I would have posted this sooner, tried on the 14th, but couldn't because of
Fanfic's hardware failure. I am almost done with this, now. Should have
the last chapter to post with this by the time Fanfic will let me. Thought
you'd enjoy a little action before the end, though. I'm not too good at
battle-scenes, so please keep that in mind, and as always, I welcome your
comments. Thanks for reading!
"What do you want to do today, Sara," Ian asked over breakfast. Ian had decided to wake her by the strategic application of ice cubes, starting with her feet, and they had not actually gotten out of bed for a few hours. Then they had showered together, and Sara had helped cook breakfast. They were both in cheerful moods, and eager to get out and explore.
"I have to pick up presents," Sara said. "I can't go back empty-handed. And I thought I might find something pretty to wear. I hear the prices on silver are excellent here."
"Anything manufactured will be more expensive," Ian told her. "Anything hand-made will be less, because labor is cheaper than machinery. For silver, we'll go to Puerto Vallarta's Old Town district, on the beach. You pick a table on the beach, order a drink, and the sellers come by with their trays of jewelry, armloads of blankets, whatever they can carry and sell. But for presents I think we should go up the coast to Rincón de Guayabitos. They have a cambiar there, a money changer, so we can get some pesos for our dollars. It will make shopping easier."
""Will you help me bargain," she asked. "I've really never done anything like this before, and you speak Spanish way better than I do."
"I would be happy to," he agreed, pleased that she was asking for his help. "I wanted to get something for Allyson as well."
They finished breakfast, cleaned up the dishes, and slathered sunblock on each other. Ian's burn was fading quickly to a nice deep tan, and Sara was pleased to be acquiring a nice shade of golden brown herself. Ian plopped her hat on her head, which was none the worse for it's dunking in the ocean, and she put his hair up in a ponytail for him. She loved the feel of his hair, silky and fine, and played with it every chance she got. His blond streak was becoming even lighter, more pronounced, she noted.
They packed a few things into a medium-sized bag; some fruit, bottles of water, the sunblock. It would be easy to carry their purchases in with it's wide shoulder strap. They climbed into the car and Ian drove them out of Lo de Marcos and up the highway to Rincón.
Rincón was more of a town, with many streets, lots of people out shopping, crossing the roads wherever and whenever it pleased them despite the cars. There was a post office and two different banks, and many stores that obviously catered to the tourist trade. The street was lined with parked cars on both sides, but Ian finally managed to find a spot near the center of town on a quieter side street and in the shade. There was a nice breeze from the ocean running down the streets, and the blue water could be glimpsed between buildings.
Ian led Sara to the cambiar, where they both changed some money. The rate was as good as they were likely to get, even at the Lloyd's bank in Puerto Vallarta. They spent some time wandering about, Sara pausing to pick out several items, mostly t-shirts, that she thought her friends would like. Ian handled the exchanges while she watched. Most of the merchants knew some English, and the prices were most often set, so there was little bargaining. Sara was thoroughly enjoying the shopping. They had their arms full, and agreed it was time to go drop their purchases in the car and get some lunch.
As Ian was closing the trunk and turning back to Sara she stumbled against the car, her hand going to the back of her neck. He felt the sharp sting of a dart in his arm and the sudden disorientation as the drug hit his system. Sara slid to the ground, unconscious, as Ian fought the drug's tranquilizing effects. It took him a few seconds to rally his defenses and push back the drug's effects, but his experience in the Black Dragons with just such drugs enabled him to stay conscious and on his feet.
Those few precious seconds were all their attackers needed to screech their truck to a stop next to them, jump out and gather up Sara, and disappear down the road with a squeal of tires. Ian pulled the dart out of his arm as he watched them race off, cursing in three languages, and jumped into his own car to follow. He could feel Sara and knew he would not need to keep her in his sight to find her. Driving after them, he pulled out his celphone and called his contact in the Mexican military. After threatening two Captains and a Colonel, he finally got through to a General who might know what was going on and explained what had occurred.
"Unfortunate, Mr. Nottingham," the General said in Spanish. "You know there has been unrest here within certain factions, but I have no idea why anyone would attack a tourist."
"You know Ms. Pezzini is more than just a tourist," Ian all but growled. "She is a friend of Mr. Irons. If anything happens to her and you could have provided me aid, you know what will happen to your career."
