Wolfsbane (49 page)

“Well, you’ve done a brilliant job.”

Schink. Click. Thud
.

They both glanced to the side as Dr. Calla and Tala emerged. He must’ve tensed or something because Willow noticed. Her gaze bounced to his. She went rigid. Her eyes wide. He heard the quick intake of breath as her mouth dropped open. Her gaze went to the toothbrush.

In the seconds it took for her to blink and look back to the girl, a woman and a man with a shoulder-mounted camera stepped out of the fire escape well. Reporters. Unbelievable! How did they know?

“Hey!” He pointed to them. “Out!”

Light burst from the camera as the guy honed in on Matt and subsequently Willow. The woman, dressed in a silk blouse, fitted blazer, and shorts, spoke. “Major Rubart, there are reports— Connor, there!” She pointed to Dr. Calla.

Matt leapt between the camera and the hall where Calla and Tala vanished into a room. “Leave now or I’ll have you arrested.” He motioned Willow toward him. She came willingly, her blank expression evident that she was still in shock over the thoughts taking shape in her quick mind.

Undaunted, the reporter pointed the fat mic toward Willow. “What is your name?”

“Wil—”

“No! Enough. Out of here or I’ll have you arrested.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

And in that split second, Willow gasped and met his gaze. “Paternity test.”

CHAPTER 33

H
e’d seen that look before, but Canyon was not in the mood to placate Max Jacobs. Not this time. Not with Roark’s life hanging in the balance. So he paced. Up the hall that reeked of antiseptic cleaners, bandages, and—God, forgive him—death. Past the thrumming vending machines. Past the rest of the team, crashed on the floor of the family waiting area.

It’s my fault
.

If he’d had his head in the game, if he’d not been weak and stupid, she never would’ve ended up back in Bruzon’s hands. Nearly three weeks in his hands!

Down the hall. Past the snores sailing from the team. Past the vending machines. Back to the two plastic chairs sitting beside the doors. The chairs that the nurses, smiling and flirting with him and Max, had delivered.

“It’s killing me.”

“Good.”

Canyon turned, not realizing he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. “Good?”

Max pushed upright, then slumped against the orange chair. “Ready to talk?”

Pivoting, Canyon trekked back up the hall. Vending machines. Family waiting area.

Down the hall.

Thwap!

He stopped and looked up—his heart speedballing into his throat. Dressed head to toe in green scrubs, the man removed a face mask. Was that one of the doctors?

“Are you gentlemen waiting on word about the young woman?”

Canyon rushed forward, thumbing the weapon holstered at his leg. “How is she?”

“Are you the medic who came in with her?”

Though he nodded, Canyon cringed at the look in the doc’s eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Dr. Calvert.” Wizened eyes considered him as he offered a hand, which Canyon shook. “Good work out there in the field. You probably saved her life.”

Dare he hope? Canyon leaned forward. “Then … then she’s okay?”

“Have a seat,” he said as he propped himself against the wall across from the chairs. “‘Okay’ is relative.” Dr. Calvert slid the paper cap off his head and stifled a yawn. “She’s stabilized, breathing on her own. We’ll get her back to the States. There, they’ll run some tests.”

Canyon scooted to the edge of his seat. “What kind of tests?”

“There are some abnormalities we can’t account for, like her blood pressure keeps dropping. Then there’s the injury to her neck.” Dr. Calvert pressed the back of his hand over his mouth as he yawned. “Sorry. Anyway, there’s too much swelling right now to know what sort of damage she received. We’ve sedated her for the flight back, but there, they’ll do an X-ray and an MRI to determine if she has a spinal injury, cracked vertebrae, or whatever.”

As a nurse emerged from the operating room, Dr. Calvert pushed off the wall. He accepted a chart from her, read something, then scribbled on the paper.

“They’re prepping her for transport now,” the nurse said.

“Thank you.” Calvert looked to Canyon. “I’ll need your combat-casualty card before you leave.”

The report on what he’d done to save Roark’s life. “Of course.” He nodded toward the room. “She’s going now?”

“An order faxed in seconds ago for her to be shipped stateside
stat
.” Calvert glanced at the paper. “Signed off by a General Lambert.”

Canyon nodded toward the doors. “Can I see her?”

“Give us about ten minutes.”

Canyon hung his head. Raked both hands over his short crop. Relief and exhaustion pulled at him. She would make it. She’d fought her way through the surgery and come out alive.

From the family waiting room, Legend rounded the corner, rubbing his face as he lumbered toward them. “We’re outta here in fifteen.” He held up a phone.

Orders from Lambert, no doubt.

“That leaves you five minutes.” Max slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Make ’em count.”

When they allowed him into the room eight minutes later, Canyon had the jitters. He’d seen a lot of trauma in combat. But he’d never seen the woman he loved lying on a table.

Loved? His heart rapid-fired as he moved around the table. Covered in thermal blankets, chocolate brown hair spilled around her round face in a halo, Roark looked peaceful. As if she were sleeping. A cannula taped to her face provided oxygen as she remained unconscious. Beeping and blips pervaded the sterility, plucking his nerves.

Alongside the gurney, he stared down at the most amazing woman he’d ever known. “Hey …” Canyon swept a hand along her face. “Glad you decided not to chicken out.”

A tightness began in his chest and constricted as he stood there.

“Excuse me.” The feminine voice drew him around. He found three medical personnel behind him. “We need to move her, but Dr. Calvert said you were the medic.”

Canyon nodded.

