Operation Summer Storm (15 page)

Inside the belly of the large machine were rows of flip down seats—one row were back to back and another one along the far wall—some had been taken out to make more floor space—but it seemed easily able to fit at least eleven or so people inside.

Although the noise of the chopper was loud, a sudden increase in the sound of gunfire over it snapped Summer’s attention toward the archway. To her dismay Maloney, supporting a limping Tupper, moved, as fast as possible, towards the chopper. Dumping him unceremoniously into the belly of helicopter, Maloney climbed in beside him and her attention turned to Del…carrying her sister in his arms.

Her eyes were closed and it was hard to tell if she were breathing until they got closer and her eyes fluttered open. Summer drew an involuntary breath, unprepared for the extent of her sister’s condition but gathered her wits long enough to send Willow a bright smile.

“Summer? What are you doing here?” Willow’s voice shook with uncertainty.

“It’s a long story,” she reached out and ran her eyes over her sister. As she gently touched Willows bruised and battered face, the professional side of her immediately assessing the damage.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Willow croaked bravely.

“I hate to break this reunion up ladies, but I need to get back in there,” Del said, nudging Summer out of the way and gently placing her sister in the back of the chopper alongside Tupper.

“Where’s Tate?” Summer asked, over the engine of the helicopter revving. Revving? Her attention returned to the pilot and she poked him with the gun. “Not yet. There’s one more,” she snarled.

Del looked at her with a surprised raise of his eyebrow.

“Where is he?” she repeated trying to keep the fear from her voice.

“I’m going back now—you just keep him here,” he nodded at the white-faced pilot and sent the man a feral looking smile that seemed to say “poor bastard” before running back into the compound.

Summer kept the gun leveled at the pilot. What could be taking so long? A loud explosion followed and she held her breath. Summer spotted two forms running toward them…followed by a lone, determined rebel.

A frantic glance toward Maloney showed he had his hands full wrapping Tupper’s leg but she nervously called his name as she snapped her attention back to the men running toward them. She saw the rebel closing the gap. Realizing there wasn’t time for Maloney to do anything; Summer leveled her gun at the rebel in the process of hoisting his own weapon to his shoulder and aimed at the two men running ahead of him.

Shooting a man wasn’t nearly as difficult as she’d imagined it would be. Not when she was protecting something she cared about. She squeezed the trigger twice.

She didn’t even hear the shots; she’d been so focused on stopping the soldier from getting off his round. She just watched in horror as the man dropped to the ground, clutching his side…while Tate stumbled slightly but managed to keep running toward the chopper, clutching at his shoulder.

Del pushed him in the direction of the chopper, and Maloney dragged Del into the chopper just as the aircraft picked up its revs and finally lifted off the ground.

Summer braced herself against the back of the pilot’s seat as they swung in a wide circle away from the camp below. They picked up some height and she saw the still smoldering remains of the hostage camp from the night before, and was unable to stop the shudder that racked her body. It
i
s a fitting end to a horrible place, she thought with a sudden surge of retribution, before making her way to her sister’s side.

Summer gently picked up her sister’s wrist, to take her pulse, but Willow shook her head and pushed away her hands weakly. “I’m fine; I can wait. Go help that guy over there, he’s in worse shape than me,” she said.

With a quick glance over at Tate, Summer hesitated briefly, unwilling to leave her sister’s side, having barely had a chance to register she was really here. But Willow was right, her injuries were not a priority compared to a gunshot wound…

Summer went pale. A gunshot wound?

Bending over Tate, Maloney began to cut away the blood soaked fabric of his shirt, and Summer sank down beside him, digging through the medical bag, to hand over a pressure dressing so Maloney could cover it and stop any further blood loss.

She glanced toward Tate, saw his eyes were shut against the pain, and reached for the IV kit—selecting the supplies they’d need. After a brief consultation with Maloney, it was decided Tate’s blood loss hadn’t been too severe but they would start him on an IV to ensure he wouldn’t deteriorate further.

“He’ll be fine,” Maloney assured her, catching the fearful looks she cast toward Tate, who seemed determined to shut her out of his line of vision.

“I could have killed him,” her voice trembled but she focused on setting up the cramped area for the procedure.

“You only nicked him.”

Tate’s eyes snapped open and he hissed, “Nicked it my ass.”

“Come on Ox; you’ve had worse than this,” Del said, weighing into the debate.

“She shot me!”

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry!” Summer forced herself to look at him and winced as she saw his face go taut and pale.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded.

“Saving your lousy butt,” Maloney growled from the other side, as he tore open a plastic bag with his teeth, filling the syringe inside with a painkiller from his pack.

Summer wiped the back of Tate’s hand where the IV cannula would be inserted.

“Next time, do me a favor and make it a clean kill,” he growled and Summer sucked in a shaky breath at his unfair accusation.

“You gave me the gun,” she pointed out.

“Well, I didn’t give it to you to shoot me.”

“When you get a moment—would someone mind wrapping me up? I’m kind of bleeding all over the floor here,” Tupper groaned weakly from behind her.

“Quit your belly-aching, Tupper.” Maloney caught Summer’s eye. “If you want to take care of Tup, I’ll finish with Mister Personality here.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Tupper and saw a gash on his leg seeping through the fabric of his trousers. She needed to concentrate. She had patients to care for. Taking a deep breath, Summer reached over and took the smaller pack Maloney held out for her. Turning her back on Tate she reached inside and took out a sterile pack of dressings, ripping it open to gently place against Tupper’s wound.

