Page 87 of Fighting for Brielle
“No. Take her back to her cell,” Anderson commanded.
A protective instinct buried deep in Carson’s psyche rose within him. Tenderly, he lifted Brielle into his arms and carried her through the maze of corridors to her cell. He bathed her face with cool water, frowning when he noticed burn spots on her temples. They needed to be treated with salve.
Barbarians!
Rising from the bed, he went to fetch a bottle of water. When he returned a few minutes later, Brielle had regained consciousness. Lifting her head, he held the bottle to her dry, cracked lips.
“My…family…okay?” Brielle asked in a hoarse voice.
“Yeah, they’re okay.” Carson pressed the wet rag against her forehead.
“J-J-Justice?” she stammered. Fear and longing shone in the amber depths of her eyes.
“He’s okay, too. They’re looking for you. And causing Anderson a lot of grief in the process.”
Her mouth parted in a tiny smile before she grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest.
“Heart…arrhythmia.”
He felt her heart stop, then start, then stop, then start beating again in an irregular rhythm. She could easily have a heart attack or a stroke.
Scooping her into his arms, he muttered, “Screw Anderson!”
Carson sprinted all the way to the infirmary located near the communal showers, much to the amazement of those who witnessed his mad dash with a now unconscious Brielle in his arms.
He burst through a pair of glass doors as they slid open automatically and yelled, “Dr. Sherman!”
A middle-aged woman hurried toward him. “Lay her on the bed. What’s wrong?” she demanded as she held a stethoscope to Brielle’s chest.
“Heart arrhythmia. Level five…and six.”
Dr. Sherman’s head shot up. “Levels five and six?” She attached leads to a heart monitor and inserted an IV needle into Brielle’s hand. “But no one has ever made it through five…alive.”
“She did.”
“Who is she?” Dr. Sherman wanted to know as she injected medication into the IV intended to stabilize Brielle’s heart rate.
“Sergeant Brielle McAdams, LAPD and SWAT. Is she going to be okay? I mean…I can’t believe the amount of electricity she withstood. Will there be any side effects?”
Dr. Sherman gently rubbed a soothing aloe gel onto the burns on Brielle’s temples. “Yes. Her central nervous system suffered major trauma. And her heart may weaken over time. The fact that she survived at all is a miracle. But she’s young, healthy and obviously strong. That’s good news, provided she’s not subjected to further trauma.”
The words barely left her mouth when Anderson strode into the cubicle. Without a word he threw a hard right and knocked Carson off his feet. He kicked him in the ribs a couple of times and hauled him up.
Squeezing Carson’s throat, Anderson hissed, “I thought I told you to take Miss McAdams back to her cell.”
Another primal instinct overwhelmed Carson. The instinct to fight back. He yanked Anderson’s hands away from his throat. “I did!” he replied, gasping for breath. Pain shot through his mid-section. “You damn near killed McAdams. Her heart rhythm is unstable. Dead, she’s worth nothing to you. Whatever she said to piss you off, get over it. And for God’s sake, let her see her friend Faith Stoker. She’ll be far more likely to cooperate if she’s allowed to speak to Faith. You’ve worked miracles with her.”
Flatter him.
The thought just popped into his head.
Anderson’s eyes burned for a moment with an insane light. “Don’t disobey me again, Nash. Or I may have to put you through the program a second time.”
“Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “One more thing. Will you consider moving McAdams to more comfortable quarters? She needs to be rewarded for her performance today in her trial.”
“All right, all right,” Anderson answered with an impatient wave of his hand. Addressing Dr. Sherman, he added, “Keep her alive. We need her.”
“Of course. She’s already improving with the medication I administered.”