"Well," the General replied, suddenly deciding to be most cooperative, for Vorschlag held important contracts with the Mexican government and military, and it would not do to anger the man who pulled the strings. "There is a faction who believes we accept too much outside aid, especially for our weapons and military research. Their belief is that to accept these foreign contracts weakens us as a nation and independent country. They would have a reason to hold the woman hostage to use in negotiations with Mr. Irons, trying to force him to sever Vorschlag's contracts with us."
"Thank you, General," Ian said. "This particular pack will cease to trouble you. Just keep your people out of my way." He hung up on the General, then called Irons.
"We have a situation," Ian said as soon as Irons picked up. "An anti- foreigner faction has kidnapped Sara and plans to hold her hostage to persuade you to cease dealings with the Mexican military."
"How did it happen, Ian," Irons demanded, his voice icy. "I understood that you were watching her."
"She was shopping in Rincón and had returned to her car when she was hit by a tranquilizer dart. Within seconds a truck pulled up, they picked her up, and fled. I am in pursuit now."
"I am very disappointed, Ian."
"They will not harm her as long as they think they can use her, and by the time the realize their error they will be dead," Ian said.
"I expect our fair lady back in one piece, Ian," Irons said sharply. "You know how important she is."
"When they call with their demands, stall them," Ian advised. "It will be easier to retrieve Sara if she is awake and able to assist."
"Do you think they know about the Witchblade, Ian," Irons suddenly asked.
"I don't believe so," Ian answered.
"Bring her back." The line went dead as Irons hung up. Ian put his phone on silent mode, just in case Irons chose to call for an update at a critical time, and continued to follow the truck that held Sara.
When the truck turned off onto a dirt road, Ian drove past a few hundred yards around a curve, then pulled off to the side of the road and went to the trunk of the car. Out of habit, he kept a few things in case of an emergency just such as this. He pulled the nylon bag out and extracted a machine gun, two pistols, a long military-style knife, his long black jacket, and his gloves. Feeling much better now that he was properly equipped, he slipped back down the road carefully, searching for and finding the lone sentry near the beginning of the dirt road.
Ian slipped through the vegetation along the entrance to the road, right up behind the sentry. The man never saw him, too involved with looking back the direction the truck had come from for pursuit. Ian rose up from behind and grabbed the man's head, snapping his neck in one quick, decisive move, then let him collapse to the ground. It was the work of a few moments to conceal the body in the brush, and Ian resumed his trek up the dirt road to rescue Sara.
She was near, but still unconscious. Ian could feel the Witchblade's anger as it worked on burning the drug out of her system. They had given her a larger dose than he had gotten, and they would expect her to sleep until tomorrow, but Ian guessed she would be awake within the hour. He would be waiting.
He moved stealthily up to the old house they had her in, eliminating three other sentries with cold efficiency as he circled the building. She was laid out on a cot in the largest room of the house. Most of the men were gathered in there, ignoring the hostage for the most part. There was little coming and going, except to the kitchen for cold cervezas and food. Ian worked his way into the house and perched up on the rafters in a corner, concealed by shadows.
"How do you know you'll get through, Marco," one of the men was asking the man who was apparently their leader. He grinned.
"If I don't, we kill her. Maybe he'll take us seriously next time, eh?" The others mostly laughed, a few looked uncomfortable and glanced at Sara's helpless form. Ian determined to kill the leader slowly. Very slowly. Marco picked up a celphone and dialed a number. Ian concentrated to hear better, and recognized Irons' secretary on the line.
"I need to speak with Irons immediately," Marco said in English. He listened for a moment, then said, "I don't care if he's in an important meeting. Tell him I have his woman, and if I don't hear his voice on this line in five minutes I'll kill her. Understand?"
Ian grinned, betting Irons would stall until the last second. At four minutes fifty seconds Irons came on the line. Ian could recognize the voice, but could not make out the words.
"You have a beautiful woman here, Mr. Irons," Marco said. "If you ever wish to see her again alive, you will listen to me." Whatever Irons replied seemed to please Marco, because he calmed somewhat. "Wise decision," Marco responded. "It would be a shame to have any harm come to such a woman." Marco continued on at some length, waxing passionate about his cause, and demanding that Irons sever the contracts Vorschlag had with the Mexican government for the good of his beloved homeland. From the satisfied smirk on Marco's face, Irons must have agreed without hesitation. Ian could imagine what oily words he had used to convince Marco of his sincerity. Marco hung up the celphone and let out a triumphant whoop, his men joining in.
