Fugitive Hunt, page 16
“Hands on your head!” he shouted again. He didn’t trust Winston as far as he could throw him. If the convict refused to obey his commands, Colt would not hesitate to shoot him.
Morganne moaned, and his heart squeezed in his chest. Had she been hit? He didn’t know but refused to take his gaze off Winston.
A burly officer burst out of the trees, gaping in surprise at the scene. He drew his handcuffs and approached Winston.
Suddenly Winston reared up, hitting the officer with his fist. Colt was about to fire his weapon when the burly guy threw a quick punch, knocking Winston back to the ground. Then the cop continued with the process of cuffing his wrists behind his back.
Once Winston was secure, Colt rushed over to kneel beside Morganne. “Are you hit?”
She rolled onto her back, and he could see her throat was red from the tight grasp Winston had had around her neck. He felt along the edge of the body armor, then found the sticky wetness of blood.
She’d been shot!
“Officer down! I need an ambulance!” Colt’s voice sounded strained to his own ears. “Repeat, officer down!”
A skinny officer came over, playing the beam of his flashlight over Morganne. Colt realized the bullet had grazed her hip, just below the edge of the vest. Her clothing was torn and dark with blood.
“Morganne? Can you hear me?” He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life. Except maybe when he’d learned Abby had died in a carjacking. “Don’t try to talk. I know your throat is sore. Just nod if you can understand me.”
Her gaze latched onto his, and she deliberately nodded. She opened her mouth to speak but emitted only a horrible gurgling sound.
“You’re okay. I’m going to get you out of here.” Colt wasn’t sure which injury was worse, the bullet wound or the swelling in her throat. Suspecting the latter, he glanced up at the cop holding the flashlight. “Call that chopper. Have them find the closest spot to land. She needs to get to the closest trauma unit as soon as possible.”
The cop was wide-eyed but quickly relayed the information through his radio. Colt was hardly aware of other officers clustering around them until Slade rested a hand on his shoulder.
He glanced up at his buddy, knowing his desperation must be obvious. “She’s hurt—bullet graze and a bruised throat.”
“I know, but there’s enough of us to carry her out of here.” Slade gestured for the closest officers to gather around. “We’ve got this.”
“Okay, but I want at least two officers holding on to Winston at all times.” He needed to know the convict was going to spend the rest of his life behind bars.
“Done,” Slade agreed. “Come on, let us take care of her.”
Colt forced himself to step back, choosing to take Morganne’s head as five officers positioned themselves around her.
“On the count of three,” Slade said, looking at each of them. “One, two, three.”
In unison, they lifted Morganne up from the ground. The cop holding the flashlight walked ahead, and another officer flicked on his light as he followed behind.
The six of them had to move slowly. Carrying her was awkward as they navigated through the woods in the dark. But with Morganne’s weight evenly distributed between them, she was far lighter than the pack on his back. Colt was torn between watching where he was placing his feet and glancing down at Morganne to make sure she was still breathing as they headed down the steep hill.
Please, Lord, please let her live.
More cops turned on their flashlights, illuminating the area around them. Colt was touched by how they all banded together to help get Morganne the medical attention she needed.
When they reached the base of the mountain, he could see the red lights of the ambulance and the chopper sitting in the middle of the street. Two EMTs ran with a gurney between them. The six of them managed to set Morganne down on the gurney, but when the EMTs headed toward the ambulance, Colt stopped them.
“I want her taken in the chopper!” He had to shout to be heard above the rotary blades.
“Can’t,” the EMT shouted. “It’s not equipped for medical transport!”
It was something he hadn’t considered, so he reluctantly nodded and ran alongside as they took Morganne to the ambulance. They opened the back doors and collapsed the gurney to slide her inside.
Without asking permission, he jumped in after her. The EMTs looked as if they wanted to argue, but he simply flashed his badge and took a seat where he was able to hold Morganne’s hand. “Hurry up! Let’s go!”
One EMT ran around to get into the driver’s seat while the second one began examining Morganne’s injuries. Colt gave her the privacy she needed but held on to her hand as the ambulance sped away down the street, lights and sirens on full blast.
Despite his desire to head to the closest level-one trauma center, Colt noticed they were on their way to the only hospital in Jackson. From there, the doc would no doubt decide if her condition warranted a transfer.
Feeling helpless, Colt bowed his head, closed his eyes and prayed.
SIXTEEN
Morganne clung to Colt’s hand, struggling to contain her panic at not being able to breathe normally. It was as if she was breathing through a really narrow straw—air went in and out but only a very little bit at a time. And her throat felt like it was on fire, which didn’t help.
The pain in her side was easy to ignore. It took every ounce of concentration to focus on breathing in an abnormally slow pattern.
Only the knowledge that Blaine had been caught and arrested prevented her from losing complete control. She railed at herself for failing to hear him until it was too late, but she was alive.
And determined to stay that way.
