Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (48 page)

She gathered clean towels and a basin of soapy water and hurried to Dylan's side. Gently, she pulled away the material so she could examine the wound. The dried edges of the wound did reopen but quickly clotted. It was the main body of the wound that troubled her.

Angelina took scissors and cut the front of his shirt away to get a better look. She gasped when she saw the gaping hole in his chest staring back at her. Was the bullet still in there? Hoping it had passed through his body, she gently slid her left arm behind his back and leaned him forward, supporting his upper body against her right arm so she could see if there was an exit wound.

Be there. Please, please be there.

She couldn't believe she was actually hoping to find a second open wound. But there wasn't one.

The bullet hole was located on the far left wall of his chest beneath his collarbone and closest to his arm. Thankfully it was far enough from his heart that she believed it hadn't hit any major organs or done any permanent damage. Now if she didn't botch things trying to dig the bullet out, Dylan might be okay.

A moan escaped his lips when she lowered him back against the chair. His eyelids fluttered and then he opened his eyes. He appeared dazed for a minute or two, as if he was trying to clear his head. He took notice of the supplies on the table beside him and seemed to understand where he was and what was happening.

“Did the bullet pass through?” He forced the words out through teeth gritted in pain.

“No.”

He released a deep sigh. His tone of voice held resignation and determination. “Dig it out.”

Angelina's hands began to tremble. “I...I don't know if I can. It would have been easier if you were still unconscious but I can't do it while you're awake, while you can feel...” Tears flowed freely.

Dylan captured one of her hands in his. “You need to do this.” He squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again he released her hand and tilted her chin until their gazes locked. “You will be saving my life, Angelina. No matter how much I moan or cry out please keep reminding yourself that you are saving my life.”

Dylan looked over the supplies lying on the end table. He saw the bandages, antiseptic, suture kit, tweezers. “You need a knife.” He looked back at her. “There are some filet knives that Bear used to skin fish. They are thin, sharp and should do the job.” He glanced around the dimly lit cabin. “We don't have fire to sterilize anything with but I believe there is rubbing alcohol in the bathroom.”

Angelina lifted a bottle of alcohol from the floor beside her.

“Good. You thought of that already.” He grinned and, even though it looked like a forced grin, it did its job and made her relax a bit. “See,” he said. “You're going to do a fine job.”

He watched her douse the knife and the tweezers in alcohol. “Good. Hand me one of those flashlights.”

She did.

He turned it on and held it in place high on the right side of his chest.

“We want you to be able to see what you're doing.” Another forced grin, but Angelina deeply appreciated that he was more concerned with her emotional comfort than his physical one. “Now fold a dishcloth in thirds and put it between my teeth.”

Angelina's eyes widened and fear crept up her spine again.

His eyes bore into her. “You can do this. You can. Tune me out. If I moan or cry out, don't stop. Don't stop for anything no matter what. Understand? Just keep telling yourself that you are saving my life because you are.”

“Pray with me.”

His eyes registered surprise since she'd been adamant in the past that she no longer prayed, but a glint of happiness that she wanted to pray lit his eyes. Together, they bowed their heads in prayer.

When they had finished, Angelina put the towel between his teeth and picked up the knife.

As she probed the wound to get close to the edge of the bullet, her admiration for Dylan increased tenfold. He stared at the ceiling, staying as still as possible and did his best not to make a sound. It was the beaded sweat on his forehead and how tightly his teeth clenched down on the towel that told her how much pain he was in. She almost cheered when she finally saw the round rim of the bullet and knew his ordeal was almost over.

“I've found it.”

Dylan blinked hard and nodded encouragement.

Angelina took the tweezers, worked a little longer, a little harder and was finally able to pull the bullet out. She sat back on her legs and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

She dipped a clean cloth into a bowl of clear water and gently washed the sweat from Dylan's brow. He drew his mouth into a grim line. Pain radiated from his eyes. Still, he remained calm and quiet.

“We're not out of the woods, yet.” Her fingers traced down his face in an effort to offer comfort. “The wound appears deeper and wider than I'd like. I'm afraid it won't close on its own. I'm going to have to try and stitch it closed in order to stop the bleeding.”

Dylan nodded and spat the material out of his mouth. “Do what you have to do.”

