CHAPTER 26

Click.
At the sound, Christian flinched. His breath caught in his throat, even with his heart thrashing in his chest.

Fuentes's eyes flared, his face distorted with rage. Without hesitation, he slapped the bottom of the magazine, racked the slide of his weapon, and pulled the trigger. A glint of flying brass from the ejected live round caught the dying rays of the sun. All of it happened so fast, Christian had no time to react.

Click.
The gun misfired again.

He wasn't about to give the bastard a third try. Christian shoved the man's arm aside with his cuffed hands and broke free from the line of fire. He leapt to his feet and moved in tight to Fuentes. Putting muscle behind it, he jabbed the man's throat with a brutal forward thrust of his elbow, cutting off the cop's air. Stunned, Fuentes dropped his chin with eyes watering and mouth gaped open. Spittle drooled from his lips. He grasped his neck.

Christian wrenched the gun free from his other hand. It dropped to the ground. All he could do was kick it out of reach. He shifted his weight and drove an elbow back into the detective's stomach. When Fuentes doubled over, Christian turned to ram a knee high and sharp into his face. The man's head snapped back. He staggered backward like a drunk on a bender. Blood oozed from his nose and down his chin.

"That's for me." Christian panted, his chest heaving with the adrenaline rush. "But this? This is for Raven."

Fuentes shook his head and tried holding up a hand, but no words came from his mouth. Christian wasn't about to accept his surrender so easily. A flood of memories bubbled to the surface, fueling his fire. He lunged for Fuentes with a shoulder, picking the man off the ground with force. He slammed his back into one of the helicopters, then hit him with a flurry of punches to his body and face. Even with his hands restrained, he made every blow count.

Fuentes cried out.
"Arrghh . . .
p-please."

But Christian ignored his plea for leniency. He pictured Raven's face as the man degraded her in front of his men. Out of love, she came to Brazil to help, but Fuentes and his arrogant boss would have turned her good deed into tragedy by raping and killing her, leaving her body for the animals. And the images of the dead men back at the cave faded in and out of the shadows in his mind.

He pounded and kicked the man's ribs until he heard a crack and felt one bone give. With the force of each blow, Fuentes's body lurched off the ground. His head lolled from side to side like a macabre rag doll. Fuentes could no longer defend himself. His arms hung limp at his sides. Only his legs kept him propped against the chopper.

Christian shoved him to the ground onto his knees, then came up behind him. He wrapped his cuffed hands around the man's neck and yanked back. A fatal stranglehold or a crushed larynx, Christian didn't much care. With his head turning a deathlike purple, Fuentes grappled against his hands, grunting and writhing, the weight of his own body working against him. Christian pulled harder. As the man weakened, it got easier.

"Christian . . . please." He heard a familiar voice, but couldn't stop.

Even the tears he imagined in his father's eyes, when he looked him in the face for the first time, ramped up his anger. His father had narrowly escaped a living hell in that damned cave, only to be thrown into another nightmare, being forced to witness Jasmine dying.

Christian's rage took hold and wouldn't let go. Not until he finally heard her voice.

"Please . . . he's had enough. You're going to kill him!" Raven cried. "Please stop . . . for me. You're not like him. You're not a killer."

When Christian looked up, he stared at her as if she were a stranger. She'd seen that look before and it always scared her. He loosened his grip and shoved Fuentes face first into the dirt. Raven reached for his arm and pulled him toward her, to reclaim him. He staggered, his chest sucking air. His fists were raw and covered in blood. When his rage finally subsided, he stared at Fuentes, unconscious on the ground. A bloody heap.

Christian turned and shook his head, unable to look her in the eye or say a word. His shame took over. He'd given in to the dark beast he'd fought his entire life.

Raven knew she had to distract him from his agony or the monster would find a foothold in his guilt. "Duarte's rounding up the rest of Zharan's men. It's over." Tears brimmed in her eyes. She couldn't believe it herself. They'd made it.

The skirmish had been brief but had taken its toll with the number of dead and dying. Most of Zharan's tactical team had their hands up and knelt in the marshy sod, their faces young and scared. Duarte's men were searching them for weapons, then binding their hands with plastic restraints and shoving them to the ground. Those trained as medics were taking care of the wounded. The more serious were being loaded onto stretchers for the ride back.