“I have an ice pack for your throat.” The EMT gently pressed a cold pack around her neck. At first she felt as if her breathing was worse, that even the small amount of weight of the ice pack was too much to handle.
Colt’s hand tightened around hers, as if he sensed her distress. She wanted to reach up and pull the pack off, but there was an IV in one arm, and she felt as if letting go of Colt would send her tumbling into a black abyss.
With incremental slowness, the feeling of being strangled eased. The ambulance slowed and turned a corner. Morganne figured they’d reached the hospital.
The EMT latched the straps over her body. She didn’t like the feeling of being tied down, even though she understood it was for her own safety. Thankfully, Colt continued to hold her hand until they pulled her from the ambulance.
“I’ll be here with you, Morganne,” Colt said as she was wheeled in through the double doors.
She couldn’t answer—talking was impossible—but she attempted to meet his gaze. Unfortunately, she was moving too fast, her surroundings nothing more than a blur.
Her pulse spiked as medical personnel began to talk over her, shouting off vital signs and other information. She had to close her eyes to focus on breathing.
“She might need to be intubated,” one voice said. “Her throat is badly bruised.”
Being intubated didn’t sound like fun, and she tried not to lose control. She was thankful when another voice spoke up.
“Getting a tube past the swollen tissue will be difficult and could cause more trauma. Let’s try a dose of steroids first, see if we can’t reduce the swelling. If that doesn’t work, we’ll perform an emergency tracheotomy.”
Someone tugged on her IV, no doubt giving the medication. She continued to count her shallow breaths in her mind, imagining the straw lodged in her windpipe getting bigger and bigger as the tightness eased.
At some point, she realized her breathing was better. Not normal—her throat still felt like she’d swallowed dozens of tiny knives—but less constricted. The rest of her muscles relaxed as she realized everything would be fine.
Thank You, Lord!
Morganne knew she had Colt to thank for bringing her back to God. Her mother would be so happy to know she planned to return to church.
The events outside the mine exit replayed again in her mind—Blaine squeezing her throat so tightly she couldn’t breathe, dragging her toward the narrow opening, likely with the intent to kill her.
When the bright light had abruptly come on, blinding her, she’d thought she’d died. Until she’d heard Colt’s voice demanding Blaine drop his weapon. The moment Blaine loosened his hold, she’d fought with every ounce of strength she’d possessed, trying to buy enough time for Colt to get to Blaine.
And he had. She wasn’t sure how Colt had found her, but he’d saved her life.
“Officer Kimball? Can you hear me?”
She forced her eyelids open, squinting at the bright light above her. Carefully, she turned her still-painful neck to see the person leaning over her. Speaking was still incredibly difficult, so she tried to nod.
“I should have asked you to squeeze my hand,” the kind female voice said. “Don’t try to talk. Your breathing has stabilized, but your throat needs rest.”
Morganne squeezed the woman’s hand to indicate she understood. It suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea how to communicate without speaking. Fear spiked, but then the calm voice continued.
“We’ll get you a clipboard and paper soon so you can write notes, okay?”
She squeezed her hand in agreement. Writing notes was better than nothing.
“Here, you can have a few ice chips. They’ll help soothe your throat.”
Morganne opened her mouth for the spoon and immediately closed her eyes as the ice cooled the flames in her throat, at least for a moment.
“Better?” the kind voice asked.
Morganne squeezed her hand.
“Good. You can have a few more after we’ve cleaned and dressed your wound.” The woman hesitated, then added, “This may cause some discomfort.”
Morganne couldn’t imagine it would be worse than the hot needles in her throat and not being able to breathe, but of course she didn’t respond. This no-talking thing would take some getting used to.
And hopefully wouldn’t last very long.
After the medical team cleaned out her wound and dressed it, she was moved from one spot to a smaller, quieter room. Morganne had no idea if she was still in the emergency department or some other location in the hospital. She must have fallen asleep, because when she woke up, she saw Colt leaning over her bed, gazing down at her. She tried to smile.
“Hey, you’re doing great.” He lifted her hand and cradled it between his. “Don’t talk. You’re on strict voice rest for the rest of the night.”
She lifted her free hand and mimicked writing with a pen.
“Right here.” Colt released her hand to pick up a clipboard with a pencil attached. Then he lifted the head of her bed so she could see better.
Is Blaine in custody?
Colt nodded. “We got him, Morganne. And he’ll never be free again. As we brought him in, he was muttering about you, how much he wanted to kill you. I’m afraid the man was truly obsessed.”
That’s what she’d thought, especially after the little bit Blaine had told her, but it was nice to have confirmation. She picked up her clipboard again.
When do you leave?
He frowned. “I’m staying here in the hospital until you’re stable enough to be discharged. There is still a lot of work to be done, and we still have several crime scenes that need to be processed.”
She nodded, hoping her stark relief wasn’t too evident on her features. She knew full well their time together was coming to a close, but not yet.
And she hoped she’d be able to talk to Colt before he had to head off to his next assignment. The thought reminded her of the other marshals who’d come to help.
