| |
VOL. 3
By
Christina Ross
––––––––
CHAPTER ONE
––––––––
Somewhere over the Marshall Islands
May
THE LIGHT DIDN’T COME for me as it had before. Instead, as I fell into Alex’s arms, darkness claimed me, my body gave itself over to an odd kind of stasis, and the edges of everything I knew spun out into the universe in a wicked, whirling blur.
Between each stretch of silence came the occasional ebb and flow of voices, the rise and fall of chaos, the piercing shrill of sirens, and the sense that a great unrest had been awoken.
And then there was nothing but the silence again.
Time was lost to me. Time didn’t exist. Did I exist? I wasn’t sure. It was as if I was hovering just along the periphery of a doorway, listening for something I couldn’t quite hear while waiting, questioning what would come next.
* * *
WHEN THE LIGHT DID come, it was sunlight, and I woke to the roaring, unmistakable chopping sounds of a helicopter. I parted my eyes, and the first person I saw was Alex, who looked at me with a crashing sense of relief before he turned around and said to somebody I couldn’t see, “She’s awake!”
I was lying on a narrow bed of some sort, and when Alex looked down at me again, he took my hand in his and lifted it to his lips. As he kissed the back of it, his eyes filled with tears.
“You’re awake,” he said. “Thank God, you're awake.”
My head was so thick, I felt as if I’d been drugged. I just blinked at him.
“You’re in a rescue helicopter,” he said as a man in an orange jumpsuit came up beside me with a stethoscope around his neck. “You were shot in your left shoulder. You lost a significant amount of blood, but you’re going to be fine, Jennifer. They’re giving you blood now, and pain medication to keep you comfortable. The best hospital that’s nearby is in Singapore. We’re flying there now. The bullet shot clean through you. It broke no bones, but you still need to be assessed and treated.”
“The baby,” I said.
When I said those words, Alex tried to conceal the concern that flashed across his face, but even through the haze of whatever drugs they’d given me, I could tell that it was a struggle for him to answer the question—and my heart went out to him. He wanted this child as much as I did.
“We won’t know until we get to Singapore,” he said.
I shook my head at him. “I can’t believe we’re actually going to Singapore, and not back home. How long?”
“Another four hours. We’ve been en route since mid-afternoon. We’ve already refueled in Manila—now it’s on to Gleneagles Hospital. We’ve reserved the best suite. It has a private room for you, a bedroom for me that’s just off your room, and a conference room that I can use to connect with Wenn via video conference.”
I felt myself gradually becoming more alert.
“How long have I been out?” I asked.
“At this point? A good ten hours.”
I furrowed my brow at him. “How could I have been out so long?”
“The blood,” Alex said. “There was a lot of it.”
“Tell me that bastard is dead.”
“He’s dead. Tank shot him.”
“Where is everyone else?”
“Barbara and Tank are with us. Lisa and the girls are on another helicopter flying just behind us.”
The absence of another name was not lost on me. “What about Cutter?”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
“How complicated?”
“He fell into a coma, but he’s on the helicopter with the others and he’s getting a massive dose of intravenous antibiotics, as well as fluids. They're trying to bring his temperature down.”
“So, he’ll live?”
“We have to believe that he will.”
“Are you saying that he won’t?”
“I’m saying that we need to pray for him.”
“What about Catherine?” I asked. “And the other people who wanted off the island?”
“Authorities are looking into their situation now. My understanding is that all of them will be sent back to the States. But that’s all I know. Right now, my only concern is for you and Cutter.”
“And Wenn?” I said. “Have you heard anything?”
“Not yet. I’ve been at your side since you were first shot.” He looked up at the thirty-something man in the orange jumpsuit, who appeared to be reading my vital signs on the monitors at my left. “This is Dr. Cross. He saved you.”
“How are you feeling, Jennifer?” the man asked.
“Groggy, but I’m not in pain. Thank you for everything that you’ve done for me.”
“It wasn’t just me,” he said. “Tank is the real hero here. If he hadn’t used his shirt as a tourniquet on your shoulder, this could have turned out much worse.”
“He’s used that shirt before,” I said. “He used it to save my husband’s life after we crashed.”
“He knew what he was doing, but a former SEAL would.”
“Can I see him? And Barbara?”
“You should rest.”
“Just for a few minutes. Please. I’d love to see my friends. Then I’ll sleep.”
He looked at me for a moment. Then, he appeared to make a decision and nodded. “All right—but only for a few minutes. Then you need to sleep. Who would you like to see first?”
“Is that even a question?” I heard Blackwell say above the din of the helicopter’s beating blades. “Naturally, that would be me. No offense, Tank—you know I love you. But that girl needs her mother, and with those pecs of yours, you don’t fit the type. Would you mind?”
“If you insist,” he said.
“Always so sensible. Alex, may I?”