"What happens to the woman now, Marco," one of the younger men asked. Ian recalled he had been one of those who had appeared to dislike the idea of harming Sara before.
"We keep her here until we are sure the gringo has complied completely with our demands. She looks like she's be fun," Marco said with a leer. Ian nearly went for his throat right there, but schooled himself to patience. Sara was beginning to wake, and he began calling out to her mentally through their link.
"Sara, don't move," Ian said gently into her mind.
"Ian?" She thought back, holding perfectly still.
"You're in danger, but I'm here," he reassured her. "We were attacked." He quickly described what had happened, and the current situation, to her.
"What's our move," she asked him, carefully cracking open an eye to get her bearings.
"I'm going to drop down into the middle of them. When I do, be ready to fight."
"Ready," she thought back. The Witchblade glowed in anticipation.
Ian dropped from the rafters behind Marco like some dark angel of death, his black coat fluttering out behind him like fearsome wings. He took out three men before anyone realized what was happening, before he even pulled out his guns. The room erupted into panicked confusion as some men fled and others pulled their own guns. Sara rose up from the cot, the Witchblade morphing into the sword and battle fury singing through her veins, accompanied by the angry hissing of the 'Blade and the metallic ping of bullets being deflected by the gauntlet. Men scattered before her rage, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades in their haste to flee. Sara met Ian in the middle and they fell into synch, back to back, taking on everyone foolish enough to remain. They moved together as if they had trained together, deadly and graceful.
Marco had backed up against the wall, and he pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Ian. Ian saw, but could not dodge with Sara behind him because she would end up getting shot, and he didn't have time for anything else because Marco was already pulling the trigger. Instead he maneuvered to take the shot in his arm and not his chest. As the bullet ripped into his flesh he growled at the pain and stalked forward, slapping the gun out of Marco's hand, breaking half the man's fingers in the process. Sara turned to see what Ian was doing as the last man fell at her feet, having felt Ian's pain. She watched as Ian slammed his fist into the man's face several times, then snapped his neck. He stood over the man, teeth bared in a snarl, eyes wild, until Sara touched his shoulder.
"Ian," she said softly as sanity returned to his eyes. He turned to look her over, making sure she was unharmed "You're hurt," Sara noted, feeling the raw burn of the wound in his arm through their link.
"Forgive me, my lady," he begged, guilt and sorrow in his voice as he fell to his knees before her, head bowed. She stared at him in confusion.
"Ian, get up," she said. "Forgive you for what?"
"I should have prevented this whole incident," he said mournfully, still staring at the ground. "I should have protected you. You could have been killed."
Figuring he wouldn't be getting up any time soon, she dropped to the floor to sit in front of him. Reaching out to tilt his head up with two fingers under his chin, she forced him to look into her eyes.
"Ian, love, you did protect me. I didn't get killed. We won."
"It should never have happened," he insisted. "If I had been watching over you properly…"
"But you were," she interrupted firmly. "Ian, don't you wonder why the Witchblade didn't warn me of the danger back in town?"
"I, ah, haven't had much time to think about it," he admitted. Now that she mentioned it, he did think that was strange.
"Maybe this was meant to happen," Sara suggested. "Nothing in my life is coincidence, remember?"
"Then," Ian said slowly, thinking hard and beginning to let go of his guilt, "the Witchblade wanted to teach you something."
"I think so," she confirmed. "Maybe the 'Blade wanted us to test the strength of our new bond. Or learn how to fight together. Or maybe I was supposed to figure out the whole telepathy thing. Maybe something completely different. Whatever. The point is, you didn't fail. It was out of your hands."
Ian looked up at her, the beginning of a smile brightening his face. He rose and pulled her to her feet, then pulled her into a fierce hug, wincing a bit from the bullet in his arm.
"Let's get that wrapped before we do anything else," Sara said, starting to pull off his jacket. He caught her hands to stop her.
"Some of the ones who ran may come back," he said. "I'll be fine until we get back to town."
Ian," Sara said in her firmest tone. "I am not leaving until I get a look at that arm." Ian sighed, knowing it would be useless to try to argue with her, and went to sit on the edge of the cot. He shrugged off his jacket and let Sara poke at the wound, holding perfectly still.
"The bullet is still in there," she said, frowning. She could still feel his pain through their link.
"I know," he replied simply. "There's a medical kit in the car. You can dig it out there."
