Three years earlier – Middle East
“Clear!” Kathryn barked, and all hands ripped away from the soldier’s battered body.
The defibrillator paddles sent an electrical charge that contorted his back to an arch. A second later, his body crashed back on the gurney, the electric zap having run through the lifeless man.
One thousand volts.
The dial had been turned up for each of the three attempts. That meant it was maxed out, and by standard operating procedures, they were done. Not much more to do but call the time of death.
Not this time.
This would be her fifth loss in a row as an Army trauma nurse.
From the barely climate-controlled tent in the heart of the Middle East, Captain Kathryn Chase wasn’t headed for a breakdown. She’d snapped about thirty seconds ago, and protocol was about to be her bitch.
I’m not a fucking robot.
The colonel peeled off his surgical gloves, reciting as the attending physician what would be the final record for the recently departed. “Sergeant First Class Russo. Time of death—”
“No!” Kathryn shouted.
What could she do?
The defibrillator was out. Areas without bullet holes now had fresh paddle burns from the series of jolts.
Instinctively, she locked her arms and pressed the heel of her hand over and over into his chest. For a nurse determined not to give up, cardiopulmonary resuscitation, or CPR, was her last option.
A technician gingerly touched her arm, urging her to stop. But Kathryn shoved the corporal back hard enough to knock over several rolling trays of mobile equipment. She hadn’t meant to, but she was . . .
Focused.
Determined.
Obsessed.
Under her breath, she huffed, “One, two, three, four, five,” counting the compressions as she looped the phrase over and over again.
The colonel took a different approach, persuading her with a stern command. “Captain Chase.”
I can’t stop. I won’t.
Reaching across the patient’s body, the colonel grabbed her arms, halting her compressions. “Kathryn,” he said, his voice solemn and coaxing. “It’s time.”
Unable to control herself, she sobbed, choking in an attempt to hold it back. Defeated, she shut her eyes, her exhausted body collapsing on the patient as her flood of tears coated his skin.
As she bawled uncontrollably, something she’d never done in public in her professional career, everything slowed. She heard every sound. The whispers of the staff working around her. The mechanical blips of the medical machinery. The swishing of a hand gently rubbing her back. Her own voice uncontrollably heaving no.
Then there was another noise, one that made her pause her crying for a second. She froze, focusing all her attention on the one thing that mattered. Listening.
Again, she heard it, although it was faint.
Was that . . . a breath?
Jumping back, she stared at the lifeless man. Her hand flew to his face, prying open one eyelid, then the other. His pupils tightened in weak dilation. She pried the ear tubes of the stethoscope wide from her neck and secured the eartips firmly in place. Holding her breath, she held the cold chestpiece to his heart as she strained to listen.
“I’ve got a heartbeat!” she shouted.
The staff scurried to check his vitals, repeating her steps. Disbelieving or not, the medical team moved with urgency. Every second counted.
The colonel ordered, “Oxygen. Now.”
The team gathered around the body again, working in tandem. A tug-of-war to yank him back from death’s cruel grip.
* * *
The air-conditioning of the colonel’s private tent should have been a welcome relief after the day she’d had, considering it was Kathryn’s fourth sixteen-hour shift in a row. Instead, she seethed with irritation, fixated on the difference between this cushy space and their battle-ready operating room. Exhausted and wallowing in her own dried sweat, she resisted the urge to brush at the sand and dust stubbornly sticking to the uncovered areas of her skin.
The colonel studied her before speaking. “You did good today.” Nice words from her commanding officer, Dr. Carter Reeves.
She nodded, hoping the fuck you shooting from her eyes was received loud and clear as she sneered at him. “But?”
“But I’ve requested a replacement. You’re going home.” After a minute, he added, “No amount of wishing I would fuck off is going to change that.”
Oh, good. He got the memo.
Too pissed off to waste time arguing, she pulled in a deep breath. “When?”
He cleared his throat. “Sooner than I thought. There was already someone inbound with experience. He was en route to another assignment, but I managed to have him reassigned here.”
“How convenient. So, tomorrow?”
“The day after,” Carter said with a shrug. When she gave him a cutting glare, slicing a hole right through their wall of rank, he lost his temper. “Dammit, Kathryn. Give me a break. You lost it today.”
Unable to control herself, she shouted, “Goddammit, Carter! I saved a life that everyone, including you, gave up on.”
His volume matched hers as his palms hit his desk. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re raring to go for another day of losing one life after another.”
Defeated, she swallowed her tears and dropped her heated gaze to her dusty combat boots.
“You can’t keep this up,” he said, softening his tone. “After my first tour, I’d had it, swore I’d never return. I had to come to grips with my own humanity. We all have our limits, and I can see in every torn-up piece of you that you’ve reached it and then some. Hate me all you want, but I’ve got to get you out of here . . . before you’re shattered beyond repair.”
He stepped closer. “Just because we’re no longer married doesn’t mean I stop caring about you, Kat.”
“I hate it when you call me that.” Annoyed, she stood, turning to head out.
“Hang on.” He snatched a business card from his desk and handed it to her. “Look, we’re all entitled to a break, and I know you’re close to a decision on re-upping your Reserve status.”
“Hey! Kicking me out of your unit is one thing, but if you even so much as think about screwing with my career—”
He grabbed her hand. “You know I’d never do that. I’m just saying . . .” He placed the card in her palm. “Explore your options.”
Kathryn took the small piece of cardstock, curious as she read the print.
WOLFF INVESTIGATIONS
Z. Wolff – Senior Partner
The toll-free phone number and Denver address were embossed in raised ink. Unconsciously stroking a finger over the letters, she asked, “What the hell is this?”
“An opportunity. Zach’s an old friend. He founded a company that looks into insurance fraud, and he asked me if I knew anyone with medical expertise I could recommend. He needs someone tough. Someone who won’t give up until they get to the truth. And he’s willing to wait for the right person, so you can think about it. You don’t have to make a decision, but at least talk to the man. You need a break, Kat—” He stopped short, correcting himself. “Kathryn.” His tone softened again. “Before you break.”
She crushed the card to a wad in her fist and stormed out of Carter’s tent. As she stomped across the compound, a few stubborn tears pushed from her eyes. “Goddammit.”
Furious, she tossed the crumpled card to the ground. Then stopped. Whirling around, she bent over to retrieve it, and stuffed it deep inside her pocket, eager to shove down the inevitable.
Hugging herself tightly, Kathryn struggled to breathe. Everything was spinning out of control. Desperately, she looked up at the star-filled sky, oddly calmed by the strange evening serenity often lacking in the war-torn country.
Tormented, she sighed into the dry desert air, bracing herself for a gut-wrenching change.