Chapter 12
TWELVE
Please —that did not just happen.
Where had his brain been? Clearly on autopilot.
Doyle watched her go—the impulse to run after her nearly moving his legs but...
The stupid treasure sat beneath his feet and he couldn’t leave. Not with sixty million—the number still made him stagger—at stake and...
Run. After her.
He put his hands to his face, unable to dislodge his words from his brain.
“You’re so beautiful, Juliet.”
C’mon, dude!
Because not once, not even for a millionth of a millisecond, had he thought of Juliet when he was kissing Tia.
No, he knew very well who he’d kissed, the taste of her cresting over him, through him, igniting his hunger for this woman who intrigued him, challenged him, kept him running and thinking, his partner in every way?—
Tia.
In her kiss, she tasted like everything he’d forgotten, and more—acceptance and trust, and maybe also respect, and even surprise, which he hoped meant that he’d wowed her a little.
No, a lot.
He’d never been kissed the way Tia kissed him. With spark and challenge and boldness that he’d never gotten from...
She Who Must Not Be Named. Although that wasn’t fair. Juliet deserved a place in his heart. Just not first place. Or even second place. Not anymore.
A door slammed, echoing through the church. Then footsteps— please, please be Tia— returning to him.
“Everything okay?” North opened the door, stuck his head in. “I saw Tia bolt out of here.”
“Fine,” Doyle said. “You here to relieve me?”
“Ham asked me to guard this room. Not sure why?—”
“Lock the door behind me,” Doyle said and took off into the sanctuary.
The night had swallowed her up, and he took off across the monastery courtyard, but he didn’t see her.
Could be she’d gone... to talk to Rosa?
He stood in the yard, the rain hard upon him, staring up at her room.
Knock on her door.
The impulse thumped inside him.
Fix this.
“Doyle?”
The voice jarred him out of his panic— yep, that was the name for the thundering of his heart, the clogging of his throat—and he turned to see Austen, wearing a rain slicker, coming out of the dining hall. “Declan and I are headed back to his place. You good?”
Doyle hadn’t put his hood back up, so water trickled from his hair, around his ears, into the neck of his jacket, down his back, chilly. His entire body buzzed, exhaustion a relentless master, and he sighed.
“I called Tia... Juliet.”
He didn’t know why he said that, but Austen... she would understand.
“Aw, Doyle.” She stepped up to him. Touched his arm. “She’ll understand.”
He tightened his mouth, gave a grim shake of his head. “I don’t...”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I had just kissed her.”
“Bro.”
He held up a hand. “Never mind. Any word from Stein?”
“No. My guess is that he’s helping out somewhere. But you—listen. Are you falling for Tia?”
He looked back to her room on the second floor, then to Austen.
“It’s me, little bro. I covered for you that time you snuck out in eighth grade to go stargazing with Juliet on the dock.”
“It was ten o’clock at night, and I think Mom and Dad saw us.”
“Shouldn’t have sneaked out your second-story window, then. Still, I didn’t rat you out. Nor did I tell anyone how you curled up with a bottle of chilled chardonnay down in Key West one night.”
“Yeah, first and last time for that option. I still can’t drink the stuff.”
She smiled at him, stepped up. “Do you love Tia?”
He drew in a breath and then, “Yes. I think... Yes. But it’s different than Juliet. With Juliet it felt almost like... okay, I guess panic is the right word. Or even like someday it was all going to blow up in my face. I loved her so much that...”
“You lost yourself.”
He frowned.
“First love can do that. It takes over and you suddenly can’t see beyond right now.”
“We had a future planned. And then I had nothing. There was no future without Juliet.”
“But see, there was. There is . And that’s what’s been so hard to get into your head. You don’t want to imagine a future without her.”
He stared at her. Maybe.
“And that’s why you’ve been stuck.”
“I’ve been waiting for God to show up, tell me what to do. And for a short bit there, I thought... I thought Tia might be the answer.”
“Tia might be part of your future, but she is not the answer to God’s will for your life, Doyle. Peace is God’s will for your life. Joy is God’s will for your life. Love is God’s will for your life.”
She grabbed his hand, held it. “God might have changed the plan, according to your vision, but he never changed his will. He wills that you find joy in your every day, despite sorrow, and that you know his deep and abiding love for you, even in grief. And that comes only from a yes to God’s invitation to follow Him, even if you don’t know where you’ll end up. Or with whom. You do have a future. You just have to have the courage to hold on to God and let Him show it to you.”
