Shielding Instinct, page 5
“If I’m able. I can give the emergency department staff the available information.”
The paramedic gathered his equipment and made his way to the door, where he called the plan down to his crew.
“Do you have a bag with you?” Hawkeye asked.
“Black backpack.” She pointed up.
“Is there anything in there that you need now?” He was careful to ask one direct and simple question at a time.
“No.”
“Halo will bring it to you later. Come and slide over into my seat.” Before he could stand up, Levi slipped out of his seat and toward the door.
Levi had been on a rescue in Namibia where he had to carry his fiancée down a hillside with a teammate in front ready to break a fall should Levi trip. Levi brought that experience back to the team, where they talked through the different issues, like the areas that had been too tight to get through with someone in his arms; what it felt like to race downward on uneven terrain without being able to see ground hazards.
So, they trained an exfil where the person was carried in the operator’s arms when it was counterproductive to do a fireman’s carry.
It was one of the ways that Team Charlie knew Petra’s friend Avery Goodyear.
Avery, a romance editor, was contracted with Iniquus so when a scenario was presented by an operator, she could think of dozens of ways that the scene could go wrong. “After all,” she’d said, “that’s what authors do all day long to make a living.”
The teams would then test their skill under the circumstances she imagined.
A medical event on a plane was one of those scenarios that Avery had listed.
Hawkeye was grateful that she’d imagined this one.
Hawkeye stood as Petra scooted over to him, then he stooped to scoop her into his arms. The passage being as small as it was, Levi reached under her knees while Hawkeye held her under the arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Levi backed up until they reached the door, where Levi helped shift Petra back into Hawkeye’s arms.
It was seamless, and Hawkeye hoped that they had kept Petra comfortable. She didn’t need a racing heart right now.
Slow and steady.
Calm and professional.
That’s how he’d work to keep her safe.
As she came into his arms, Petra turned to lean her head on his shoulder, clasping her hands behind his neck. And with Levi ahead of them, sliding his hands down the guardrail, ready to grip and block at any moment to prevent a fall, they made their way efficiently down to the ground and the gurney.
“You’ve got this,” Levi said, patting Petra’s shoulder, then he climbed the stairs again, getting out of the way.
With flashing lights and blaring sirens, the first responders roared down the street toward the emergency room.
But for Hawkeye, they couldn’t get there fast enough.
Chapter Seven
Petra
Petra felt ridiculous.
But there had to be something to this.
The response was the same with every person who looked at her face.
As soon as the paramedics wheeled her into the hospital, the nurse turned toward Petra. Without a single word of information from the ambulance crew, the nurse grabbed the phone to send out the code. “Stroke protocol. Stroke protocol.”
Hands helped Petra shift from the gurney to a rolling bed, and that bed speeded down the hall and parked right in the middle of the corridor. “This is where we assess stroke patients. We don’t want to waste time angling you out of a room. When we have to go, we have to go. We’re clearing the imaging room now.”
“What does that mean? Someone was in there, and you’re pulling them out?” Petra was horrified that she was displacing another person in need of help.
“Stroke patients take priority,” came the response. In her distress, Petra wasn’t seeing or remembering faces, just one blue-scrubs-wearing person after another, each efficiently doing the next thing on a list of critical things that needed to be done.
Hawkeye never let go of her hand.
This was real. This was happening. And how strange that she should feel fine, but that her life could change radically. Stroke could lead to all kinds of bad outcomes.
Brain damage. Paralysis. Death.
She could die.
How strange.
It all just felt so normal. And yet, Petra could be dying.
Hawkeye was talking, and Petra forced her attention toward him so she could hear and understand his words. “She was fine when she put on her mask to go to sleep. She slept the whole way here. It could be as much as six hours since a possible event occurred.”
“Could you be pregnant?” the doctor asked.
“Not possible,” Petra said.
“Any medical conditions I need to know about? Prescription drugs that you use on a regular basis?” The doctor read from her tablet.
“I don’t have a chronic condition, no,” Petra said.
“She’s had a TBI,” Hawkeye added.
That’s right, she’d told Hawkeye in passing when they were talking about unhoused people. TBI and neurodivergence, a double whammy. “Blast concussion and shrapnel in my abdomen,” Petra clarified. “That was in Afghanistan a decade ago. Oh, and I was exposed to burn pits while I was over there. I don’t know if that could be at play here. But that’s all historic. Presently, I’m healthy.”
No, that couldn’t be right. Presently, she couldn’t be healthy. Presently, she was on a hospital bed in the middle of a corridor so the nurses could race her to lifesaving care, slicing off every extra second so that she wouldn’t die.
Petra focused on how the doctor received her information. Petra had been a watcher of faces, a studier of nuanced expressions all her life. It was a trait shared by many neurodiverse people as they tried to figure out how to fit in. At this moment, the doctor’s face lost its elasticity. It didn’t change expressions, but the muscles under her skin became rigid, and Petra knew that the woman’s sense of danger had increased. Her body was preparing her for emergency action.
Action to help me, Petra Armstrong.
Wasn’t that surreal?
