Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Ethan sat with his back against the boulder. He’d swear it was getting darker, though it seemed too early for the sun to set, even this far north.
The cold had seeped through the gloves and through his jeans, which were wet from the ground.
There’d been five men in the small clearing near the boulder a few minutes before.
The three Chinese men, including Lu, were dressed as if they hadn’t planned to spend any more time outside than what it took to walk from a heated car to a heated home.
Wool coats, leather shoes, no hats—except the one Ethan had worn, which the tall Chinese guy had on now.
The two Americans were outfitted properly—parkas, waterproof gloves, and hiking boots. They both carried rifles and handguns, unlike the Chinese, who only had handguns.
Aside from Ethan, only three men remained in the clearing. The tall Chinese guy and the curly-haired American had left to search for Mei Lin.
Lu Feng sat on a rock the size of an old box TV—boulders seemed to be scattered like marbles in these woods.
His gloved hands were folded in his lap, and though his coat was buttoned to the throat, he looked perfectly comfortable.
He didn’t fidget or scan the woods like the other men did.
Only the furrows in his forehead gave away his tension.
Mei Lin had escaped. She’d had a head start, and every minute they didn’t catch her was another minute closer to her safety.
Father, cover her. Hide her.
The cold climbed into Ethan’s chest. How long before Lu accepted that he’d lost Mei Lin? Would he keep looking for her, or would he eventually realize his only option was to go into hiding?
No matter what he chose, Ethan wouldn’t be alive to witness it. The moment he’d jumped off the snowmobile, he’d known this would probably be his last day outside of heaven.
But what other option had he had? If he hadn’t jumped, the men would have caught them for sure.
The noise of an engine bounced off the trees, the rumble growing louder and closer. Another four-wheeler, but who was driving it?
Lu spoke sharply in Mandarin to the other Chinese man, who scurried toward the noise.
A moment later, brush cracked at the clearing’s edge, and Ethan leaned forward to get a look at who was coming, his heart lodged just south of his Adam’s apple.
Not Mei Lin, Lord. Please.
There was a grunt, and then an American guy Ethan hadn’t seen before moved into view. He held the arm of a wounded Chinese man over one shoulder. The one who’d gone to see who was coming was supporting the wounded man’s other side.
Lu lurched to his feet and crossed the clearing, barking words Ethan couldn’t understand.
The two laid the wounded guy on the ground, and Lu brushed hair off the man’s forehead.
There was a hint of humanity there. Whoever that was, Lu cared about him. He spoke, and the wounded man answered through his teeth.
Lu turned to Ethan, the humanity gone. “Treat him.”
“How?” Ethan wiggled his shoulders, his hands bound behind his back.
A folding knife appeared in another man’s hands.
He cut the ties free. Blood pinpricked into Ethan’s fingers.
He shook them out, hurrying to the man they’d laid on the ground.
Not that Ethan relished the idea of saving the life of someone who wanted his wife dead, but he did relish the idea of being cut loose. And having something to do.
And being indispensable, at least for the moment.
He crouched at the guy’s side and searched for a wound. “What’s your name?”
He whispered something, and Ethan leaned close. “Say it again?”
“Pay…ger.”
He figured it wasn’t spelled “pager,” but he’d go with the nickname for now.
“Where were you hit, Pager?”
“It’s his hip.” The white guy pointed, and Ethan moved the dark coat out of the way.
The man’s shirt was soaked in blood.
“Help me get his coat off.”
“Yeah, okay.” The white guy—American, based on his accent—knelt opposite him and worked one of the man’s arms out of his sleeve.
“What’s your name?” Ethan was fighting with Pager’s shirt. He paused long enough to look at the American. “You. What’s your name?”
“Uh…Kyle.”
“Kyle, I’m going to need your help. You have a knife?”
“Uh…”
“I don’t have time for uh, Kyle.” He looked at Lu. “A knife, now.”
Lu nodded, and the other Chinese guy handed him the folding knife.
Ethan cut the shirt away and dropped the knife into the dirt beside him. No matter how this ended, he needed to pocket that knife somehow.
He dabbed at the blood to find the source.
It was a bullet wound, a finger’s width under the iliac crest, dark and welling steadily. Not spurting. That might be a good sign. Might not. Blood could pool in the pelvis as easily as it leaked out the hole.
“Kyle. Pressure, here.” He grabbed the hired man’s hand and jammed it flat over the wound. “Lean your weight on it.”
The patient howled.
“It’s going to hurt, Pager.” Ethan took off his jacket and pulled his sweatshirt over his head, barely feeling the icy air hit his chest. He folded his shirt into a pad. “I need light. A phone, whatever you’ve got. And water. Anyone have a flask? Alcohol? Hand sanitizer?”
A flashlight came on. A water bottle landed in the leaves at his knees.