She stepped up, kissed his cheek, put her arms around him. “Tia is not the replacement for God’s will. But she might be a byproduct of it. Your heart is making room for someone new.”
She let him go. “‘The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; hismerciesnever come to an end; they arenew every morning.’ Go to bed, Doyle. Tomorrow is a fresh start.”
Declan had come out into the courtyard wearing a raincoat, holding keys to one of the vehicles. “Hamilton has set up watches with his guys. Everything is secure. Ready, Austen?”
And again, the warmth in the way Declan looked at Austen, put his hand out as if to settle it on the small of her back...
“Something going on between you two?”
Austen raised an eyebrow. Declan dropped his hand. “No.” He patted Doyle on the shoulder. “You’re the right guy for this job, Doyle. Thanks.” He winked and headed out, holding the door open for Austen.
So maybe he was just a gentleman.
Doyle headed upstairs to the balcony, and then he couldn’t stop himself from walking down to Tia’s room.
He stood in front of her door, his fists tight. He should knock. Apologize. Because the idea of waiting until tomorrow knotted his gut.
“Tomorrow is a fresh start.”
Yes it was . And frankly, if Tia did open the door, did invite him in, did accept his apology...
He was tired and maybe a little broken, and he saw himself kissing her again, and...
Okay then. He walked to his room, went inside, pulled off his rain gear, and headed to a hot shower.
He fell like a rock into bed, closed his eyes, and sleep took him, despite Tia’s horrified gaze in his head.
Sorry, Tia.
But maybe, terribly, Juliet did own a part of his brain, because even as he slept, she walked into his dreams and sat down on the bed.
He was sleeping, right?
“Hey there, DK.” She wore her blonde hair down, a tan on her skin, her green eyes luminescent. He put his hand over hers on his chest, warm and real. “I miss you.”
He couldn’t speak and his throat burned.
“You miss me too, right?”
He nodded, his hand hard on hers.
She stared at him, searching, but his body had turned to stone. Then she let go, got up.
Juliet!
No words from his mouth. She stood at the door, smiled at him.
He was choking, his breath gone. Juliet.
And then, just like that, she disappeared.
He gasped and opened his eyes, and dawn streamed into his room, the rain gone, sunlight skimming the wood floor. He sat up, his feet on the cold, his heart hammering, and clung to the side of the bed, his gaze out the window.
Cumbre de Luz still rose in the distance, but a great swath had furrowed a deep scar in her face. Still, the light landed on the rainforest, turning it a rich emerald, and the dawn swept lavender and marigold across the sky.
“His mercies are new every morning.”
Doyle closed his eyes, savored the moment, took in a deep breath. God, I don’t want to walk in yesterday. And I don’t want to be stuck. Help me see Your goodness in the land of the living, find that joy of following You even if I don’t know where I’m going.
He looked up, and suddenly... yeah, he knew exactly where he was going. Pulling on fresh jeans and a T-shirt, he slipped on flip-flops, brushed his teeth, tunneled a hand through his hair, and headed down to Tia’s room.
So it was early. This apology was long overdue. He knocked.
The door creaked, eased open. He pressed it wider.
Her bed lay mussed, her slicker on the floor. And his gaze fell on her tennis shoes, toed off at an angle next to it.
Huh. He turned and looked out over the courtyard. The fountain had filled almost to overflowing with yesterday’s rain, and a few pigeons pecked in the yard. In the distance, a rooster crowed. Maybe she’d gotten up early?
Except a stone sat in his gut, and then he remembered...
Last night when Declan left, Doyle hadn’t heard the alarm beep. Either to arm it or in alert. And then he heard the security guy’s voice: “I’ll disable the alarm and leave it unlocked for when you return.”
He headed downstairs and into the dining hall.
North sat at a table, drinking coffee, texting. He looked up at Doyle. “You good?”
“Have you seen Tia?”
He shook his head. “I just got up. Heading out for my shift at the church?—”
“What about the grotto?”
“Ham pulled Skeet off the main entrance and sent him there last night. Glad I wasn’t pulling that duty.” He set down the phone. “I think Ham relieved him this morning. Skeet was asleep in his cot when I got up.”
“And West?”
“My guess is at the chapel.”
“Who was... Was anyone watching the gate?”
“The gate is secure. Alarm set.” He picked up his phone, swiped open the app.
Doyle read it on his expression. “It’s not armed, is it?”
North got up, his eyes on the screen, his mouth a grim line. “It says it’s been disarmed for twelve hours.”
“Is there a video feed?”
North clearly had already opened it, because he was thumbing through it, his gaze on his phone.
