True Deceptions (True Lies) (32 page)

“Dane, this is Cassie. Simon’s been shot.” Her uncontrollable crying cut into her message and garbled her words. She punched herself hard in the leg to give her body a little pain outside of her heart and to calm her nerves. “He needs help immediately. I don’t know where we are or how you can find me, but please come.”

What a useless message.

She stared at Simon’s body, too weak, too bloody, too heavy. She held him and hated herself for not having enough medical training. What could she do?

Think, damn it. Blood was leeching from his leg and arm and everywhere. His heart still beat, but his lungs made strange noises as air entered and exited. First, stop the bleeding. She pulled out a T-shirt from his pack. Three rips provided four bandages. His ankle was shattered, bone fragments mixed into the inner layer of his skin. The bullet to the shoulder only grazed him. The wound was larger than a quarter, but manageable.

His chest. His heart continued a faint beat, but she didn’t know what to do with that injury. It was beyond anything she’d ever seen. She heard a slight sucking noise as he struggled to breath. His lungs were leaking. How would she stop the air from escaping through his chest?

Hopefully, the bandages would help. The first one, she wrapped around his leg. She tightened it as much as she could. The second bandage secured his shoulder. She used the longest strip there, because the wound on the shoulder was in such an awkward location. Finally she tried to blot the blood on his chest, but which side? It went through the front and out the back. The idiot gave her the vest, yet she was never hit. Anger and fury mixed with complete desolation.

The bandages didn’t work to stop the air leaking from his chest. She rummaged through the bag again and found the Mylar blanket. It was easy to rip. She pressed a piece against his back and placed a white cloth bandage behind it and turned him over so the ground sealed the wound to the Mylar. Hopefully, it sealed his lungs successfully. She then did the same to the front of his chest. She used the final piece of the T-shirt to place over the Mylar seal and then pressed her hand into the bloody area and held it in place. His body was warm, and his heart thumped against her hand, struggling to maintain a steady heartbeat.

The moon peeked out from the clouds and brightened the area, illuminating the carnage. Simon must have killed at least eight men before being shot. He didn’t have backup…and yet he did, and she’d failed him. Follow his orders? His orders sucked. By sacrificing himself, he could take away her future, the man she wanted to spend forever with.

Her voice rose up in a helpless howl. “You will not die, you bastard. Do you hear me? I need you to live so I can kick your ass for giving the worst orders ever.”

She covered the rest of Simon’s torso with the remnants of the Mylar blanket and made a pillow for his head with the pack. Then she waited.

H
ow many minutes could she sit in the wet mist in the middle of nowhere holding Simon as his life drifted away? If she’d left immediately with the motorcycle, she’d be a few miles away already, but she had no clue how to drive a motorcycle and no idea how to cross the border and find safety.
Too stupid to live.
It didn’t matter. She refused to flee the area and leave him to die alone. And they were completely alone. No human being within sight. Not even the sound of a passing car on the road.

The breeze through the distant trees and the call of a bird in a low rumbled pitch calmed some of the savagery surrounding her. An occasional radio on the belt of a dead soldier came alive, spouting Korean questions and orders. No one was available to answer the call.

Her warrior, the man who wanted to marry her, remained helpless on the muddy ground in the middle of hostile territory. His head rested on the pillow she’d created from his incredible backpack.

If she’d been more capable, he wouldn’t be bleeding to death in front of her. Perhaps he would have trusted her to fight with him. Her hand stayed put on the Mylar cover pressed to the wound. She couldn’t hear the sucking sound anymore, but could feel his weak heartbeat and the faint rise and fall of his injured chest.

A distant hum caught her attention. A helicopter? Without contact from their troops, the military would send out a search party. They might be able save him. Reality, however, was never that kind. They’d probably shoot him in the head. Brutal, remorseless. Like she’d been to the men she’d killed. Ironically, she felt nothing in her soul after killing all those people. They would have shot Simon and her without a second thought.