Slade and Tanner are okay, too?
“Yes, they’re both fine,” Colt assured her. “You’re the only one who was injured in this takedown, and that’s mostly my fault.”
She frowned. How on earth could it be Colt’s fault? She was the one who hadn’t heard Blaine come up behind her until it was too late. She picked up the clipboard and began to write, but Colt put a hand on her arm to stop her.
“My fault, because using the flash-bangs was my idea. One that backfired in a big way. Looking back, I can see we should have spent more time trying to find the mine exit, since you were right in thinking it was near the rock where we’d found the shell casing.”
His self-recriminating tone bothered her. Shaking off his hand, she continued writing.
I didn’t hear him come up behind me until it was too late. I should have been better prepared.
“No, it’s not your fault,” Colt insisted. “Besides, there’s nothing we can do to change the past, no matter how much I’d like to.” His expression turned grave and he bowed his head for a long moment before adding, “I’m just glad I was able to get to you in time. Those moments you were at Winston’s mercy were the most difficult thing I’ve endured.”
“Me, too.” The hoarse words slipped out before she could stop them. This whole not-talking thing was more difficult than she’d imagined.
“No talking,” he admonished, but the corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile. “I also prayed a lot and was rewarded when God guided us to safety tonight.”
She nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with his assessment. Her eyelids drooped as exhaustion pulled at her. Between the long day and her recent injuries, she suddenly couldn’t manage to keep her eyes open any longer.
“Sleep, Morganne.” Colt’s husky voice drifted toward her. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
She tried to nod, but her head felt too heavy. Her last conscious thought was that despite her best intentions, she’d somehow managed to fall in love with US Marshal Colt Nelson.
* * *
Colt gently took the clipboard and pencil from Morganne’s slack hands and set them on the bedside table. Then he pulled a chair as close to her bed as possible, wanting, needing to be within reach. The hospital room she’d been moved into an hour ago was small but private.
He watched her sleep, thanking God again for saving her life. Colt honestly wasn’t sure he’d have survived losing another woman he cared for, the way he’d lost Abby.
Abby.
Staring at Morganne, it was hard to remember what his high school sweetheart had looked like. Morganne’s beautiful face, her bright red hair, the stubborn thrust of her chin and her clear gray eyes had taken up residence in his mind.
In his heart.
He sucked in a harsh breath, trying not to panic. How had he allowed himself to get emotionally attached to Morganne?
No, this couldn’t happen. Colt would likely be leaving Jackson after the next few days. It wouldn’t be fair to start something with Morganne that he was unable to finish.
Although, hadn’t he already started something by kissing her? He winced as he realized if she wasn’t injured and lying in a hospital bed, he’d be tempted to kiss her again.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. When he glanced at the screen, he saw a text from Slade.
Need anything?
He thought of the nutrition bar they’d eaten hours ago. He was hungry, as usual, but he wasn’t going to keep his friends from their respective families any longer.
No thanks. Morganne is doing well.
Another text appeared on the screen.
Tanner and I will spend the night at our motel. Call if you need us. We’ll drop off the SUV at the hospital before we hit the road in the morning.
Okay, thanks. For everything.
Just glad we got the guy before he hurt anyone else.
Me, too.
Colt slipped his phone back into his pocket and settled back in the chair. He intended to be there in case Morganne woke up and needed something. Sure, there was a nurse assigned to care for her, but that didn’t matter.
He was determined to remain beside her, no matter what.
His phone vibrated again, and this time it wasn’t a number he was familiar with. The area code indicated the call was local, so he quickly stood and stepped out into the hallway to take the call.
“Marshal Nelson? This is Lieutenant Graves. I understand you’re at the hospital with my officer.”
“Yes, sir. Officer Kimball is doing well, although she still has a lot of swelling in her throat. The doctors want her on strict voice rest.”
“What about the gunshot wound?”
“Just a graze, thankfully. The only reason she’s being kept in the hospital is to monitor her breathing.” Colt had been told that Morganne had almost ended up with a breathing tube placed in a hole in her throat and on a ventilator in the ICU. He thanked God that she hadn’t required those medical interventions.
The lieutenant grunted. “Winston has been locked up in his own jail cell and is under constant twenty-four-hour surveillance. He’s rambling about hating his mother and Morganne in a very creepy way, as if they are one and the same person. I think he’s mentally unbalanced, but from what we can gather, he’s been obsessed with killing Kimball since his escape. We’ll hopefully learn more about how he managed that, yet I was told a couple of marshals are coming by first thing in the morning to transport him to a federal facility.”
Colt wasn’t surprised by the news. “We’ll continue to help process the crime scenes, but things should calm down from here on out. We’ll get all of our questions answered eventually.”
“Yeah, about time.” The lieutenant sighed. “Listen, when Officer Kimball wakes up, let her know I’ve placed her on medical leave for the next two weeks, longer if the doctor insists. She can come back sooner if she’s able, but after everything that’s happened, I figured she’d need some downtime.”