She didn’t feel strange. She felt so normal for all this to be happening. Was this the effect of adrenaline? Yeah, that could be what was going on, adrenaline masking.
The attendant had Petra go through the same tests Hawkeye had—face and grip were tested for asymmetry.
Petra asked when that all checked out, “Well, that’s a good sign, right?”
The doctor answered with, “This is your husband?”
“Fiancé.” Petra reached for his hand again. “He can stay with me if he’s my fiancé, right?”
Hawkeye had fixed his gaze on her, staring right into her wonky, crazy eyes, and said, “I’m not leaving you, sweetheart.”
The nurse paused while she watched her machine readouts. “It would be good if he stays and holds your hand.”
“Yes, please.” Petra turned to Hawkeye. “Is that possible?”
The nurse tapped the machine. “Whenever he lets go of you, your heart rate spikes.”
Petra looked up to catch Hawkeye’s gaze. “Please don’t let go,” she whispered.
“I won’t. I would never. I’ll hold on to you as long as you want me to.”
Did Petra just make that up? It sounded so sincere, and there was nothing sarcastic about the way he looked at her. Maybe he was play-acting for the medical staff?
In her mind, this seemed like some kind of crazy twist in a rom-com.
No, the hunky hero’s hand didn’t change her blood pressure, her heart rate—whatever.
This was a dream.
And if it was a dream, it was a stupid dream to have.
After the nurse left, Hawkeye twisted around and planted his thigh on the bed so she didn’t have to strain to see him. “Fiancé?” he asked.
“I just met you a couple hours ago. I thought rushing to the altar and calling you my husband was a little too…” She shifted her head back and forth. “Anyway, if you were my husband, you’d have my insurance information. You’d also be my next of kin to pull the plugs if this stroke thing gets out of hand.”
That unsettled him. Angst clouded his gaze. But he seemed to wrestle it down. “I’d never pull the plug on a woman I just met. Besides, Cooper is too enamored of you, and I’m just not up to that conversation with him. But yes, the husband thing would be hard to pull off without rings. Even as your fiancé, they might think it’s odd that I don’t know your last name.”
“Armstong. No ring. You’re not married?”
“I’m not involved with anyone right now. I’m Hawkeye Kesse.”
“Kesse. Like kiss.”
He raised a brow.
“I’m feeling a bit vulnerable, Hawkeye Kesse, and it’s awkward to depend on the kindness of strangers.” She gave him a weak smile. “You can go if you want. You’ve already done so much for me. It was nice of you to do all the things you have. And, of course, it was also nice that you didn’t get scared off by my possibilities.”
He lifted a single brow. “Possibilities?”
“I could be an alien.” She flicked a finger toward her left eye. “My mask might be slipping.”
“Some kind of lizard person with fixed and dilated pupils?”
“Exactly. But you should know, we don’t use them for seeing – not like you humans do. I can absorb particles and analyze them in real-time.”
He squinted. “Particles of what exactly?”
“Words, emotions, sensations, tastes.”
“Tastes?” A reluctant smile slid across his face.
“Yes. You, for example, taste like black coffee and an airplane cookie.”
He grinned.
Two nurses hustled around the corner.
Hawkeye jumped to his feet.
One nurse kicked the brakes off her bed while the other swung around behind Petra’s head. “We’ve cleared the imaging room. Sir, if you could wait in the waiting area, no one except for the patient is allowed in that room.”
“Okay.” Hawkeye kept pace as the women took off at a fast clip, propelling Petra down the corridor. “I’m only going as far as the waiting room. I won’t leave you. You’ve got this.” He leaned down, kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand, and was gone.
Petra lay on a bed speeding down the corridor on the way to find out whether she
Might. Just. Die.
Chapter Eight
Petra
“You look loopy.”
She blinked at the man standing there, looming over everything. Broad shoulders, slender hips, and legs that went on and on. Basketball player, probably.
“How are you feeling right now?”
She blinked again, focusing on his face. Nice nose on the smallish side with a little bump in the middle—it might have been broken at some point. Solid jaw. Rugged. Obviously, someone who was outside a lot. He had laugh lines, and she liked that about his face most of all.
All in all, a good-looking man.
“Petra?” He touched his chest. “It’s Hawkeye. Do you recognize me?”
Petra stilled. Did she know him? Yes, of course. “Yes. I’m… They gave me…” Petra looked around at the nurse, doing something off to the side.
“We administered a sedative. Miss Armstrong was having difficulty being still in the machine.”
“She’s neurodivergent. That makes sense,” Hawkeye said matter-of-factly. And Petra was grateful. He was right. It did make sense.
The nurse handed him a baggie, sent him a professional smile, and left.
Hawkeye snagged the leg of the visitor’s chair and dragged it over, sitting so Petra could see his face without straining.
Petra reflexively reached for his hand. “The sounds from the machine were very electric. While I laid on my back with instructions not to move, it was like nails on a chalkboard and more than my nerves could handle.”
He put the baggie beside him and wrapped her hand in both of his. He was an anchor.
