My brain is calculating the timing of baking the rest of the cookies with the brownies when I vaguely hear Max on the phone. He comes to me, his eyes alert, his mouth barking into the receiver, and his body strung tight. “Can you get me into the secure network in the house?”
“I think so.”
He gestures to show him, and I lead him to the media room where Talon and Ford have an elaborate set-up. It doesn’t take long for me to get into their system using Achilles’ log in. He scoots me out of the way and does fast work of getting into wherever he’s looking for. Finn steps in, tapping a few keys and blocking my vision of the screen.
“Holy fucking shit.” Finn scrubs his hands through his hair.
“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Max prompts.
“Obviously.”
“This means…”
“Sure as shit does…”
They speak in clipped, unfinished thoughts until I am coming out of my skin. “Guys! What’s happening?”
They turn my way, their expressions almost unexplainable.
I’ve seen this expression before. The night the guys were called away.
“Those sons of bitches are bonafide fucking heroes. They not only saved the Marine and his family. They helped stop the attack on a naval ship in the Pacific. Then they took out thirteen members of one of the largest drug cartels in Columbia.”
I fight standing, a whimper gurgling in my throat.
“Grab your phone, Harley.” Max grins wide. “You should get a phone call from your guys any minute.”
27
Ace
“His vitals are good. Don’t worry, he should wake up anytime now,” a female voice says in a thick accent.
“I’m not worried. I’m waiting on this dipshit to wake up so we can go home,” Talon complains.
“I’m pretty sure we can handle his patient care and you can go home.”
“You don’t know his woman. If we arrive without him and Major, we’ll be the ones in hospital beds.”
The female giggles. “Is she the spitfire who calls my station several times a day?”
“Most likely. She’s blowing up our phones.”
“It’s Christmas, she’s anxious. There’s nothing wrong with hoping for joyous news.”
Christmas?
The word resonates in my brain, and my pulse races. Jesus, how long have I been out?
A monitor beeps and a cool hand compresses my wrist. “Something has him rattled.”
“Fuck, Ace, if you can hear me, open your damn eyes,” Talon demands.
I fight through the sleepiness, twisting my neck and groaning at the stiffness.
“Stop the growling. It’s overrated.”
The first thing I see when my eyes slit are his haggard eyes that fill with relief. A sterile odor of antiseptic and antibacterial cleanser hits me next. My gaze darts around the room and immediately tells me I’m in a hospital.
The hand at my wrist squeezes, bringing my attention to the nurse staring down at me with a kind grin. “Mr. Kingston, can you hear me?”
My throat is like sandpaper and I croak, “Water.”
Talon brings a straw to my mouth, and I sip greedily, the cold liquid helping me find focus. It all comes back. The raid, the rescue, the ambush, the helicopter…
“Major?” My voice is rough.
“Next door. Alive, awake mostly. Bullet caught him under the armpit and punctured a lung. He’ll make a full recovery.”
“Harley?”
“She’s ready to talk to you.”
“Give me a phone.”
“I need to do a full assessment and alert the doctors you’re awake.” The nurse gently nudges Talon away from the side of the bed.
“That can wait. Get me a phone.”
“When I’m done.”
“Talon—” I snarl.
She shoots me a threatening glance, her eyes narrowed and unyielding. “When I’m done,” she repeats curtly.
He raises his hands, backing away. “I’ll let Major and Ford know you’re awake and let her do her thing. I’ve seen enough of your junk the last two days to give me nightmares for life.”
“Jealous jackass,” I mumble with irritation to his back as he leaves.
“You and Mr. Powers are lucky. The bullet that hit him missed his spine. Fast action on their part helped save your life. Your blood loss could have been fatal.”
She doesn’t need to elaborate for me to know the danger of a bullet to the spine. Major’s recovery will suck, but the alternative of a spine injury is much worse. Then I realize her freely sharing this information is highly prohibited in the United States.
“Where are we?”
“Costa Rica. Obviously, in the hospital.”
I move to sit up, wincing at the pain radiating from my bicep and leg.
“Be careful. Here, let me help.” She holds her arms out, and I hesitate. “I’m a mother of three boys, wife to a Fire Chief, and a nurse. Don’t underestimate my strength.”
She helps me into a comfortable position and goes about her assessment, all the while explaining my injuries.
Bullet graze on the bicep that needed a few stitches. My nicked femoral artery was repaired, but my blood loss was significant. After surgery, they’ve kept me loaded on drugs, and I’ve been out for thirty-two hours.