He groaned and shook his head, looked away.
And Doyle knew it—he just knew it?—
“Looks like Tia left around six this morning.”
“What?”
“And she wasn’t alone.” He held up the video. “You know this guy?”
Doyle went hollow, his hand braced on the table as he took North’s phone, watching Tia as she walked through the gate, a man holding her arm. He paused the video. Turned it to North.
It took a long second for him to find his voice, to pry it free from the terrible knot in his chest. “That look like a gun to you?”
North leaned in. Took the phone. “Who is he?”
“His name is Keon. Used to work for us. Now works for Sebold Grimes. Local pirate. And I’ll bet he found out that we have his gold.”
North frowned, pocketed the phone. “Gold?”
Doyle stood up. “If my gut is right, we’re in for big trouble.”
* * *
Emberly had turned the headlamp onto the lowest setting to save battery, but even with that, the light had dimmed to nearly nothing. A dent against the darkness.
Stein walked behind her, footfalls, a breath, his presence enough to keep her from spiraling out into panic.
Breathe.
Maybe this hadn’t been such a brilliant idea. But Emberly refused to say that, despite the hours and hours of swimming and now hiking through the bowels of the mountain.
Wetness seeped from the walls, and she didn’t want to imagine what kind of crawlies might be embedding into her grimy skin.
“Your GPS still working?”
“It’s not getting a signal if that’s what you mean, but it has been keeping track of our movements.” She pressed the button on the side of her wrist unit, and the tiny map illuminated the darkness.
Stein stepped up to her, looked over her shoulder, his body against hers.
Weird how just having him around felt...
Safe. Like if she were to fall, he might catch her.
“You still don’t trust me.”
“I never should have.”
That had been a spear to her soul. But frankly, he was a smart man. She had a mission to finish.
“According to your map, it seems like we’re under the western edge of the mountain.” He reached out and grabbed her arm. “This looks like a large opening—” He pointed to a circular depression at the end of a tunnel that angled north. “Maybe that’s a way out.”
She moved the map. “It looks like the closest exit.”
“Let’s break out your flashlight.” He pulled off the headlamp.
She stifled a shiver. Her wet clothes plastered to her body, her hair damp, even though they’d found an exit from the water over two hours ago.
He opened her pack, pulled out the Maglite, and turned it on. The brilliance against the dark rock had her blinking.
“Sorry.” He turned down the brightness. “You’re shivering.”
“So are you.”
His white shirt slicked against his form, and he walked in his stocking feet. She wore her padded dive booties, so she was a little better off, but they couldn’t escape this dungeon fast enough.
He stepped up and put his arm around her, pulling her to himself, her back to his chest.
She stiffened. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to warm us up.”
She turned her head to look up at him. “Don’t get any ideas. This isn’t an alleyway in Krakow.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to mind.”
Whatever. She pushed his arm off her. “I had a mission to complete. Besides, what was I going to do—shove you away and alert the police to some domestic scuffle?”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you kissed me back.” He flashed the light over her shoulder, down into the tunnel, as she started walking.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Frogman. It was just business.”
He made a sort of huff.
“At least for me.”
That shut him up, but her chest pinched.
She hadn’t forgotten the kiss, had she? Sometimes, in lonely moments, she let herself unlock that door, experience again the feel of his arms around her, the moment when it hadn’t been a game or a job but a what-if.
Then she locked it up again because the answer was always... never.
“What if he’s already sold the program?”
She glanced over her shoulder, her hand on the wall as she ducked under a low ceiling. “What?”
“Colt says the DOD is already using his program.”
“An older version, maybe. My intel says they don’t have the upgrades.”
Silence.
“Okay, we have a plan for that too.” And Mystique, her boss, would strangle her, but Mystique wasn’t here in the darkness with a guy who might actually become an ally.
An informant?
“It’s not about stealing the program to stop it from deploying—we know he probably has a number of copies of the master.” She came out into a larger area with two more tunnels branching off. Checking her GPS, she pointed to the one on the right. He followed. “It’s about creating a defense against it.”
He had to duck as they entered the tunnel, his light skimming the jagged rock. “You’re sure this is the right way?”
“No.”
“I feel so much better. How are you going to create a defense?”
The tunnel opened up a little, the ceiling rising. They stepped into another chamber. She turned to him. “We’re going to create a virus. Something we can download into anything that uses the AI program.”
He stared down at her, the planes of his face sharp in the shadows. His hair was a mess, late-night—or early-morning—whiskers skimmed his face, and his eyes were bold in hers. Yes, if she were to be trapped in darkness with anyone, it would be this man.