“They gave me a helper drug. They told me the name, but I can’t remember it.” Was that English? Did those words make sense?
“I’m glad you got some relief from the stress. Do you remember talking to the doctor?”
“Me?” Petra didn’t feel drunk or high. But she didn’t feel normal either. Relaxed.
“You spoke with the doctor. Do you remember the conversation?”
“In the hall when they said you should hold my hand?” The more she moved her mouth, the more limber her thoughts became. She was feeling a bit more in her body, a bit more like herself.
“A minute ago, here in this room.” Hawkeye shuffled to the edge of his seat and leaned closer.
“No,” Petra said. “I don’t remember that.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you what she said. Ready?” He lifted his brows and waited.
“I don’t know.” Petra felt very small. Very fragile. Had she had a stroke? She took a moment and wiggled her fingers and toes. She bent and kicked her legs and jiggled her arms.
She wasn’t paralyzed.
“I’m not going to tell you anything bad right now.” Hawkeye’s voice was rumbly and deep. It brought to mind Tibetan singing bowls and how Petra liked the big ones that shook the marrow of her bones like his voice did.
Petra pressed her lips together and nodded, working very hard to stay focused on Hawkeye’s words.
“Your brain looks fine. They’ve ruled out a stroke.”
“No stroke.” She mouthed the words because her voice couldn’t wrap around the syllables to give them volume.
“No stroke.” He smiled with his eyes—warm and maybe a little charmed.
Was that possible? Could he be charmed by her confusion?
She wiggled her hand by her eye.
“All the concerns are not off the table,” he said. “They don’t have an explanation for your pupil, which looks the same as it did on the plane.” He held up the plastic bag with what looked like prescription eye drops. “I have this. You’re supposed to take it with you tomorrow morning when you have an appointment with the eye doctor to see if he can come up with a diagnosis.”
“So, we leave the hospital?” Did they do that? Did they let people with wonky eyes go off to fend for themselves?
“I’m wondering about phone calls.” Hawkeye’s words were spoken clearly, slowly. Petra had time to put them together in a sentence and find meaning.
“To next of kin?” She tried for sarcasm to lighten the mood. But the look on his face made her immediately regret saying that. “I’m sorry you’re being kind, and I’m being—”
“Scared. It’s understandable. I was wondering if you had plans to meet someone on the island and if I should reach out to them on your behalf, so they don’t worry. Boyfriend?”
“I’m not in a relationship. I was coming with a friend, but she got too sick to fly. Speaking of friends, we have people in common.”
“Yeah?” His thumb painted soothingly over her hand.
“Rowan Kennedy and Avery Goodyear-Kennedy.”
“Right,” Hawkeye said. “How did you make that connection?”
“I’m good friends with Avery, and I wanted the scuttlebutt on your team since you were going to be on my flight. And she said she knew you.”
Hawkeye nodded. “Do you remember when you talked to her?”
“At the airport, I sent her a picture of you guys standing outside with your K9s. And she gave me names and basics.”
“Girl talk.”
“Yeah, well, we’re both women, but I guess. Because of your caps, she couldn’t tell who was who. But she did recognize Max and Cooper.” She paused. “Have we already had this conversation?”
“We did.” A smile wiggled the corners of his mouth. “You’re loopy from the meds they gave you. I was asking if you know anyone here. There’s an open question about your health status.”
“Not stroke, thank goodness.”
“And I’m concerned about you sleeping alone.”
“Seriously? That’s your play? I have an alien baby pupil without a diagnosis, and you want to have a sleepover?”
Confusion crossed his face but ended in a smile. “Petra, you’re a friend of a friend. This isn’t a play for you in any way, shape, or form.”
Well, that was embarrassing.
And disappointing.
Hawkeye was acting in service of a friend of a friend.
A girl can fantasize after the fact. That was an odd thought for her, and Petra wondered where it had come from when she remembered Tamika had suggested that morning—a lifetime ago when Petra knew her day was destined for the crapper—that Petra could turn it around by finding a warm body to make her feel good about life.
This wasn’t a rom-com after all.
But at least as the friend of a friend—a degree of distance even farther than being relegated to the friendship corner—Petra could be grateful she wasn’t navigating this shit show alone.
“You sound drunk, and Rowan would be pissed if I left you vulnerable so far from home.” Hawkeye’s tone was light and reasonable.
“You’re right. If something bad were to happen—worse —he’d expect you to,” she held up her hand and made an expansive gesture, “see it through in some way.”
“Do you remember where you’re staying?”
“Blue Fin Hotel.”
The nurse arrived with a wheelchair.
Petra moved from bed to chair in silence.
They were quiet as the nurse pushed Petra out the main hospital door and then waited while Hawkeye got Petra up into the front seat of what smelled like a rental.
They must have told him to bring the car around, or why would his car be parked here by the door? Had he told her about this?
Okay, still loopy.
He circled the front of the car and climbed in, adjusting the seat back as far as it would go and fixing the mirrors.
After pulling on his belt and checking that hers was securely clasped, Hawkeye set his phone in the cupholder and focused on the blue directional line.
