Page 71 of Montana Manhunt

Violet frowned. He sounded different. Something was wrong. She clenched her jaw as she waited for him to give the signal to move.

Finally, he said, “Anybody hurt?”

“Bruises,” Rayne said. “Violet?”

“Same. Grant?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Noah?”

Nothing.

She knew it. He’d been hit by flying debris from the building. “Slide off me, babe.”

“Can’t move yet. Give me a minute.”

Alarmed, she said, “Move it, soldier. I need to do triage on you boys.” Her mike bag, though, was in the SUV parked on the next block.

He grunted again and inched his way off her body. Noah hissed. “You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?”

“You covered every inch of me and took the brunt of whatever fell.” Violet scrambled to a crouch.

Noah lay on his stomach. Several pieces of shrapnel were sticking out of his back, and his left thigh had a piece of metal lodged deep in the muscle. Blood oozed from several wounds.

“Don’t move, Noah.” Violet glanced over her shoulder at Rayne. “I need my mike bag.”

Grant groaned as he pulled the key fob from his pocket and handed it to Rayne.

She sprinted down the block.

Violet turned to Grant as residents in the neighborhood left their homes to see what the ruckus was about. She moved to Grant’s side as the operative moved. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t move yet. You have pieces of shrapnel embedded in your back and legs, like Noah.” Only Noah’s injuries appeared to be worse than the EOD specialist’s.

“I need to get up. You and Noah are still targets.”

“I don’t think the bomber stuck around to see the results of his work.”

He shook his head. “I need to be on my feet, Violet. Do a quick patch job and get us out of here. You can treat everything after we’re safe.”

“He’s right,” Noah murmured. “Do as Grant says.”

“At least wait until Rayne is back, so I have supplies to stop you from bleeding all over the sidewalk,” she snapped.

Noah reached over and squeezed her hand.

Some of the tension wracking her body dissipated.

Rayne returned with the SUV and parked beside the downed operatives. She hurried from the vehicle with Violet’s mike bag. She dropped down beside Grant and handed Violet the bag. “How can I help?”

“Hold a flashlight so I can see what I’m doing.”

Violet assessed Grant’s injuries quickly and breathed easier when she realized most of the shrapnel on his back had lodged in his leather jacket. His legs, however, weren’t as well protected. Blood oozed from multiple rips in the fabric of his cargo pants. He also had a piece of metal sticking out of his right calf.

She blew out a breath. No way to treat all the wounds quickly.

“What’s the verdict?” Grant asked, his voice tight.

“You’ll live. Your jacket, however, will need a decent burial.”

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