Part III
BLAM. The man fell to his knees with a disbelieving look on his face, a trickle of blood escaping his mouth and dribbling down his chin. He finally collapsed face-first, the large hole Carson blew into his back bleeding sluggishly and pooling around his body in a copper-scented puddle. Charlie didn't have to check his pulse to know the man was dead.
He grabbed Jake's earwig and radio and stepped away, reporting in to the TOC where no doubt someone would be monitoring the channel. They would get in touch with their people in-country and send in local law enforcement to pick up the would-be kidnappers. He quickly securing the remaining hostiles with zip ties out of Jake's pocket and lined them all up where he could keep an eye on them.
Avoiding Joss' eyes, he took her place next to Jake, gently unclenching her hands to get a look at the wound.
"Charlie, you're bleeding," said Joss, looking at the seeping wound in his shoulder.
"Don't worry, just popped a couple of stitches. I'll be fine."
"And him?" she asked, with a nod toward Jake.
"Shot's clean, embedded in the shoulder. He'll have to have surgery to remove it, but he should be okay. I'm a little worried about the head wound—he's been out for about three minutes. If he's not awake and bitching by the time the ambulance gets here, we'll re-evaluate.
"You might wanna re-evaluate what you've been tellin' us about yourself," said Carson. Airplane mechanic my ass."
"Would you just knock it off for now, Carson, so I can make sure this man doesn't bleed to death?" Charlie asked tersely, cleaning the wound with some alcohol he'd found in a first aid kit behind the driver's seat before flushing it out with some saline solution.
Jake, awakened by the searing pain in his chest at Charlie's careful ministrations let out a low hiss.
"It's about damn time you woke up, Sleeping Beauty," Charlie grumbled. "Did your job for you."
"Jesus Christ, Nurse Betty," said Jake, playfully alluding to Charlie's codename. "You need to work on your bedside manner. But thanks, man."
"This would work better if you were unconscious."
Jake chuckled and winced. "Don't make me laugh, asshole. Damn, I've got a headache. Got some aspirin in there?"
"Aspirin's a blood thinner, you idiot."
"Shit. Tylenol?"
"Never mind that. I hear ambulances. They'll be here in a minute or two. You'll be high as a kite in no time, buddy." He finished dressing the wound and turned to Carson and Joss just as two police cars and an ambulance rolled up.
"Hospital first. We'll deal with the cops later."
Carson looked as if he wanted to argue, but looked at Joss, who despite her toughness was still in shock. He nodded in assent.
Charlie directed the paramedics to Jake. "This one first. He's worst off."
"I can take another," said one of the medics, looking between Joss and Carson.
"I'll go," said Charlie, not wanting to put up with another argument with Carson when he believed them to be reasonably safe.
"No, sir," said the other medic. "You need urgent attention," he said, indicating the blood pouring out of Charlie's shoulder. "The next ambulance will take you. We'll take one of the others who doesn't need as much attention."
The other ambulance arrived and two more medics jumped out.
"I'll go," said Carson after a pause. He didn't want to leave Joss, but he knew that if worst came to worst, she'd be better off with Charlie. It galled him—he still didn't trust the man—but he would do it for her. He handed the gun to one of the officers, dropping it into an evidence bag. He hopped up beside Jake and said to Charlie, "Look after her with your life."
Charlie nodded solemnly. "You got it."
They climbed into the next ambulance. Charlie peeled off his shirt before the medics could cut it off. "Old injury," he said. "Pulled the stitches. Nothing to worry about," he said in Spanish.
One cleaned the wound while the other checked Joss, patching up a few superficial scratches before wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, more for comfort than for warmth. Throughout the entire process, she didn't flinch once, just stared unwaveringly at Charlie as if he was a puzzle she was bent on solving. "That a bullet wound?" she asked quietly.
"It's nothing," he repeated, and looked away. Joss was silent.
When they reached the hospital, the police were waiting. Jake was gone, presumably already taken to surgery to remove the bullet. Carson was in the waiting room, refusing to accompany the officers to the station without having first seen Joss.
Their reunion was brief as the police wanted to conduct their questioning as soon as possible, but a no-nonsense nurse shooed them away to ensure Joss and Carson were properly examined. They had so much of Jake's blood on them, she must have known they'd been though a lot and decided to cut them some slack.
Charlie also knew that it would do them both good to clean up a bit before going through the proverbial ringer yet again. At least they'd have the chance to look into the mirror and remind themselves of their humanity. And acknowledge their triumph in the face of death.
It didn't take long for the doctor to stitch Charlie back up, and after being subjected to a—painful—scrubbing and a number of needles, he was finally left alone in his bed to think about what lay ahead.
He still had to deal with the police without letting on that he was a special ops soldier in the U.S. Army. He'd probably have to deal with some embassy officials who would only make things more complicated—for him anyway. Of course he was confident that everything would eventually get sorted out by the meticulous unseen hands of the unit, directed of course by Colonel Ryan, who would no doubt rip him a new one for being so careless as to exacerbate an old injury. And get in the middle of a firefight on foreign soil.
His cover with Joss was blown to hell, and unless Ryan cleared her to ask some questions, he'd either have to keep up the lame lie—which she'd reject—or disappear without a trace—which would hurt them both and piss her off. Regardless of Joss' feelings, Carson would in all probability as soon shoot him as allow him to even get within shouting distance of her. He'd condemn Charlie for his job, punish him for his skills, and damn him for his lies.
And once he got back, in the absence of Top, Molly would feel the need to take it upon herself to lecture him on his recklessness in running off to South America with a girl he barely knew. In all he thought it would be less painful to go out and get shot again than face his own personal firing squad.
Jake didn't know how good he had it.