"Okay," she agreed. She tore a strip off of the sheet on the cot and gently wrapped Ian's arm to slow the bleeding. He slung his long coat over the other shoulder, took her hand, and they walked out of the house together.
"What do you want to do today, Sara," Ian asked over breakfast. Ian had decided to wake her by the strategic application of ice cubes, starting with her feet, and they had not actually gotten out of bed for a few hours. Then they had showered together, and Sara had helped cook breakfast. They were both in cheerful moods, and eager to get out and explore.
"I have to pick up presents," Sara said. "I can't go back empty-handed. And I thought I might find something pretty to wear. I hear the prices on silver are excellent here."
"Anything manufactured will be more expensive," Ian told her. "Anything hand-made will be less, because labor is cheaper than machinery. For silver, we'll go to Puerto Vallarta's Old Town district, on the beach. You pick a table on the beach, order a drink, and the sellers come by with their trays of jewelry, armloads of blankets, whatever they can carry and sell. But for presents I think we should go up the coast to Rincón de Guayabitos. They have a cambiar there, a money changer, so we can get some pesos for our dollars. It will make shopping easier."
""Will you help me bargain," she asked. "I've really never done anything like this before, and you speak Spanish way better than I do."
"I would be happy to," he agreed, pleased that she was asking for his help. "I wanted to get something for Allyson as well."
They finished breakfast, cleaned up the dishes, and slathered sunblock on each other. Ian's burn was fading quickly to a nice deep tan, and Sara was pleased to be acquiring a nice shade of golden brown herself. Ian plopped her hat on her head, which was none the worse for it's dunking in the ocean, and she put his hair up in a ponytail for him. She loved the feel of his hair, silky and fine, and played with it every chance she got. His blond streak was becoming even lighter, more pronounced, she noted.
They packed a few things into a medium-sized bag; some fruit, bottles of water, the sunblock. It would be easy to carry their purchases in with it's wide shoulder strap. They climbed into the car and Ian drove them out of Lo de Marcos and up the highway to Rincón.
Rincón was more of a town, with many streets, lots of people out shopping, crossing the roads wherever and whenever it pleased them despite the cars. There was a post office and two different banks, and many stores that obviously catered to the tourist trade. The street was lined with parked cars on both sides, but Ian finally managed to find a spot near the center of town on a quieter side street and in the shade. There was a nice breeze from the ocean running down the streets, and the blue water could be glimpsed between buildings.
Ian led Sara to the cambiar, where they both changed some money. The rate was as good as they were likely to get, even at the Lloyd's bank in Puerto Vallarta. They spent some time wandering about, Sara pausing to pick out several items, mostly t-shirts, that she thought her friends would like. Ian handled the exchanges while she watched. Most of the merchants knew some English, and the prices were most often set, so there was little bargaining. Sara was thoroughly enjoying the shopping. They had their arms full, and agreed it was time to go drop their purchases in the car and get some lunch.
As Ian was closing the trunk and turning back to Sara she stumbled against the car, her hand going to the back of her neck. He felt the sharp sting of a dart in his arm and the sudden disorientation as the drug hit his system. Sara slid to the ground, unconscious, as Ian fought the drug's tranquilizing effects. It took him a few seconds to rally his defenses and push back the drug's effects, but his experience in the Black Dragons with just such drugs enabled him to stay conscious and on his feet.
Those few precious seconds were all their attackers needed to screech their truck to a stop next to them, jump out and gather up Sara, and disappear down the road with a squeal of tires. Ian pulled the dart out of his arm as he watched them race off, cursing in three languages, and jumped into his own car to follow. He could feel Sara and knew he would not need to keep her in his sight to find her. Driving after them, he pulled out his celphone and called his contact in the Mexican military. After threatening two Captains and a Colonel, he finally got through to a General who might know what was going on and explained what had occurred.
"Unfortunate, Mr. Nottingham," the General said in Spanish. "You know there has been unrest here within certain factions, but I have no idea why anyone would attack a tourist."
"You know Ms. Pezzini is more than just a tourist," Ian all but growled. "She is a friend of Mr. Irons. If anything happens to her and you could have provided me aid, you know what will happen to your career."
"Well," the General replied, suddenly deciding to be most cooperative, for Vorschlag held important contracts with the Mexican government and military, and it would not do to anger the man who pulled the strings. "There is a faction who believes we accept too much outside aid, especially for our weapons and military research. Their belief is that to accept these foreign contracts weakens us as a nation and independent country. They would have a reason to hold the woman hostage to use in negotiations with Mr. Irons, trying to force him to sever Vorschlag's contracts with us."