“I'm not a doctor. I haven't ever stitched anyone up before. You're going to have a terrible scar.”

Dylan laughed unexpectedly. “I'll live with the scar, Angelina.” His eyes sobered. “Thanks to you, I'll live, period.” He smiled. “Go for it. Just don't embroider flowers or smiley faces into my chest.”

Angelina laughed, too, and the tension in the room melted away. When she finished, she cleaned the wound, lathered it with antiseptic cream, and covered it with gauze and cloth strips to hold it in place. When she raised her eyes, she noted caked blood in Dylan's hair just above his temple. Upon close examination, she realized that another bullet had grazed his skull. A sick feeling rushed through her.

She cleaned that wound, too. Holding the bandage in place by wrapping a few rows of gauze around his forehead, she couldn't help but touch her own bandage and grin.

“Look, Dylan. We're a match.” She allowed herself to laugh at the irony of it all.

His eyes caught hers and a sudden intimacy filled the room. The intensity of his stare captured her breath.

“I agree,” he said, a husky undercurrent in his voice. “We are a perfect match, aren't we?”

THIRTEEN

A
ngelina didn't answer, not sure whether to take his words at face value or examine their meaning. An awareness, almost a palpable electricity, connected them. When he continued to stare at her, heat flooded her face and pulsed through her veins. Not knowing what to do with all those jumbled and confused feelings inside, she pushed away from his chair and acted as if nothing powerful, nothing potentially life-changing, had just occurred between them.

Not able to meet his eyes, she busied herself gathering the supplies.

“Try and rest while I clean up the mess I made. I don't think I've seen you sleep more than an hour or two in the past forty-eight hours. You're going to need your strength.”

With her arms wrapped around the basin of water, she forced a smile on her face and dared to glance in his direction.

His eyes spoke volumes. He knew she was avoiding the issue, avoiding the talk that inevitably they would have to have. But his shoulders relaxed and she knew that he was willing to let it go for now.

“Thanks again. I owe you.” Even though pain etched deep furrows in his brow and clouded his eyes, he smiled at her.

“You don't owe me anything. Not too many people get the opportunity to carve their initials into a federal marshal's chest.”

The feigned look of horror on his face made both of them laugh and the atmosphere in the room returned to normal, whatever normal between them was.

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?” she asked.

“A glass of water would be appreciated.”

“Coming up.” She made it back and forth from the kitchen in record time. She handed him water along with the two pain pills she'd taken out of the first aid kit. “I know these won't be much help with the pain but they might take the edge off.”

She watched him grimace with even the slightest movement but he accepted the pills from her hand and swallowed them.

“Dylan, why don't you go in the bedroom and lie down? You need the rest and it will be more comfortable than sitting in that chair.”

“I'm staying here.”

“Why? That's foolish.”

“It's foolish to guard the only entrance and exit to the building? Don't think so. If I stay here, I can see anyone approaching.” He shot her a telling glance. “And I can stop anyone from leaving.”

She shook her head. “You are a stubborn man. If I wanted to leave, I could have left hours ago while you were sleeping.”

“You probably stayed because you didn't know where we are or how to get out of here.”

“Yeah, right. Who do you think drove us here in the first place? And even if I did forget, haven't you ever heard of GPS?” She crossed her arms and stared him down. “I stayed because I didn't know if you were going to live or die. For some stupid reason, I didn't want you to die.”

She saw him try to stifle a smile and the thought he was laughing at her grated on her nerves. Stomping her foot in frustration she stormed off into one of the bedrooms. The man had an incredible ability to get under her skin one way or the other and none of the ways bored her that's for sure. Okay, so she pulled a doozy three years ago. And, yes, she was trying to take off again last night. But she'd explained why. And the circumstances now were entirely different. Why didn't he trust her? And more baffling why did it bother her so much that he didn't?

After taking a few minutes to get her temper under control, she retrieved a blanket from the bed, dragged it into the main room and placed it over him. “If you're going to insist on playing big brave caveman and guarding our cave, then you need to try and rest. That wound was nasty. I did the best I could with it but I'm sure it hurts.”

He nodded. “It does but I can handle it.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Handle it. But try to get some rest, too.” She clasped her hands in a begging motion. “Please. Do it for me. When we get back to civilization it would be nice if you were alive and well and I could show off my wound-care skills.”

