“Respiration and pulse are both thready,” Plat answered. “She’s alive. We need to get this backboard in place and secure her neck before we turn her.”
Blood ran down her leg, and beneath her bare leg lay another. “She’s on top of someone.”
No swearing. No words. The men moved with such brutal efficiency. The backboard strapped into place, her neck secured with a thick white collar. Above, two paramedics were on standby, and Chrome had a radio in his hand. “Land the fucking helicopter on the street if you have to. She’s getting airlifted as soon as we get her out of this hole.” He released the button and said, “Get her out and find Cobalt. Now.”
Grim anger decorated every syllable, and the men responded by working harder. Hell, Gabriel responded. When they were ready, he helped flip her. Her eyes opened again, and Merc let out a harsh breath.
“John…” she whispered, and Merc covered her hand with his.
“I’m right here. Stay awake.”
“Cobalt’s dead.” The whispered words came out ragged, and Gabriel turned a light on the man they’d uncovered beneath her. He’d been the guy hanging all over her the night before. His head was canted in the wrong direction. Broken neck.
“Don’t leave him behind.” Copper’s voice broke, and something inside of Gabriel shifted. Raw, empty pain. “Don’t leave him.”
“We have him,” Chrome said, then he glanced at Gabriel. “We need to have never been here. We’ll take our people.”
Understanding burned in his chest. He wanted to go with her, but they needed cover. “I’ll take care of it.” He had some pull.
Chrome nodded once and moved out.
Dismissed, Gabriel transferred his gaze to Merc. Copper barely moved, but she held onto Merc’s bloodied hands with her own torn and damaged ones. That should be him, —not scarface, but she hadn’t reached for Gabriel. “Take care of her.”
Merc nodded, and Gabriel headed for the ropes. He looped one around his waist, and started to climb. The men at the top hauled him out. On the surface, he glanced down at her. The dazed, pained look on her face rocked him. So vulnerable, and he had to leave her to the men lifting her. They had her. She was alive.
Thatmattered.
Outside, a circus of television cameras and lights awaited him. Stripping the makeshift mask off, he went out to distract the hungry masses. A man in an FBI coat met him, and he said, “Gabriel Danvers. CIA. Get your director and mine on the phone.”
Every word cost him, and he was violently aware of the sound of a helicopter as it landed, then took off minutes later, carrying her away.
They needed to have never been there.
Gabriel would erase the trail.
Chapter 10
One week later…
Copper hated hospitals.She didn’t give a flying fuck that they’d moved her to a private wing of the compound, or that the nurses and doctors treating her were all highly specialized and trusted operatives. Plat checked on her. Merc parked next to her bed, and he’d been there every time she passed out or woke up. Chrome came to see her—she’d tried to debrief, and after getting out the pertinent details, he’d ordered her to shut up and rest.
The worst was when she woke up and one of the Ghosts lurked in the room. She’d seen the same masked figure four times. Always just inside the room, standing nearby the shadows. Fucking pain drugs kept muddying the waters, so by the time she could focus, they were always gone.
Cobalt was dead.
The reality of it struck her every time she woke. Sometimes, she could go a whole thirty seconds before the reminder hit. Hours she’d spent curled up next to him. She’d woken in the dark, his head tucked against her breast. She’d tried to crawl, to move and free up the air for him. Pain blacked her out repeatedly, but she’d fought through it.
The world detonating around her opened up an old wound. Brad had died in a similar explosion. Her team decimated. Merc had dragged her out of that hell, and he’d been there when she’d opened her eyes. It was Russia all over again, and she wanted to scream. Maybe she had. They’d injected her with something, and the world shut off.
Only, it hadn’t, not really. She floated through the hell. Drifting from one island of memory to another on a current of disappointment, failure, and grief. Washing up on one island, Brad dragged her out of the water. His skin was so warm under her fingers. He cradled her hand in both of his.
“You have to stop this.” The order jerked her out of the well of self-pity. “Time to wake up. Can you open your eyes? Just let me see you’re still in there.”
“Stop bossing me around.” God, he was dead and he gave her orders. Damn thing was, she wanted to follow them. Wanted to dig her nails into his hand, feel him grip her hair, and then tell her everything would be all right.
“You can do this, Sachi,” he whispered. So close, she could almost feel his breath on her cheek. “Listen to me. I know you think this is the drugs and the pain. I know you’re hurting, but you’re out of that hole, babe. You’re out. I need you to be okay.”
“You’re dead,” she said. For the longest moment… “When I woke up in that hole, I thought it was you.” The tears fell, and she hated herself for them. She hadn’t cried in a long time, didn’t want to cry. “I thought we were—I thought I’d found you again.” Wanted to find him. “I miss you.”