He spared Rio a quick glance, full of regret and resignation. “It’s bad, man. We have to move now. Chopper’s waiting. Our only hope is to get her to a hospital so she can be stabilized long enough for her natural healing ability to kick in.”
While Donovan spoke, he felt for a pulse. For a moment his fingers remained at her neck and then he cursed.
“Put her down, Rio,” he barked.
Rio complied, easing her to the floor. His heart dropped when Donovan rose over her, his hands overlaid as he began to compress her chest.
“Hold pressure to that wound,” Donovan ordered. “Make sure that airway is sealed.” Then to Diego.ƀ “Give her mouth to mouth. We have to get her back.”
Donovan pumped her chest and then lifted his gaze down the hall. “Where’s the goddamn med pack? I need an IV yesterday!”
More footsteps in the hall, but all Rio saw, all he could focus on, was Grace and her fight to live.
He slipped into her mind just as she’d done to him.
Goddamn it, Grace. Don’t you go out like this. You hang on. You can beat this.
No regrets.
The whisper was faint in his mind just as Donovan shouted for Diego to stop.
“I have a pulse. It’s weak, barely there, but goddamn it, I have one. Get me that goddamn IV and let’s move!”
I’d do it again. Never regret.
Rio wiped at the tears running down his cheeks.
Just hold on, honey. Please. For me. Don’t give up.
Hurts.
The simple word tore his heart to shreds. Tears burned his eyes and scoured trails of acid down his cheeks.
Garrett and Nathan dumped the bag next to Donovan, and Nathan scrambled to get the IV set up. Donovan wasted no time. He inserted the needle directly into the jugular vein, taped it and instructed Garrett to hold the bag up.
He took another setup from Nathan and found a vein in her arm and plunged the needle in. He withdrew the needle, held the catheter in place, quickly taped it and tossed the other bag up to Nathan.
“There’s a hell of a fight going on, so we have to be quick about this,” Donovan said in terse tones.
Hancock rose, picked up his rifle and leveled a stare at Donovan. “My men and I have this. Farnsworth’s security is a joke. We’ll cover your exit.”
Donovan lifted Grace while Nathan and Garrett held the IV bags high over her. Rio slammed into Hancock, driving him into the wall. “You have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, you son of a bitch.”
Hancock smiled faintly. “We’ll be seeing each other again, Rio. Count on it.”
Rio shoved him away and then strode down the hallway, rifle up as he ducked around Garrett to take the lead. Nothing and no one would touch Grace without going through him first.
Once to the doorway leading to the helipad, they ducked and ran, sliding Grace onto the floor of the chopper before climbing in with her.
“Sam said he and the others will cover our exit and take care of things here. He said to take care of Grace and they’ll catch up with us,” Garrett shouted.
Nathan climbed into the cockpit and in moments the helicopter rose and flew low and fast over the water toward the mainland.
Donovan hovered over Grace, but it was Rio who held her in his firm grasp.
You’re going to make it, baby. Don’t let go. Just don’t let go. Do it for me. I need you, Grace. I need you.
“I hope to f**k someone speaks Greek,” Garrett muttered. “This could get hard to explain.”
“I can get by,” Diego said. “Languages are my thing. Besides, a gun is kind of a universal language all by itself.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Garrett agreed. Then he turned to glare at his brother. “And don’t you say a goddamn thing to my wife about my language.”
“Nathan, give me an ETA,” Donovan yelled. “She’s barely hanging on with my patchwork job. We need to be there five minutes ago.”
“I’m pushing the bitch as hard as sheˀs hard a’ll fly,” Nathan hollered.
Twenty long minutes later, Nathan landed the helicopter right in the middle of the hospital parking lot. This time Rio gathered Grace in his arms while Donovan held pressure on the wound and Garrett and Diego held the bags as they ran for the entrance.
With the combination of what was obviously a seriously injured woman, the fact that every man was packing, and Diego’s fractured Greek, they were quickly shown into a small area Rio assumed was their version of an emergency room. He just hoped to f**k he wasn’t trusting Grace’s life to a bunch of incompetent quacks.
The medical team worked fast, taking over, but Rio was reluctant to step back. At one point one of the nurses shoved him away with a stern glare that could only be interpreted as “get out of my way.”
One of the doctors let out a stream of Greek aimed at Rio, who turned to Diego. “What the f**k is he saying?”
“He says they need to take her to surgery right away. He doubts she’ll survive. He wants you to know the chances are little but that he’ll do what he can to save her.”
“Fuck that,” Rio snarled. “You tell him his best
isn’t good enough. He’ll goddamn save her or it’ll be his ass.”
Diego gave Rio a wry look and then turned to speak to the doctor. The message must have been adequately conveyed because the doctor paled and then began barking orders to his staff.
Moments later, Grace was wheeled past Rio and Donovan and the others. Rio stood there, feeling like the life had gone right out of him. He was heartsick over the thought that that might be his last glimpse of her. Broken, bloody, pale as death.