Page 46 of Call Sign: King
Ryder wanted to rage at the woman that there was absolutely nothing in his life at the present moment that would qualify as willy nilly, but he took a deep breath instead, forcing himself to remember that just because his life was in the process of exploding spectacularly didn’t mean he could take his failures out on her.
Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, Ryder flashed his identification. “I’m just trying to see how I can help,” he reasoned. “I need updates on all of the gunshot victims brought in.”
“We can only give updates to their family,” the nurse said.
“And who the fuck do you think is going to be calling their families to tell them what’s going on? All four men brought in are U.S. citizens. Their families are spread out all over the States so they’re not going to be able to just pop in for an update. Before I call their loved ones, I’d like to at least know if they are dead or alive!”
Ryder’s voice grew louder and angrier with each word until he ended his rant yelling. The nurse flinched, but held her ground, throwing her hands on her hips as she answered.
“Fine. I’ll let you stay back here while we wait for an OR to open, but you really do need to follow hospital protocols.”
After she’d left them alone — or as alone as one could be in an open trauma center with only curtains separating one area from the next — the men returned to their standoff.
Ryder’s “Please tell me everyone’s alive,” overlapped with Reaper’s, “I failed you.”
Hawkeye intervened with answers.
“Axel called just before you got here.” He paused, glancing away from Ryder’s intense gaze for just a few seconds before looking back and adding. “I’m so damn sorry they got her off the ground. Thank God, you convinced her to wear the chip, though.”
His brain knew he should be grateful for that small favor, but his heart was having trouble finding any good in the moment.
“Ricky regained consciousness before the ambulance even got to the hotel. He’s got a concussion and a bullet in his left shoulder, but he’s gonna be fine.” Thankfully, Hawkeye proceeded with his updates, saving Ryder from having to speak around the lump that had taken up residence in his throat. While Ryder was happy Khloe’s long-time assistant would be okay, the long pause in the update told him the news on the others wasn’t as good.
“Just spit it out,” he finally said.
“Tank is in surgery. He had on his vest, but when he tackled the intruder to the floor, the fucker got the nose of his gun just under the vest and squeezed off two rounds into Patrick’s abdomen. He’s lost a lot of blood and…” Jacob paused before finishing. “I lost him twice — once before the ambulance arrived and once during the transport here. We got him back through CPR and then an AED, but he left for the operating room on a ventilator. They’re opening him up to see what, if anything, can be done, but it doesn’t look good.”
Ryder found himself unable to formulate words, let alone say them out loud, as he internalized the real possibility that the larger-than-life Tank might be upstairs dying as they spoke. His mind revolted at the thought of calling Patrick’s sister and parents with the bad news.
Hawkeye moved on with his update. “Reaper here is gonna be fine. He took two to the shoulder from across the room and then two more to his heart. Thankfully the bastard wasn’t using armor piercing ammo or this guy,” thumbing in Gabriel’s direction, “would be in the morgue already. As it was, the velocity of the shots hitting his Kevlar vest fucked with his heart enough that he lost consciousness. He’s out of danger now and is waiting for an OR to open up to have the bullets removed from his shoulder.”
“That’s good,” Ryder squeezed out, genuinely grateful his team leader was going to be okay but starting to worry that maybe Hawkeye had saved the worst news for last.
While the Royal Guard may not be an official member of the BSO team, in all the ways that mattered, he was even more important. It was to Trevor that Ryder had entrusted his most valued possession — Khloe. While the men had butted heads over the years, Trevor was the only other person on the planet whose love for Khloe rivaled his own. He’d counted on that love to keep his wife safe, and knowing her long-time bodyguard as well as he did, it was in that moment it dawned on Ryder that the only way Khloe had left that suite had to have been over Trevor’s dead body.
“Trevor wasn’t wearing a vest,” Hawkeye added, confirming what Ryder already knew to be true.
The low-grade ringing in his ears grew stronger until Ryder could feel his racing pulse beating against his eardrums. Oblivious to their boss getting lightheaded, the two BSO members jabbered on.
“I told him a dozen times to put one on, dammit,” Reaper interjected. “He’s almost as stubborn as you,” he added, thumbing in Ryder’s direction.
“Is he…?” The worddeadwouldn’t come out.
Hawkeye didn’t answer his unspoken question directly, choosing to continue on with the recap instead. “Khloe was in her bathroom getting ready for the dinner that was about to be delivered when the shit hit the fan. While Tank and Reaper engaged the guy dressed like hotel security out in the living room, Trevor rushed to her, barricading them in the corner of the walk-in shower. Unfortunately, they were trapped there with no alternate exit.
“Tank and Reaper both put up a good fight and wounded the assailant, even after they’d both been shot, but once they both were unconscious, the bastard grabbed Ricky and used him as his shield to get close enough for a visual on the Queen.
“According to Ricky, it sounds like Trevor shot Ricky in the shoulder, trying to get him to fall to get a better shot at the intruder. It worked in that we’re pretty sure Trevor put two plugs into the kidnapper, but unfortunately, the asshole returned the favor, putting two in Trevor’s chest and dropping him to the floor of the shower.
“Based on the blood splatter around the room and on his fists, it looks like the Royal Guard put up a helluva fight, but his blood loss was extreme. Once Trevor passed out, it was game over.”
Game over.
A phrase the BSO team used often at the end of a normally successful mission.
I won’t survive losing her.
“So, he’s dead then,” Ryder finally ground out, fighting the urge to throw up.