Even if he didn’t trust her.
“Luis.”
“What?” She checked her GPS.
“Don’t dodge me. You’re using Luis to create the virus.”
She looked up. “I think we’re close to that pit.”
“That’s why you needed him.”
Her mouth tightened. “Listen. Yes, he’s working for us now. At the time, he’d created a program to decrypt high-level encryption codes. We used that to... acquire information.”
“Like by breaking into DOD servers?”
“I don’t know. But...” She sighed. “We did use it to check on you after I saw you in Minnesota, at the wedding. Frankly, I almost didn’t recognize you. Not in a suit and tie.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You looked different back then. A beard. Longer hair.”
“Blood, grime?—”
“Maybe harder.” She lifted a shoulder. “When Nim found your medical records...” She let out a breath, ignoring the sirens inside. “I never got over leaving you, Steinbeck.”
He stopped, his voice soft. “I never got over thinking you’d died and I couldn’t save you.”
Oh. His blue eyes held hers. Oh.
And suddenly, the what-ifs weren’t so crazy. What if she could step up to him, grab him by his soggy shirt, and make it real? Or as real as it could be with her living her life out of a backpack.
It was possible he saw that thought in her eyes, the questions, the desire, because his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his gaze roamed her face... fell on her lips.
Yes—
Then he shook his head, winced, and held up a hand, stepping back. “Wow, I’m weak. Seriously.”
He brushed past her, what seemed like anger steaming off him.
She stood there, heart hammering. Yeah, well... “Aw, calm down, Frogman. We’re just cold and tired, and you started it with the whole just trying to warm you up business.”
This man. She had to get him out of her brain.
She hurried after him, catching up as he entered another tunnel, his light flashing ahead of him. “We’ll be out of here soon, and then I promise, you’ll never see me again.”
He grunted.
And weirdly, her eyes burned.
Fatigue, probably.
“Who’s Nim?”
Right. She’d dropped that name. But he seemed to have calmed down so, “She’s—” What could it hurt? “My sister. Nimue. She’s a computer hacker in the deep web. She lives in Florida.”
“Is she a Swan?”
“No.” She fell into step behind him. Clearly he’d decided to be in charge. “She just helps me out when I need it.”
“How’d you become a Swan?”
Oh. “I got recruited.”
“Out of jail?”
“Ha, ha, but... let’s say that I had a small reputation for... my ability to get in and out of locations without being seen.”
“Like what, bank vaults?”
“Have you ever heard of the Scepter of Charles V of Spain?”
“I’ve never even heard of Charles V of Spain. Why?”
“No reason. Just...”
He stopped, and she nearly bumped into him as he rounded. “Did you steal it?”
She shrugged. “Sort of. I mean, technically yes, but I was caught. Although not by the police.”
“You stole a national treasure? From where?”
“The royal palace in Madrid. But again, they got it back. Sheesh.”
“How?”
“Oh, I’ll never tell all my secrets.” She smiled.
His eyes narrowed.
“Fine. It involved a month of surveillance, a detailed 3D map, Nim’s hacking abilities, and a trial run to test their system.”
He turned back around and kept moving. “I’m going to need more.”
“Fine. But this stays between us.”
“What happens in the mines of Moria stays in the mines of Moria.”
“Thank you, Gandalf.”
He laughed then, and maybe they were okay. She could just forget that she still wanted to reach out, stop him, and?—
Nope.
“So, I pulled off the job during the Fiesta de San Isidro. It was chaos in the city, and I knew the palace would be understaffed.”
“Smart.”
“Thanks. Nim disabled the security, and I jammed the electronic feed from the scepter’s display to a separate security sensor. I was in costume, thanks to the fiesta, so I just switched out the scepter with a replica. And then I walked out the staff door, which I’d already stolen the code for. Blended into the crowd. Bam. The hard part wasn’t the theft—it was the fence. Is that light ahead?”
He turned off his flashlight. The softest ribbon of light bled into the tunnel. He flicked the flashlight back on. “I have the overwhelming urge to weep.”
She laughed.
“How’d you get caught?”
“The fence. He ratted me out—a patriot. But the Swans got to me first. I was in Morocco when Pike picked me up.”
“Pike?”
“He’s the founder and boss, although he died a few years ago. He, along with a woman named Ziggy, talked me into a life of sanctioned heists and undercover gigs.”
“And you said yes, just like that?”
