Teri couldn’t figure out Doc Carson.
He fumbled and looked panicked like he didn’t know anything. Then he did the iodine by the book and knew the trick with pinching the brachial artery.
It was sweet the way he apologized to his girlfriend before he jabbed her with the needle. As if she wasn’t way past feeling it.
Teri cut down deep enough to find the bleeder in Jethro’s subclavian artery. A stapler and a little backup glue had it pasted back together. No time to deal with the little bleeders, she jammed in a surgical sponge and shifted to the next hole.
“Here.” She tossed him a fresh package of sponges. “If your girlfriend isn’t bleeding too much when you pull that strap, just shove this in.”
“Not my girlfriend. We’re fireteam leaders in the same squad is all.”
“Why not? She’s pretty.” She had the full chest and serious curves that Carsons never developed.
“Because she’s lethal as hell.”
Maybe he was right. Even passed out cold and pale from blood loss she looked extremely determined.
Though in all that dark hair, Smith had a single streak of blonde as light as Teri’s own hair. It softened her and added to her mystery.
“Get moving!” Teri said it as much for her own benefit as for Doc’s.
Again that strange hesitation before he swung into action.
Then, working quickly, he released the gear belt, sliced open her blouse—about two whole inches.
“All the way up. Get the fabric out of the way.”
“Damn good thing she’s not awake, she’d kill me,” he muttered as he continued the slice up to her collar and folded the shirt completely aside, fully exposing her sports bra.
More than necessary, but she didn’t care. Instead Teri watched long enough to see that blood flowed, but didn’t pump out. “Sprinkle in some antibiotic powder, and insert the sponge. Wrap her in gauze then get over here.”