Dread dripped heavy and black as Annie watched the three men lower Sam’s limp body to the deck of the high-powered boat. The constant slap-slap of the hull against the choppy waters only agitated her nerves and Boone’s dark mood as he assessed Sam.
“Move, move!” another man shouted from behind her, pushing into the fray. He dropped a large red-and-white box on the deck as he went to a knee. He lifted Sam’s arm and held his wrist as he dug through the kit.
“Anything, Nigel?” Boone cut away the vest that had the oxygen tank and the inflated life vest. Sam had clearly pulled the emergency cord on the vest. If he hadn’t, would they ever have found him?
“What can I do?” Annie asked.
“Stay out of the way,” Nigel barked without looking at her. “Nothing.” He shook his head. “No pulse, no circulation. Start compressions. Leo, get the oxygen.”
Immediately, Boone went to work pumping and counting off the compressions. It hurt to breathe, to watch them trying to save Sam, to know that Sam might not survive this. Why had he volunteered for this mission? Why did he think he could do it?
“You.” Nigel’s gaze hit Annie as he held up a trauma sponge. “Hold that on the wound.”
Grateful to be useful rather than standing around watching Sam die in front of her, Annie cut away the dive suit from the wound and pressed the quick-clot sponge to Sam’s wound, which was partially sitting in his chest and part on his shoulder.
Leo had high-flow oxygen going as Nigel slid a needle into Sam’s arm and attached a tube to a bag marked Saline.
“C’mon, Squid,” Boone said as he pumped his hands against Sam’s chest. Each time Boone compressed, blood seeped around her fingers.
Annie grunted, furious that she couldn’t stop it.
“Press harder!” Nigel barked.
Pump.
Squirt.
She pressed even harder, straightening so she knelt over his body, her arms fully extended.
“Harder! If you want him to live, get that bleeding stopped.”
Pressing with both hands to stop the bleeding, she glanced from Boone’s much-larger hands to Leo holding the oxygen mask. . .to Sam’s slack, gray face.
No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t die. “Sam, c’mon!” Annie ground out, shoving back tears and panic. “C’mon, Calamari—breathe!”
“Got a pulse,” Nigel said, holding a hand to Boone, who eased off the compressions. “His pulse is thready, but he’s still not breathing—probably has water in his lungs. Keep the O2 going.”
Water in his lungs? As in. . .drowned.
As in might not live.
As in died trying to prove to me that he belonged here. Because that’s why he’d volunteered for this mission, right? Because she’d said he shouldn’t be with them. And thick-headed SEAL that he was, he wanted to prove he should. She just wanted him to return to Manson.
Now, he might not return at all. To Manson. To her. “Sam. . .” Tears slid from Annie’s eyes, a mixture of anger and panic. “Please. . .”
“Maybe he’s been gone too long,” Leo said. “Who knows how long he was like that before we found him. He could be brain dead—”
“No!” Annie ground out, hot tears spilling over her cheeks. “He’s not! Save him. Keep pumping that oxygen.” She bent toward Sam’s head and ran a hand over his dry hair. Oddly dry thanks to the hood he’d worn. “Hey—” Her throat constricted as that lone word trembled, forcing her to clear her throat. “Calamari, please. . .fight!”
“Losing his heartbeat again,” Nigel said. “Boone.”
And immediately the big guy started compressions again.
“Sam,” Annie said with a half whimper. “C’mon,” she growled. “Fight. Breathe!”
Boone pounded Sam’s chest with the heel of his fist. “Fight, you worthless squid!” He pounded again, Sam’s body bouncing from the force.
“It’s no good,” Leo said.
Annie wanted to punch the guy. “You can’t stop. His heart was just going.”
“But if he’s been without oxygen, he—”
“Keep. Going.” Annie heard her words bounce back to her in a hollow echo on the sea.
A gurgle snagged her attention back to Sam. Water spurted up. He coughed.
“Roll him over—easy!” Nigel lifted Sam’s wounded shoulder and moved him onto his side, thumping his back as Boone steadied Sam.
With another cough, Sam hurled water and vomit all over the deck. He vomited again, gagging and coughing.
“Easy, easy,” Nigel intoned, lowering him back to the deck.
Shaking his head, Sam coughed more, his eyes clenched in pain. Then the shakes started.
“I need to take care of that wound,” Nigel said.
“Inside.” Boone, Leo, and Nigel hoisted Sam off the deck, and Annie grabbed the med kit, knowing they’d need that for the surgery. They ushered Sam into the belly of the patrol boat that had a too-short galley table.
Annie set the med kit on a counter behind where Nigel stood. When she turned, rich dark eyes—still weighted with pain—held hers. She moved around to the other side and placed her hand over his, surprised when his cold fingers coiled around hers.