Zharan was handcuffed and under guard. By the looks of him, Duarte must have rearranged the chief's face with his fists after the man shot Jasmine. His hair was gnarled into a tangled mess and his polished smile was tarnished with blood and a chipped tooth. And that perfect nose now had character. A noticeable improvement all the way around.

"It's over, but not for Jasmine, Christian." Raven fixed her eyes on Nicholas Charboneau, the man's hands and arms slick with Jasmine's blood.

It didn't look good.

Christian rushed by her and knelt near Jasmine. The sucking sound coming from the exit wound on her chest made his skin crawl. Unconscious, she struggled to breathe. Not a good sign. One of Duarte's men had an opened medical kit on the ground by her.

The man had to act quickly. He fumbled through the packages of dressing and found what he needed.

But soon, he cried out in broken English, "This . . . no good. Look for another." The young officer held out an occlusive dressing, an air and watertight trauma dressing used to treat sucking chest wounds.

Christian saw what he meant. The package had been torn open, exposed to the air. It made the blasted thing useless. The waxy coating of the dressing had dried out.

"Get these off me. Hurry." Christian held out his hands. The young officer found his key and unlocked his cuffs, then did the same for Raven and Nicholas. With hands free, Christian rummaged through the med supplies for another one, but came up empty. "Damn it!"

He remembered Zharan had ordered both helicopters be equipped with med supplies. Christian sprang to his feet and raced across the clearing. One of the field medics had the other kit, using it to treat a head wound. Christian knelt by the man and dug through the other medical supplies. All the while, the moist hissing of Jasmine's wound played on his nerves, a sound not easily forgotten.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. The dressing he needed was missing from the second kit or had been used already. Now, he'd have to get creative. He grabbed what he needed and rushed back.

"I got nothing, but maybe you can use these ... to improvise."

The young man was still working on Jasmine to stop the bleeding and get two large-bore IVs into her. But when he looked up and saw what Christian held in his hands, he shook his head and shrugged.

"How?" Pity edged his eyes. He'd probably received limited training, but had no idea how to make due with what he had.

Christian looked down at the rubber gloves, empty IV bag wrapper, scissors, and tape in his hands. For a second, he shut his eyes. She needed a hospital and a chest tube, not his clumsy attempt at playing doctor.

"What's happening? Why can't he help her?" His father tugged at his arm, smearing Jasmine's blood on his sleeve. When he figured out Christian was her last chance, his father asked, "Do you know what to do?"

"Yeah, but I've got no time to explain." Christian nodded, acting more confident than he felt. "You gotta trust me."

A cavity surrounded the lungs. Pierced by a bullet, the pocket would let air in and prevent the lungs from inflating right. To complicate matters, air wouldn't leave the lungs like it normally did, so each breath Jasmine took filled the cavity and the surrounding lung tissue with more and more air. If they left the wound untreated and waited for the trip back to a hospital, Jasmine would die from a growing pressure in her chest cavity, one that would push against her heart and twist the major veins and arteries closed. She'd strangle with the serious complications of a collapsed lung. Christian had seen it happen.

He needed to move.
Now!

He tugged on a pair of rubber gloves and leaned closer, listening to the left side of her chest. Her breathing only came from the one side. A lung had collapsed. Unconscious as she was, she had taken a turn for the worse. Her skin looked moist and clammy. And her heart rate was shallow and rapid.

He had no time to lose. Christian clipped off a section from an empty IV bag wrapper with a pair of scissors. He cleared the wound and swabbed the surrounding area with antiseptic.

"Cut me some tape." He nudged his chin at Raven, fixing his eyes on her.

She didn't hesitate. Raven yanked on a rubber glove and did as he asked, tearing off pieces of tape, ready to assist him.

Christian placed a piece of the bag wrapper over the wound and taped three sides down, leaving one section open to act as a flutter valve for Jasmine's exhale. He had to use his gut instincts on how much to tape down. He hoped he guessed right.