"Thank you, General," Ian said. "This particular pack will cease to trouble you. Just keep your people out of my way." He hung up on the General, then called Irons.
"We have a situation," Ian said as soon as Irons picked up. "An anti- foreigner faction has kidnapped Sara and plans to hold her hostage to persuade you to cease dealings with the Mexican military."
"How did it happen, Ian," Irons demanded, his voice icy. "I understood that you were watching her."
"She was shopping in Rincón and had returned to her car when she was hit by a tranquilizer dart. Within seconds a truck pulled up, they picked her up, and fled. I am in pursuit now."
"I am very disappointed, Ian."
"They will not harm her as long as they think they can use her, and by the time the realize their error they will be dead," Ian said.
"I expect our fair lady back in one piece, Ian," Irons said sharply. "You know how important she is."
"When they call with their demands, stall them," Ian advised. "It will be easier to retrieve Sara if she is awake and able to assist."
"Do you think they know about the Witchblade, Ian," Irons suddenly asked.
"I don't believe so," Ian answered.
"Bring her back." The line went dead as Irons hung up. Ian put his phone on silent mode, just in case Irons chose to call for an update at a critical time, and continued to follow the truck that held Sara.
When the truck turned off onto a dirt road, Ian drove past a few hundred yards around a curve, then pulled off to the side of the road and went to the trunk of the car. Out of habit, he kept a few things in case of an emergency just such as this. He pulled the nylon bag out and extracted a machine gun, two pistols, a long military-style knife, his long black jacket, and his gloves. Feeling much better now that he was properly equipped, he slipped back down the road carefully, searching for and finding the lone sentry near the beginning of the dirt road.
Ian slipped through the vegetation along the entrance to the road, right up behind the sentry. The man never saw him, too involved with looking back the direction the truck had come from for pursuit. Ian rose up from behind and grabbed the man's head, snapping his neck in one quick, decisive move, then let him collapse to the ground. It was the work of a few moments to conceal the body in the brush, and Ian resumed his trek up the dirt road to rescue Sara.
She was near, but still unconscious. Ian could feel the Witchblade's anger as it worked on burning the drug out of her system. They had given her a larger dose than he had gotten, and they would expect her to sleep until tomorrow, but Ian guessed she would be awake within the hour. He would be waiting.
He moved stealthily up to the old house they had her in, eliminating three other sentries with cold efficiency as he circled the building. She was laid out on a cot in the largest room of the house. Most of the men were gathered in there, ignoring the hostage for the most part. There was little coming and going, except to the kitchen for cold cervezas and food. Ian worked his way into the house and perched up on the rafters in a corner, concealed by shadows.
"How do you know you'll get through, Marco," one of the men was asking the man who was apparently their leader. He grinned.
"If I don't, we kill her. Maybe he'll take us seriously next time, eh?" The others mostly laughed, a few looked uncomfortable and glanced at Sara's helpless form. Ian determined to kill the leader slowly. Very slowly. Marco picked up a celphone and dialed a number. Ian concentrated to hear better, and recognized Irons' secretary on the line.
"I need to speak with Irons immediately," Marco said in English. He listened for a moment, then said, "I don't care if he's in an important meeting. Tell him I have his woman, and if I don't hear his voice on this line in five minutes I'll kill her. Understand?"
Ian grinned, betting Irons would stall until the last second. At four minutes fifty seconds Irons came on the line. Ian could recognize the voice, but could not make out the words.
"You have a beautiful woman here, Mr. Irons," Marco said. "If you ever wish to see her again alive, you will listen to me." Whatever Irons replied seemed to please Marco, because he calmed somewhat. "Wise decision," Marco responded. "It would be a shame to have any harm come to such a woman." Marco continued on at some length, waxing passionate about his cause, and demanding that Irons sever the contracts Vorschlag had with the Mexican government for the good of his beloved homeland. From the satisfied smirk on Marco's face, Irons must have agreed without hesitation. Ian could imagine what oily words he had used to convince Marco of his sincerity. Marco hung up the celphone and let out a triumphant whoop, his men joining in.
"What happens to the woman now, Marco," one of the younger men asked. Ian recalled he had been one of those who had appeared to dislike the idea of harming Sara before.