He offered her the briefest of smiles. “Okay, just for you.” His eyes looked so heavy Angelina didn't think he'd have much choice in the matter, anyway.

“I think I will close my eyes but just for a minute.” He rested his head against the back of the chair.

Angelina watched him in silence. When she was certain he was as comfortable as she could make him, she set to work. She emptied the basin she had set aside in the kitchen. Put the first aid kit back on the shelf in the bathroom. Then, hurried back to Dylan's side.

A light snore escaped his lips and her smile widened.

Yep, you go ahead and snore.

It was the best sound she'd heard in the past twenty-four hours. Being careful not to wake him, she tucked the blanket in around him to ward off the October morning chill. Then, she brought in firewood already stacked on the front porch and set to work building a fire.

Fire.

Wasn't it amazing that the same object when controlled in a fireplace could offer such comfort and when uncontrolled could cause such chaos and loss?

The warmth of the flames heated her skin and seeped into her bones.

Satisfied with her efforts, she relaxed for the first time since the string of events started the night before. She wasn't a doctor but had done a reasonable job tending to Dylan's wounds. She'd never been a girl scout but had started a decent fire in the fireplace. She allowed herself a moment of self-satisfaction. She knew God had guided her hands and she offered a silent prayer of thanks.

Although her position in front of the fire left her toasty warm and comfortable, she didn't allow herself to stop. Not yet. She searched the cabinets for food. Although there was nothing in the refrigerator since the electric was off, she found canned soup she could heat up later for dinner. She also found some dry cereal they could munch on, a variety of canned vegetables and a couple cans of tuna fish. She rummaged a little more and found instant coffee, packets of sugar and even a small container of whole milk that didn't need refrigeration until opened. Maybe if she put it outside after she opened it the weather would keep it fresh enough to use for the next two days.

It wasn't the best situation in the world but it wasn't the worst. They only had to survive for two nights and there were enough dry goods to ensure they could. Her spirits lifted.

A comforting warmth filled the small main room. She opened the doors of the two bedrooms so they would also be warm by evening. Maybe they'd be able to finally get a good, restful night's sleep.

She went back to check on Dylan. He continued to sleep peacefully. He needed a haircut and she grinned. She had to fight with herself not to brush his hair away from his ears or allow the tips of her fingers to trail ever-so-softly down his cheeks and neck. He was a handsome man, a fact not wasted on her. But her attraction to him was based on more than appearances, always had been.

There was something special about Dylan. The deep tenor of his voice mesmerized her and she could listen to him speak for hours. The glint in his brown eyes hinted at depths of intelligence and wit she'd only begun to explore. His strength made her feel protected and safe. His kindness wrapped its arms around her heart.

In another time, another place, all of this may have had a different outcome. But...

She shook her head, breaking her trance and bringing her back to reality. She couldn't afford to let down her guard. She felt the pressure of the upcoming trial more potently now than ever. Dylan couldn't protect her even though he'd been doing everything in his power to do so. It was a losing battle. Her father and his crew were more powerful.

Was Frankie Malone working for her father as the marshals believed? She had to admit it was extremely coincidental if he wasn't. But if her father had stooped to using a gang member to silence her, it showed his desperation and cemented her belief that they didn't stand a chance against him.

What a mess they were in! She didn't have a clue how they were going to get out of it.

Her mind flashed on images of a crumpled Selma on the front stoop, of a bleeding, unconscious, probably dead, Bear lying on the ground at their feet. She liked Bear, always had. Pain and loss rushed through her. Now all that stood between life and death was an injured Dylan, who she knew would give his last breath to protect her, and herself, her own wits and skill.

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. No, not just the two of them. It was Dylan, herself and God. She realized He had always been by her side these past three years, protecting her, patiently waiting for her to reach out to Him. Well, she was reaching out now. She welcomed the feelings of inner peace after she prayed. No matter what lay ahead, she knew with certainty she was not alone and that made all the difference.

Gently she propped a pillow under Dylan's head. She should have insisted he go to bed but she knew he wouldn't leave his post at the front door.
Thank you, Lord, for making the human body need sleep or this valiant protector would have never closed his eyes.
Dylan looked comfortable. She had done the best she could do. Hopefully, her efforts had been enough.