They’d neared the edge of the tunnel, the light spilling into the darkness, cresting over Stein, illuminating his soggy attire, casting his hair a deep bronze. He turned, eyebrow raised.
She met his eyes. “I had my reasons. But the biggest was that I could start over, reinvent myself. Let’s get out of here.”
“Hence the name Phoenix. What is your real name?”
She stepped out into a space approximately six feet wide, and as she looked up, the height hollowed her out. “It’s probably two hundred feet up to the surface.” Still, light streamed in, and above that... dawn. It bled gold and pink and lavender across the sky.
Now she wanted to weep too.
He touched the edges of the rock. “These are lava blocks. They get ejected from the volcano already formed, and then the lava flows on top of them. They’re much harder to cut through than an old lava flow.”
“Which means what?”
“Which means that something blasted these out.” He searched the rock.
“What are you looking for?”
“Old bolt anchors or pitons that might have held a cable—like this one.” He pointed to an anchor protruding from the rock, affixed into the stone at two points, with what looked like a pulley securing them together. “My thought is, we climb up these to the top.”
She spotted the next one, about four feet higher. “That’s a tough climb. No three-point anchor holds. And one of us isn’t eight feet tall.”
He glanced over at her, handed her the flashlight.
Then he reached up and grabbed the higher point. Put his stocking foot on the lower anchor and lifted himself up. He grabbed the next higher point, put both hands on the anchor, and walked up the wall, hand over hand, feet bracing on the anchors.
“Okay, Spidey, that works for you. But I can’t reach the taller anchor.”
He kept moving.
And it occurred to her then that... He wouldn’t just leave her, would he?
He kept ascending.
She stepped back. “Just for the record, I can’t catch you.”
“You could if you tried.”
For a guy with bad knees, he could scale walls like an Olympic climber. Or perhaps desperation just added a little oomph to his antigravity powers.
He reached the top. And she stepped back, waiting as he disappeared.
A minute. Another. “I hope you have a plan!”
Nothing.
Perfect. She walked to the wall. Jumped. Caught her hand on the anchor a foot above her but now dangled and scrabbled to get her foot on the lower anchor.
She’d have to jump for the next one.
And the next.
And sure, she had climbing abilities, but?—
“Rope!”
She looked up in time to see a frayed rope careening down the side of the hole. She hugged the rock.
“I tied a bowline loop for your foot. Climb on and I’ll haul you up.”
What—? “You sure?”
“No, I thought I’d leave you down there to think about your crimes. Yes, I’m sure, Phoenix. Let’s go.”
She found the loop and put her foot in. The other she used to push herself away from the wall.
And then, as if no problem, thanks, Muscles pulled her up. With her help. Sorta.
Whatever. She reached the top and found that he’d looped the rope around a nearby tree, then his waist, and made a pulley of sorts.
Still, sweat poured down his face into his shirt, which was starting to dry in the heat of the day.
Air. Fresh air. It filled her lungs, and she couldn’t take enough in.
She climbed out of the hole and fell to her hands and knees, wanting to openly weep at the light and fresh air and freedom.
He collapsed next to her. “Please, let’s never do that again.”
“My master plan to hike out might not have been the best.”
He eyed her. “We’re still alive.” Then he held out his fist.
Huh. She smacked it with hers. What , they were buddies now?
Rolling over, she lay on her back.
They’d emerged onto what looked like a small hill, volcanic boulders the size of her Fiat littering the area, a few scraggly evergreens, and brush fighting to survive. Beyond, the deep blue of the Caribbean Sea stretched out under a glorious dawn-painted blue sky.
He sat, staring out over the ocean. Then, suddenly, he got up. “We need to move.”
“Why?” She rolled to her feet.
“Because the people I stole the rope from are coming back.” He grabbed her and hauled her behind a boulder. Pointed.
Fifty-some feet away sat a portable drill rig, a truck, and a couple men in work clothes and hard hats, carrying a drum between them, coiling out a line.
“I took the rope off their truck.”
“Is that— wait. Is that detonation wire?”
He nodded. “They were inside the cave. I think they’re on a mining team.” He yanked her back and indicated down the dirt road to the base of the mountain.
What looked like a mining camp was set against a cleared-out portion of rainforest. Modular units circled a central compound, and drilling rigs and an excavator sat in a nearby lot. A satellite dish lifted from one of the units, pointed toward the sky.
A few men moved around the camp in the early morning.
Voices lifted from nearby, and she stilled, listening.
Russian.