Tupper gave her a grin. “Don’t suppose you could kiss it better and take my mind off the pain could you?”

She smiled, and with practiced ease cleaned and dressed Tupper’s wound, then rechecked the bandages Maloney had applied to his ribs earlier. Now that all the immediate injuries were taken care of and Tate had been put on an IV to replace the blood he’d lost, there were only superficial treatments left to be administered. Summer made her way back to her sister, cleaning the worst of her abrasions and giving her a shot of antibiotics—not easy in a chopper at about five thousand feet, swaying about.

After handing Willow a bottle of water and making sure she drank it, Summer helped her sister lay down and go to sleep. Straightening, she rolled her neck muscles to loosen them and her gaze fell on Del in his position close to the door. He appeared to be in good form but she spotted blood on the front of his shirt.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, moving over to him and nodding her head at the front of his shirt.

He glanced down at the blood then shook his head. “It’s not mine,” he answered.

Then it hit her—the sheer enormity of what they’d just accomplished.

She felt ill.

She looked over at her sister and her heart tugged. Thank God Willow was safe. Tears blurred her eyes and she cursed, massaging her fingertips across her forehead in an attempt to distract the dam of emotion she felt reaching breaking point.

Not here. She couldn’t fall apart here. However, the onset of delayed shock, it seemed, wasn’t particular as to where or when it chose to pounce.

As she rested her head on her knees, the events of the last twenty-four hours replayed in vivid detail behind her tightly closed eyes. She saw the doctor’s execution, and the swollen face of her sister when she’d seen her for the first time, smelled the smoke and heard the screams. She remembered the pain of the rifle butt striking her and touched her tender cheek.

From somewhere a hand moved gently up and down her back and the tears she’d fought so long and hard to keep at bay, poured forward as silent sobs shook her body. She felt herself pulled back against a wide, strong chest and lay there curled up against its warmth.

Chapter Ten

“I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” Tate said.

Summer froze as she realized who it was holding her. Drying her eyes, she took a deep breath and lifted her head. “I’m sorry I shot you,” she apologized, starting to cry once more.

Tate groaned as he took in her swollen, red eyes and trembling lips, and thought he’d never been more turned on in his entire life—which showed what a truly sick, sadistic bastard he really was.

He hadn’t meant to take it out on her. The rush of relief when he’d made it out alive—after fearing he might not—was one thing. Realizing the only thing he would regret if he died would be he wouldn’t get to see this confounded woman who lay beside him now again—well, that was a different matter altogether. To say the emotion caught him off guard had been an understatement.

He looked deep into those wet, bottomless blue eyes and felt himself falling. This was not supposed to happen, he thought in a desperate attempt to claw and grab at some kind of sanity. He couldn’t get involved with a woman like Summer. He had nothing to offer a woman who deserved to have everything…

Then there was the small matter of this file she held...

He cursed whatever cosmic force had dropped Summer Sheldon in his life, dangling such an unattainable thing in front of his nose at a time when nothing in his life made sense and everything—including his own life—was merely on loan.

“Don’t cry.” he stroked her arm softly. Don
’
t wear me down till I can
’
t remember all the honorable reasons why I can
’
t have you, was what he was really thinking.

Summer wiped her tears and straightened her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said, and seemed embarrassed by her loss of composure, combing damp hair from her face with her fingers.

“It’s been rough.”

“Not as rough as she had it,” she said, looking over at her sister across the aircraft.

Tate watched her—weighing up something that had been eating at him since he first saw her being dragged into camp by those two rebels. “Summer did they…did anything…happen to you?” he stumbled clumsily over his words, dreading the answer.

She looked at him in surprise but he saw she knew what he was really asking. “No.”

Slowly the tension went out of his shoulders and he breathed easier. He nodded, and then squeezed her hand. “I would have never forgiven myself if something had happened to you,” he told her in a very un-Tate like manner.

“I knew the risks, coming here,” she reminded him.

Summer glanced over at her sister and saw she was awake, and watching them with undisguised curiosity. “I want to thank you for everything you did for Willow and the others. I know I was a real pain, and did some pretty shitty things to make you do it, but I’ll never forget what you’ve done.”

Tate wanted to remind her she shouldn’t thank him yet. They still had unfinished business to tend to—but he didn’t have the heart to bust her bubble just yet.

Her sister made a small moan, and slowly sat up, “I’d better go and see how she’s doing,” Summer said, crouching to navigate her way across to her sister, careful not to bump his wounds.

He eased himself back into a more comfortable position. The drugs were beginning to take the edge off the pain in his shoulder—he just wished there was something Maloney could give him to take away his fixation on Summer Sheldon.

* * * *

Summer took her sisters hand, as she sat down next to her.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Willow said staring at her sister. “Are you crazy? Why would you come here?” she demanded.

“You’re my sister,” Summer told her firmly.

Willow stared at her, obviously still blown away by the sudden appearance of her sister in the middle of a nightmare. Clutching her arms urgently, her sisters exhausted mind clicked into journalist mode, “did you do what I asked with the files?”

Summer’s gaze darted across to Tate’s automatically, making sure he hadn’t heard and lowered her voice, “How else do you think I got here?” she was so tired of hearing about these damn files. It seemed every other person on the damn planet was obsessed with the bloody things.

“Did you do what I asked?” she pressed again, a frantic gleam in her eye.

“Yes, I did exactly what you said. It’s okay, they’re safe. Look, don’t say anything about the file. It’s complicated, but just promise me, you won’t talk about it while we’re here, okay?”

“What have you done, Summer?” she asked, apprehension heavy in her voice.