Chapter Nine #2
“Dressed exactly like the men who attacked my home earlier. And like all of these men who tried to kill us,” Beau accused. “I’ll bet your gun isn’t far away.”
“His name is Randy,” the man said, notably not responding to Beau’s comments about his clothes or a gun. “He’s O positive. So am I. You can do a direct transfusion from me to him.”
“Or we can transport him to town instead,” Beau said.
“I heard you talking about his options, or lack of them. The woman said she doesn’t think he’d make it, not without blood.”
“Maybe the guy should have thought of that before he and his men opened fire on us.”
The man’s helmet cocked to the side, as if he was studying Beau. “If you were really that callous, you wouldn’t be out in the road with…with this woman, trying to save him. You’re obviously not the murderer type.”
Sierra stared at the motorcycle man. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.
A muscle flexed in Beau’s jaw, his dark eyes flashing with anger. “Doesn’t matter. We can’t do a transfusion anyway. My first-aid kit doesn’t have those kinds of supplies.”
“Check the back of the SUV. Maybe there’s a more substantial medical kit in there.”
Beau narrowed his eyes. “Is that something you know firsthand?”
The man didn’t answer.
“Even if we have supplies at hand, I don’t have a clue how to do a transfusion.”
“I’ve done it before,” the man said. “I can talk you through it.”
“No need.” This time it was Sierra who spoke.
“I’ve seen it done a couple of times.” Without waiting for Beau’s decision, she jumped up and jogged to the back of the SUV, ignoring his loud swearing behind her.
Sure enough, when she opened the back there was a large black duffel bag.
When she unzipped it, it was like looking at the inside of a hospital emergency room.
“Good grief,” she whispered. “These guys are prepared for a siege.”
She quickly grabbed what she needed, then hurried back to the man on the ground. If anything, he looked even paler than before. And he had an alarming tinge of blue around his lips.
She motioned toward the guy in the helmet and started setting out her supplies on a sterile disposable drape she’d brought from the kit. “Hurry.”
His helmet swiveled toward Beau as if waiting for permission.
Beau handed Sierra his pistol. “Keep this trained on him while I search him for weapons. One wrong move, shoot. Even if you have to go through me.”
“Madre de Dios,” she said. “Apúrate. Hurry up.” She took the gun and reluctantly trained it on the other man. Every minute counted. She wasn’t going to waste time arguing with a very determined and protective Beau.
The man with the helmet sat where Beau told him, on the opposite side of the patient from Sierra, not far from Beau. Beau took the pistol again and pressed it against the other man’s side.
Sierra’s memory was fuzzy about how to do a manual transfusion.
She’d seen it done at her father’s home when his men had needed emergency care but wanted to avoid a hospital and the questions their injuries might raise.
But the man across from her whispered instructions and advice in his raspy, odd voice, guiding her through the steps.
In just a few minutes the blood was flowing from him to their patient.
She sat back in relief. “Thank you—uh, maybe you could take off your helmet and introduce yourself?”
He remained silent.
“Answer the lady,” Beau told him. “We’ll find out anyway, once the police are here and you’re taken into custody.”
The helmet turned toward Beau. “And why would they do that?”
“Aiding and abetting fugitives. I recognize you. You helped the gunmen escape in the woods by my cabin earlier today. You’re one of the drivers of the ATVs they used. And this guy is the one you punched.”
Harsh laughter sounded from under the helmet. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. You came up with that theory based on my clothing?”
“I’ve seen the faces of all these guys. They’re the ones who attacked my house. I’m sure you know all about it since you knew about the kit in that SUV. You know the man lying here on the road, too, know his blood type. It’s all connected.”
“He’s a friend. I’ve been in his SUV before.”
“And you just happen to be in the woods while he and his other friends are shooting at us in my truck?”
“That’s one way to look at it. The reality is far less damning.
I was on my motorcycle while they followed me, heading to Mystic Lake for dinner at Stella’s restaurant.
I had to take a leak so I stopped and went into the woods.
I have no idea why they decided to do what they did while I was in there.
” His hands fisted at his sides. “I really don’t. ”
The genuine-sounding anger in his voice had Sierra wanting to believe his story. Except for one thing.
“Where’s your motorcycle?” Beau asked the same question running through her mind.
“In the woods,” he said. “And yes, I know that sounds suspicious. But I was worried there might be a bear in there and figured the sound of my motorcycle would clear out any critters so I could relieve myself without worrying about being attacked.”
Beau shook his head, the skepticism heavy in his expression. “You have an answer for everything. But taken in totality, it sounds ridiculous. I don’t believe any of it.”
“Suit yourself. I’m only here because I’m hoping to save my friend.”
Sierra pressed her fingers against the wounded man’s neck again. Then she checked his pulse and respirations. “I think it’s working. His pulse is stronger. He’s breathing better. And unless I’m fooling myself, I think his color is improving.”
Beau didn’t look. He kept his attention, and his gun, focused on the man sitting beside him.
Helmet Guy pressed his palms against the road as if to steady himself. “I think you’re right. He’s not as pale as before.” He suddenly weaved a little, tilting to the side.
Beau grabbed his arm, pushing him back to sitting. “Don’t try to pull something. I’m not letting you get away.”
Sierra noticed motorcycle guy’s arms, which weren’t covered by his shirt. “His color isn’t right, Beau. I think we might have transfused too much.” She reached for the tubing to clip it closed.
The man grabbed for her hand, but Beau knocked it away. “Don’t touch her,” he growled.
“Sorry, I just… I don’t want her to stop. Give him a little more. I can handle it.”
Sierra shook her head and clipped off the blood supply.
“It’s too dangerous for you. He’s showing improvement.
He has a much better chance than he did.
We should go ahead and load him into our truck.
” She began removing the tubing and needles from both men.
As soon as she finished wrapping a bandage around the motorcyclist’s arm, Beau motioned for her to back up again.
“Sierra, grab the long gun and take it to the truck. I’ll bring our patient in a minute.”
“I should stay, keep an eye on him and—”
“He’s holding his own right now.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Please.”
She sighed heavily and picked up the incredibly heavy, odd-looking rifle that had done so much damage to the SUV. She hesitated, staring at the man in the helmet, wondering why he seemed so familiar.
“Sierra,” Beau prodded.
“Okay, okay.” She hurried to the truck and got inside.
“She’s gone now,” Beau said, as both of them stood. “You can stop with the fake raspy quality of your voice. Either take off the helmet or raise the visor so we can talk, man-to-man… Esteban.”