"Gotta treat the entrance wound too." He applied a similar patch of the wrapper to the left side of her chest, under her arm. He taped it completely closed this time.

With the distance to the hospital, he knew she'd have a better chance if he got her lung inflated. He leaned closer and listened again. With her shallow breathing, she may not be able to fill her lung naturally. Christian couldn't wait for something that might not happen. He tilted her head back and pinched off her nose, applying a measured mouth-to-mouth, matching her breathing as she inhaled. After a few tries, it worked.

"Got it." He grinned and gave a reassuring glance at his father and Raven. Any small victory felt like a major milestone.

The lung inflated enough to move her, but he wasn't done yet. He had to treat her arm wound. Christian secured a mound of gauze to her arm to stop the bleeding there. But she could still have internal bleeding into her chest cavity. He may only have bought her a few precious minutes.

"Now we gotta get her to a trauma center. Fast." He looked up into the worried eyes of his father, knowing Charboneau would take charge now.

"Please . . . help us." Nicholas pleaded his case to the men witnessing the drama being played out. "We need a hospital."

Captain Duarte stepped in and ordered his men to load the nearest chopper with the wounded. "Take those most seriously injured. And these hostages are to accompany them. Move. Move!"

The men around them scrambled to help.

"I will call ahead to make sure the hospital knows what to expect," another man offered.

Christian nodded. He stared down at his gloved hands, caked with Jasmine's blood. Doubt crept into his mind. He had no idea if he'd done the right thing. Now it would be a race against time to get her the help she needed. He yanked off his gloves and threw them to the ground.

"Come on." He helped his father to his feet. "We gotta go."

With great care, Duarte's men loaded Jasmine onto a stretcher with her IVs, carrying her toward the cargo hold of a helicopter. Others crawled in behind them. Another man lay on a stretcher next to Jasmine. A tight squeeze.

After the door slammed shut, the thick smell of blood and fear hung heavy in the air. Miserable groans and strained breathing filled the cramped space. One man whispered a prayer. Christian shut his eyes, wanting to block out the waking nightmare and the ghosts it conjured for him. Once the crew jumped into the cockpit and revved the engine, the sound masked the pitiable suffering and desperation. A small mercy.

Every second felt like an eternity.

After they lifted off the ground, Christian felt Raven's hand on his. He had almost lost her. Turning, he kissed her cheek and held her in his arms, not wanting to let go. Like a shot of adrenaline, she infused his soul with her strength . . . and her love. He fought a lump wedged in his throat. So many thoughts ... so many regrets raced through his head. Christian had no idea how to make it up to her.

"When I think what could have happened . . ." he whispered in her ear.

She pulled from him enough to touch a gentle finger to his lips. "Don't say it. We're still here." She swallowed, her eyes glistening. "We can talk later. Your father needs you now."

Raven was right. Cradling her face in his hands, Christian kissed her again, then shifted his gaze to his father. The man looked lost.

"Jasmine's tough," Christian said. "She's gonna make it."

He stared into the inconsolable eyes of Nicholas Charboneau, unsure he'd even heard him. His father nodded, more out of reflex, but he didn't look up. Instead, he stroked the pale fingers of Jasmine's hand as if she were made of delicate crystal and would shatter.

"This can't be happening. Not to her." His father's voice barely carried over the chopper noise, his words not meant for anyone else to hear.

When Christian reached for his neck to give his father a reassuring squeeze, Nicholas lowered his chin and let out a gasping sob, fighting hard to hold back. Christian didn't know his father well enough to understand the depth of his sadness. A part of him deeply regretted that. Maybe Charboneau cried for all he'd suffered, but more than likely, he dreaded what still lay ahead.

Christian hesitated, then wrapped his arms around his father, the most natural thing in the world for some. When he did, Nicholas finally let go. He buried his face in Christian's shoulder, his body shaking.

"Jasmine loves you, Nicholas. She has for a long time." He spoke only loud enough for his father to hear over the rotor. "And if you don't put your money on her pulling through this, she's gonna come back and kick your ass."

His father's body shook even more. How much of it was laughing or crying, he didn't know or care. He held his father, making up for lost time between a father and a son.