Aiden flew out of the car and inside, grabbing the first attendants he spotted. “Help! There’s a woman bleeding out. Cut to her femoral artery.”
The orderlies got a stretcher and ran outside. Aiden helped them load her onto the gurney.
So much blood.
Charlie stayed at Sharon’s side, going with them. Aiden killed the siren, lights and engine, and he sprinted to catch up to them.
By the time he did, after passing the treatment bay with curtains, Sharon was in a room for severe cases. A doctor and nurses swarmed around her, every medical person taking a specific action, each knowing exactly what job to do.
It reminded Aiden of the team that had attacked them. Precise. Prepared. Executed with ruthless efficiency.
“Excuse me,” a nurse said to them. “We’re going to need you to step out of the room.” She ushered them into the hall and to the nurses’ desk. “I need you to fill out some forms.” The nurse reached behind the desk and proffered a clipboard.
Charlie looked down at the blood covering her hands and ballistic vest. The nurse directed her to the bathroom.
Aiden took the clipboard with a heavy heart.
“Also, her next of kin should be called,” the nurse said.
“She’s going to make it, isn’t she?”
“We’re doing everything we can for her.”
Aiden called Sullivan Logistics and passed on the tragic news to the receptionist, who assured him that she’d call her children immediately. Then he filled out what he could on the forms and returned them. “Her children are on the way. They’ll have the rest of her information.”
He paced in front of Sharon’s room, watching the medical staff work on her.
Once the frenetic energy simmered down inside, the doctor stepped into the hall as Charlie came back from the bathroom.
“I’m Dr. Patel,” the woman wearing green scrubs said.
“How is she?” Aiden asked.
“We’ve finally got her stabilized. The bleeding from the femoral artery is under control. She also suffered a severe head injury and has some broken ribs. I understand she was thrown from a moving vehicle at high speed?”
“Yes,” Charlie said, her hands clenching to fists at her sides.
“She has swelling on her brain. The major head trauma has put her in a coma.”
Aiden swallowed hard, his anger swelling.
“Is she going to recover?” Charlie asked, her expression tight.
“She’s no longer in critical condition, but there’s no way of telling how long the coma will last or if she’ll wake up. We’re going to send her for an MRI. Her family should get here as soon as possible. Excuse me.” The doctor left.
One vicious act of cruelty and Sharon with her kind face, earnest eyes and fierce love for her family might never wake up. It was beyond unfair.
Two years ago, Aiden’s mother had died after a painful battle with cancer. Where his father was the backbone of their large family, his mother had been the heart. With five kids, she always made each of them feel special and loved. Her last wish had been to die outside, under the sky. Not to be mourned, but to be honored, and for her children to live a full life.
Losing a parent wasn’t easy, but to have them taken away by violence was unspeakable.
They’d failed to protect Sharon. This was their burden to bear, but that strike team had been a formidable force. Charlie tended to carry around guilt like sandbags. He didn’t want that for her.
Aiden put a hand on her shoulder.
Charlie pulled away from his touch, pounding her fists against her thighs. “Bad things shouldn’t happen to good people. I want to kill those men.” She stalked off down the hall, storming through a set of double doors.
They’d get back out there, find Edgar and make those men pay for what they’d done. With any luck, the police already had them in custody.
Aiden went after Charlie, pushing through the doors. He walked down another hall, past vending machines and through another set of doors into the waiting room near the main entrance. The handful of people seated inside gave them a once-over, dismissing their weapons after noticing their badges.
Charlie stood still as stone, staring at the television mounted on the wall. He followed her gaze to the screen. Both of their pictures were featured on the breaking news.
“Two US marshals aided and abetted gunmen,” the anchorwoman said, “in kidnapping a high-profile witness. In the process, they shot and killed a fellow marshal as well as a local police officer.”
The bulletin was a punch to the throat.
Charlie muttered a curse. “This isn’t good.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.” Aiden grimaced at the television. “But I don’t understand. We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Not according to that.” Charlie gestured to the screen.
“US Marshals Killinger and Yazzie,” the anchorwoman said, “should be considered armed and dangerous.”
What was happening?
Painful shock made Aiden’s legs feel wooden. To have their names and faces splashed across the news was a gross violation of protocol.
The media could’ve only learned their identities from one person.
“We need to find out what’s going on.” Charlie gave a furtive glance around, prompting him to do likewise. “And why the police think we killed Torres and a cop.”
“I’m sure our favorite person, Mr. Wonderful, would love to tell us.” Will Draper.
Charlie groaned.
A little girl about ten years old was looking straight at them. Her gaze bounced to the television and then back to them. She turned to her mother, seated next to her with her face buried in a magazine, and tugged on her sleeve. The mother leaned closer, gaze glued to the article she was reading, and said something.
The little girl whispered in her ear as she pointed to the television.
“We can’t hang around here unless we want to leave handcuffed in the back of a squad car.” Charlie nudged Aiden, guiding him through the double doors to the emergency room and around the corner out of sight.
Everything boiled down to two responses for Charlie—fight or flight. There was a time and a place for each, but if they weren’t careful, they’d make a bad situation much worse.
This was a misunderstanding. It had to be the result of a breakdown in communication. “Before we make a rash decision that we might regret and run off half-cocked, we need to understand what we’re dealing with first. Let me call Draper.”