The helicopter continued toward her location. She’d have moved Simon’s body into the barn, but he was too heavy. So she remained with him. Her free hand touched her stomach, where Simon’s child grew. Would the whole family die right here? She remained, holding guard over the keeper of her heart.

The helicopter landed in a field a few hundred yards from the barn. The noise was deafening. A group of soldiers exited the doors. Two headed directly for her and Simon, two others examined the downed men. She raised her weapon and pointed it at someone coming too close.

“Cassie,” another soldier yelled to her through the deafening sound of the helicopter. “Put the gun down. We’re here to help.”

She still held the gun, because she didn’t trust anyone. The soldier who called her name approached her. She aimed the gun at his head. “Who are you?” she hollered over the noise of the helicopter.

He pulled his mask off. It was Dane. “Put the gun down, sweetheart.”

Dane?
The cold fear across her skin faded. She dropped her weapon and burst into tears. “Simon. He needs help.”

Dane moved in closer to her. He rested his hand on Simon’s neck. “We have a medic team that can help him. Back away. Let them do their work.”

“No. I need to be with him,” she shouted.

An extremely strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her away.

“Stop it. Let me go.”

Dane wouldn’t release her. “Let the team do their job. You finished yours. It’s time to rest.”

“I’m fine. Let me go.” She fought him, but he held her from behind. She flailed around without striking any of his sensitive body parts. He lifted her off the ground and carried her toward the helicopter. He didn’t appear that strong in his more casual clothes but looks were deceiving. He was built like a tank. There was nothing she could do but go along with him. The team carrying the backboard raced past them toward Simon. She couldn’t see him anymore. He was surrounded by people. Would they hurt him? Would he die with strangers?

“I can’t leave him.” She struggled again, but Dane continued to walk away from Simon and toward the helicopter.

He dropped her to her feet and turned her around. Hugging her close and kissing her on the forehead, he let her cry and fight and completely break down. “There’s a medic and a trauma nurse with him. They’re his best chance.”

He lifted her into the copter and motioned her to the back. Large black earphones provided a relief from the loud motor.

Cassie crouched by one of the windows and watched Simon being strapped to the board and lifted by two men. Soldiers with rifles flanked each side. Her vision diminished as the tears came down. He might survive. There was hope.

Dane caught her attention by lifting her chin and glancing at her. “What about you? Are you hurt?”

She squeezed his hand. “No. I’m fine.”

He ignored her and began to examine her for injury. His hands proceeded to rub down her arms and legs, and he pulled at her clothing to see if she had any wounds.

“I’m fine. Stop.” She swatted his hand away.

“Sit over here and strap in.” He sent her to one of the back seats and took the seat next to hers.

The soldiers placed Simon in the helicopter, secured the backboard, and latched the door. They swarmed around him, cutting off his clothes, inserting tubes and, hopefully, saving his life. They acted as though he was alive. When the helicopter lifted off, Cassie took a deep breath, absorbed in their attempts to stop his bleeding.

Chapter Thirty-One

T
he sand sparkled, reflecting the hot sun beaming down in the middle of the afternoon. Cassie, wearing a red bikini, escorted a little blonde girl carrying a yellow pail across an expanse of sand. Simon’s daughter. Cassie smiled at her and pointed to a pink shell rotating counterclockwise and then clockwise as the rippling water offered it up to the shore and then pulled it away.

The sound of a helicopter chopped into the image, flying low and landing on the beach. Cassie’s hair blew in all directions as the little girl tried to cover her face from the sand swirling in front of her. Fifty or more North Korean soldiers carrying Type 58 assault rifles flooded the beach. They all fit into the helicopter? It didn’t make sense.

Cassie crouched to protect the little girl from the wind and the sand. She didn’t tremble or quake in fear, but she had no weapon to defend herself. She needed a weapon. The soldiers surrounded them. Cassie screamed at them to stop, but they didn’t listen. They aimed. She pushed the girl to the ground and covered her body completely. They fired.

His scream woke him. His eyes opened wide. Blinding light forced them shut again.
Cassie.
He needed to protect her.