A chill ran through her. “We need to get out of here. It looks like they’re checking the detonation wires. They’re going to blast into the mountain.” She pushed away from the rock.
“They’ll see us!”
“Better than being blown back into that hole. Move, Frogman.”
She edged away from the boulder. Then, as one of the men disappeared behind the truck, she took off.
Boulders and dirt and scrub brush evidenced previous mining efforts, although years had gone by, because trees had found footing in the soil.
A shout lifted behind them, but she ignored it. And then shots. They pinged off the boulders around them, shredded bark?—
The shooting stopped, and now a shout lifted. Ogon’!
Fire in the hole. She skidded behind a protruding boulder, Stein on her tail. He slid, then caught up to her?—
The mountain blew. The explosion rumbled the entire mountain, the hillside shuddering, rock spitting down over them, dust rising from the hole.
“Now we know what caused the earthquake,” Stein said, but his voice sounded tight, his breathing fast.
“C’mon!” She grabbed Stein’s shirt and hauled him up, but he was already moving. She ran down the hill ahead of him, spotting a dirt road ahead. It led back around the mountain, hopefully toward Esperanza and her boat ride out of here.
And it hit her then?—
She’d done it. Gotten her hands on the program, and hello, mission accomplished. Sure, Stein might try to grapple the program away from her, but frankly, he could have done that any time during their trek.
Or negotiated for it on the cliffside—her life for the program.
But he seemed rattled by what she’d told him about his boss, so...
They reached the road, and she lit out into a run, the dirt and stones of the unpaved road digging into her feet, despite the padding. But she ignored it, kept moving.
This island wasn’t so big that she couldn’t simply run all the way back to town, her fatigue gone in the rush of adrenaline.
A grunt lifted behind her, and it occurred to her then that Stein hadn’t caught up to her. She slowed. Turned.
He went down hard, twenty feet behind her. Rolled onto his back, and now his grunts turned verbal.
What the —“Stein!”
She ran back, her gaze on the mountain. Dust still puffed the air, but it seemed they hadn’t alerted anyone. For now.
He lay on the ground, grimacing, holding his torso, and?—
Blood soaked his hands, his shirt.
“What happened?” She skidded to a stop, dropped to her knees beside him.
He grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry—” She moved his hands away. “Oh?—”
Blood spurted from a hole right below one of those perfect pectoral muscles. “You’re shot.”
“You don’t have to sound so disgusted. It wasn’t on purpose.” He groaned, lay back. “It’s getting hard to breathe.”
“You could just be out of shape.”
He opened one eye.
“Okay, probably not. I don’t understand—did the bullet go through you?” She moved his shoulder up, with his help, and looked for an exit wound. No blood. Which meant the blood was filling his pleural cavity. Oh no. “You have a hemothorax. And me without my thoracostomy kit.”
“Clearly not a Girl Scout.”
“I washed out.” She still wore her dive pants with the pockets and now unvelcroed one, tried to still her shaking hands.
“Now I wish I hadn’t made you drop your knife.”
Breathe. “Me too.” She rooted around and pulled out a multi-tool.
“What, you’re going to stab me? Just get me up. We can make it to medical help.”
Not how he was breathing. All she had to do was relieve the pressure in his chest. Then find transport and then...
“Do the next thing.” Mystique’s words in her head. She picked up his wrist, felt for the pulse.
Fast and weak. Yep. She pulled out her small collapsable water bottle filled with potable water.
“You had that all along and didn’t tell me?”
“We weren’t desperate yet.” She ripped open his shirt and poured the water onto the wound, washing it. Then she opened the water bottle and pulled out the attached straw.
“Phoenix.” He caught her arm, still enough strength to stop her trembling. “You can’t be serious.”
Right. What was she doing ?
She looked up toward the camp. Still no action. She could run. Escape the island. Accomplish her mission.
But more important—“I left you behind once. I’m not doing it again.”
His eyes widened. “Actually, I wasn’t thinking you’d leave me behind .” He made to get up and gasped. Breathed out a couple times. “Okay, so that is an option.”
“No. It’s not.” She picked up the multi-tool and flipped to the knife.
“Oh...” He bit down on whatever word might have wanted to emerge.
“You’re just going to have to trust me.”
He closed his eyes. “God, please save me from this woman.”
She pressed on his ribs, Mystique’s training in her head, found the fifth intercostal space along the side of his body— the midaxillary line, where the arm meets the torso.
Yes. She took a breath. “This will hurt.”
He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I know.”
And then she lifted a small prayer— Please, God, save him from my mistakes— as she tried to save his life.