When Alex stood and stepped away from me with the doctor, Blackwell came into view. She looked tired and drawn in the filthy Chanel suit she’d worn since the day we’d crashed, but beneath her weariness, I could sense determination, resolve, and a new sense of hope. She sat down next to me, took my hand in her own, and squeezed it gently. “How are you?” she asked.
“Alive,” I said.
“And so you are.”
“It’s going to take more than a bullet to take me away from that man,” I said, nodding over at Alex, who was consulting with the doctor. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”
“So you prove time and again. What you did was very brave, you know?”
“Tank might say that I was stupid.”
“I might say the same once you’re feeling better, but not yet. Not now. You were indeed brave. Once again, you put your husband’s life ahead of your own.” She shrugged at me. “You never cease to amaze me, you know? How terribly I misjudged you the first day that we met.”
“Well, there’s that,” I said.
“Don't be smart. Now, listen to me—be honest with me. How do you feel?”
“I’m probably slurring my words a bit, and if I am, I should be happy about that because I don't feel much of anything.”
“Actually, you’re not slurring at all, which means that you’d make a wonderful drunk if you ever want to fully give yourself over to the martinis that you clearly love. Physically, however, you look as if you’ve been in a barroom brawl.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“Just trying to make you smile, my dear.”
“The truth is that you can’t help yourself.”
“Well, I could, I suppose—but what’s the point? You know how I am. You’ve seen how I cope under pressure. Either with theatrics, unmitigated evil, or humor. Right now, with this situation thrown into the mix, let’s also throw in gratitude. Thank God you’re alive.”
“I’m lucky.”
“On one level, yes. But don’t overlook your tenacity, Jennifer—it’s part of who you are.”
“Tough to fell a Maine girl,” I said.
“And here I thought we New Yorkers were tough. I’ve since reassessed.”
I looked at her for a moment, and then I said in a low voice, “I’m worried. You know why.”
Her face softened. “I do. But we're all here for you.”
“The drugs I'm being given. The doctor knows about the baby, doesn’t he?”
“Of course he does. And the drugs are safe—I made certain of it. So did Alex. Both of us terrorized that poor man about them before he administered whatever is flowing through your veins right now. Well, all right, fine—I did most of the terrorizing. Alex just wanted straight answers from him. If you are with child, those drugs will not harm the baby, so let’s put that right out of your head.”
“What about Cutter?” I asked. “Alex wouldn’t say much of anything to me about him. Is he just trying to protect me?”
“I heard what he said to you, and he told you how it is. All we know now is that Cutter is in a coma, and that a doctor in the other helicopter is treating him. He is not dead. The hospital in Singapore has already been alerted about his condition and yours. They are prepared to act the moment we land.”
“Will I need surgery?”
“We don’t know yet. They’re going to have to take some X-rays before we know the extent of the damage. From what I understand from the doctor, the bullet tore through muscle, but it didn’t connect with any bones. So, let’s count our blessings for that.”
“You're going to have one hell of a time dressing me now,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll have two scars you’ll need to cover up.”
“Well, temporarily you will. But I know the best plastic surgeon in New York City, and when the time is right, he’ll make you look as good as new. Now, look,” she said. “You’re eyes are starting to grow heavy—especially the left one, which is making you look strange and kind of horrific in ways that are making me feel uncomfortable. You can talk with Tank after we arrive in Singapore. Try to sleep the rest of the way, OK? For me? For Alex and Tank? And for yourself? Mostly for yourself?”
“I’m scared,” I said. “Not just about the baby and Cutter, but also about Wenn.”
“Don’t worry about Wenn. At this point, the entire world knows that Alex is alive. There will be a groundswell of support for him—and for you. That—along with the goodwill Alex has built up and maintained since he took over Wenn—is a powerful elixir that won't go ignored. You’ll see that I’m right about this.”
“What about Stephen Rowe?” I asked, aware that I was beginning to fade.
“What about him?”
“What if they made him interim CEO?”
“What if they did? The keyword here is ‘interim.’”
“You and I both know that it won’t be that simple. I’ve read enough to know how these things work, especially when it comes to dealing with a divided board. After the SlimPhone fiasco, not all those board members were on Alex’s side.”
“They weren’t when we left, but they might be now,” she said as she stood over my bedside and kissed me on the forehead. “What I need you to think about is this—how will the media portray this story? Not sure? Fine. Let me tell you how. Alexander Wenn proved his mettle on that island. He made the decision to get on that boat with armed men, fully aware that they might kill him. He willingly put his life on the line for his wife, for his friends, and also for Wenn Enterprises. When you are a hero and are recognized as such—as he will be, and as I believe you will be—it’s tough to beat that kind of PR, wouldn’t you say? Now, sleep. When we arrive in Singapore, you’ll be grateful for the rest.”
