Echoes at Dawn (34 page)

She reached down, putting her hands over the wound just below Rio’s neck. Blood was everywhere. Soaking his clothing, her hands, seeping onto the floor.

Hancock tried to pull her away and she rounded furiously
on him. “You know what I can do. Damn it, let me go. I have to save him. I won’t leave him like this!”

Hancock stared hard into her eyes. “You can’t do this, Grace. You’re too weak and this is a mortal wound. There’s no saving him. You need to leave.”

“Fuck you!” she yelled. “You have no idea what I can do.”

“It will kill you,” he growled.

“Do you think I care? Do you think I could live with myself knowing I did nothing to save him? Do you think I want to live knowing he died for me? Get out of my way. If you won’t help me, then go. Go with the others. But get out of my way.”

Hancock sighed and then slowly relinquished his grip on Grace’s arm. She fell over Rio’s chest, hugging him tightly to her.

Don’t leave me, Rio.

The broken words poured from the very depths of her soul.

Grace
.

There was a faint stirring as if he was barely hanging on.

Don’t you dare do this. Get out. Go to Terrence. He’ll get you out safely. You’re too weak, baby. Don’t do this. I’m begging you.

She ignored his pleading. She slammed into his mind with the last remaining strength she had. She overpowered his objections, held her ground when he would have fought her off. Nothing, no one, would keep her from saving him.

He was hers, goddamn it, and he’d damn well live even if it killed her.

She reached deep, found reserves she never knew she had. Desperation and her love for this man gave her power she would have never dreamed she possessed.

She pulled, absorbed, and the more she did, the more pain cracked through her, splintering, cutting into her like a thousand knives.

She gasped, flinched. She thought she cried out, but she
couldn’t be sure. Her focus was solely on him. On stopping the flow of blood. On healing the terrible wound that would most certainly kill him if she couldn’t save him in time.

The smell of blood was strong. So strong she gagged. It was then she realized it wasn’t his blood. It was hers. On her tongue. Seeping down her neck.

As his wound closed beneath her hands, hers opened, tearing a hole in her flesh.

Her vision went dim. It was hard to breathe. So very hard to breathe.

Never had she felt this kind of pain.

Her body, already so weak and embattled by absorbing Elizabeth’s illness, had reached its limit. Not even she could help herself anymore.

She was dimly aware of footsteps pounding down the hallway. Distant gunshots. Yells. Barked orders.

With the last of her waning strength, she sealed the wound in Rio’s chest. And then she gave one last, stuttered breath and slid soundlessly to the floor beside him.

RIO
took a huge, gulping breath, jerking to awareness as if someone had just defibrillated his heart and he’d come back from the dead. His hand automatically went to his upper chest, to the terrible wound so near his throat. Only he found nothing. No gaping hole.

His hand came away bloodstained. He hadn’t imagined it. And yet the pain was gone. He could breathe. It was as if it had never happened.

And then he remembered Grace’s broken pleas. Her desperation to save him. And him begging her not to try to save him.

He rolled, immediately coming into contact with her limp body lying next to his. The wound—his wound—was there in her chest. The flesh lay open, and blood ran in a seemingly never-ending stream.

“Grace.”

It came out as barely a whisper.

“Grace!”

He went to his knees, his hands covering the wound,
trying desperately to stop the flow of blood. He looked around, panicked. No idea what to do, how to save her.

Hancock shoved in beside him and Rio went for him, not wanting him to so much as touch Grace. Hancock knocked him back and then pressed a thick towel to Grace’s wound, holding firm pressure.

“Terrence!” Rio yelled. “Diego! Somebody! Goddamn it, I need help! We have to get her out of here!”

He returned to Grace, noting the pallor of her face and her complete lack of movement.

“Oh God, Grace,” he said, his voice completely cracking. “No, no, baby. Why. Oh God, why?”

The rest came out in a tortured moan. With Hancock still holding firm pressure to Grace’s wound, Rio gathered her in his arms, rocking back and forth as tears ran freely down his cheeks.

He knew. He knew what this had cost her. He could feel no air exchange. Could feel no breath from her nose or mouth. He buried his face in her hair and wept because he’d lost the one thing in this world that mattered the most to him.

She hadn’t been strong enough to heal him. Not a mortal wound. And so she’d taken it in his stead, knowing the sacrifice she was making.

He kissed her temple, his tears wetting her hair. He gently pushed the strands back away from her beautiful face. He stroked her cheek, ran his fingers over motionless lips.

“I love you,” he said brokenly. “Don’t leave me, Grace. Please don’t leave me alone.”

Pounding footsteps in the hall. Diego followed closely behind by Donovan. Donovan pushed Hancock aside and quickly worked to seal the wound.

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. “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 fuck 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 she’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 fuck 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 fuck 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.

Donovan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go commandeer the waiting room and scare the shit out of anyone there so we’ll have some privacy. We need to check in with Sam so he knows where to find us and make sure we don’t have any casualties.”

Rio nodded numbly and allowed himself to be pulled away. Nathan fell into step beside him and said in a low
voice, “Shea is fighting for her too, man. I know you are as well. Grace is a survivor. She’ll get through this.”

“She has to,” Rio said, darkness seeping into his soul. “I’m lost without her.”

RIO
stood broodingly in the corner of the waiting room, staring out the window that overlooked the sea in the distance. It should be dark and raining, the sky filled with thunderclouds, but it was an absolutely beautiful Mediterranean day. Flawless, bright blue sky, the water dazzling like diamonds and winking in the sun.

Around him, the room had filled up with a steady stream of KGI members. Most left him alone to do his brooding. Terrence sat across the room next to Elizabeth, talking in soothing tones to the sobbing girl.

Rio should say something to her. Offer comfort. He wasn’t a complete bastard. But what could he say to her? He was raw and hurting, knowing that this child lived because of Grace, and that at any moment Grace could be taken from him.

The hum of conversation that echoed through the room came to an abrupt halt. The hairs on Rio’s nape prickled and he turned to see Hancock standing in the doorway, still in fatigues, blood—Grace’s blood—still smeared on his shirt and his hands.

Hancock started forward, stopping a safe distance from Rio. He regarded Rio warily, without the innate cockiness that always accompanied Hancock’s demeanor.

“Grace?” he asked.

“In surgery,” Rio said shortly. “No word. They didn’t give us much hope.”

“Take a walk with me. There’s a lot I want to explain.”

He hadn’t said “need,” because Hancock was the sort who never felt the need to do anything. If he wanted you to know something, he’d tell you. But he never felt compelled to offer anything.

Rio’s gaze drifted downward and Hancock emitted a soft laugh. “If I had any intention of killing you, you’d long be dead, my friend. I’m unarmed, which is saying a lot, since I walked in here with over a dozen men all ready to slit me from asshole to appetite.”

Rio glanced toward Nathan, who was the closest to him and Hancock. “We’ll be just down the hall. Come get me immediately if there’s word on Grace.”

“Will do, man,” Nathan returned.

Rio followed Hancock into the hall and down the long corridor, ironically into a small chapel at the end. Hancock stopped a moment in the doorway, made the sign of the cross and then passed through.

Rio also paused, reached into his pocket for the rosary his mother had once given him. He made the sign and then kissed the beads and whispered a prayer.

“I’m not a good man. I’m not worthy in so many ways. But Grace is all that’s good. She’s one of yours. A gift to so many. She’s my light and my hope. Please don’t take her. I’ll do my best to prove worthy of her and of the gift of her. Just please bring her back to me.”

He walked farther into the chapel and settled on the front pew next to Hancock. For a moment, no words were exchanged. Then Hancock turned to Rio.