Page 275 of Fearless

“I can see that.” He glanced at Mercy’s pale face. “You did real good, okay? You got ‘em. Now please, Ava, put the gun down.”

She blinked again, and again. “He’s hurt really badly,” she whispered. “He…” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. “Oh, God…” Her gun hand dropped, limp, onto Mercy’s chest.

Aidan knelt down beside her, reached to feel Mercy’s pulse. It was there, but he needed to get to the hospital ASAP.

“It’s okay,” he told Ava, as she bowed her head and her tears splatted down onto Mercy’s ruined jacket. “You’re okay, he’s okay. It’s fine.”

He turned to Tango. “Call 9-1-1 and get Grady over here,” he said of the NOLA member who’d driven them out. “We’ve got to get rid of them” – gesture to the bodies – “before the ambulance gets here.”

Fifty

When the EMTs arrived, there was no evidence of the Carpathians or the white van. “I think the blood can be attributed to you guys,” Tango assured her of the splotches on the asphalt where Larsen and his two companions had fallen. Grady and Tango loaded the bodies and went speeding down the bayou road toward Lew’s. “We’re gonna rustle us up some gators,” Grady said, with a wicked grin.

“To feed the bodies to,” Ava explained woodenly to her brother, as they crouched beside Mercy together, in the relentless heat.

Aidan rode with them in the ambulance. Ava kept her hand curled around Mercy’s wrist, counting his slow, shallow heartbeats, until the paramedic urged her back so he could work on staunching the blood flow.

They were taken to University Hospital, because they had a Level 1 trauma center.

Trauma.

Yes, there was trauma.

Ava tried, again, to climb down from the exam table, and Aidan, propped against the doorjamb, lifted his brows in silent protest, like he expected that to hold her in place. She reached for the stepstool below with her socked toes and wriggled to the edge of the table. Fuck Aidan and his eyebrows.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said. “If they don’t have time to pop my shoulder back in, then I don’t have time to wait on them. Mercy–”

“Is in surgery,” Aidan broke in, stepping close so she’d have to shove him out of the way if she wanted off the table. He was counting on her being one-armed and unable to resist. He was being abnormally patient with her, and it was pissing her off. “You can’t do anything for him except get your arm patched up. He’ll be mad as hell if he wakes up in recovery and hears you’ve refused treatment.”

She made a face; that was true, but she didn’t want to admit it.

“Besides, doesn’t it hurt like a bitch?”

She shook her head. The pain had been so constant and nerve-shattering that she’d allowed it to cover her and transform into a vise-like shroud. She didn’t feel the shoulder. She didn’t feel anything. She’d ceased to be anything aside from the worried bundle of anxiety that wanted,needed, to get to Mercy.

“I need to get to him,” she said, gesturing Aidan aside. He ignored her hand signal, of course. “He needs me. I told him I’d be with him. I–”

“Ava.” He put a hand that felt very much like their father’s on top of her head, his face transforming, looking older and wiser, more like Ghost than he already did. “You’re in shock, sweetheart. Bad shock. And you’re not thinking right.”

She started to protest.

“Mercy is in surgery. This is a real nice hospital, and I’m sure the doctors know what they’re doing. All you need to do is wait for them to update you, and get your shoulder fixed. Okay?”

She didn’t agree with him.

There was the squeak of sneaker soles on the tile and a surgical intern – Dr. Roth, if she remembered correctly – leaned into her room, in green scrubs and cap, mask dangling around his neck. He was a kid, really, fresh-faced and eager, like an upbeat beagle puppy. Ava would have been entertained at another time. Now, she fixed him with a look that had him wetting his lips nervously before he spoke.

“Mrs. Lécuyer.” People here in New Orleans never mispronounced Mercy’s last name. “Dr. Evans wanted me to update you about your husband.”

Aidan stepped aside so she had an unimpeded view of the intern.

“How is he?” she asked.

“They’ve got the bleeding under control,” Dr. Roth said, sliding into a more comfortable skin now that they were talking shop. “Dr. Evans is going to remove the slug that’s lodged here” – gesture to his lowest two ribs. “The round in the shoulder” – up high above the heart, through the muscle – “was a through-and-through, so we’re checking for bleeders. Dr. Evans wants to get him stabilized and moved to ICU. Dr. Kimber will set his leg with a second operation tomorrow.”

Ava nodded. “Don’t forget about the infection, in the old wound.” She gestured to her own trapezius with her good hand.

“Of course not. We’ll start a central line when he gets to recovery.”

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