Exhaustion cloaked her body. She had a headache to end all headaches and her arm throbbed from all the jarring of her own wounds. She swallowed two pain pills she'd taken out of the first aid kit for herself.

She stretched out on the sofa opposite Dylan's chair. She wanted to be close by should he wake up and need her. She pulled a second blanket she had retrieved from the bedroom over herself and burrowed into the softness of the cushions.

Dawn had come and bright sunshine filtered through the front window. It was going to be a clear, clean, beautiful autumn day.

They were safe.

She stared through the window into the woods.

But for how long?

* * *

The sun was setting when Dylan opened his eyes, deep shadows of twilight stretching long fingers across the cabin floor. He couldn't believe he'd slept the entire day. Quickly, he scanned the room in search of Angelina. He found her stoking flames in the fireplace. Although he hadn't moved or made a sound, instinctually she seemed to know he was awake and turned to face him. The fire bathed her in a soft yellow glow. Her beauty snatched his breath away.

“Hi, sleepyhead.” A smile touched her lips. “How are you feeling?”

He tried to shove thoughts of Angelina back into the this-is-just-a-witness compartment in his mind but his heart wouldn't let him. Against his better judgment, against all his best efforts, he had fallen hopelessly in love with her.

He glanced away so she wouldn't see the longing in his eyes.

He needed to bury these emotions, remain professional and clearheaded. His sole mission was to get her safely to the trial, not moon over her and think things he had no business thinking. Once she testified she would be free, able to live a normal life again. He owed her that despite what his heart might want.

Again his mind wandered.

His heart wanted him to gather her in his arms, kiss her forehead, and then run. Run fast and far away where no one knew them, where no one could touch them, where they could both start a new life as long as that life was together.

A deep sadness crushed those dreams. He knew she didn't want the same thing. She'd used his feelings for her against him once before, had manipulated him, had humiliated him and had fled. Although fooled once, he wasn't a fool. Angelina moved into the kitchen.

His gaze followed her, noting how she had a dancer's stance and easy gait, making her seem tall and graceful despite her petite frame.

“I bet you're hungry.” She gestured to two cans on the counter. “I can offer you dry canned tuna or I can heat up some soup.”

Then she lifted a jar and a box. “We have milk, instant coffee and sugar. How blessed can we be?”

He appreciated her attempt to turn their dire circumstances into an adventure but he could see the fear and tension in the depths of her blue eyes. “While you were sleeping, I rigged two pans to some pipe I found in the shed outside.” She held it up. “It's not ideal but it'll work well enough to cook something.”

He couldn't hide the look of shock and surprise on his face.

“What?” She brought the contraption close for his inspection. “The pioneers didn't have electricity. How do you think they did it?”

He couldn't believe what she'd made out of PVC pipe and masking tape. She was so proud of it. He fought the urge to laugh out loud. As it was, he couldn't hide his grin. He didn't want to hurt her feelings so he chose his words carefully. “I give you an A+ for trying, Angelina. But this could never work. PVC pipe gives off a toxic fume when heated and, worse, if the pipe were to catch fire the flames can't be put out with water. Not a good idea to put it into a fire inside a log cabin.”

Her expression looked so crestfallen he felt sorry for her. His little rich Mafia princess had really tried to help. If it hadn't been dangerous, he might have kept his mouth shut and let her try it.

He pushed back the blanket and started to rise. “Give me that.”

“Not on your life.” She stepped back, determination and defiance shining in her eyes. “I worked all afternoon trying to figure out a workable solution to our problem. It's my invention and that makes it my job to decide what to do with it. So what if it won't work.” She shrugged. “Maybe I can find some other use for it.” She placed it on the floor beside the door.

“Great idea! A door stop.” Dylan laughed in spite of the throbbing in his head and the shooting pain across his chest when he moved. “I'm going to go outside and start the generator before it gets too dark.”

“Generator?” She stared at him, surprise written all over her face.

“All the fishing and hunting cabins are run by generators. Think about it. Did you see any poles, any lines when you were driving these back roads?” He stood. “I'm going to go outside and get ours started before it gets too dark to see. I'll be back in a few minutes.”