She handed him the chart. “We’re running behind. Would you mind filling in the information from the combat-casualty card?”

“Sure.” Canyon took the file as the two men unlocked the wheels of the gurney and wheeled Roark from the room.

Canyon pulled the paper he’d filled out during the two-hour wait in the hall and recorded the information on the sheet. Penning his name and SSN would tag him to the mission. That was a no-go. He’d have to skip it.

As he stood there, his gaze tracked over the charts. The hastily scribbled drugs. The reports from the hospital labs. Everything normal. But somehow, reading the information and results gave him a strange peace. Helped him cope. Helped him see the tangible results of his efforts in the field.

He flipped another page.

Air trapped in his lungs. Cold washed over him as his gaze stumbled over the words.

What the …?

He read it again.

So he
had
been too late.

Canyon swallowed hard. Slapped the file closed. Threw it on the table. And stalked out of the room.

CHAPTER 34

B
reaking news to a soldier or family member was never easy. But today, considering his connection to the Metcalfe family, Matt Rubart stood poised to deliver a revelation that could so affect Canyon’s life that the trickle-down would impact Matt’s as well. That wasn’t his gauge, but it certainly played into his planning and perfecting the scenario in which he now stood. If only he could tell Canyon that they’d cleared his name regarding Tres Kruces, give him a free pass out of this inferno that had engulfed his life. But he couldn’t. And that ate at him.

Carrie came toward him, holding Tala in her arms. “We had a good night’s sleep.” She smoothed the little girl’s long black hair.

He heard the hidden message: Tala’s young mind was adjusting quickly to the loss of her grandmother.

Hollow and loud, a thunk at the other end of the long hallway caught Matt’s attention. General Lambert strode down the hall with a woman in a conservative blue dress and heels. Matt waited in the welcome area of the now-empty family center. Carrie set the girl down, and from a bag on her shoulder she pulled several toys, a drink cup, and a snack.

He hoped the tide turned in Canyon’s life. But would today’s interview and news end it? Or make it worse?

In uniform, Matt snapped a salute.

The general responded. “Good afternoon, Major Rubart. This is a colleague of mine, Dr. Avery, the psychiatrist I told you about.”

Matt shook the woman’s hand. “Dr. Avery. Thank you for coming.”

“So.” General Lambert pointed to Tala. “This is the little girl?”

“Yes, sir. She has been staying with Major Hartwicke and her family.”

Dr. Avery joined Carrie and the girl, talking quietly.

Angling his shoulder so the ladies couldn’t hear, Matt leaned into the general. “I know you’re disappointed that I can’t clear Canyon—”

“Easy there, son.” Lambert patted his shoulder. “All things in their time. I trust you’ll find what we need.”

“I do believe we have enough to, at the least, lessen the charges—”

“No.” Lambert’s normally tender eyes flamed. “If you cannot clear him, leave it alone.”

“But the news—”

“It’ll go away.” Hand still on Matt’s shoulder, his gaze on the little girl. “It’s not just about him anymore. If we complicate things, if the surface is disturbed and we can’t absolutely eradicate this, then he could lose everything.” He nodded toward the girl. “Am I clear, Major?”

“But, sir, he’s not guilty.”

“I know that. You know that. And so does someone else.”

“You want me to—”

“Digging a grave doesn’t require a mouth.”

In other words, keep digging but keep your mouth shut. Their attention drifted to Tala as they waited in the stark-quiet of the building. Finally Matt shifted and glanced toward the entrance. “Will he come?”

Lambert nodded, watching the ladies.

“I’m worried about his reaction.”

A laugh. “Rest assured, this won’t be pretty. As far as Canyon knows, everyone died.”

The hard-core facts hit Matt. He had to keep that in focus. Remember what Canyon would be thinking. What the guy must’ve felt, thinking everyone died.

Dark and in shadow, a form lumbered along the hall. Canyon stepped into the light. Dressed in slacks and a shirt, he strode toward them, purposefully. His gaze hit Matt’s. Then the general’s.

Face hard, Canyon stopped in the middle of the open corridor, shook his head. “No.” He turned. “This isn’t happening.”

“I assure you, Mr. Metcalfe,” the general said, “you will want to hear what the major has to say.”

Wariness crowded his taut expression. Stiff and clearly furious, Canyon slowly joined them. “I have nothing to say, Major Rubart.”

“That’s okay.” Matt extended his hand. “Thank you for coming. Have a seat.”

Canyon glared, ignored the hand, and remained on his feet. He glanced at the girl, frowned, then pushed his attention back to the table
where a laptop sat.

Matt sat on the sofa in the seating group and perched himself on the edge of the leather cushion. “As you are aware—”

“Is it your fault?” Hatred cut through the cool air like a scythe. “Are you the reason the media’s climbing down my throat again?”

“Canyon—”

“No.” His jaw muscle popped. “I did what I was told to do. I kept my mouth shut. Now, it’s all over the news again. Whose fault is that?”

Talking,
trying
to talk him down would do no good, and Matt understood why Canyon was keyed up. He would be, too. Without a word, Matt turned the laptop toward Canyon, reached over the raised screen, and hit the touch pad.

Lip curled, Canyon said, “What is this?”

Matt folded his hands and glanced at Lambert.

The video started, silencing the room.

Canyon blinked and froze. His lips parted and his shoulders pulled forward as Corazine Mercado’s voice broke the tension. Angling to the side, he dropped into a chair, riveted to the screen. “When was this?”