A/N I do not own these characters. I am simply borrowing them for my own amusement, and hopefully that of my readers. I mean no harm and am gaining no profit from the use of these characters so please, please don't take me to court! Thanks Ya'll...
Chapter 3"No, Caitlyn. Please wake up!" John screamed, in the mist of his worst fear, greatest nightmare. He was back in their house, his fevered mind making him relive the horror. "Please baby! Wake up! Don't leave me!" He watched as the ambulance came and took her away. He relived the agony he felt when they told him she was gone. Then he felt the loneliness of her absence. In his sleep tears ran down his face.
Natalie heard his cries from the chair she had been dozing in. She had drifted off in a light sleep some time after 3 am. She moved over to him and checked his forehead again. He was burning up! Grabbing the aspirin she once again forced it down his throat. After that she went and got more cold water and began bathing his overheated body again. She sighed; this was not how she had planned to spend her night. But even as that thought crossed her mind she realized that even if this wasn't how she had planned to spend her night it felt somehow... not wrong. It was nice to be needed, even if it was by someone she didn't know.
Hours later John opened his eyes. His body ached and he was extremely thirsty. He attempted to get up but a hand pushed him back down. He looked around and saw that it was the same redhead that he had a vague memory of stitching him up. "Water," he rasped, his throat dry and sore.
Natalie felt him wake and knew his fever must have broken. She hurried to get him his water. When she came back into the room she noticed that he was sitting up slightly and frowned, "Don't move too much. You might rip out the stitches."
After taking a sip of the water she gave him he looked at her and asked, "Who are you?" He looked her over, this time taking in her beauty. Her red hair fell past her shoulders in slight waves, her eyes were blue like the sky right before dusk, her face was stunning. Her lips were full and parted slightly and he had a sudden urge to taste them. Shaking off that crazy notion he let his eyes wander down her body, taking in her slender neck, her full breasts and her rounded hips, down to her shapely legs. She was one stunning woman and he felt his body react in a totally inappropriate and, in his current situation, stunning way.
Natalie, not noticing his discomfort answered his question, "I'm Natalie Buchanan," she answered for the second time since meeting him. Then realizing he probably had no memory of their previous conversation she filled in the rest of his questions. "I found out outside when I went to my car to get my phone. We're in my grandfathers cabin on Llantano Mountain." She paused and then asked her questions, "Who are you and how did you get shot? What were you doing out there in the snow?"
John took another drink and then frowned. "My name is John McBain." He paused and thought about how he got shot, or rather his apparent loss of memory of the incident. "What day is it?" He asked suddenly.
"It's Saturday." Natalie told him, slightly confused by his question.
John shook his head impatiently and then asked, "No, I mean what is the date?"
"December 7th" She told him, now more worried then confused.
"December 7th?' He thought. "Damn" he had a gap of about a week in his brain! He looked at her, at Natalie, and sighed, "I don't know how I got shot or why I am here. Hell, I don't even know what I am doing in... What state is this?"
"Pennsylvania," Natalie told him, stunned by his answer. "What do you mean you don't know?"
"I can't remember!" he said frustrated. "The last thing I remember is getting coffee the morning of December 1st!"
Natalie sat back in her chair stunned. Of all the responses she was expecting, that hadn't been one of them!
John sighed, suddenly very tired. He finished his water and lay back on the bed. "I wish I knew how I got here." He murmured as he lay there.
Natalie could see he was fighting sleep and, knowing that sleep was the best thing for him right now, she said, "Shhhh... Go to sleep. We'll worry about that later."
John, already more then half asleep, did as he was told and drifted to sleep. Natalie sat there watching him, running his words over in her head. He had said he was FBI and she believed him. It was in the way he talked, the way he dressed, heck even the way he moved! She thought about his appearance and frowned, her guess was that he had been on an undercover operation. Her experience as a Forensic Technician told her to look at all the clues, all the evidence and then make a finding but her certainty this time came from someplace else, a place that didn't need all that overwhelming proof or concrete evidence. She knew that he was a good guy, she could feel it, could sense it pouring off of him in waves.
Her only question was 'did she call Bo and ask for his help?' Caring for a man with a bullet wound was entirely out of her depth. The only reason she had done it was because she had known there was no way that an ambulance could make it up the mountain during a blizzard. He would have died if she hadn't taken the slug from his stomach, or rather cleaned him up, and stitched the wound after HE had yanked the bullet from his own body. But now, or rather, after the roads cleared then what? She knew that a bullet wound could take weeks to heal and she didn't have that kind of time. She had to be back to work in a week. This was her vacation but it wouldn't last forever. And even if she did decide to take care of him would he even want her to? Would he simply take off once he could?
She looked at John again as he slept and wondered why she even cared so much but unaccountably she did. Staring at her cell phone she carefully weighed her options and then made a decision. 'It could wait till later' she decided and set aside the phone.
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"Damn it!" Fritz said, "We lost him!" He was so angry. John McBain had betrayed them, he was a fed! They had been on to him for over a month when the call came to take him out. He smirked and evil smirk; they had worked him over real good before the bastard had gotten away. Plus Mickey had shot him as he was fleeing.
"I shot him! How could he have gotten this far!" asked Mickey. He was a big lumbering man. At about 6 feet 5 inches tall he towered over his partner. Both men worked for the Mal Noche's, one of the largest gangs in the northern United States. They got their name from a famous gang on the television but nothing about their operation was entertaining. They ran drugs and guns all over the country and into Canada.
"I knew he was a pig! Right from the start he smelled like bacon!" sneered Fritz. He was a small man but lethal. Staring at the trail of blood that ended in a snow bank he cursed John McBain. He caressed his knife, which was his weapon of choice, and thought about how he was going to cut McBain to ribbons if he was alive.
"That's enough!" Mickey snarled. Clearly the leader of the two men he walked back to McBain's car and looked around. He saw that there was a lot of blood, "You hit him. The car is full of blood. Either he is already dead or he will be shortly."
Fritz smiled, "Yeah." He shook his head and then frowned, "But what if he lived?"
Mickey thought about that for a long minute and then decided that Fritz was right. He knew McBain. The man had nine lives. If anyone could survive being shot in AC, then driving to this godforsaken mountain and then actually making it out of the car and up the mountain, it would John McBain!
"We watch the hospitals and his family. If he is alive he has to come up for air sometime." Mickey said. If John McBain was alive he would find him. No one betrayed the Mal Noche. And no one made a fool out of Mickey Santana! No one!
To be continued...