Ethan pushed Kyle’s hands out of the way of the entry wound, pressed the pad against it, and slid his other hand beneath the man’s hip. He felt no corresponding hole.
The bullet was still in there.
In an ER he’d have left it. ER doctors didn’t dig for bullets in a trauma bay. They stemmed the bleeding, got an image, and let a surgeon make the call.
He looked up at Lu. “You a surgeon?”
The man shook his head. His face had lost all color.
Great.
There was no trauma bay, no surgeon.
Ethan poured water over his hands and stuck his finger into the bullet hole. He felt the slug tucked against bone, a hard ridge under the muscle, pressed into a vessel that wouldn’t quit weeping.
The man screamed, trying to jerk away.
Ethan pulled his finger out. “He needs a hospital.”
“You fix it,” Lu said.
“I’m not a magician, Lu!” But the so-called doctor was glowering at him like pure force of will could save this man’s life.
Fine then.
Ethan focused on the patient.
If he left the bullet where it was, the man would slowly bleed to death. But if he took it out…the man would probably still bleed to death, just less slowly.
I’m gonna need Your help, God.
He had a feeling he needed to save this man or incur some punishment he didn’t deserve.
Don’t think about that.
He took a breath and blew it out. “Kyle, you have to hold him down.”
“Got it.” Kyle nodded and shifted to the man’s shoulders.
Ethan looked at the other Chinese guy. “What’s your name?”
The man didn’t answer.
Lu said, “Bo. It’s Bo.”
“Tell him to kneel over the patient’s thighs to keep him from squirming.”
Lu translated, and Bo did what he was told, looking even more worried than Lu did.
Pager’s eyes were wide with pain and fear, focused on Bo. Those two were close.
“This is going to hurt, Pager. You need to stay still.”
Lu translated.
With any luck, Pager would pass out.
After pouring water over his hands, Ethan worked his fingers into the hole—two fingers this time.
Pager fought and squirmed.
“Hold him steady!”
Kyle and Bo seemed to be trying.
Blood gushed out the wound, far more than Ethan had expected. The iliac artery ran close to this spot. If it was punctured…
Then it wouldn’t matter what Ethan did or didn’t do. Pager would die.
Ethan had to try, though. He manipulated his fingers around the slug. He had it, then lost it. He took a breath, needing to focus.
“Hurry up!”
Ethan ignored Lu, closing his eyes. The slug was right there. Slippery bugger.
Finally, Ethan got it wedged between his fingers and drew it out—a flattened piece of metal.
He dropped it in the leaves.
At some point, Pager had quit fighting. Ethan looked at his face. He’d passed out, either from pain or blood loss.
Ethan hoped for the first but guessed the second as he packed his folded sweatshirt deep into the wound, pressing with all his weight. He counted under his breath, praying the bleeding would slow.
Pager’s skin was pale as death in the harsh light of the phone Lu was holding up.
Lu lowered it, pushed Kyle out of the way, and checked the patient’s pulse.
Ethan shifted the sweatshirt aside and saw exactly what he’d expected. The blood had quit gushing. It had quit pumping.
Lu’s expression shifted from worry to shock, as if it had never occurred to him that bringing people he cared about into his scheme might be dangerous.
Ethan sat back on his heels and met Lu’s eyes.
For a moment, less than a second, they were doctor and doctor, sharing the horrifying realization that all their efforts had failed. That the patient was gone.
Bo asked a question in Mandarin.
Lu’s gaze hardened, all his anger focused on Ethan—the doctor who’d at least tried—before he spoke to Bo.
The man howled, the sound pierced with pain and rage.
Ethan scurried backward, but not fast enough. Bo’s leg swung back.
Ethan ducked, lifting his arm instinctively to protect himself from the kick, and caught the leg on its forward swing. Bo stumbled backward and would have fallen if Kyle hadn’t caught him.
Ethan should’ve taken the kick. Defending himself had been an error. Maybe a fatal error.
Bo was on him in seconds.
Ethan twisted away. The first kick hit his side.
He curled into a ball and covered his head as more came, harsh and punishing. How long before Lu stopped him? Or would he? Would he just let the man kill him now?
Blow after blow, and there was nothing Ethan could do but curl up and take it.
He’d hoped Gavin would come for him or at least send someone else.
But nobody had come. Nobody was coming.
A familiar voice whispered in his ear, louder than the cruel words of the men who’d decided it was Ethan’s fault their friend was dead.
One more betrayal in a lifetime of betrayals. Nobody has ever cared enough about you to show up or stick around. Nobody has ever chosen you.
It didn’t matter that Gavin hadn’t come. It didn’t matter that nobody was there. As long as Mei Lin was safe, he’d take whatever punishment they wanted to mete out.
As long as Mei Lin was safe.