Hands held his arms down. Their hold increased as he fought to escape. The more he struggled, the more hands forced him back. Who had captured him and why? And where was Cassie? Soon, restraints tied his body to the bed.

After the sting of the light receded, he opened his eyes again. His vision came into focus several pixels at a time. A hospital room. Several nurses and doctors, and Dane.

His friend’s presence eased the panic. Simon opened his mouth to speak, but choked on a tube down his throat. His whole body convulsed in a deep pain, like knives and hot irons and scalding water combined.

The medical personnel buzzed around him fixing lines in his arms. He growled trying to get them away. Each intake of air was a struggle. He fought to get up. Fatigue pummeled him.

“Mr. Smith.” The doctor, an older Asian-looking man, stood next to him, holding an iPad, tapping the screen, and lifting his eyes to Simon every few taps. “You must calm down, or I will be forced to sedate you. The endotracheal tube can be removed, but I need your assurance that you will calm down.”

Three younger doctors in lab coats, all presumably Korean, remained one step behind him. They glanced between each other with fear etched in their expressions.

Simon tried to relax his mind and his muscles, no easy task with Dane smirking over him. After a moment, the doctor nodded to the other medical personnel. They had Simon lean his head back while they worked out the tube. It snaked its way past the gag reflex and out, leaving a horrid bile taste in his mouth. Someone placed a glass of water to his lips and helped him take a sip. The cool drink soothed his throat and calmed his nerves. Although pain intensified with each breath, there was air moving in and out of his lungs. The head doctor nodded to Dane and left the room with his entourage in tow.

“Welcome back, George.” Dane, dressed for a board of directors meeting, was leaning against the wall, appearing amused with Simon’s situation.

“Cassie?” The name crackled through his dry throat as he spoke. It hurt too much to say anything else.

“Your wife, Mrs. Sunny Smith, is doing just fine. And according to the medical staff here, so is the little Smith on the way. I forced her away from your side so she could sleep in a real bed in the hotel suite for a night. She’ll return soon. For some reason, she likes being near you. Be nice to her. She thought you were dead.”

Simon didn’t want to talk, but he needed answers. He lifted an eyebrow.

Dane acknowledged his silent questions with a nod. “From what she told me, you’d been gunned down. Three bullets struck you, by the way. Impressive. She dodged a few rounds herself to get the assault rifle out of some dead soldier’s hands and mowed the leftovers down. That lady of yours has brass balls.” He shook his head with a grin.

Cassie with a gun?
Killing people?

He had a hard time imagining it, but then he thought of the drones and Cassie blowing the base to smithereens. A pacifist unless crossed. He’d have to remember not to get on her bad side.

He glanced at the bandages across his chest and around his body and waited for Dane to continue.

“Where do I begin? You have a fracture in your ankle. You’ll be out of commission for a little while. On a good note, you couldn’t have been transported to a better place. These surgeons are the best. You’ll be running marathons by next summer.”

Simon tried to lift his leg, but the restraints held him back. The large cast covered something painful as hell. He nodded to Dane to continue.

“Skidmark over the shoulder. Loss of some blood, but nothing huge. And then there’s your chest.”

Simon’s gaze dropped back to his sternum and the tubes and bandages and monitoring devices. His lungs refused to inhale more than a minimal amount of air. His ribs hurt with each breath he took.

“Your partner couldn’t have handled the situation better. She sealed the wounds in the front and the back while keeping you protected and alive until we landed. Hell, she almost killed one of the members of the White Tigers who had arrived to rescue her. Although it wasn’t really her fault. She had no idea the soldiers running at her with assault rifles were South Korean special forces. She thought she was still under attack.”

Simon struggled to listen to Dane. He wanted to know the specifics, but his body wasn’t cooperating. Every sector of his being hurt. He shut his eyes, and Dane mumbled a few things he didn’t catch. He’d talk to him later when he could think. The darkness called him back, and he went willingly.

He woke up coughing in a dark room. A monitor continued to beep and display bright lights. Pain shot down his arm, up his leg, and across his chest, all congregating in a massive headache above his forehead. His throat still hurt, though not as much.