Page 42 of Indirect Attack
“I’m looking for more information on Jasmine Davis. We brought her in earlier. The doctor said he would call me with updates, but I haven’t heard anything.”
Belatedly, in the rush and panic, I realized I’d forgotten to leave my name or number with the front desk, and if he’d called the base, it would have been a crap shoot trying to get ahold of me specifically.
The nurse checked the computer screen, scrolling and clicking before pushing back from her desk.
“Please wait here for a moment,” she said before disappearing down the hallway.
She returned ten excruciating minutes later with the doctor in tow.
“You are the American soldier who brought Miss Davis in, yes?” the doctor asked.
I nodded. “Sergeant Rusev, sir.”
“I’ve been busy with the soldiers brought in here, but I tried calling the base but couldn’t get ahold of you.”
Scratching at my hair, I ducked my head. “Sorry about that. Everything was chaos.”
Despite his stern expression, a small smile turned up the doctor’s mouth. “Is okay. I can tell you now—Miss Davis is okay. Contusions, wounds, a concussion from the bump on her head, severe dehydration, and shock, but she is well. She will recover just fine.”
“Can I see her?” The words were out of my mouth before the doctor had finished.
He watched me through narrowed eyes for a moment, then his face cleared, and he nodded.
“Visiting hours are over, but I heard the story about it all. I will let you stay. This once.”
It was all I could do to follow the doctor through the quiet hospital halls instead of sprinting to Jasmine’s room as I wanted. I slipped in, nodding my thanks to the doctor, and stood above her bed for a moment.
She looked so pale, so still, I almost reached out to touch her hand to ensure she was breathing. But the pulse-ox machine was beeping steadily, and her chest rose and fell beneath the blanket. The swelling on her face was more visible, despite the room's dim light, and I felt another stab of guilt.
I’d been running on adrenaline for at least twelve hours, probably far more, and as soon as I pulled up the chair to her bedside and sat down, bone-deep exhaustion flooded through me. But I was determined to stay awake, keep watch, and make sure no one ever touched her again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you,” I murmured to Jasmine, enveloping her hand in mine, knowing she couldn’t hear me but desperately needing to get it out. I would tell her again when she woke. And again and again.
Chapter 20
Jasmine
LIGHT BEHIND MY EYELIDSpulled me from a deep, dreamless darkness. But as the shreds of sleep dissipated, replaced by memories and awareness of pain, I fought to pull myself out.
My head ached abominably, one side of my face hurt, and pain shot up my side when I moved. But I had to know where I was.
For a moment, my eyes opened to a room made out of focus by the blurriness of my vision. I was in a bed, but I could at least tell it wasn’t my hotel room. Nor, to my intense relief, was it the black hole that had been the basement the terrorist had kept me in. Was this even real, or was I dreaming?
Blinking my eyes, I started to push myself up. But I bit back a cry as I put weight on my wrists, and sudden pain shot up my arms, and another sharp pain in my side stopped me still and stole my breath. I waited with my eyes scrunched tightly closed until the pain dimmed, then pushed myself up in tiny increments.
I finally managed to right myself, my eyes still shut as I waited for the dizziness and wooziness to pass. When I finallycracked open my eyes, I saw the same bright room, but this time, it was in focus—more or less. My head was still spinning slightly.
The room was full of light, with white walls and a scratched and faded linoleum floor. The door was closed, but beyond I could hear muted noise—footsteps, someone talking, an announcement I couldn’t make out. Beside the bed I was in, a standard set-up monitored my pulse and other vitals.
A hospital. I was in a hospital.
There was a soft sound—a snore?—and I turned my head too quickly. Through my squint from the pain and flare of dizziness, I realized Ben was in a chair close to the bed. He was asleep, his long legs propped up on a second chair, his head hanging over the back. As the pain and buzzing in my ears cleared, he let out another soft snore.
I was so grateful to see him tears filled my eyes.
“Ben?”
He stirred but didn’t wake.
