-shirt standing on the other side of the table. He was younger than she’d first thought, late teens, early twenties. Too young to be part of Joshua’s crew. Joshua laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “No, you stay—”

“Yes. Yes, you can help.” Farrah didn’t care that she overrode Joshua. He might be in charge of this band of misfits, but this was her clinic. At least it was as long as no one found out she was treating a member of the U.S. military. Noting the blood stains again, she asked, “Are you hurt?”

He quickly shook his head and pointed at Kyle. “It’s his blood.”

“Okay. You can wash up, too. Gage and I will need someone to hand us instruments. There’s a scrub top in the cabinet next to the sink. Change your shirt.” She ignored Joshua’s questioning gaze and went back to prepping Kyle’s leg, swabbing every inch of unbroken skin with antiseptic. The dark orange stain of the liquid looked bloody in the dim light.

“I’m going to need more than flashlights. Can we turn on the overhead?” She looked up in time to catch Joshua exchange glances with his men. Finally, he moved to the light switch.

“We’ll risk it.”

Farrah closed her eyes briefly as the bright lights flickered on. When she could see, she pointed to a small placard hanging from a nail beside the door that read, QUARANTINED. “Put that on the door. No one will come in without knocking.” She heard the door open and close as she moved to the sink. Both Gage and Sam had finished washing up and were helping each other into gloves. The young man with the quiet voice moved to the side to make room for her.

“My name’s Jeff, by the way,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Jeff. Don’t forget to scrub under your nails.”

He dutifully obeyed as she soaped up her arms. “Do you really think you can save him, Ms. Hastings?”

“That’s Dr. Hastings,” she corrected gently, “and I’m going to try my best.”

When she was done washing, her hands gloved, she moved back to the table. Gage, she saw, did indeed know a little about medicine. He’d set up the anesthesia, the mask ready to go over Kyle’s face, and changed the saline bag. Sam, stethoscope now dangling from his ears, pulled up a rolling chair with his foot and made himself comfortable. He held the end of the scope to Kyle’s inner arm, then began pumping the blood-pressure cuff with his good hand. Air hissed. A few seconds later, he said, “Seventy over forty.”

Good enough. Farrah pointed to the belt cinched tightly around Kyle’s upper thigh. “That artery is going to be the deciding factor. If it’s too damaged to fix, there’s no use working on the knee. I’ll have to amputate.” She said it quickly, dispassionately, but still couldn’t keep from cringing inside. She’d only assisted in a handful of amputations in her short career, and those had been bad enough. This? Taking the leg of one of her best friends? This would stay with her forever. If it came down to it, she’d have to shove all her doubts aside and work fast. And hope she could control the bleeding.

“No.”

She and Josh both stepped to the head of the table at the whispered word. Kyle’s eyelids flickered and opened. His pain-filled gaze seemed to roll around the room unseeing until it landed on Joshua. He raised his hand, reaching, the weak tremble of his muscles making her want to cry. She’d never seen him so vulnerable before.

“Kyle, what—”

“No amputation, Josh…swear.”

Joshua frowned. “A lost limb against your life, brother. Think about it.”

“Have. Can’t work…rather be dead.”

Anger rose in Farrah at the ridiculous words. She’d have shaken him if her hands weren’t already gloved. Instead, she jostled his shoulder with her elbow and leaned over him so he could see her. “Hey. Kyle Fagan. You are not going to lay there on my table and spout that melodramatic garbage. I won’t allow it.”

His head rolled until he faced her. He blinked those dark eyes of his slowly. His brows drew down, eyes narrowing. Then they widened in alarm. With a strength that surprised her, he jerked his hand free of Joshua, pulled back, and punched his friend in the stomach. The angle was awkward and the force almost non-existent, but Joshua still took a step back. “What the hell was that for?”

“Lost your…fuckin’ mind?” Kyle gasped and closed his eyes, as if the punch had taken the last of his strength. “Can’t believe…you brought me to her. Such an idiot.”

Torn between laughing at the offended look on Joshua’s face and being offended herself, Farrah said, “Well, you’re here now, so we’re just going to make the best of it. Now, no more talk about dying. Let’s get started, shall we?” She nodded for Sam to turn on the anesthesia. Gage lifted the mask.

“No.” Kyle turned his head, dodging the mask with an urgency she didn’t understand. Not until he spoke again. “No. Not her. Someone else. Anyone but her.”

Farrah bit her lip, willing away the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. Amazing the pain three little words could cause.
Anyone but her.
As if he didn’t trust her. As if he didn’t think her competent enough to take care of him.

She glanced up, easily reading the apology in Joshua’s gaze. She’d like nothing better than to be able to give Kyle what he wanted. To march right out and send in someone older, someone with a lot more experience. Only they didn’t have anyone else, did they? Like Joshua said, she didn’t dare involve one of the other doctors. There was just her.

She squared her shoulders. Okay, she’d treated reluctant patients before. Poor people who’d never once been to a doctor, who feared the shiny metal instruments, strange beeping machines, and the young woman who couldn’t speak one word of their language. She’d overcome many an unwilling patient with a show of confidence. And sometimes, only when the case called for it, a little gentle force. She nodded firmly to Joshua. “We don’t have time for this. Hold him.”

Kyle got out one snarled, “Bastards!” before Gage pressed the mask over his face. Weak as he was, it still took all of them to keep him in place on the table until he’d breathed in enough gas. Farrah sighed along with the rest of them when his eyelids finally fluttered closed and his breathing evened out.

“Gracious, such dramatics.” She tried to sound like the cause of those dramatics meant nothing. Like the fact Kyle didn’t trust her to treat him didn’t hurt at all. You’d think he’d at least trust Joshua’s decision to bring him to her. But then, she was a last resort, wasn’t she? They’d never have come if they had a choice.