"We keep her here until we are sure the gringo has complied completely with our demands. She looks like she's be fun," Marco said with a leer. Ian nearly went for his throat right there, but schooled himself to patience. Sara was beginning to wake, and he began calling out to her mentally through their link.
"Sara, don't move," Ian said gently into her mind.
"Ian?" She thought back, holding perfectly still.
"You're in danger, but I'm here," he reassured her. "We were attacked." He quickly described what had happened, and the current situation, to her.
"What's our move," she asked him, carefully cracking open an eye to get her bearings.
"I'm going to drop down into the middle of them. When I do, be ready to fight."
"Ready," she thought back. The Witchblade glowed in anticipation.
Ian dropped from the rafters behind Marco like some dark angel of death, his black coat fluttering out behind him like fearsome wings. He took out three men before anyone realized what was happening, before he even pulled out his guns. The room erupted into panicked confusion as some men fled and others pulled their own guns. Sara rose up from the cot, the Witchblade morphing into the sword and battle fury singing through her veins, accompanied by the angry hissing of the 'Blade and the metallic ping of bullets being deflected by the gauntlet. Men scattered before her rage, tripping over the bodies of their fallen comrades in their haste to flee. Sara met Ian in the middle and they fell into synch, back to back, taking on everyone foolish enough to remain. They moved together as if they had trained together, deadly and graceful.
Marco had backed up against the wall, and he pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Ian. Ian saw, but could not dodge with Sara behind him because she would end up getting shot, and he didn't have time for anything else because Marco was already pulling the trigger. Instead he maneuvered to take the shot in his arm and not his chest. As the bullet ripped into his flesh he growled at the pain and stalked forward, slapping the gun out of Marco's hand, breaking half the man's fingers in the process. Sara turned to see what Ian was doing as the last man fell at her feet, having felt Ian's pain. She watched as Ian slammed his fist into the man's face several times, then snapped his neck. He stood over the man, teeth bared in a snarl, eyes wild, until Sara touched his shoulder.
"Ian," she said softly as sanity returned to his eyes. He turned to look her over, making sure she was unharmed "You're hurt," Sara noted, feeling the raw burn of the wound in his arm through their link.
"Forgive me, my lady," he begged, guilt and sorrow in his voice as he fell to his knees before her, head bowed. She stared at him in confusion.
"Ian, get up," she said. "Forgive you for what?"
"I should have prevented this whole incident," he said mournfully, still staring at the ground. "I should have protected you. You could have been killed."
Figuring he wouldn't be getting up any time soon, she dropped to the floor to sit in front of him. Reaching out to tilt his head up with two fingers under his chin, she forced him to look into her eyes.
"Ian, love, you did protect me. I didn't get killed. We won."
"It should never have happened," he insisted. "If I had been watching over you properly…"
"But you were," she interrupted firmly. "Ian, don't you wonder why the Witchblade didn't warn me of the danger back in town?"
"I, ah, haven't had much time to think about it," he admitted. Now that she mentioned it, he did think that was strange.
"Maybe this was meant to happen," Sara suggested. "Nothing in my life is coincidence, remember?"
"Then," Ian said slowly, thinking hard and beginning to let go of his guilt, "the Witchblade wanted to teach you something."
"I think so," she confirmed. "Maybe the 'Blade wanted us to test the strength of our new bond. Or learn how to fight together. Or maybe I was supposed to figure out the whole telepathy thing. Maybe something completely different. Whatever. The point is, you didn't fail. It was out of your hands."
Ian looked up at her, the beginning of a smile brightening his face. He rose and pulled her to her feet, then pulled her into a fierce hug, wincing a bit from the bullet in his arm.
"Let's get that wrapped before we do anything else," Sara said, starting to pull off his jacket. He caught her hands to stop her.
"Some of the ones who ran may come back," he said. "I'll be fine until we get back to town."
Ian," Sara said in her firmest tone. "I am not leaving until I get a look at that arm." Ian sighed, knowing it would be useless to try to argue with her, and went to sit on the edge of the cot. He shrugged off his jacket and let Sara poke at the wound, holding perfectly still.
"The bullet is still in there," she said, frowning. She could still feel his pain through their link.
"I know," he replied simply. "There's a medical kit in the car. You can dig it out there."
"Okay," she agreed. She tore a strip off of the sheet on the cot and gently wrapped Ian's arm to slow the bleeding. He slung his long coat over the other shoulder, took her hand, and they walked out of the house together.
